The Corfu Trilogy Part 49

'Now, look all of you... stop it,' cried Mother, alarmed. 'It's not a durbar we're having, just a birthday party.'

'Nonsense, Mother, it'll do us good to let off a little steam,' said Larry indulgently.

'Yes, in for a penny, in for a pound,' said Leslie.

'And you might as well be hung for anox as ana.s.s,' contributed Margo.

'Or your neighbour's wife, if it comes to that,' added Larry.

'Now it's a question of who to invite,' said Leslie.

'Theodore, of course,' said the family in unison.

'Then there's poor old Creech,' said Larry.

'Oh no, Larry,' Mother protested. 'You know what a disgusting old brute he is.'

'Nonsense, Mother, the old boy loves a party.'

'And then there's Colonel Ribbindane,' said Leslie.

'No!' Larry exclaimed vehemently. 'We're not having that quintessence of boredom, even if he is the best shot on the island.'

'He's not a bore,' said Leslie belligerently. 'He's no more boring than your b.l.o.o.d.y friends.'

'None of my friends is capable of spending an entire evening telling you in words of one syllable and a few Neanderthal grunts how he shot a hippo on the Nile in 1904.'

'It's jolly interesting,' retorted Leslie hotly. 'A d.a.m.ned sight more interesting than listening to all your friends going on about b.l.o.o.d.y art.'

'Now, now, dears,' said Mother peaceably, 'there'll be plenty of room for everyone.'

I left them to the normal uproar that went on while the guest list for any party was being compiled; as far as I was concerned, so long as Theodore was coming the party was a.s.sured ofsuccess. I could leave the choice of other guests to my family.

The preparations for the party gathered momentum. Larry succeeded in borrowing Countess Lefraki's enormous grand piano and a tiger-skin rug to place alongside it. The piano was conveyed to us with the utmost tenderness, for it had been the favourite instrument of the late Count, on the back of a long, flat cart drawn by four horses. Larry, who had been to supervise the removal, removed the tarpaulins that had been covering the instrument against the sun, mounted the cart and ran off a quick rendering of 'Walking My Baby Back Home', to make sure that it had not suffered from its journey. It seemed in good shape, if a trifle jangly, and after a prodigious effort we managed to get it into the drawing-room. Planted, black and gleaming as an agate, in the corner, the magnificent tiger skin lying in front of it, the mounted head snarling in defiance, it gave the whole room a rich, oriental air.

This was added to by Margo's decorations tapestries that she had painted on huge sheets of paper and hung on the walls, pictures of minarets, peac.o.c.ks, cupola-palaces, and bejewelled elephants. Everywhere there were vases of ostrich feathers dyed all the colours of the rainbow, and bunches of multi-coloured balloons like crops of strange tropical fruit. The kitchen, of course, was like the interior of Vesuvius; in the flickering ruby light of half a dozen charcoal fires, Mother and her minions scurried to and fro. The sound of beating and chopping and stirring was so loud that it precluded speech, while the aromatic smells that drifted upstairs were so rich and heavy it was like being wrapped in an embroidered cloak of scent.

Over all this, Spiro presided, like a scowling, brown genie; he seemed to be everywhere, bull-voiced, barrel-bodied, carrying enormous boxes of food and fruit to the kitchen in his ham-like hands, sweating and roaring and cursing as three dining-tables were insinuated into the dining-room and joined together, appearing with everlasting flowers for Margo, strange spices and other delicacies for Mother. It was during moments like this that you realized Spiro's true worth, for you could ask the impossible of him and he would achieve it. 'I'll fixes that,' he would say, and fix it he would, whether it was out-of-season fruit or procuring such a thing as a piano tuner, a species of human being that had been extinct in the island since 1890 so far as anyone knew. It was extremely unlikely, in fact, that any of our parties would have got beyond the planning stage if it had not been for Spiro.

At last everything was ready. The sliding doors between the dining-room and drawing-room had been pulled back and the vast room thus formed was a riot of flowers, balloons and paintings, the long tables with their frost-white cloths sparkling with silver, the side tables groaning under the weight of the cold dishes. A suckling pig, brown and polished as a mummy, with an orange in his mouth, lay beside a haunch of wild boar, sticky with wine and honey marinade, thick with pearls of garlic and the round seeds of coriander; a bank of biscuit-brown chickens and young turkeys was interspersed with wild duck stuffed with wild rice, almonds and sultanas, and woodc.o.c.k skewered on lengths of bamboo; mounds of saffron rice, yellow as a summer moon, were treasure-troves that made one feel like an archaeologist, so thickly were they encrusted with fragile pink strips of octopus, toasted almonds and walnuts, tiny green grapes, carunculated hunks of ginger and pine seeds. The kefalia kefalia I had brought from the lake were now browned and charcoal blistered, gleaming in a coating of oil and lemon juice, spattered with jade-green flecks of fennel; they lay in ranks on the huge plates, looking like a flotilla of strange boats tied up in harbour. I had brought from the lake were now browned and charcoal blistered, gleaming in a coating of oil and lemon juice, spattered with jade-green flecks of fennel; they lay in ranks on the huge plates, looking like a flotilla of strange boats tied up in harbour.

Interspersed with all this were the plates of small things crystallized orange and lemon rind, sweet corn, flat thin oat cakes gleaming with diamonds of sea salt, chutney and pickles in a dozen colours and smells and tastes to tantalize and soothe the taste buds. Here was the peak of the culinary art here a hundred strange roots and seeds had given up their sweet essence; vegetables and fruits had sacrificed their rinds and flesh to wash the fowl and the fish in layers of delicately scented gravies and marinades. The stomach twitched at this bank of edible colour and smell; you felt you would be eating a magnificent garden, a multi-coloured tapestry, and that the cells of your lungs would be so filled with layer upon layer of fragrance that you would be drugged and immobile like a beetle in the heart of a rose. The dogs and I tiptoed several times into the room to look at this succulent display; we would stand until the saliva filled our mouths and then reluctantly go away. We could hardly wait for the party.

