The Corfu Trilogy Part 33

'What are we going to do about the yacht?' said Leslie, since Donald and Max, as the owners, appeared to be unperturbed by her fate.

'We'll stops at the next village,' said Spiro. 'I knows a fisher-mans there. He'll fix it.'

'I think, you know,' said Theodore, 'if we've got any stimulant with us, it would be an idea to give some to Max. He may possibly suffer from concussion after a blow like that.'

'Yes, we've got some brandy,' said Mother, delving into the car.

She produced a bottle and a cup.

'Darling girl,' said Captain Creech, fixing his wavering eye upon the bottle. 'Just what the doctor ordered.'

'You're not having any of this,' said Mother firmly. 'This is for Max.'

We had to dispose ourselves in the car as best we could, sitting on each other's laps, trying to give as much s.p.a.ce as possible to Max, who had now gone a very nasty leaden colour and was shivering violently in spite of the brandy. To Mother's annoyance, she found herself, w.i.l.l.y-nilly, having to be wedged in alongside Captain Creech.

'Sit on my lap,' said the Captain hospitably. 'Sit on my lap and we can have a little cuddle to keep warm.'

'Certainly not,' said Mother primly. 'I'd rather sit on Donald's lap.'

As we drove back across the island to town, the Captain regaled us with his version of some sea-shanties. The family argued acrimoniously.

'I do wish you'd stop him singing these songs, Larry,' said Mother.

'How can I stop him? You're You're in the back. in the back. You You stop him.' stop him.'

'He's your your friend,' said Mother. friend,' said Mother.

'Ain't it a pity, she's only one t.i.tty to feed the baby on. The poor little b.u.g.g.e.r will never play rugger and grow up big and strong.'

'Might have killed you all, filthy old brute,' said Mother.

'Actually, most of it was Larry's fault,' said Leslie.

'It was not,' said Larry indignantly. 'You weren't there, so you don't know. It's extremely difficult when someone shouts at you to luff your helm, or whatever it is, when there's a howling gale blowing.'

'There was a young lady from Chichester,' observed Captain Creech with relish, 'who made all the saints in their niches stir.'

'The one I'm sorry for is poor Max,' said Margo, looking at him commiseratingly.

'I don't know why he should get the sympathy,' said Larry, whose eye had now almost completely disappeared and was a rich shiny black. 'He's the fool who caused it all. I had the boat under perfect control till he hauled up that sail.'

'Well, I don't call you a sailor,' said Margo. 'If you'd been a sailor you wouldn't have told him to haul it up.'

'That's just the point,' snarled Larry. 'I didn't tell him to haul it up. He hauled it up on his own.'

'It was the good ship Venus,' began the Captain, whose repertoire appeared to be inexhaustible.

'Don't argue about it, dear,' said Mother. 'I've got a severe headache. The sooner we get into town, the better.'

We got to town eventually and dropped Donald and Max at their hotel and the still carolling Captain Creech at his and drove home, wet and cold and acrimonious.

The following morning we were sitting, all feeling slightly wilted, finishing our breakfast on the veranda. Larry's eye had now achieved sunset hues which could only have been captured by the brush of Turner. Spiro drove up honking his horn, the dogs racing in front of the car, snarling and trying to bite the wheels.

'I do wish Spiro wouldn't make quite so much noise when he arrives,' said Larry.

Spiro stumped up onto the veranda and went through his normal morning routine.

'Morning, Mrs Durrells, morning Missy Margo, morning Master Larrys, morning Master Leslies, morning Master Gerrys. How's your eyes, Master Larrys?' he said, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his face into a commiserating scowl.

'At the moment I feel as if I shall probably be going round with a white stick for the rest of my days,' said Larry.

'I've got a letters for yous,' said Spiro to Mother.

Mother put on her gla.s.ses and opened it. We waited expectantly. Her face went red.

'The impertinence! The insolence! Disgusting old brute! brute! Really, I have never heard anything like it.' Really, I have never heard anything like it.'

'What on earth's the matter?' asked Larry.

'That revolting old Creech creature,' said Mother, waving the letter at him.

'It's your your fault, fault, you you introduced him to the house.' introduced him to the house.'

'What have I done now?' asked Larry, bewildered.

