Marrying Off Mother (16 page)

I finished the wine and then went to the cinema.

It was a film I had long wanted to see and I was greatly looking forward to it. I paid my admission and chose my seat with care. The cinema darkened and the titles of the film appeared on the screen — then I knew nothing more until, three quarters of an hour later, I was woken by a man in the seat behind me shaking my shoulder and asking me not to snore so loudly as he couldn't hear the dialogue. I leapt to my feet in astonishment. I had never fallen asleep in the cinema in my life. It must have been that damned pill, plus the wine, I thought.

Then I remembered Ludwig and went cold.

My God! He'll be bowling along on his way to meet Penny and he'll suddenly fall into a deep sleep behind the wheel of his Mercedes, I thought. I visualized the crumpled, blood-stained wreckage wrapped round a tree. Hopefully, I wondered if perhaps he hadn't started yet. I fled from the cinema like one possessed, and burst into the garage, doubtless looking as distraught and wild-eyed as Ludwig did in an emergency.

‘Mr Dietrich — has he gone?' I asked the attendant.

‘Yes, sir, he left nearly an hour ago,' he said.

I must confess, I had a very uncomfortable three days before I received a postcard from Calais which eased my mind. It said: ‘Have met Penny and am starting tomorrow for a happy holiday.' It was signed: ‘Your filthy Hun, Ludwig'.

Somewhere there is, I believe, a saying about having the last laugh, but I am sure that Ludwig had never heard of it.

T
he river steamer
Dolores
broke down — as river steamers are wont to do — midway between her point of departure and her destination at Meriada, a small township of some two thousand souls on the banks of the Parana River. There seemed no justification for this misdemeanour for here the river was wide, deep, placid and with a good current that was hastening us on our way. I was annoyed for I had in the hold, among other things, two jaguars, twenty monkeys and an assortment of some thirty birds and reptiles. I had calculated my food supply for a five-day journey and if we were delayed too long my supplies would run out. My two jaguars, though tame as kittens, lived to eat and their agonized screams of rage and frustration if their demand for three square meals a day was not met were a blood-curdling cacophony that had to be heard to be believed.

I went to see the captain. He was a squat, dark-skinned little man with a heavy black moustache and eyebrows, a mass of curly hair, very white teeth, and he smelt overpoweringly of Parma violets.

‘Capitano,' I said. ‘I am sorry to worry you, but have you any idea how long we will remain here? I am worried about food for my animals.'

He gave one of those wide, enormously expressive Latin shrugs and raised his eyes heavenwards.

‘Señor, I cannot tell you,' he said. The part of the Hico de Puta engine which is broken they
say
that it may be mended at a forge in town, but I doubt it. If it cannot be mended we must send back for the part from our last port of call.'

‘Has someone phoned back for one?' I enquired.

‘No,' said the captain, shrugging. ‘The telephones are out of order. They cannot mend them until tomorrow, they say.'

‘Well, I'm going into town to get some more food for my bichos. Don't leave without me, will you?'

He laughed.

‘No fear of that, señor,' he said. ‘Look, I'll send a couple of the Indios with you to carry. They have nothing to do at the moment.'

So I and my two Indians padded off along the road to the centre of town where I knew, inevitably, the market lay. These were real Paraguayan Indians, small of stature, copper skinned, with straight soot-black hair and eyes like blackberries. Presently, loaded down with avocados, bananas, oranges, pineapples, four legs of goat meat and fourteen live chickens, we made our way back to the
Dolores.
I stored my comestibles, ignored the jaguars' efforts to get me to play with them, and went back on deck. Here I was surprised to find a gentleman occupying one of the few dilapidated deck-chairs provided for the delight of passengers. Most of them were so frayed you feared to sit in them, most so rotten they collapsed if you touched them. This gentleman had, however, found one of the rare ones that supported weight. He now rose, swept off his enormous straw hat and held out his hand.

‘My dear sir,' he said in perfect English, ‘may I welcome you to Meriada, though, of course, this delay must be irritating for you. My name is Menton, James Menton, and you, I believe, are Mr Dun-ell?' I admitted this fact while I stared at him.

