‘Imagine that man calling me as a witness to help him,’ she said. ‘Well, don’t you worry, kyrié Leslie, I’ll tell the court how he forced you to swear at him and call him…’
The family rose in a body and vociferously informed Lugaretzia that she was not to do anything of the sort. It took us half an hour to impress upon her what she should and should not say. At the end of it, since Lugaretzia, like most Corfiotes, was not very strong on logic, we felt somewhat jaded.
‘Well, with her as witness for the prosecution,’ said Larry, ‘I should think you’ll probably get the death sentence.’
‘Larry dear, don’t say things like that,’ said Mother. ‘It’s not funny even in a joke.’
‘I’m not joking,’ said Larry.
‘Rubbish,’ said Leslie uneasily. ‘I’m sure she’ll be all right.’
‘I think it would be much safer to disguise Margo as Lugaretzia,’ said Larry judicially. ‘With her sweeping command over the Greek language she would probably do you considerably less harm.’
‘Yes,’ said Margo excitedly, struck for the first time by Larry’s perspicacity, ‘why can’t I be a witness?’
‘Don’t be damned silly,’ said Leslie. ‘You weren’t there. How can you be a witness?’
‘I was almost there,’ said Margo. ‘I was in the kitchen.’
‘That’s all you need,’ said Larry to Leslie. ‘Margo and Lugaretzia in the witness-box and you won’t even need a judge. You’ll probably be lynched by the mob.’
When the day of the case dawned, Mother rallied the family.
‘It’s ridiculous for us all to go,’ said Larry. ‘If Leslie wants to get himself into prison, that’s his affair. I don’t see why we should be dragged into it. Besides, I wanted to do some writing this morning.’
‘It’s our duty to go,’ said Mother firmly. ‘We must put on a bold front. After all, I don’t want people to think that I’m rearing a family of gaol-birds.’
So we all put on our best clothes and sat waiting patiently until Spiro came to collect us.
‘Now, don’ts yous worrys, Master Leslies,’ he scowled, with the air of a warder in the condemned cell. ‘Everything’s going to be OK’s.’
But in spite of this prophecy, Larry insisted on reciting ‘The Ballad of Reading Gaol’ as we drove into town, much to Leslie’s annoyance.
The court-room was a bustle of uncoordinated activity. People sipped little cups of coffee, other people shuffled through piles of papers in an aimless but dedicated way, and there was lots of chatter and laughter. Crippenopoulos was there in his best suit, but avoided our eye. Lugaretzia, for some reason best known to herself, was clad entirely in black. It was, as Larry pointed out, a premature move. Surely she should have reserved her mourning for after the trial.
‘Now, Master Leslies,’ said Spiro, ‘you stands there, and I stands there and translates for you.’
‘What for?’ inquired Leslie, bewildered.
‘Because you don’ts speaks Greeks,’ said Spiro.
‘Really, Spiro,’ protested Larry, ‘I admit his Greek is not Homeric, but it is surely perfectly adequate?’
‘Masters Larrys,’ said Spiro, scowling earnestly, ‘Master Leslies mustn’ts speaks Greeks.’
Before we could inquire more deeply into this, there was a general scuffling and the judge came in. He took his seat and his eyes roved round the court and then, catching sight of Leslie, he beamed and bowed.
‘Hanging judges always smile like that,’ said Larry.
‘Larry dear, do stop it,’ said Mother. ‘You’re making me nervous.’
There was a long pause while what was presumably the Clerk of the Court read out the indictment. Then Crippenopoulos was called to give his evidence. He put on a lovely performance, at once servile and indignant, placating but belligerent. The judge was obviously impressed and I began to get quite excited. Perhaps I would have a convict for a brother after all. Then it was Leslie’s turn.
‘You are accused,’ said the judge, ‘of having used defamatory and insulting language to this man and endeavouring to deprive him of rightful payment for the loss of five turkeys, killed by your dog.’
Leslie stared blank-faced at the judge.
‘What’s he say?’ he inquired of Spiro.
Spiro hitched his stomach up.
‘He says, Masters Leslies,’ and his voice was so pitched that it rumbled through the court-room like thunder, ‘he says that you insults this mans and that you tries to swindle him out of moneys for his turkeys.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ said Leslie firmly.
