The Corfu Trilogy (92 page)

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ said Kralefsky. ‘Tonight we will show you tricks that will baffle you, tricks so mysterious that you will be agog to know how they are done.’

He paused to frown at Theodore, who had dropped a chain on the floor by mistake.

‘For my first trick I will ask my assistant not only to bind me securely with rope but chain as well.’

We clapped dutifully and watched, delighted, while Theodore wound yards and yards of rope and chain around Kralefsky. Occasional whispered altercations drifted to the audience.

‘I’ve… er… you know… um… forgotten precisely the knot… Um… yes… you mean the padlock
first
? Ah yes, I have it… hm… er… just a second.’

At length, Theodore turned apologetically to the audience.

‘I must apologize for… er… you know… er… taking so long,’ he said, ‘but, unfortunately, we didn’t have time to… er… practise, that is to say…’

‘Get on with it!’ hissed Krafty Kralefsky.

At length, Theodore had wound so many lengths of rope and chain around Kralefsky that he looked as though he had stepped straight out of Tutankhamen’s tomb.

‘And now,’ said Theodore, with a gesture at the immobile Kralefksy, ‘would anyone like to… er… you know… examine the knots?’

Colonel Ribbindane lumbered forward.

‘Er… um…’ said Theodore, startled, not having expected his offer to be taken up. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to… um… that is to say… if you don’t actually
pull
on the knots… er… um…’

Colonel Ribbindane made an inspection of the knots that was so minute one would have thought he were chief warder in a prison. At length, and with obvious reluctance, he pronounced the knots good. Theodore looked relieved as he stepped forward and gestured at Kralefsky again.

‘And now, my assistant, that is to say, my
partner
, will show you how… easyitisto… er… you know… um… rid yourself of… er… um… several yards… feet, I should say… though, of course, being in Greece, perhaps one should say metres… er… um… several metres of… er… rope and chains.’

He stepped back and we all focused our attention on Kralefsky.

‘Screen!’ he hissed at Theodore.

‘Ah! Hm… yes,’ said Theodore, and laboriously moved a screen in front of Kralefsky.

There was a long and ominous pause, during which we could hear panting and the clanking of chains from behind the screen.

‘Oh dear,’ said Margo, ‘I do hope he can do it.’

‘Shouldn’t think so,’ said Leslie, ‘all those padlocks look rusty.’

But at that moment, to our astonishment, Theodore whipped away the screen and revealed Kralefsky, slightly purple of face and dishevelled, standing free in a pool of ropes and chains.

The applause was genuine and surprised, and Kralefsky basked in the adulation of his audience.

‘My next trick, a difficult and dangerous one, will take some time,’ he said portentously. ‘I shall be roped and chained by my assistant and the knots can be examined by – ha ha – the sceptics among you, and then I shall be cast into an airtight box. In due course you will see me emerge miraculously, but it takes some time for me to achieve this… er… miracle. The next act will kindly entertain you.’

Spiro and Megalotopolopopoulos appeared dragging a large and extremely heavy olive-wood chest of the sort that used to be used for storing linen. It was ideal for the purpose, for when Kralefsky had been roped and chained and the knots examined minutely by a suspicious Colonel Ribbindane, he was lifted into it by Theodore and Spiro and slid into the interior as neatly as a snail into its shell. Theodore, with a flourish, slammed the lid shut and locked it.

‘Now, when my assis… er… my… er… um… partner, this is to say… signals, I will release him,’ he said. ‘On with the show!’

‘I don’t like it,’ said Mother. ‘I hope Mr Kralefsky knows what he’s doing.’

‘I shouldn’t think so,’ said Leslie gloomily.

‘It’s too much like… well… premature burial.’

‘Perhaps when we open it he’ll have changed into Edgar Allan Poe,’ suggested Larry hopefully.

‘It’s perfectly all right, Mrs Durrell,’ said Theodore. ‘I can communicate with him by a series of knocks… um… a sort of Morse code.’

‘And now,’ said Margo, ‘while we are waiting for Krafty
Kralefsky to escape, we have that incredible snake charmer from the East, Prince Jeejeebuoy.’

