Authors: Gerald Durrell
‘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.
‘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
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 bloody… 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 Titbits 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 Titbit 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 damned 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 titbit.’
‘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.
‘I wish everybody would hurry up and finish eating,’ said Margo, ‘then we could get on with the acts.’
‘To hurry such a meal vould be an insult,’ said Jeejee. ‘There is time, the whole night stretches before us. Besides, Gerry and I have to go and organize my supporting cast of reptiles.’
It took quite some time before the cabaret was ready, for everyone was full of wine and good food and refused to be hurried. Eventually, however, Margo got the cast assembled. She had tried to get Larry to be master of ceremonies but he had refused; he said that if she wanted him to be part of the cabaret
he was not going to be master of ceremonies as well. In desperation, she had had to step into the breach herself. Blushing slightly, she took up her place on the tiger skin by the piano and called for silence.
‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said. ‘Tonight, for your entertainment, we have a cabaret of the best talent on the island and I’m sure that you will all enjoy the talents of these talented talents.’
She paused, blushing, while Kralefsky gallantly led the applause.
‘I would like to introduce Constantino Megalotopolopopoulos,’ she continued, ‘who is going to act as accompanist.’
A tiny, fat little Greek, looking like a swarthy ladybird, trotted into the room, bowed, and sat down at the piano. This had been one of Spiro’s achievements, for Mr Megalotopolopopoulos, a draper’s assistant, could not only play the piano but read music as well.
‘And now,’ said Margo, ‘it is with great pleasure that I present to you that very talented artiste Lena Mavrokondas accompanied by Constantino Megalotopolopopoulos on the piano. Lena will sing that great area from
Rosy Cavalier
, “The Presentation of the Rose”.’
Lena, glowing like a tiger-lily, swept to the piano, bowed to Constantino, placed her hands carefully over her midriff as though warding off a blow, and began to sing.
‘Beautiful, beautiful,’ said Kralefsky as she finished and bowed to our applause. ‘What virtuosity.’
‘Yes,’ said Larry, ‘it used to be known as the three-vee method at Covent Garden.’
‘Three-vee?’ asked Kralefsky, much interested. ‘What’s that?’
‘Vim, vibrato, and volume,’ said Larry.
‘Tell them I will sing encore,’ whispered Lena to Margo after a whispered consultation with Constantino Megalotopolopopoulos.
‘Oh yes. How nice,’ said Margo flustered and unprepared for
this largesse. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, Lena will now sing another song, called “The Encore”.’
Lena gave Margo a withering look and swept into her next song with such vigour and so many gestures that even Creech was impressed.
‘By George, she’s a good-looking wench, that!’ he exclaimed, his eyes watering with enthusiasm.
‘Yes, a true artiste,’ agreed Kralefsky.
‘What chest expansion,’ said Creech admiringly. ‘Bows like a battleship.’
Lena finished on a zither-like note and bowed to the applause which was loud but nicely judged in warmth and length to discourage another encore.
‘Thank you Lena, that was wonderful. Just like the real thing,’ said Margo, beaming. ‘And now, ladies and gentlemen, I present the famous escape artists, Krafty Kralefsky and his partner, Slithery Stephanides.’
‘Dear God,’ said Larry, ‘who thought of those names?’
‘Need you ask?’ said Leslie; ‘Theodore. Kralefsky wanted to call the act “The Mysterious Escapologist Illusionists” but Margo couldn’t guarantee to say it properly.’
‘One must be thankful for small mercies,’ said Larry.
Theodore and Kralefsky clanked on to the floor near the piano carrying their load of ropes, chains and padlocks.