'That filthy old brute has written and proposed to me,' said Mother.

There was a moment's stunned silence while we took in this remarkable information.

'Proposal?' said Larry cautiously. 'An indecent proposal, I presume?'

'No, no,' said Mother. 'He says he wants to marry me. What a fine little woman I am and a lot of sentimental twaddle like that.'

The family, united for once, sat back and laughed until tears came.

'It's no laughing matter,' said Mother, stamping about the veranda. 'You've got to do do something about it.' something about it.'

'Oh,' said Larry, mopping his eyes. 'Oh, this is the best thing that's happened for ages. I suppose he thinks since he took his trousers off in front of you yesterday to wring them out, he must make an honest woman of you.'

'Do stop laughing,' said Mother angrily. 'It isn't funny funny.'

'I can see it all,' said Larry unctuously. 'You in white muslin, Leslie and me in toppers to give you away, Margo as your bridesmaid, and Gerry as your page. It will be a very affecting scene. I expect the church will be full of jaded ladies of pleasure, all waiting to forbid the banns.'

Mother glared at him. 'When there's a real real crisis,' she said angrily, 'you children are of absolutely no use whatsoever.' crisis,' she said angrily, 'you children are of absolutely no use whatsoever.'

'But I think you would look lovely in white,' said Margo, giggling.

'Where have you decided on for your honeymoon?' asked Larry. 'They say Capri is awfully nice at this time of year.'

But Mother was not listening. She turned to Spiro, registering determination from top to toe.

'Spiro, you are to tell the Captain the answer is no no, and that I never want him to set foot in this house again.'

'Oh, come now, Mother,' protested Larry. 'What we children want want is a father.' is a father.'

'And you all,' said Mother, rounding on us in a fury, 'are not to tell anybody about this. I will not have my name linked with that disgusting... disgusting reprobate reprobate.'

And so that was the last we saw of Captain Creech. But what we all referred to as Mother's great romance made an auspicious start to the year.

9.

The Talking Head Summer gaped upon the island like the mouth of a great oven. Even in the shade of the olive groves it was not cool and the incessant, penetrating cries of the cicadas seemed to swell and become more insistent with each hot, blue noon. The water in the ponds and ditches shrank and the mud at the edges became jigsawed, cracked and curled by the sun. The sea lay as breathless and still as a bale of silk, the shallow waters too warm to be refreshing. You had to row the boat out into deep water, you and your reflection the only moving things, and dive over the side to get cool. It was like diving into the sky.

Now was the time for b.u.t.terflies and moths. In the day, on the hillsides, which seemed sucked free of every drop of moisture by the beating sun, you would get the great languid swallow-tails, flapping elegantly and erratically from bush to bush; fritillaries, glowing almost as hot and angry an orange as a live coal, skittered quickly and efficiently from flower to flower; cabbage whites; clouded yellows; and the lemon-yellow-and-orange brimstones b.u.mbled to and fro on untidy wings. Among the gra.s.ses the skippers, like little brown furry aeroplanes, would skim and purr, and on glittering slabs of gypsum the red admirals, as flamboyant as a cl.u.s.ter of Woolworth jewellery, would sit opening and closing their wings as though expiring from the heat. At night the lamps would become a teeming metropolis of moths, and the pink geckos on the ceiling, big-eyed and splay-footed, would gorge until they could hardly move. Oleander hawk-moths, green and silver, would zoom into the room suddenly, from nowhere, and in a frenzy of love, dive at the lamp, hitting it with such force that the gla.s.s shattered. Death's-head hawk-moths, mottled ginger and black, with the macabre skull and cross-bones embroidered on the plush fur of their thoraxes, would come tumbling down the chimney to lie fluttering and twitching in the grate, squeaking like mice.

Up on the hillsides where the great beds of heather were burnt crisp and warm by the sun, the tortoises, lizards, and snakes would prowl, and praying mantises would hang among the green leaves of the myrtle, swaying slowly and evilly from side to side. The afternoon was the best time to investigate life on the hills, but it was also the hottest. The sun played a tattoo on your skull, and the baked ground was as hot asagriddle under your sandalled feet. Widdle and Puke were cowards about the sun and would never accompany me in the afternoons, but Roger, that indefatigable student of natural history, would always be with me, panting vigorously, swallowing his drooling saliva in great gulps.

