Marrying Off Mother (7 page)

I went to my cabin for a siesta and was presently apprised of our ladies' return by the pattering of feet and the banging of cabin doors and shrill cries of ‘Lucinda, did you have that basket I bought — the red and green one? Oh, thank the Lord, I thought I'd left it in the taxi,' and ‘Mabel, I do think you bought too much fruit — those bananas are going to go as rotten as a politician in no time.'

Later, over cocktails, I was shown, in great secrecy, the five sweaters that had been purchased for the Captain. The reason for this plethora of garments was that the ladies fell out over colours once again since (which I should have foreseen) they could not get oatmeal. I was asked to judge which was best and so found myself in a situation that Solomon would not have envied. I picked my way out of this potential minefield by telling the ladies that the Captain had vouchsafed to me that this was his last voyage. Long trembling cries of lamentation filled the saloon as if I was surrounded by a flock of kookaburras deprived of their young. How could this be? He was such an up square bloke. He was so courteous and cultured. He was the sort of foreigner you would entertain in your own home. He was a real gent, one of those real gents what is a real gent if you know what I mean. You would have thought we were discussing the removal of Nelson from the fleet before Trafalgar. I gave everyone more drinks and asked for peace, a hush. I am not quite sure, but I think I said, ‘Every cloud has a silver lining.'

Everyone calmed down at the familiar sound of this old platitude and waited expectantly. I said that the Captain and his wife were going to their wonderful house in the north where, in the spring, the flowers were a tapestry of colour and the birds sang like a heavenly choir. But in winter storms lashed the region, lightning fluttered and flashed in the sky like white veins, thunder crashed louder than a million potatoes being dumped on a wooden floor and the waves curled and crashed on the shore like steel blue lions with white frothy manes attacking the land. The ladies were riveted by my excessive imagery. What man, I asked rhetorically, in those circumstances, could do without five pullovers in five different colours? No man could live. Five pullovers for that region were essential for survival. The ladies were entranced. They had, by their united wisdom, saved their hero from hypothermia and so they all had another drink to celebrate.

Two days later the Captain, meticulous as always, had little printed cards placed in each cabin informing us that there would be a special Crossing of the Line dinner party that night. This threw the ladies into a turmoil of excitement. Clothes were taken out, discussed, discarded, reinstated, washed, ironed, discarded once more when some more suitable trophy was suddenly found lurking in the bottom of the suitcase. Make-up flew between cabins like a rainbow. The smell of eleven different scents competing with each other was as fearsome as a forest fire. The squeaks of delight or dismay, the moans of ultimate despair and the cries of joy that echoed from cabin to cabin were as complex and heartwarming as listening to a choir of birds in a forest at dawn. Eventually, every hair carefully washed and rigidly in place, every eyebrow carefully demarcated, each eyelid under a cloak of blue or green, each mouth lipsticked in crimson glory, each bust and each buttock regimented into place, the ladies were ready.

Assembling in the bar, they were greeted by a panoply of ice buckets with champagne lurking in each one. The twittering of delight at this opulence was wonderful.

Then the hero of the hour made his appearance, immaculate in his best uniform, white as any summer cloud, carrying a large cardboard box. When his admiring fans had finished twittering, the Captain opened the box and from it extracted a gardenia for each lady and a red carnation for me. I was thankful I had taken the trouble to unearth my ancient dinner jacket and get the steward to press it into some semblance of decency. The ladies, of course, were overwhelmed. Nobody, not even a straight bloke like what you sometimes come across in Australia, had ever given them gardenias. They kept smelling each other's gardenias and going into rapture over the scent. Then the champagne was poured and there was much girlish giggling and the usual complaints about bubbles up the nose. There was champagne galore, and so we were all very convivial when we went into the dining saloon for the banquet.

They had really done us proud. The white damask cloth had been decorated with fresh flowers and from somewhere they had unearthed enough cut glasses for the wine. The first course was a delicious pate. This was followed by some superb smoked salmon rolled up with a filling of cream, horseradish and dill. Then came chicken, done in a delicate wine sauce, with a delicious variety of vegetables to accompany it and those wonderful potato puffs called, appropriately enough, Perflutters. This was followed by cheese and then an enormous Bombe Surprise was brought in to excited cries of wonderment and delight. When this had been demolished and coffee was served, the Captain stood up and made a speech.

