Gerald Durrell - The Corfu Trilogy

‘Aha!’ he said. ‘The paths of love never run smooth. One is tempted to wonder, indeed, if life would not be a trifle dull if the road to one’s goal were always smooth.’

I was not particularly interested in my tutor’s philosophical flights but I waited politely. Mr Kralefsky picked up a biscuit delicately in his beautifully manicured hands, held it briefly over his coffee cup and then christened it in the brown liquid before popping it into his mouth. He chewed methodically, his eyes closed.

‘It seems to me,’ he said at last, ‘that this young Lochinvar is trying too hard.’

I said that Adrian was English but, in any case, how could one try too hard; if one didn’t try hard one didn’t achieve success.

‘Ah,’ said Mr Kralefsky archly, ‘but in matters of the heart things are different. A little bit of indifference sometimes works wonders.’

He put his fingertips together and gazed raptly at the ceiling. I could tell that we were about to embark on one of his flights of fancy with his favourite mythological character, ‘a lady’.

‘I remember once I became greatly enamoured of a certain lady,’ said Kralefsky. ‘I tell you this in confidence, of course.’

I nodded and helped myself to another biscuit. Kralefsky’s stories were apt to be a bit lengthy.

‘She was a lady of such beauty and accomplishments that every eligible man flocked round her, like… like… bees round a honey pot,’ said Mr Kralefsky, pleased with this image. ‘From the moment I saw her I fell deeply, irrevocably, inconsolably in love and felt that she in some measure returned my regard.’

He took a sip of coffee to moisten his throat, then he trellised his fingers together and leaned across the desk, his nostrils flaring, his great, soulful eyes intense.

‘I pursued her relentlessly as a… as a… hound on the scent, but she was cold and indifferent to my advances. She even mocked the love that I offered her.’

He paused, his eyes full of tears, and blew his nose vigorously.

‘I cannot describe to you the torture I went through, the burning agony of jealousy, the sleepless nights of pain. I lost twenty-four kilos; my friends began to worry about me, and, of course, they all tried to persuade me that the lady in question was not worthy of my suffering. All except one friend… a… an experienced man of the world, who had, I believe, had several affairs of the heart himself, one as far away as Baluchistan. He told me that I was trying too hard, that as long as I was casting my heart at the lady’s feet she would be, like all females, bored by her conquest. But if I showed a little indifference, aha! my friend assured me, it would be a very different tale.’

Kralefsky beamed at me and nodded his head knowingly. He poured himself out more coffee.

And had he shown indifference, I asked.

‘Indeed I did,’ said Kralefsky. ‘I didn’t lose a minute. I embarked on a boat for China.’

I thought this was splendid; no woman, I felt, could claim to have you enslaved if you suddenly leaped on a boat for China. It was sufficiently remote to give the vainest woman pause for thought. And what happened, I inquired eagerly, when Mr Kralefsky returned from his travels?

‘I found she had married,’ said Mr Kralefsky, rather shamefacedly, for he realized that this was somewhat of an anticlimax.

‘Some women are capricious and impatient, you know. But I managed to have a few moments of private conversation with her and she explained it all.’

I waited expectantly.

‘She said,’ Mr Kralefsky continued, ‘that she had thought I had gone for good to become a Lama so she married. Yes, the little dear would have waited for me had she known, but, torn with grief, she married the first man who came along. If I had not misjudged the length of the voyage she would have been mine today.’

He blew his nose violently, a stricken look on his face. I digested this story, but it did not seem to give any very clear clues as to how to help Adrian. Should I perhaps lend him my boat, the Bootle-Bumtrinket , and suggest that he rowed over to Albania? Apart from the risk of losing my precious boat, I did not think that Adrian was strong enough to row that far. No, I agreed with Kralefsky that Adrian was being too eager but, knowing how capricious my sister was, I felt she would greet her admirer’s disappearance from the island with delight rather than with despair. Adrian’s real difficulty lay in the fact that he could never get Margo alone. I decided that I would have to take Adrian in hand if he was going to achieve anything like success.

The first thing was for him to stop following Margo around like a lamb following a sheep and to feign indifference, so I inveigled him into accompanying me when I went out to explore the surrounding countryside. This was easy enough to do. Margo, in self-defence, had taken to rising at dawn and disappearing from the villa before Adrian put in an appearance so he was left pretty much to himself. Mother had tried to interest him in cooking but after he had left the icebox open and melted half our perishable foodstuffs, set fire to a frying pan full of fat, turned a perfectly good joint of lamb into something closely resembling biltong, and dropped half a dozen eggs on to the kitchen floor, she was only too glad to back up my suggestion that Adrian should accompany me.

I found Adrian an admirable companion, considering that he had been brought up in a city. He never complained, he would patiently obey my terse instructions to ‘Hold that!’ or ‘Don’t move – it’ll bite you!’ to the letter, and seemed genuinely interested in the creatures we pursued.

As Mr Kralefsky had predicted, Margo became intrigued by Adrian’s sudden absence. Although she did not care for his attentions she felt perversely piqued when she was not receiving them. She wanted to know what Adrian and I did all day long. I replied rather austerely that Adrian was helping me in my zoological investigations. I said that moreover he was shaping up very well and if this went on I would have no hesitation in proclaiming him a very competent naturalist by the end of the summer.

‘I don’t know how you can go around with anyone so wet,’ she said. ‘I find him an incredible bore.’

I said that was probably just as well as Adrian had confessed to me that he was finding Margo a bit boring too.

‘What?’ said Margo, outraged. ‘How dare he say that, how dare he!’

Well, I pointed out philosophically, she had only herself to blame. After all, who would not find someone boring if they carried on like she did, never going swimming with him, never going walking with him, always being rude.

‘I’m not rude,’ said Margo angrily. ‘I just speak the truth. And if he wants a walk I’ll give him one. Boring indeed!’

I was so pleased with the success of my scheme that I overlooked the fact that Margo, like the rest of my family, could be a powerful antagonist when aroused. That evening she was so unexpectedly polite and charming to Adrian that everyone, with the victim’s exception, was amazed and alarmed. Skilfully, Margo steered the conversation round to walks and then said that, as Adrian’s time in the island was growing short, it was essential that he saw more of it. What better method than walking? Yes, stammered Adrian, that was really the best way of seeing a country.

‘I intend to go for a walk the day after tomorrow,’ said Margo airily, ‘a lovely walk. It’s a pity you’re so busy with Gerry, otherwise you could have come with me.’

‘Oh, don’t let that worry you. Gerry can fend for himself,’ said Adrian, with what I privately considered to be callous and impolite indifference. ‘I’d love to come!’

‘Oh good,’ fluted Margo. ‘I’m sure you’ll enjoy it; it’s one of the nicest strolls around here.’