Gerald Durrell - Fillets of Plaice

“I’m sure he’ll like the avocados,” said Mary. “Do you know I went through forty-three of them to pick out the best.”

“And my pot-holes held,” said McGrade proudly. “Takes an Irishman to do a job like that.”

“You wait till he gets to the caviar,” said Robin, “that, as far as I’m concerned, will be the highpoint of the evening.”

“What about my smoked porcupine?” I said indignantly.

“And what about my flower arrangements?” said Mary. “One would think that you’d done everything, Robin.”

“Well, I have, virtually,” said Robin. “I have contributed my brain.”

Then we all went our separate ways to our late breakfasts.

We could do nothing further until the evening. The rest was in Martin’s hands and we knew that, being the person that he was, the D.C. would find very little wrong in the way Martin was handling the district.

At five o’clock Pious materialised at my elbow just as I had been bitten in the thumb by an indignant pouched rat whom I had been inspecting to see whether she was pregnant.

“Sah,” said Pious.

“Na what’ee?” I said, sucking the blood off my thumb.

“Barf ready, sah.”

“Why the hell are you passing me a bath at this time of the day?” I asked, having completely forgotten what an auspicious occasion it was.

Pious looked at me with surprise. “You got to be at D.O.’s for six o’clock, sah,” he said.

“Damn,” I said, “I’d forgotten all about it. Have you organised my clothes?”

“Yes, sah,” said Pious. “Small boy has ironed your trousers. Clean shirt, sah. Your jacket is ready and your tie.”

“God in Heaven,” I said, suddenly struck by a thought. “I don’t think I’ve brought any socks with me.”

“I buy you socks, sah, for market, sah,” said Pious. “I done clean your shoes.”

Reluctantly leaving investigations into the possible pregnancy of my pouched rat, I went and had my bath, which was rather like a canvas coffin into which they had poured lukewarm water. In spite of this and the hour of the day, I was dripping with sweat and bath water in equal quantities. I flopped into a chair in a vague endeavour to cool off and thought about the evening that stretched before me. The thought was so appalling that it made me shudder.

“Pious,” I shouted.

“Sah,” he said.

“Pass me a drink,” I said.

“Beer, sah?”

“No,” I said, “a very big whisky with water.”

I drank this sustaining liquid and began to feel in a merrier mood. I dressed with care, though because of the heat and the sweat the beautifully laundered pearl-white shirt that I put on became grey and damp almost immediately. The socks that Pious had purchased for me were apparently the hunting colours of one of the remoter Scottish clans and clashed abominably with my tie. I did not put on my jacket but slung it over my shoulder for I knew that in my short climb up to Martin’s house, if I wore the jacket, I would end up meeting the D.C. looking like a seal newly emerged from the ocean. Pious walked up with me.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” I asked.

“Yes sah,” he said. “But the D.O.’s boys, sah, they not really good boys.”

“I know that,” I said. “That’s why I put you in charge.”

“Yes, sah. Please, sah, Jesus goes funny.”

Dear God, I thought, what can happen now? “What do you mean, he goes funny?”

“He’s a good man,” said Pious earnestly, “but he’s an old man and so when he go make dis sort of ting he go funny.”

“You mean he gets frightened?” I said.

“Yes, sah,” said Pious.

“So you think he might make a bad chop?”

“Yes, sah,” said Pious.

“Well, what are we going to do about that?” I asked.

“I done send our cook up, sah,” said Pious. “ ’E go help Jesus and then Jesus go be all right.”

“Good,” I said, “a very good idea.”

Pious beamed with pride. We walked on for a bit in silence.

“Please, sah.”

“What’ee?” I asked irritably.

“I send our small boy too, sah,” said Pious. “Dat small boy is good boy but Amos never teach um.”

“Excellent,” I said, “I’ll have you recommended for the New Year’s Honours List.”

“Tank you, sah,” said Pious, not understanding but judging from the way I spoke that these decisions which he had made and carried out on his own met with my full support.

When we got to Martin’s place Pious, who had done himself up in his best uniform — for which I had paid an exorbitant amount of money and added brass buttons too — and which he so seldom had an opportunity to display, dematerialised from my elbow and disappeared in the direction of the kitchen.

The front door was open and on one side of it stood my own small boy. His shorts and tunic had been laundered and ironed with such care that they looked like a Swiss ski slope before the beginning of a season.

“Iseeya, sah,” he said, beaming at me.

“Iseeya, Ben,” I said, “and make sure that you work hard tonight or I go kill you to-morrow.”

“Yes, sah,” he said smiling.

I found that, owing to my dilatoriness in taking a slow bath, a slow whisky and a slow and reluctant entry into clothes that were totally unsuitable for the climate, the others had arrived before me and were all sitting on the veranda.

“Ahhh,” said Martin, leaping to his feet and coming to greet me, “I thought perhaps you weren’t coming.”

“Dear boy,” I whispered, “I would not let you down in your hour of need.”

“Let me introduce you,” he said, pushing me into the crowd on the veranda. “Mr Featherstonehaugh, the District Commissioner.”

He was a smallish man whose face closely resembled a badly made pork pie. He had thinning grey hair and pale blue but penetrating eyes. He rose from his chair and shook hands with me, and his handshake was surprisingly strong because he looked at first glance to be rather vapid.

“Ah, Durrell,” he said, “delighted to meet ye.”

“I’m so sorry I’m late, sir,” I said.

“Not at all, not at all,” he said, “sit ye down. I’m sure Bugler here has the odd drink hidden away which he can give you, eh, Bugler?”

“Oh, yes, yes, yes, sir,” said Martin. He clapped his hands and a chorus of “Yes, sah’s” came from the kitchen.

To my relief Pious appeared, with his gilt buttons glittering in the lamplight.

“Sah?” he said to me as though he had never met me before.

“Whisky and water,” I said, adopting the cold attitude that so many people used towards their servants. I felt that coming from Nigeria the D.C. would appreciate my falling into the right sort of British habits. I took a swift glance round at the circle of faces. Mary, round-eyed, was hanging on the D.C’s every word. If she had had a neon sign above her head saying “I hope for a promotion for my husband” it couldn’t have been more obvious. Robin gave me a swift glance, raised his eyebrows and then went into one of his dream-like trances. McGrade had a rather smug look on his face and beamed at me benevolently.

The long couch on the veranda was littered with coats and ties and there was a semi-cool breeze blowing up from the river.

“Excuse me, sir,” I said, to the D.C., “do you mind if I adopt the local custom and take off my tie and jacket?”

“Of course, of course,” said the D.C. “all informal here. I was just explaining to Bugler here. Really a matter of routine. Just come through once or twice a year to keep an eye on you chaps. Make sure you’re not getting up to any mischief.”

With infinite relief I removed my rainbow-coloured tie and my jacket and flung them on the couch. Pious passed me my drink, for which I did not thank him. Generally it was not done to thank your servants for anything in West Africa. Nor did you call them by their Christian name. You simply clapped your hands and shouted “Boy”.