Gerald Durrell: The Corfu Trilogy

‘That dog’s been a damned nuisance all the way,’ said Larry.

‘Don’t be so impatient,’ said Margo indignantly; ‘the dog can’t help it… and anyway, we had to wait an hour in Naples for you .’

‘My stomach was out of order,’ explained Larry coldly.

‘Well, probably his stomach’s out of order,’ said Margo triumphantly. ‘It’s six of one and a dozen of the other.’

‘You mean half a dozen of the other.’

‘Whatever I mean, it’s the same thing.’

At this moment Mother arrived, slightly dishevelled, and we had to turn our attentions to the task of getting Roger into the cab. He had never been in such a vehicle, and treated it with suspicion. Eventually we had to lift him bodily and hurl him inside, yelping frantically, and then pile in breathlessly after him and hold him down. The horse, frightened by this activity, broke into a shambling trot, and we ended in a tangled heap on the floor of the cab with Roger moaning loudly underneath us.

‘What an entry,’ said Larry bitterly. ‘I had hoped to give an impression of gracious majesty, and this is what happens… we arrive in town like a troupe of mediæval tumblers.’

‘Don’t keep on , dear,’ Mother said soothingly, straightening her hat; ‘we’ll soon be at the hotel.’

So our cab clopped and jingled its way into the town, while we sat on the horsehair seats and tried to muster the appearance of gracious majesty Larry required. Roger, wrapped in Leslie’s powerful grasp, lolled his head over the side of the vehicle and rolled his eyes as though at his last gasp. Then we rattled past an alley-way in which four scruffy mongrels were lying in the sun. Roger stiffened, glared at them, and let forth a torrent of deep barks. The mongrels were immediately galvanized into activity, and they sped after the cab, yapping vociferously. Our pose was irretrievably shattered, for it took two people to restrain the raving Roger, while the rest of us leaned out of the cab and made wild gestures with magazines and books at the pursuing horde. This only had the effect of exciting them still further, and at each alley-way we passed their numbers increased, until by the time we were rolling down the main thoroughfare of the town there were some twenty-four dogs swirling about our wheels, almost hysterical with anger.

‘Why doesn’t somebody do something?’ asked Larry, raising his voice above the uproar. ‘This is like a scene from Uncle Tom’s Cabin .’

‘Why don’t you do something; instead of criticizing?’ snapped Leslie, who was locked in combat with Roger.

Larry promptly rose to his feet, snatched the whip from our astonished driver’s hand, made a wild swipe at the herd of dogs, missed them, and caught Leslie across the back of the neck.

‘What the hell d’you think you’re playing at?’ Leslie snarled, twisting a scarlet and angry face towards Larry.

‘Accident,’ explained Larry airily. ‘I’m out of practice… it’s so long since I used a horse whip.’

‘Well, watch what you’re bloody well doing,’ said Leslie loudly and belligerently.

‘Now, now, dear, it was an accident,’ said Mother.

Larry took another swipe at the dogs and knocked off Mother’s hat.

‘You’re more trouble than the dogs,’ said Margo.

‘Do be careful, dear,’ said Mother, clutching her hat; ‘you might hurt someone. I should put the whip down.’

At that moment the cab shambled to a halt outside a doorway over which hung a board with ‘Pension Suisse’ inscribed on it. The dogs, feeling that they were at last going to get to grips with this effeminate black canine who rode in cabs, surrounded us in a solid, panting wedge. The door of the hotel opened and an ancient bewhiskered porter appeared and stood staring glassily at the turmoil in the street. The difficulties of getting Roger out of the cab and into the hotel were considerable, for he was a heavy dog and it took the combined efforts of the family to lift, carry, and restrain him. Larry had by now forgotten his majestic pose and was rather enjoying himself. He leaped down and danced about the pavement with the whip, cleaving a path through the dogs, along which Leslie, Margo, Mother, and I hurried, bearing the struggling, snarling Roger. We staggered into the hall, and the porter slammed the front door and leaned against it, his moustache quivering. The manager came forward, eyeing us with a mixture of apprehension and curiosity. Mother faced him, hat on one side of her head, clutching in one hand my jam jar of caterpillars.