‘Ladies, Mr Durrell,' he said, giving one of his old-fashioned, bird-like bows to us all. ‘This is a special occasion. I know that Mr Durrell who travels a great deal has crossed the line many times. But I know it is the first time you ladies have, and so your crossing from one side of the world to the other is an important moment. So we must celebrate it.'

He walked over to the big sideboard that lined one side of the dining saloon and carefully picked up the scrolls he had laboured over. He carried them to the table and piled them by his plate.

‘So,' he continued, ‘I have prepared here, for each one of you, a document which states that you have crossed the line, and that you have crossed it on my ship. I hope you will like them.'

There was an excited murmur from his mesmerized audience.

‘So ladies,' he said, raising his wine glass, ‘may I drink to you all, your health and happiness and thank you for making my last voyage such a pleasure.'

Smiling, he raised his glass. Then the glass flew from his hand, scattering gouts of wine on the table-cloth, and he dropped dead.

To say we were stunned would be an understatement. I had been watching his charming face as he made his little speech and his eyes had just suddenly glazed over. There was no wince as of great pain. The only indication there was anything wrong with him was the spilt wine and the fact that he fell over sideways, stiff as a log of wood, and crashed on to the floor at the feet of his Chief Officer and the purser, who were standing to one side, ready to give out the scrolls. Both of them, dumbfounded, stood there like statues. I turned to Mrs Malrepose, sitting on my right, by far the most down to earth and practical of the ladies.

‘Get everyone to the bar. We'll attend to the Captain,' I said.

She gave me an anguished look, but nodded. I got round the table with all speed. The Chief Officer and the purser were still standing there with their dead Captain at their feet as though they were on parade.

‘Loosen his collar,' I said. The Chief Officer gave a start, as if waking suddenly. The Captain was wearing an old-fashioned starched collar with a gold stud, so it was some seconds before it became free. There was no throb from the vein in his neck, nor was there any flutter under the fragile basketwork of his ribs. I stood up.

‘He's dead,' I said, somewhat unnecessarily.

The Chief Officer looked at me.

‘What do we do?' he asked, a man regimented to take orders and not control.

‘Look,' I said, exasperated, ‘if a captain on a British merchant ship drops dead, I believe that the chief officer becomes captain. So you're now captain.'

He stared at me, his eyes expressionless.

‘But what do we do?' he asked.

‘For God's sake,' I said angrily,
‘you're
captain, so you tell
us
what to do.'

‘What would you suggest?' he asked.

I looked at him.

‘Firstly,' I said, ‘I would get your poor ex-captain up off the floor and carried to his cabin. Next, I would strip him and wash him and lay him out decently. Then I suppose you have to get in touch with Head Office and tell them what's happened. Meanwhile, I will deal with the ladies.'

‘Yes, sir,' he said, happy now that someone was giving orders.

‘Oh, and if we have to bury him at sea, try and do it at night, otherwise we will have the ladies in a hellish state of melancholy.'

‘Yes, sir,' he said. ‘I will arrange that.'

I went into the saloon, where I was met by tears and anxious enquiries after their hero's health.

‘Ladies, I have bad news, I'm afraid,' I said. ‘Our beloved Captain is no longer with us. However . . .'

But my words were drowned by a burst of lamentation that was overwhelming. They clasped each other, tears rocketing down their cheeks, their sobs heartrending. They were as deeply shocked and affected as if it had been one of their own intimate circle who had died. I had heard of people wringing their hands, but never seen it. This is what they all did. They gave vent to their grief in the complete way that Greeks do, an uninhibited display of their love for the Captain. I signalled the barman, who looked as stunned as we all felt.

‘Brandies for everyone,' I whispered to him, ‘and big ones.'

When each lady was tremblingly clasping a goblet half full of brandy, half full of tears, I made a speech.