He was about to go on when Spiro held up a hand like a ham and stopped him. He turned to the judge.
‘The kyrios denies the charge,’ he said. ‘It would be impossible for him to be guilty anyway, because he doesn’t speak Greek.’
‘Christ!’ groaned Larry sepulchrally. ‘I hope Spiro knows what he’s doing.’
‘What’s he saying? What’s he doing?’ said Mother nervously.
‘As far as I can see, putting a noose round Leslie’s neck,’ said Larry.
The judge, who had had so many coffees with Leslie, who had received so many stamps from him, and who had had so many conversations in Greek with him, stared at Leslie impassively. Even if the judge had not known Leslie personally, it would have been impossible for him not to know that Leslie had some command over the Greek language. Nothing anyone did in Corfu was sacrosanct, and if you were a foreigner, of course, the interest in and the knowledge of your private affairs was that much greater. We waited with bated breath for the judge’s reactions. Spiro had his massive head slightly lowered like a bull about to charge.
‘I see,’ said the judge dryly.
He shuffled some papers aimlessly for a moment and then glanced up.
‘I understand,’ he said, ‘that the prosecution has a witness. I suppose we had better hear her.’
It was Lugaretzia’s big moment. She rose to her feet, folded her arms, and stared majestically at the judge, her normally pale face pink with excitement, her soulful eyes glowing.
‘You are Lugaretzia Condos and you are employed by these people as a cook?’ inquired the judge.
‘Yes,’ said Lugaretzia, ‘and a kinder, more generous family you could not wish to meet. Why, only the other day they gave me a frock for myself and for my daughter and it was only a month or two ago that I asked the kyrios…’
‘Yes,’ interrupted the judge, ‘I see. Well, this has not got much relevance to the case. I understand that you were there when this man called to see about his turkeys. Now tell me in your own words what happened.’
Larry groaned.
‘If she tells him in her own words, they’ll get Leslie for sure,’ he said.
‘Well,’ said Lugaretzia, glancing round the court to make sure she had everybody’s attention. ‘The kyrios had been very ill, very ill indeed. At times we despaired for his life. I kept suggesting cupping to his mother, but she wouldn’t hear of it…’
‘Would you mind getting to the point?’ said the judge.
‘Well,’ said Lugaretzia, reluctantly abandoning the subject of illness, which was always a favourite topic with her, ‘it was the kyrios’ first day up and he was very weak. Then this man,’ she said, pointing a scornful finger at Crippenopoulos, ‘arrived dead drunk and said that their dog had killed five of his turkeys. Now the dog wouldn’t do that, kyrié judge. A sweeter, kinder, nobler dog was never seen in Corfu.’
‘The dog is not on trial,’ said the judge.
‘Well,’ said Lugaretzia, ‘when the kyrios said, quite rightly, that he would have to see the corpses before he paid the man, the man said he couldn’t show them because the dog had eaten them. This is ridiculous, as you can well imagine, kyrié judge, as no dog could eat five turkeys.’
‘You are supposed to be a witness for the prosecution, aren’t you?’ said the judge. ‘I ask only because your story doesn’t tally with the complainant’s.’
‘Him,’ said Lucretia, ‘you don’t want to trust him. He’s a drunkard and a liar and it is well known in the village that he has got two wives.’
‘So you are telling me,’ said the judge, endeavouring to sort out this confusion, ‘that the kyrios didn’t swear at him in Greek and refuse payment for the turkeys.’
‘Of course he didn’t,’ said Lucretia. ‘A kinder, finer, more upstanding kyrios…’
‘Yes, yes, all right,’ said the judge.
He sat pondering for some time while we all waited in suspense, then he glanced up and looked at Crippenopoulos.
‘I can see no evidence,’ he said, ‘that the Englishman behaved in the way you have suggested. Firstly he does not speak Greek.’
‘He does speak Greek,’ shouted Crippenopoulos wrathfully. ‘He called me a…’
‘Will you be quiet,’ said the judge coldly. ‘Firstly, as I was saying, he does not speak Greek. Secondly, your own witness denies all knowledge of the incident. It seems to me clear, however, that you endeavoured to extract payment for turkeys which had not, in fact, been killed and eaten by the defendant’s dog. However, you are not on trial here for that, so I will merely find the defendant not guilty, and you will have to pay the costs.’