‘Ah!’ she said, smiling sweetly, as though our arrival had been the most normal thing in the world. ‘Our name’s Durrell. I believe you’ve got some rooms booked for us?’

‘Yes, madame,’ said the manager, edging round the still grumbling Roger; ‘they are on the first floor… four rooms and a balcony.’

‘How nice,’ beamed Mother; ‘then I think we’ll go straight up and have a little rest before lunch.’

And with considerable majestic graciousness she led her family upstairs.

Later we descended to lunch in a large and gloomy room full of dusty potted palms and contorted statuary. We were served by the bewhiskered porter, who had become the head waiter simply by donning tails and a celluloid dicky that creaked like a convention of crickets. The meal, however, was ample and well cooked, and we ate hungrily. As coffee was served, Larry sat back in his chair with a sigh.

‘That was a passable meal,’ he said generously. ‘What do you think of this place, Mother?’

‘Well, the food’s all right, dear,’ said Mother, refusing to commit herself.

‘They seem a helpful crowd,’ Larry went on. ‘The manager himself shifted my bed nearer the window.’

‘He wasn’t very helpful when I asked for paper,’ said Leslie.

‘Paper?’ asked Mother. ‘What did you want paper for?’

‘For the lavatory…there wasn’t any in there,’ explained Leslie.

‘Shhh! Not at the table,’ whispered Mother.

‘You obviously don’t look,’ said Margo in a clear and penetrating voice; ‘they’ve got a little box full by the pan.’

‘Margo, dear!’ exclaimed Mother, horrified.

‘What’s the matter? Didn’t you see the little box?’

Larry gave a snort of laughter.

‘Owing to the somewhat eccentric plumbing system of the town,’ he explained to Margo kindly, ‘that little box is provided for the… er… debris, as it were, when you have finished communing with nature.’

Margo’s face turned scarlet with a mixture of embarrassment and disgust.

‘You mean… you mean… that was… My God! I might have caught some foul disease,’ she wailed, and, bursting into tears, fled from the dining-room.

‘Most insanitary,’ said Mother severely; ‘it really is a disgusting way to do things. Quite apart from the mistakes one can make, I should think there’s a danger of getting typhoid.’

‘Mistakes wouldn’t happen if they’d organize things properly,’ Leslie pointed out, returning to his original complaint.

‘Yes, dear; but I don’t think we ought to discuss it now. The best thing we can do is to find a house as soon as possible, before we all go down with something.’

Upstairs Margo was in a state of semi-nudity, splashing disinfectant over herself in quantities, and Mother spent an exhausting afternoon being forced to examine her at intervals for the symptoms of the diseases which Margo felt sure she was hatching. It was unfortunate for Mother’s peace of mind that the Pension Suisse happened to be situated in the road leading to the local cemetery. As we sat on our small balcony overhanging the street an apparently endless succession of funerals passed beneath us. The inhabitants of Corfu obviously believed that the best part of a bereavement was the funeral, for each seemed more ornate than the last. Cabs decorated with yards of purple and black crêpe were drawn by horses so enveloped in plumes and canopies that it was a wonder they could move. Six or seven of these cabs, containing the mourners in full and uninhibited grief, preceded the corpse itself. This came on another cartlike vehicle, and was ensconced in a coffin so large and lush that it looked more like an enormous birthday cake. Some were white, with purple, black-and-scarlet, and deep blue decorations; others were gleaming black with complicated filigrees of gold and silver twining abundantly over them, and glittering brass handles. I had never seen anything so colourful and attractive. This, I decided, was really the way to die, with shrouded horses, acres of flowers, and a horde of most satisfactorily grief-stricken relatives. I hung over the balcony rail watching the coffins pass beneath, absorbed and fascinated.