‘Ladies,' I said, ‘I would like you all to listen to me for a moment.' I felt like Ronald Reagan trying to play Shakespeare.

Obediently as children, they turned their tear-besmudged faces to me, green and blue eye-shadow awry, eyelashes glued together by tears — and the careful make-up eroded.

‘Our beloved Captain has been taken from us,' I said. ‘He was a dear, kind man and we shall miss him terribly. Now I want you to raise your glasses and drink to a wonderful man, but as you do so I want you to remember three things. Firstly, he would be the last one to want us to be unhappy, for as you all know he did his best to
make
us happy.'

There was a loud sob from Mrs Meadowsweet, which was immediately shushed by the other ladies, I was glad to see.

‘Secondly,' I said, ‘I was watching him carefully and I can assure you he died without pain. Isn't that what we would all like for our nearest and dearest and, indeed, for ourselves when the time comes?'

There was a murmuration of agreement.

The third thing is this,' I continued. ‘When you were all ashore, I had lunch with the Captain and while we talked he confessed to me that having you ladies on board had made his last voyage wonderfully memorable to him. In fact, he confirmed that, if asked, he would have a difficult time in saying which of you ladies he loved the best.'

There was a faint rustle of satisfaction and pride.

‘So let us drink to our friend the Captain, whom we will never forget.'

‘Never!' said the ladies stalwartly.

We all drank and I signalled the barman for another round. Presently, the ladies, very unsober, but not nearly as hysterical, drifted off to their cabins. I was just about to do the same when the Chief Officer materialized at my elbow. He was the last person I wanted to see. While dealing with the ladies, I also had my own private grief for the Captain to contend with.

‘I have done as you suggested, sir,' he said.

‘Good,' I said curtly, ‘although why you are reporting to me I cannot think.
You're
the bloody captain now.'

‘Yes, sir,' he said, ‘and his widow wants his body to be buried at his home town.'

‘Well?' I said. Take him there.'

‘Yes, sir,' he said and paused, his eyes as expressionless as ever. Then he said, ‘I am sorry this happened. I liked the Captain.'

‘Me too,' I said tiredly. ‘He was a nice, kind, gentle man and they are as rare as unicorns.'

‘As what, sir?' he asked.

‘Never mind, I'm going to bed. Good night.'

By the morning, the ladies had recovered to a certain extent. There was the odd snuffle, the odd tear, but the Captain was referred to in the past tense as his many virtues were extolled. As we progressed over the miles and miles of blue and empty water — empty that is except for the groups of dolphin, exuberant as children let out of school, who appeared now and then and did a ballet round the ship — the heat became intense. Mrs Meadowsweet and Mrs Farthingale got nasty cases of sunburn, through falling asleep on the deck. Mrs Malrepose suffered from heatstroke and had to be put to bed in a darkened cabin with cold compresses, but apart from that nothing of moment happened. Having been brought up in the sun I revelled in it and I worked hard at building up a tan that would be everybody's envy. But eventually the blistering heat became too much for me and I retired to my cabin. It was there, in the cool dimness, that the former Chief Officer came to see me.

‘I am sorry to worry you, sir,' he said, ‘but I have a problem with the Captain.'

I was both startled and confused as I had become used to thinking of him as the captain.

‘You mean you have a problem with our ex-captain?' I asked.

‘Yes, sir,' he said, and he shifted rather uneasily from foot to foot and then blurted out, ‘he is starting to be offensive.'

I could not think what he was talking about.

‘How do you mean, offensive?' I asked in puzzlement. ‘He's dead.'

He looked around the small cabin furtively, making sure we had no eavesdroppers.

‘He is starting to — to — to — well, he is starting
smelling,'
he said in a hushed voice, as one uttering a blasphemy.

I was horrified.

‘D'you mean to say that in
this
heat you've still got his corpse in his
cabin?'
I asked incredulously.

‘Yes, sir, that is where you told us to put him,' he said aggrievedly.

‘But in this heat, man, it's ridiculous. Why didn't you put him in a fridge?'