Immediately pandemonium reigned. Crippenopoulos was on his feet, purple with rage, shouting at the top of his voice and calling on St Spiridion’s aid. Spiro, bellowing like a bull, embraced Leslie, kissed him on both cheeks, and was followed by the weeping Lugaretzia who did likewise. It was some time before we managed to extricate ourselves from the court, and jubilantly we went down to the Esplanade and sat at a table under the trees to celebrate.
Presently the judge came past and we rose in a body to thank him and invite him to sit and have a drink with us. He refused the drink shyly and then fixed Leslie with a penetrating eye.
‘I wouldn’t like you to think,’ he said, ‘that justice in Corfu is always dispensed like that, but I had a long conversation with Spiro about the case and after some deliberation I decided that your crime was not as bad as the man’s. I hoped it might teach him not to swindle foreigners in future.’
‘Well, I really am most grateful to you,’ said Leslie.
The judge gave a little bow. He glanced at his watch.
‘Well, I must be going,’ he said. ‘By the way, thank you so much for those stamps you sent me yesterday. Among them were two quite rare ones which were new to my collection.’
Raising his hat he trotted off across the Esplanade.
Interlude for Spirits
What seest thou else in the dark backward and abysm of time?
– SHAKESPEARE, The Tempest
Interlude for Spirits
Not very long after Leslie’s court case, Margo was beset by another affliction to keep company with her acne. She suddenly started to put on weight and before long, to her horror, she was almost circular. Androuchelli, our doctor, was called in to view this mystery. He uttered a long series of distressed ‘Po, po, po’s’ as he viewed Margo’s obesity. He tried her on several pills and potions and a number of diets, to no effect.
‘He says,’ Margo confided to us tearfully at lunch one day, ‘that he thinks it’s glandular.’
‘Glandular?’ said Mother, alarmed. ‘What does he mean, glandular?’
‘I don’t know,’ wailed Margo.
‘Must we always discuss your ailments at mealtimes?’ inquired Larry.
‘Larry dear, Androuchelli says it’s glandular,’ said Mother.
‘Rubbish,’ said Larry airily. ‘It’s puppy fat.’
‘Puppy fat!’ squeaked Margo. ‘Do you know how much I weigh?’
‘What you want is more exercise,’ said Leslie. ‘Why don’t you take up sailing?’
‘Don’t think the boat’s big enough,’ said Larry.
‘Beast,’ said Margo, bursting into tears. ‘You wouldn’t say things like that if you knew how I felt.’
‘Larry dear,’ said Mother placatingly, ‘that wasn’t a very kind thing to say.’
‘Well, I can’t help it if she’s wandering around looking like a water-melon covered with spots,’ said Larry irritably. ‘One would think it was my fault the way you all go on.’
‘Something will have to be done,’ said Mother. ‘I shall see Androuchelli tomorrow.’
But Androuchelli repeated that he thought her condition might be glandular and that in his opinion Margo ought to go to London for treatment. So, after a flurry of telegrams and letters, Margo was dispatched to London and into the tender care of two of the only worth-while relatives with whom we were still on speaking terms, my mother’s cousin Prudence and her mother, Great-Aunt Fan.
Apart from a brief letter saying she had arrived safely and that she, Cousin Prue, and Aunt Fan had taken up residence at a hotel near Notting Hill Gate and that she had been put in touch with a good doctor, we heard nothing further from Margo for a considerable length of time.
‘I do wish she would write,’ Mother said.
‘Don’t fuss, Mother,’ said Larry. ‘What’s she got to write about, anyway, except to give you her new dimensions?’
‘Well, I like to know what’s going on,’ said Mother. ‘After all, she’s in London.’
‘What’s London got to do with it?’ asked Larry.
‘In a big city like that anything can happen,’ said Mother darkly. ‘You hear all sorts of things about girls in big cities.’