Megalotopolopopoulos played a series of thrilling chords and Jeejee trotted into the room. He had removed his finery and was clad simply in a turban and loincloth. As he could not find a suitable snake-charming pipe, he was carrying a violin which he had got Spiro to borrow from a man in the village; in his other hand he held his basket containing his act. He had rejected with scorn my slow-worms when he had seen them as being far too small to aid in the cultivation of the image of Mother India. He had insisted instead on borrowing one of my water snakes, an elderly specimen some two and a half feet long and of an extremely misanthropic disposition. As he bowed to the audience the top fell off the basket and the snake, looking very disgruntled, fell out on to the floor. Everyone panicked except Jeejee, who squatted down cross-legged near the coiled snake, tucked the violin under his chin and started to play. Gradually, the panic subsided and we all watched entranced as Jeejee swayed to and fro, extracting the most agonizing noises from the fiddle, watched by the alert and irritated snake. Just at that moment came a loud knock from the box in which Kralefsky was incarcerated.

‘Aha!’ said Theodore. ‘The signal.’

He went to the box and bent over, his beard bristling as he tapped on it like a woodpecker. Everyone’s attention was on him, including Jeejee’s, and at that moment the water snake struck. Fortunately, Jeejee moved so that the water snake only got a firm hold on his loincloth; however, it hung on grimly and pugnaciously.

‘Ow! My God!’ screamed the incredible snake charmer from the East. ‘Hey, Gerry, quick, quick, it’s biting me in the crutch.’

It was some minutes before I could persuade him to stand still so that I could disentangle the snake from his loincloth. During this time, Theodore was having a prolonged Morse code conversation with Kralefsky in the box.

‘I do not think I can do any more,’ said Jeejee, shakily accepting a large brandy from Mother. ‘It tried to bite me below the belt!’

‘He will apparently be a minute or two yet,’ announced Theodore. ‘He’s had a little trouble… er… difficulty, that is, with the padlocks. At least, that’s what I understand him to say.’

‘I’ll put the next act on,’ said Margo.

‘Think,’ said Jeejee faintly, ‘it might well have been a cobra.’

‘No, no,’ said Theodore. ‘Cobras are not found here in Corfu.’

‘And now,’ said Margo, ‘we have Captain Creech, who will give us some old-time songs and I’m sure you’ll want to join in with him. Captain Creech.’

The captain, his top hat tilted at a rakish angle, strutted across to the piano and did a little bow-legged to and fro shuffle, twirling the cane he had procured.

‘Old sea shanty,’ he bellowed, putting his top hat on the end of his cane and twirling it round dextrously. ‘Old sea shanty. You all join in the chorus.’

He did a short dance, still twirling his hat, and came in on the beat of the song which Megalotopolopopoulos was thumping out,

‘O Paddy was an Irishman,

He came from Donegal,

And all the girls they loved him well,

Though he only had one ball,

For the Irish girls are girls of sense,

And they didn’t mind at all,

For, as Paddy pointed out to them,

’Twas better than none at all.

O folderol and folderay,

A sailor’s life is grim,

So you’re only too delighted,

If you get a bit excited,

Whether it’s with her or him.’

‘Really, Larry!’ said Mother, outraged, ‘is this your idea of entertainment?’

‘Why pick on me?’ asked Larry, astounded. ‘It’s nothing to do with me.’

‘You invited him, disgusting old man. He’s your friend.’

‘I can’t be responsible for what he
sings
, can I?’ asked Larry irritably.

‘You must put a stop to it,’ declared Mother. ‘Horrible old man.’

‘He certainly twirls his hat round very well,’ said Theodore enviously. ‘I wonder how… he… er… does it?’

‘I’m not interested in his hat – it’s his songs.’

‘It’s a perfectly good music hall ditty,’ said Larry. ‘I don’t know what you’re going on about.’

‘It’s not the sort of music hall ditty
I’m
used to,’ said Mother.

‘O, Blodwyn was a Welsh girl,

She came from Cardiff city,

And all the boys they loved her well,

Though she only had one titty,’

carolled the captain, getting into his stride.

‘Repulsive old fool!’ spat out Mother.

‘For the Welsh boys there,

Are boys of sense,

And didn’t they all agree,

One titty is better than two sometimes,

For it leaves you one hand free.

O folderol and folderay,

A sailor’s life is grim…’

‘Even if you don’t consider me, you might consider Gerry,’ said Mother.

‘What d’you want me to do? Write the verses down for him?’ asked Larry.

‘D’you… you know… hear a sort of
tapping
?’ asked Theodore.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Larry, you know perfectly well what I mean.’

‘I wondered if he might be ready… um… the trouble is, I can’t quite remember the signal,’ Theodore confessed.

‘I don’t know why you always have to pick on me,’ said Larry. ‘Just because
you’re
narrow-minded.’

‘I’m as broad-minded as anybody,’ protested Mother indignantly. ‘In fact, sometimes I think I’m too broad.’