Together we shared many adventures. There was the time when we watched, entranced, two hedgehogs, drunk as lords on the fallen and semi-fermented grapes they had eaten from under the vines, staggering in circles, snapping at each other belligerently, uttering high-pitched screams and hiccups. There was a time we watched a fox cub, red as an autumn leaf, discover his first tortoise among the heather. The tortoise, in the phlegmatic way they have, folded himself up in his sh.e.l.l, tightly closed as a portmanteau. But the fox had seen a movement and, p.r.i.c.k-eared, it moved round him cautiously. Then, for it was still only a puppy, it dabbed quickly at the tortoise's sh.e.l.l with its paw and then jumped away, expecting retaliation. Then it lay down and examined the tortoise for several minutes, its head between its paws. Finally it went forward rather gingerly and after several unsuccessful attempts managed to pick the tortoise up with its jaws, and with head held high, trotted off proudly through the heather. It was on these hills that we watched the baby tortoises hatching out of their papery-sh.e.l.led eggs, each one looking as wizened and as crinkled as though it were a thousand years old at the moment of birth, and it was here that I witnessed for the first time the mating dance of the snakes.

Roger and I were sitting under a large clump of myrtles that offered a small patch of shade and some concealment. We had disturbed a hawk in a cypress tree near by and were waiting patiently for him to return so that we could identify him. Suddenly, some ten feet from where we had crouched, I saw two snakes weaving their way out of a brown web of heather stalks. Roger, who for some obscure reason was frightened of snakes, uttered an uneasy little whine and put his ears back. I shushed him violently and watched to see what the snakes would do. One appeared to be following close on the heels of the other. Was he, I wondered, perhaps in pursuit of it in order to eat it? They slid out of the heather and into some clumps of sun-whitened gra.s.s and I lost sight of them. Cursing my luck, I was just about to shift my position in the hopes of seeing them again when they reappeared on a comparatively open piece of ground.

Here the one that was leading paused and the one that had been following it slid up alongside. They lay like this for a moment or so and then the pursuer started to nose tentatively at the other one's head. I decided that the first snake was a female and that her follower was her mate. He continued b.u.t.ting his head at her throat until eventually he had raised her head and neck slightly off the ground. She froze in that position and the male, backing away a few inches, raised his head also and they stayed like that, immobile, staring at each other for some considerable time. Then slowly the male slid forward and twined himself round the female's body and they both rose as high as they could without overbalancing, as entwined together as two convolvulus. Again they remained motionless for a time and then started to sway like two wrestlers pushing against each other in the ring, their tails curling and grasping at the gra.s.s roots around them to give themselves better purchase. Suddenly they flopped sideways, the hinder ends of their bodies met and they mated lying there in the sun, as entangled as streamers at a carnival.

At this moment Roger, who had viewed with increasing distress my interest in the snakes, got to his feet and shook himself before I could stop him, indicating that, as far as he was concerned, it would be far better if we moved on. The snakes unfortunately saw his movement. They convulsed in a tangled heap for a moment, their skins gleaming in the sun, and then the female disentangled herself and sped rapidly towards the sanctuary of the heather, dragging the male, still fastened to her, helplessly behind her. Roger looked at me, gave a small sneeze of pleasure, and wagged his stumpy tail. But I was annoyed with him and told him so in no uncertain terms. After all, as I pointed out to him, on the numerous occasions when he was latched to a b.i.t.c.h how would he he like to be overtaken by some danger and dragged so ignominiously from the field of love? like to be overtaken by some danger and dragged so ignominiously from the field of love?

With the summer came the bands of gypsies to the island to help harvest the crops and to steal what they could while they were there. Sloe-eyed, their dusky skins burnt almost black by the sun, their hair unkempt and their clothing in rags, you would see them moving in family groups along the white, dusty roads, riding on donkeys or on lithe little ponies, shiny as chestnuts. Their encampments were always a squalid enchantment, with a dozen pots bubbling with different ingredients over the fires, the old women squatting in the shadow of their grubby lean-tos with the heads of the younger children in their laps, carefully searching them for lice, while the older children, tattered as dandelion leaves, rolled and screamed and played in the dust. Those of the men who had a side-line would be busy with it, one twisting and tying multi-coloured balloons together, so that they screeched in protest, making strange animal shapes. Another, perhaps, who was the proud possessor of a Karaghiozi shadow show, would be refurbishing the highly coloured cut-out figures and practising some of Karaghiozi's vulgarities and innuendoes to the giggling delight of the handsome young women who stirred the cooking pots or knitted in the shade.