His hair, brown flecked with grey, stretched down his back almost to his buttocks and was neatly plaited and the ends kept under control by a small leather lariat with a blue stone in it. His beard, moustache and eyebrows were immense and untouched by scissors as far as I could judge, though scrupulously clean. He had huge green eyes which flicked from side to side and his body twitched in an odd disjointed way, giving him somewhat the aspect of a slender, agitated animal hiding in a bush.

‘Now my dear fellow,' he continued, ‘the reason I came a-running when I heard you were on board was to invite you to stay with me. I know what these river steamers are like, stink to high heaven, oily, nasty, uncomfortable and serving you food that looks as though it has been refused at the local pigsty. You must admit it, eh?'

I had to admit it. The
Dolores
was all and more than he described.

‘Now,' he continued, pointing, ‘just through the trees there is my house. Wonderful veranda, fans — the lovely old sort that look like windmills in Holland — screened in, so no bugs, one ancient German maid who cooks like a dream and, my dear fellow, the most comfortable hammocks from Guinea, imported them myself. Give you the most wonderful sleep in the world, I do assure you.'

‘You make it sound irresistible,' I said, smiling.

‘But, I must confess to you,' he said, holding up a hand that trembled and twitched, ‘my wish to have you stay with me is certainly a selfish one. You see, one gets so little company here — I mean real company. People don't come here to stay. It gets lonely.'

I looked at the ramshackle dock, the oily water full of beer cans and more sordid detritus, the starved dogs foraging along the shoreline. I had already seen the dilapidated township and its tatterdemalion inhabitants.

‘No, I can see it is hardly a tourist spot,' I said, ‘so I will be glad to take you up on your offer, Mr Menton.'

‘Oh, James, please,' he exclaimed.

‘But I will have to be back here at five to feed my animals.'

‘Your animals?' he queried.

‘Yes, I collect animals for zoos in Europe. I have a whole host of them in the hold.'

‘How extraordinary. What a curious occupation,' he exclaimed delightedly. In view of what he was to vouchsafe to me later, on looking back I found this odd.

‘I'll go and get my things together,' I said. ‘Won't be a moment.'

‘I wonder,' he said, urgently, ‘I am really ashamed to ask it, but you haven't got any
whisky
about you? You see, I've stupidly run out and so has the local store and we won't get any more until the supply ship comes in next week. I know it's an awful imposition . . .' his voice trailed away.

‘Not at all,' I said. ‘As a matter of fact I have discovered here, in Paraguay of all places, a rather good Scotch that goes under the unlikely name of “Dandy Dinmont”. It's really very smooth and drinkable. I was taking six crates back to Argentina for friends because that stuff they dish out in Buenos Aires called “Old Smuggler” is only fit to remove the rust from ancient cars. I'll get a crate of Dandy and you can try it.'

‘Too kind, really kind. I'll get a couple of Indians to help you carry your things,' he said, and he twitched even more behind his hairy bush as he sped away disjointedly.

I got together the few things I thought necessary for my sojourn with James Menton and pulled out from under my bunk one crate of the six Dandy Dinmonts and handed it over to the two smiling Indians who waited outside my minuscule and grubby cabin. As soon as they appeared on deck, James flung himself into a flurry of twitches. It was obvious that his main concern was for the whisky and he occasionally referred to the senor's crate as though it were a chalice full of holy water that must not under any circumstances be spilt. To the sure-footed, lithe, competent Indian who carried the divine nectar on his shoulder, he gave constant instructions as we wended our way along the river bank to his house.

‘Now watch that root. Now here's a slippery bit coming. Watch that branch — now mind that log . . .' he went on twitching and instructing until we climbed up the wooden steps to his spacious veranda and the crate of whisky was safely installed on the table.

His house was a faded two-storey clapboard one, with huge windows and shutters and the wide veranda running right round the lower floor of the building. To allow for the vagaries of the Parana River's moods, the whole house was perched upon massive wooden piles some ten feet above the ground. The garden — if you could describe this wilderness in such grandiose terms — was full of orange, avocado, mango and loquat trees, through which you could see stretches of the river sliding and glinting along.