‘I
think
it was two slow and three quick,’ mused Theodore, ‘but I may be mistaken.’

‘O, Gertrude was an English lass,

She came from Stoke-on-Trent,

But when she loved a nice young lad,

She always left him bent.’

‘Listen to that!’ said Mother. ‘It’s beyond a joke. Larry, you must stop him.’

‘
You’re
objecting,
you
stop him,’ said Larry.

‘But the boys of Stoke

They loved a poke,

And suffered in the bed,

For they said that Gert

Was a real prime skirt,

But she had a left-hand thread.’

‘Really, Larry, you carry things too far. It’s not funny.’

‘Well, he’s been through Ireland, Wales and England,’ Larry pointed out. ‘He’s only got Scotland to go, unless he branches out into Europe.’

‘You must stop him doing that!’ said Mother, aghast at the thought.

‘I think, you know, perhaps I ought just to open the box and have a look,’ said Theodore thoughtfully. ‘You know, just as a
precaution
.’

‘I wish you’d stop carrying on like a female Bowdler,’ said Larry. ‘It’s all good clean fun.’

‘Well, it’s not
my
idea of good clean fun,’ exclaimed Mother, ‘and I want it stopped.’

‘O, Angus was a Scottish lad,

He came from Aberdeen…’

‘There you are, he’s got to Scotland now,’ said Larry.

‘Er… I’ll try not to disturb the captain,’ said Theodore, ‘but I thought perhaps just to take a quick glance…’

‘I don’t care whether he’s got to John o’Groats,’ said Mother. ‘It’s got to stop.’

Theodore had tiptoed over to the box and was now feeling in his pockets worriedly; Leslie joined him and they discussed the problem of the entombed Kralefsky. I saw Leslie trying ineffectually to raise the lid when it became obvious that Theodore had lost the key. The captain sang on unabated.

‘O, Fritz, he was a German lad,

He came from old Berlin…’

‘There!’ said Mother. ‘He’s started on the Continent! Larry, you must stop him!’

‘I wish you’d stop carrying on like the Lord Chamberlain,’ said Larry, annoyed. ‘It’s Margo’s cabaret, tell
her
to stop him.’

‘It’s a mercy that most of the guests don’t speak good enough English to understand,’ said Mother. ‘Though what the others must think…’

‘Folderol and folderay,

A sailor’s life is grim…’

‘I’d make life grim for him if I could,’ said Mother. ‘Depraved old fool!’

Leslie and Theodore had now been joined by Spiro, carrying a large crowbar; together they set about the task of trying to open the lid.

‘O, Françoise was a French girl,

She came from the town of Brest,

And, oh, she lived up to its name,

And gave the boys no rest.’

‘I do try to be broad-minded,’ said Mother, ‘but there
are
limits.’

‘Tell me, my dears,’ asked Lena, who had been listening to the captain with care. ‘What is left-hand thread?’

‘It’s a… it’s a… it’s a sort of English joke,’ said Mother desperately. ‘Like a pun, you know?’

‘Yes,’ explained Larry. ‘Like you say a girl’s got a pun in the oven.’

‘Larry, that’s quite enough,’ said Mother quellingly. ‘The captain’s bad enough without
you
starting.’

‘Mother,’ said Margo, having just noticed. ‘I think Kralefsky’s suffocating.’

‘I do not understand this pun in oven,’ said Lena. ‘Explain me.’

‘Take no notice, Lena, it’s only Larry’s joke.’

‘If he’s suffocating, ought I to go and stop the captain’s song?’ asked Margo.

‘An excellent idea! Go and stop him at once,’ said Mother.

There were loud groaning noises as Leslie and Spiro struggled with the heavy lid of the chest. Margo rushed up to the captain.

‘Captain, Captain, please stop,’ she said. ‘Mr Kralefsky’s… Well, we’re rather worried about him.’

‘Stop?’ said the captain startled. ‘Stop? But I’ve only just begun.’

‘Yes, well, there are more urgent things than your songs,’ said Mother frigidly. ‘Mr Kralefsky’s stuck in his box.’

‘But it’s one of the best songs I know,’ said the captain aggrievedly. ‘It’s the longest, too – one hundred and forty countries it deals with – Chile, Australia, the Far East, the lot. A hundred and forty verses!’

I saw Mother flinch at the thought of the captain singing the other hundred and thirty-four verses.

‘Yes, well, some other time perhaps,’ she promised untruthfully. ‘But this is an emergency.’