‘Really, Mother, you do worry unnecessarily,’ said Larry in exasperation. ‘What do you think’s happened to her, for Heaven’s sake? Do you think she’s being lured into some den of vice? They’d never get her through the door.’
‘It’s no joking matter, Larry,’ said Mother severely.
‘But you get yourself into a panic about nothing,’ said Larry. ‘I ask you, what self-respecting white slaver is going to look at Margo twice? I shouldn’t think there’s one strong enough to carry her off, anyway.’
‘Well, I’m worried,’ said Mother, ‘and I’m going to send a cable.’
So she sent a cable to Cousin Prudence, who replied at length saying that Margo was associating with people she didn’t approve of, that she thought it would be a good thing if Mother came to talk some sense into her. Immediately pandemonium reigned. Mother, distraught, dispatched Spiro to buy tickets and started packing frantically, until she suddenly remembered me. Feeling it would do more harm than good to leave me in the tender care of my two elder brothers, she decided that I should accompany her. So Spiro was dispatched to get more tickets and yet more packing was done. I regarded the whole situation as heaven-sent, for I had just acquired a new tutor, Mr Richard Kralefsky, who was endeavouring – with grim determination in the face of my opposition – to instruct me in irregular French verbs, and this trip to England, I thought, would give me a much-needed respite from this torture.
The journey by train was uneventful, except that Mother was in constant fear of being arrested by the Fascist carabinieri. This fear increased a thousand fold when, at Milan, I drew a caricature of Mussolini on the steamy window of the carriage. Mother scrubbed at it for quite ten minutes with her handkerchief, with all the dedication of a washerwoman in a contest, before she was satisfied that it was obliterated.
Coming from the calm, slow, sunlit days of Corfu, our arrival in London, late in the evening, was a shattering experience. So many people were at the station that we did not know, all hurrying to and fro, grey-faced and worried. The almost incomprehensible language that the porters spoke, and London aglitter with lights and churning with people. The taxi nosing its way through Piccadilly like a beetle through a firework display. The cold air that made your breath float like a web of smoke in front of your mouth as you talked, so that you felt like a character in a cartoon strip.
Eventually the taxi drew up outside the fake, soot-encrusted Corinthian columns of Balaklava Mansions. We got our luggage into the hotel with the aid of an elderly, bowlegged, Irish porter, but there was no one to greet us, so app
arently the telegram signaling our arrival had gone astray. The young lady, we were informed by the porter, had gone to her meeting, and Miss Hughes and the old lady had gone to feed the dogs.
‘What did he say, dear?’ asked Mother when he had left the room, for his accent was so thick that it sounded almost as though he were talking a foreign language. I said that Margo had gone to a meeting and that Cousin Prue and Aunt Fan were feeding the dogs.
‘What can he mean?’ said Mother, bewildered. ‘What meeting has Margo gone to? What dogs is he talking about?’
I said I did not know but, from what I had seen of London, what it needed was a few more dogs around.
‘Well,’ said Mother, inexpertly putting a shilling in the meter and lighting the gas fire, ‘I suppose we’ll just have to make ourselves comfortable and wait until they come back.’
We had waited an hour when suddenly the door burst open and Cousin Prue rushed in, arms outstretched, crying ‘Louise, Louise, Louise,’ like some strange marsh bird. She embraced us both, her sloe dark eyes glowing with love and excitement. Her beautiful face, delicately scented, was soft as a pansy as I kissed her dutifully.
‘I began to think that you were never coming,’ she said. ‘Mummy is on her way up. She finds the stairs trying, poor dear. Well, now, don’t you both look well. You must tell me everything. Do you like this hotel, Louise? It’s so cheap and convenient, but full of the most peculiar people.’
A gentle wheezing sound made itself heard through the open door.
‘Ah, there’s Mummy,’ cried Prue. ‘Mummy! Mummy! Louise’s here.’
Through the door appeared my Great-Aunt Fan. At first glance she looked, I thought rather uncharitably, like a walking tent. She was enveloped in a rusty-red tweed suit of incredible style and dimensions. It made her look like a russet-red pyramid of tweed. On her head she wore a somewhat battered velveteen hat of the style that pixies are reputedly wont to use. Her spectacles, through which her eyes stared owlishly, glittered.
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