I had always wanted to get on intimate terms with the gypsies, but they were a shy and hostile people, barely tolerating the Greeks. So that my mop of hair, bleached almost white by the sun, and my blue eyes made me automatically suspect, and although they would allow me to visit their camps, they were never forthcoming, in the way that the peasants were in telling me about their private lives and their aspirations. But it was, nevertheless, the gypsies who were indirectly responsible for an uproar in the family. For once I was entirely innocent.

It was the tail-end of an exceptionally hot summer's afternoon. Roger and I had been having an exhausting time pursuing a large and indignant king snake along a length of dry stone wall. No sooner had we dismantled one section of it than the snake would ease himself fluidly along into the next section, and by the time we had rebuilt the section we had pulled down, it would take half an hour or so to locate him again in the jigsaw of rocks. Finally we had to concede defeat and we were now making our way home to tea, thirsty, sweating, and covered with dust. As we rounded an elbow of the road, I glanced into the olive grove that sloped down the hillside into a small valley, and saw what, at first glance, I took to be a man with an exceptionally large dog. A closer look, however, and I realized, incredulously, that it was a man with a bear. I was so astonished that I cried out involuntarily. The bear stood up on its hind legs and turned to look up at me, as did the man. They stared at me for a moment and then the man waved his hand in casual greeting and turned back to the task of spreading his belongings under the olive tree while the bear got down again on its haunches and squatted, watching him with interest. I made my way hurriedly down the hillside, filled with excitement. I had heard that there were dancing bears in Greece, but I had never actually seen one. This was an opportunity too good to be missed. As I drew near, I called a greeting to the man and he turned from his jumble of possessions and replied courteously enough. I saw that he was indeed a gypsy, with the dark, wild eyes and the blue-black hair, but he was infinitely more prosperous-looking than most of them, for his suit was in good repair and he wore shoes, a mark of distinction in those days, even among the landed peasantry of the island.

I asked whether it was safe to approach, for the bear, although wearing a leather muzzle, was untethered.

'Yes, come,' called the man. 'Pavlo won't hurt you, but leave your dog.'

I turned to Roger and I could see that, brave though he was, he did not like the look of the bear and was staying by me only out of a sense of duty. When I told him to go home, he gave me a grateful look and trotted off up the hillside, trying to pretend that he was ignorant of the whole scene. In spite of the man's a.s.surances that Pavlo was harmless, I approached with caution, for although it was only a youngster, the bear, when it reared on its hind legs, was a good foot or so taller than I was and possessed on each broad, furry paw a formidable and very serviceable array of glittering claws. It squatted on its haunches and peered at me out of tiny, twinkling brown eyes, panting gently. It looked like a large pile of animated, unkempt seaweed. To me it was the most desirable animal I had ever set eyes on and I walked round it, viewing its excellence from every possible vantage point.

I plied the man with eager questions. How old was it? Where did he get it? What was he doing with it?

'He dances for his living and for my living,' said the man, obviously amused by my enthusiasm over the bear. 'Here, I'll show you.'

He picked up a stick with a small hook at the end and slid it into a ring set into the leather muzzle the bear wore.

'Come, dance with your papa.'

In one swift movement the bear rose on its hind legs. The man clicked his fingers and whistled a plaintive tune, starting to shuffle his feet in time to the music and the bear followed suit. Together they shuffled in a slow, stately minuet among the electric blue thistles and the dried asphodel stalks. I could have watched them forever. When the man reached the end of his tune, the bear, as of habit, got down on all fours again and sneezed.

'Bravo!' said the man softly. 'Bravo!'

I clapped enthusiastically. Never, I said earnestly, had I seen such a fine dance, nor such an accomplished performer as Pavlo. Could I, perhaps, pat him?