‘Now,' said James, his voice shaking as much as his hands, ‘a little libation — that's to say with your permission. A small toast to welcome you here.'

He undid the crate and pulled out a bottle and his hands shook so much that I thought he would drop it. Casually, I took it from his frantically clutching hands.

‘It's curious,' I said, ‘that they even have a picture of a Dandy Dinmont on the label. I wonder why they chose such an obscure breed of dog?'

I placed the bottle safely on the table and he gazed at it as if hypnotized. Suddenly he jerked as if awakening.

‘Anna,' he shouted, ‘Anna, bring glasses.'

There was a muttered response from the back of the house and presently Anna appeared bearing a tray with two large tumblers on it. She was a squat woman, with grey hair done in a bun speared by a forest of hairpins. She could have been forty or ninety and her grim face and cold eyes suggested she might have enjoyed herself for a period in control of one of the less pleasant concentration camps. She eyed the whisky bottle and the crate from which it had emerged.

‘Remember what Herr Doktor is saying,' she said, somewhat ominously.

‘Now, now, Anna,' said James tersely, ‘Mr Durrell does not want to hear all our parochial tittle-tattle.'

She grunted and went off into the house. James got the screw cap off the bottle and, with a fine feat of juggling during which I thought at one point he was going to smash both glasses with the neck of the bottle, he poured a modest tot for me and nearly a full glass for himself. I noticed, with that faint shock you get when you see people using the ‘wrong' hand for writing or pouring drinks, that he was left-handed.

‘Never take soda,' he explained, apologetically, ‘spoils the taste. Well, here's how and welcome.'

I had barely got my glass to my lips when his was empty, its contents disappearing in three huge swallows. He twitched his way to a long chair and fell into it shuddering. One could see the whisky unravelling his nerves as one would unravel an old piece of knitting.

‘Always say first sundowner is best of day,' he said through chattering teeth, attempting to smile.

‘So do I,' I agreed, forbearing to point out that it was just five and the sun had not yet set. ‘I think I'll just go and feed my animals and tuck them in for the night, then I'm all free.'

‘Good, good,' he said, vaguely, but he was not looking at me. His gaze was fastened on the bottle.

My creatures, each in its own way, abused me, reviled me, slandered me and condemned me out of hand for being five minutes late with their food. But gradually their ferocious criticism of my callousness died away to give place to the contented champing of jaws, the slushing of fruit and the cracking of nuts.

As I walked back to the house along the river bank admiring the scissortails acting up to their names, their long tail feathers criss-crossing as they dipped and wheeled after insects, on the opposite bank of the river I could see a huge storm boiling into being. Immense cumulus clouds were shouldering their way towards us, black, purple and grey-blue as a Persian cat, with yellow and white claws of lightning flashing through them. Dimly one could hear the snarl of the storm thunder as it stalked us down.

‘I say, Mr Durrell, just a minute,' a voice shouted.

Hurrying towards me was a short, dumpy little man with a grizzled moustache, a plump face and gimlet-like brown eyes. He was totally bald. He was wearing a crumpled, rather grubby linen suit and he carried a black bag. From one pocket trailed part of a stethoscope, like a piece of intestine. It took no deductive genius to place him as a doctor.

‘Dr Larkin,' he said, as he shook my hand. ‘I'm doctor for the Tannin Company officially, but I do a little moonlighting for some of the poor bloody Indians. Treat them like dirt, you know, these bloody Paraguayans with their airs and graces, just because they got a drop or two of Spanish blood in their lazy veins. Indians salt of the earth. Sorry to delay you, just wanted to ask how James is. Haven't seen him for a day or two, been too busy. Is he keeping pretty fit, eh?'

‘Well,' I said judiciously, ‘if you call drinking a tumblerful of Scotch in thirty seconds flat keeping fit . . .'

‘Dammit to hell,' he exploded, ‘who gave him the bloody stuff? I've told everyone here not to give him a drop, not a drop. I was just getting him nicely dried out, too.'

‘I'm afraid I'm the culprit,' I said, contritely. ‘I had no idea he was an alcoholic and when he asked me to stay he mentioned he'd run out of Scotch, and I had some I was taking down to Buenos Aires so I gave him a crate.'