Gerald Durrell: The Corfu Trilogy

‘Nonsense, Jeejee,’ said Larry. ‘You an untouchable! Your father was a lawyer.’

‘Vell,’ said Jeejee, drying his eyes, ‘I vould have been untouchable if my father had been a different caste. The trouble with you, Lawrence, is that you have no sense of the dramatic. Think vhat a poem I could have vritten, “The Untouchable Banquet”.’

‘What’s an untouchable?’ Margo asked Leslie in a penetrating whisper.

‘It’s a disease, like leprosy,’ he explained solemnly.

‘My God!’ said Margo dramatically. ‘I hope he’s sure he hasn’t got it. How does he know his father isn’t infected?’

‘Margo, dear,’ said Mother quellingly. ‘Go and stir the lentils, will you?’

We had a riotous picnic lunch on the veranda, with Jeejee regaling us with stories of his trip to Persia, singing Persian love songs to Margo with such verve that all the dogs howled in unison.

‘Oh, you must sing one of those tonight,’ said Margo delighted. ‘You must , Jeejee. Everyone’s going to do something.’

‘Vat you mean, Margo dear?’ asked Jeejee, mystified.

‘We’ve never done it before – it’s a sort of cabaret. Everyone’s going to do something,’ Margo explained. ‘Lena’s going to do a bit of opera – something out of the Rosy Cavalier … Theodore and Kralefsky are going to do a trick by Houdini… you know, everyone’s going to do something… so you must sing in Persian.’

‘Vy couldn’t I do something more in keeping with Mother India?’ said Jeejee, struck by the thought. ‘I could levitate.’

‘No,’ said Mother, interrupting firmly, ‘I want this party to be a success. No levitation.’

‘Why don’t you be something typically Indian?’ suggested Margo. ‘I know, be a snake charmer!’

‘Yes,’ said Larry, ‘the humble, typical, untouchable, Indian snake charmer.’

‘My God! Vat a vonderful idea!’ cried Jeejee, his eyes shining. ‘I vill do so.’

Anxious to be of service, I said I could lend him a basket of small and harmless slow-worms for his act, and he was delighted with the idea that he would have some real snakes to charm. Then we all went to siesta and to prepare ourselves for the great evening.

The sky was striped green, pink and smoke-grey, and the first owls had started to chime in the dark olives when the guests began to arrive. Among the first was Lena, clasping a huge book of operatic music under her arm and wearing a flamboyant evening dress of orange silk in spite of the fact that she knew the party was informal.

‘My dears,’ she said thrillingly, her black eyes flashing, ‘I’m in great voice tonight. I feel I shall do justice to the master. No, no, not ouzo, it might afflict my vocal chord. I will have a tiny champagne and brandy. Yes, I can feel my throat vibrate, you know – like a harp.’

‘How nice,’ said Mother insincerely. ‘I’m sure we shall all enjoy it.’

‘She’s got a lovely voice, Mother,’ said Margo. ‘It’s a mezzotint.’

‘Soprano,’ said Lena coldly.

Theodore and Kralefsky arrived together, carrying a coil of ropes and chains and several padlocks.

‘I hope,’ said Theodore, rocking up and down on his toes, ‘I hope our… er… little… you know… our little illusion will be successful. We have, of course, never done it before.’

‘ I have done it before,’ said Kralefsky with dignity. ‘It was Houdini himself who showed me. He even went so far as to compliment me on my dexterity. “Richard,” he said – for we were on intimate terms, you understand, “Richard, I’ve never seen anyone except myself so nimble-fingered.” ’

‘Really?’ said Mother. ‘Well, I’m sure it will be a great success.’

Captain Creech arrived wearing a battered top hat, his face strawberry-red, his thistledown hair looking as though the slightest breeze would blow it from his head and chin. He staggered even more than usual and his broken jaw looked particularly lop-sided; it was obvious that he had been priming himself well prior to his arrival. Mother stiffened and gave a forced smile as he lurched through the front door.

‘My! You look really sumptuous tonight,’ said the Captain, leering at Mother and rubbing his hands, swaying gently. ‘You’ve put on some weight lately, haven’t you?’

‘I don’t think so,’ said Mother primly.

The captain eyed her up and down critically.

‘Well, you seem to have a better handful in your bustle than you used to have,’ he said.

‘I would be glad if you would refrain from making personal remarks, Captain,’ said Mother coldly.

The captain was unabashed.

‘It doesn’t worry me ,’ he confided. ‘I like a woman with a bit of something you can get your hands on. A thin woman’s no good in bed – like riding a horse with no saddle.’

‘I have no interest in your preference, either in or out of bed,’ said Mother with asperity. ‘Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go and attend to the food.’

More and more carriages clopped up to the front door, more and more cars disgorged guests. The room filled up with the strange selection of people the family had invited. In one corner, Kralefsky, like an earnest hump-backed gnome, was telling Lena about his experiences with Houdini.

‘ “Harry,” I said to him – for we were intimate friends, you understand, “Harry show me what secrets you like, they are safe with me. My lips are sealed.” ’

Kralefsky took a sip of his wine and pursed his lips to show how they were sealed.

‘Really?’ said Lena, with total lack of interest. ‘Vell, of course it’s different in the singing vorld. Ve singers pass on our secrets. I remember Krasia Toupti saying to me, “Lena your voice is so beautiful I cry vhen I hear it; I have taught you all I know. Go, carry the torches of our genius to the vorld.” ’

‘I didn’t mean to imply that Harry Houdini was secretive,’ said Kralefsky stiffly; ‘he was the most generous of men. Why, he even showed me how to saw a woman in half.’

‘My dear, how curious it must feel to be cut in half,’ mused Lena. ‘Think of it, your bottom half could be having an affair in one room while your other half was entertaining an archbishop. How droll.’

‘It’s only an illusion,’ said Kralefsky, going pink.

‘So is life,’ replied Lena soulfully. ‘So is life, my friend.’

The noise of drinking was exhilarating. Champagne corks popped and the pale, chrysanthemum-coloured liquid, whispering gleefully with bubbles, hissed into the glasses; heavy red wine glupped into the goblets, thick and crimson as the blood of some mythical monster, and a swirling wreath of pink bubbles formed on the surface; the frosty white wine tiptoed into the glasses, shrilling, gleaming, now like diamonds, now like topaz; the ouzo lay transparent and innocent as the edge of a mountain pool until the water splashed in and the whole glass curdled like a conjuring trick, coiling and blurring into a summer cloud of moonstone white.

Presently we moved down the room to where the vast array of food awaited us. The King’s butler, fragile as a mantis, superintended the peasant girls in the serving. Spiro, scowling more than normal with concentration, meticulously carved the joints and the birds. Kralefsky had been trapped by the great, grey, walruslike bulk of Colonel Ribbindane, who loomed over him, his giant moustache hanging like a curtain over his mouth, his bulbous blue eyes fixed on Kralefsky in a paralysing stare.

‘The hippopotamus, or river horse, is one of the largest of the quadrupeds to be found in the continent of Africa…’ he droned, as though lecturing a class.

‘Yes, yes… fantastic beast. Truly one of nature’s wonders,’ said Kralefsky, looking round desperately for escape.