Jeejee, whose boat had been delayed, arrived on the morning of his birthday, dressed in a ravishing peac.o.c.k-blue outfit, his turban immaculate. He was leaning heavily on a stick but otherwise showed no signs of his accident, and was as ebullient as ever. To our embarra.s.sment, when showed the preparation we had made for his birthday, he burst into tears.

'To think that I, the son of a humble sweeper, an untouchable, should be treated like this,' he sobbed.

'Oh, it's nothing really,' said Mother, rather alarmed by his reaction. 'We often have little parties.'

As our living-room looked like a cross between a Roman banquet and the Chelsea Flower Show, this gave the impression that we always entertained on the scale that would have been envied by the Tudor court.

'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 G.o.d!' 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 must sing one of those tonight,' said Margo delighted. 'You sing one of those tonight,' said Margo delighted. 'You must 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 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 G.o.d! 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." ' 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 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 pa.s.s 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 gla.s.ses; 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 gla.s.ses, 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 gla.s.s 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 cla.s.s.

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

'When you shoot a hippopotamus or river horse,' droned Colonel Ribbindane, oblivious to interruption, 'as I have had the good fortune to do, you aim between the eyes and the ears, thus ensuring that the bullet penetrates the brain.'

'Yes, yes,' Kralefsky agreed, hypnotized by the Colonel's protuberant blue eyes.

'Bang!' said the Colonel, so suddenly and loudly that Kralefsky nearly dropped his plate. 'You hit him between the eyes... Splash! Crunch!... straight into the brain, d'you see?'

'Yes, yes,' said Kralefsky, swallowing and going white.

'Splosh!' said the Colonel, driving the point home. 'Blow his brains out in a fountain.'

Kralefsky closed his eyes in horror and put down his half-eaten plate of suckling pig.

'He sinks then,' the colonel went on, 'sinks right down to the bottom of the river... glug, glug, glug. Then you wait twenty-four hours d'you know why?'

'No... I... uh...' said Kralefsky, swallowing frantically.

'Flatulence,' explained the colonel with satisfaction. 'All the semi-digested food in its belly, d'you see? It rots and produces gas. Up puffs the old belly like a balloon and up she pops.'

'H-How interesting,' said Kralefsky faintly. 'I think, if you will just excuse me...'

'Funny things, stomach contents...' mused the colonel, ignoring Kralefsky's attempts at escape. 'Belly is swollen up to twice its natural size; when you cut it open, whoosh! like slicing up a zeppelin full of sewage, d'you see?'

Kralefsky put his handkerchief over his mouth and gazed round in an anguished manner.

'Different with the elephant, the largest largest land quadruped in Africa,' the colonel droned on, filling his mouth with crisp suckling pig. 'D'you know the pygmies cut it open, crawl into the belly and eat the liver all raw and b.l.o.o.d.y... still quivering sometimes. Funny little chaps, pygmies... negroes, of course...' land quadruped in Africa,' the colonel droned on, filling his mouth with crisp suckling pig. 'D'you know the pygmies cut it open, crawl into the belly and eat the liver all raw and b.l.o.o.d.y... still quivering sometimes. Funny little chaps, pygmies... negroes, of course...'

Kralefsky, now a delicate shade of yellow-green, escaped to the veranda, where he stood in the moonlight taking deep breaths.

The suckling pig had vanished, the bones gleamed white in the joints of lamb and boar, and the rib cages and breast bones of the chickens and turkeys and ducks lay like the wreckage of upturned boats. Jeejee, having sampled a little of everything, at Mother's insistence, and having declared it infinitely superior to anything he had ever eaten before, was vying with Theodore to see how many Taj Mahal t.i.tbits they could consume.

'Delicious,' muttered Jeejee indistinctly, his mouth full. 'Simply delicious, my dear Mrs Durrell. You are the apotheosis of culinary genius.'

'Yes indeed,' said Theodore, popping another Taj Mahal t.i.tbit into his mouth and scrunching it up. 'They're really excellent. They make something similar in Macedonia... er... um... but with goat's milk.'

'Jeejee, did you really break your leg levitating, or whatever it's called?' asked Margo.

'No,' said Jeejee sorrowfully. 'I vouldn't mind if I had, it vould have been in a good cause. No, the d.a.m.ned stupid hotel vere I stayed had French vindows in the bedrooms but they couldn't afford a balcony.'

'Sounds like a Corfu hotel,' said Leslie.

'So one evening I was overcome with forgetfulness and I stepped out onto the balcony to do some deep breathing; and of course there vas no balcony.'

'You might have been killed,' said Mother. 'Have another t.i.tbit.'

'Vat is death?' asked Jeejee oratorically. 'A mere sloughing of the skin, a metamorphosis. I vent into a deep trance in Persia and my friend got incontrovertible proof that in a previous life I vas Ghengis Khan.'

'You mean the film star?' asked Margo, wide-eyed.

'No, dear Margo, the great varrior,' said Jeejee.

'You mean you could remember being him?' asked Leslie, interested.

'Alas, no. I vas in a trance,' said Jeejee sadly. 'One is not allowed to remember one's previous lives.'

'You... khan have your cake and eat it,' explained Theodore, delighted at having found an opportunity for a pun.