'You can do what you like with him,' said the man, chuckling, as he unhooked his stick from the bear's muzzle. 'He's a fool, this one. He wouldn't even hurt a bandit who was robbing him of his food.'

To prove it he started scratching the bear's back and the bear, pointing its head up into the sky, uttered throaty, wheezy murmurings of pleasure and sank gradually down onto the ground in ecstasy, until he was spread out looking almost, I thought, like a bearskin rug.

'He likes to be tickled,' said the man. 'Come and tickle him.'

The next half hour was pure delight for me. I tickled the bear while he crooned with delight. I examined his great claws and his ears and his tiny bright eyes and he lay there and suffered me as though he were asleep. Then I leaned against his warm bulk and talked to his owner. A plan was forming in my mind. The bear, I decided, had got to become mine. The dogs and my other animals would soon get used to it and together we could go waltzing over the hillsides. I convinced myself that the family would be overjoyed at my acquisition of such an intelligent pet. But first I had to get the man into a suitable frame of mind for bargaining. With the peasants, bargaining was a loud, protracted, and difficult business. But this man was a gypsy and what they did not know about bargaining would fit conveniently into an acorn cup. The man seemed much less taciturn and reticent than the other gypsies I had come into contact with, and I took this as a good sign. I asked him where he had come from.

'Way beyond, way beyond,' he said, covering his possessions with as habby tarpaulin and shaking out some threadbare blankets which were obviously going to serve as his bed. 'Landed at Lefkimi last night and we've been walking ever since, Pavlo, the Head, and I. You see, they wouldn't take Pavlo on the buses; they were frightened of him. So we got no sleep last night, but tonight we'll sleep here and then tomorrow we'll reach the town.'

Intrigued, I asked him what he meant by 'he, Pavlo, and the Head' walking up from Lefkimi?

'My Head, of course,' he said. 'My little talking Head.' And he picked up the bear stick and slapped it on a pile of goods under the tarpaulin, grinning at me.

I had unearthed the battered remains of a bar of chocolate from the pocket of my shorts and I was busy feeding this to the bear, who received each fragment with great moans and s...o...b..rings of satisfaction. I said to the man that I did not understand what he was talking about. He squatted on his haunches in front of me and lit a cigarette, peering at me out of dark eyes, as enigmatic as a lizard's.

'I have a Head,' he said, jerking his thumb towards his pile of belongings, 'a living Head. It talks and answers questions. It is without doubt the most remarkable thing in the world.'

I was puzzled. Did he mean, I asked, a head without a body?

'Of course without a body. Just a head,' and he cupped his hands in front of him, as though holding a coconut.

'It sits on a little stick and talks to you. Nothing like it has ever been seen in the world.'

But how, I inquired, if the head were a disembodied head, could it live?

'Magic,' said the man solemnly. 'Magic that my great-great-grandfather pa.s.sed down to me.'

I felt sure that he was pulling my leg, but intriguing though the discussion on talking heads was, I felt we were wandering away from my main objective, which was to acquire the immediate freehold of Pavlo, now sucking in through his muzzle, with wheezy sighs of satisfaction, my very last bit of chocolate. I studied the man carefully as he squatted, dreamy-eyed, his head enveloped in a cloud of smoke. I decided that with him the bold approach was the best. I asked him bluntly whether he would consider selling the bear and for how much.

'Sell Pavlo?' he said. 'Never! He's like my own son.'

Surely, I said, if he went to a good home? Somewhere where he was loved and allowed to dance, surely then he might be tempted to sell? The man looked at me, meditatively puffing on his cigarette.

'Twenty million drachmas?' he inquired, and then laughed at my look of consternation. 'Men who have fields must have donkeys to work them,' he said. 'They don't part with them easily. Pavlo is my donkey. He dances for his living and he dances for mine, and until he is too old to dance, I will not part with him.'

I was bitterly disappointed, but I could see that he was adamant. I rose from my rec.u.mbent position on the broad, warm, faintly snoring back of Pavlo and dusted myself down. Well, I said, there was nothing more I could do. I understood his wanting to keep the bear, but if he changed his mind, would he get in touch with me? He nodded gravely. And if he was performing in town, could he possibly let me know where, so that I could attend?

'Of course,' he said, 'but I think people will tell you where I am, for my Head is extraordinary.'