'We only had three,' said Mother defensively. 'A bedroom, dining-room and a drawing-room. And they were built with fitted carpets anyway.'

'Well, I don't call that camping,' said Leslie.

'It was,' said Mother. 'It was right out in the jungle. We could hear tigers and all the servants were terrified. Once they killed a cobra under the dining table.'

'And that was before Gerry was born,' said Margo.

'You should write your memoirs, Mrs Durrell,' said Jeejee gravely.

'Oh no,' laughed Mother, 'I couldn't possibly write. Besides, what would I call it?'

'How about "It Took Fourteen Elephants"?' suggested Leslie.

'Or, "Through the Forest on a Fitted Carpet",' suggested Jeejee.

'The trouble with you boys is you never take anything seriously,' said Mother severely.

'Yes,' said Margo, 'I think it was jolly brave of Mother to camp with only three marquees and cobras and things.' think it was jolly brave of Mother to camp with only three marquees and cobras and things.'

'Camping!' snorted Leslie derisively.

'Well, it was was camping dear. I remember once one of the elephants went astray and we had no clean sheets for three days. Your father was most annoyed.' camping dear. I remember once one of the elephants went astray and we had no clean sheets for three days. Your father was most annoyed.'

'I never knew anything as big as an elephant could could go astray,' said Jeejee, surprised. go astray,' said Jeejee, surprised.

'Oh, yes,' said Leslie, 'easily mislaid, elephants.'

'Well, anyway, you wouldn't like it if you you were without clean sheets,' said Mother with dignity. were without clean sheets,' said Mother with dignity.

'Of course they wouldn't,' put in Margo, 'and I think it's fun hearing about ancient India, even if they don't.'

'But I do find it most educational,' Jeejee protested.

'You're always making fun of Mother,' said Margo. 'I don't see why you should be so superior just because your father invented the Black Hole or whatever it was.'

It says much for Jeejee that he almost fell under the table laughing, and all the dogs started barking vociferously at his mirth.

But probably the most endearing thing about Jeejee was his intense enthusiasm for anything he happened to take up, even when it was demonstrated beyond a shadow of a doubt that he could not achieve success in that sphere of activity. When Larry had first met him he had decided to be one of India's greatest poets and with the aid of a compatriot who spoke little English ('he vas my compositor,' Jeejee explained) he started a magazine called Poetry for the People Poetry for the People, or Potry for the Peeple Potry for the Peeple or or Potery for the Peopeople Potery for the Peopeople, depending on whether Jeejee was supervising his compositor or not. This little magazine was published once a month, with contributions from everyone that Jeejee knew, and some of them made strange reading, as we discovered, for Jeejee's luggage was full of blurred copies of his magazine which he would hand out to anyone who displayed interest.

Perusing them we discovered such interesting items as 'The Potry of Stiffen Splendour a creetical evaluation'. Jeejee's compositor friend apparently believed in printing words as they sounded, or, rather, as they sounded to him at that moment. Thus there was a long and eulogistic article by Jeejee on 'Tees Ellyot, Pot Supreme'. The compositor's novel spelling combined with the misprints naturally to be found in such a work, made reading it a pleasurable though puzzling occupation. 'Whye Notte a Black Pot Lorat?', for example, posed an almost unanswerable question, written apparently in Chaucerian English; while the article ent.i.tled 'Roy Cambill, Ball Fighter and Pot', made one wonder what poetry was coming to. However, Jeejee was undaunted by the difficulties, including the fact that his compositor never p.r.o.nounced the letter 'h' and so never used it. His latest enthusiasm was to start a second magazine (printed on the same hand-press with the same carefree compositor), devoted to his newly evolved study of what he called 'Fakyo', which was described in the first copy of Fakyo for All Fakyo for All as 'an amalgum of the misterious East, bringing together the best of Yoga and Fakirism, giving details and tiching people ow'. as 'an amalgum of the misterious East, bringing together the best of Yoga and Fakirism, giving details and tiching people ow'.

Mother was greatly intrigued by Fakyo, until Jeejee started to practise it. Clad in a loincloth and covered in ashes, he meditated for hours on the veranda or else walked in a well-simulated trance through the house, leaving a trail of ashes behind him. He fasted religiously for four days, and on the fifth day worried Mother to death by fainting and falling down the stairs.

'Really, Jeejee,' said Mother crossly, 'this has got to stop. There's not enough of of you to fast.' you to fast.'

Putting him to bed, Mother concocted huge strength-giving curries, only to have Jeejee complain that there was no Bombay duck, the dried fish which was such a pungent and attractive addition to any curry.

'But you can't get it here, Jeejee; I've tried,' Mother protested.

Jeejee waved his hands like pale bronze moths against the white of the sheet.

'Fakyo tells that in life there is a subst.i.tute for everything,' he said firmly.

When he recovered sufficiently, he paid a visit to the fish market in the town and purchased a vast quant.i.ty of fresh sardines. We came back from a pleasant morning's shopping in the town to find the kitchen and its environs untenable. Jeejee, brandishing a knife with which he was gutting the fish before laying them out in the sun to dry outside the back door, was doing battle with what appeared to be every fly, bluebottle and wasp in the Ionian Islands. He had been stung about five times and one eye was swollen and partially closed. The smell of rapidly decomposing sardines was overwhelming and the kitchen floor and table were covered in snowdrifts of silver fish skin and bits of entrails. It was only when Mother showed him the article on Bombay duck in the Encyclopaedia Britannica Encyclopaedia Britannica that he reluctantly gave up the idea of sardines as a subst.i.tute. It took Mother two days, with buckets of hot water and disinfectant, to rid the kitchen of the smell, and even then there was still the odd wasp blundering in hopefully through the windows. that he reluctantly gave up the idea of sardines as a subst.i.tute. It took Mother two days, with buckets of hot water and disinfectant, to rid the kitchen of the smell, and even then there was still the odd wasp blundering in hopefully through the windows.

'Perhaps I'd better find you a subst.i.tute in Athens or Istanbul,' said Jeejee hopefully. 'I vas thinking that lobster baked and crushed to a powder...'

'I wouldn't worry about it, Jeejee dear,' said Mother hurriedly. 'We've done without it for some time now and it hasn't hurt us.'

Jeejee was en route en route for Persia via Turkey in order to visit an Indian fakir practising there. for Persia via Turkey in order to visit an Indian fakir practising there.

'From him I shall learn many things to add to Fakyo,' said Jeejee. 'He is a great man. In particular, he is a great exponent of holding his breath and going into a trance. He vas vunce buried for a hundred and twenty days.'

'Extraordinary,' said Mother, deeply interested.

'You mean buried alive?' asked Margo. 'Buried alive for a hundred and twenty days? How horrible! It doesn't seem natural somehow.'

'But he's in a trance, dear Margo; he feels nothing,' explained Jeejee.

'I'm not so sure,' said Mother musingly. 'That's why I want to be cremated, you know. Just in case I happen to slip into a trance and no one notices.'

'Don't be ridiculous, Mother,' said Leslie.

'It's not ridiculous,' replied Mother firmly. 'People are so careless nowadays.'

'And what else does a fakir do?' asked Margo. 'Can he make mango trees grow from seeds? You know, straight away? I saw them do that in Simla once.'

'That is simple conjuring,' said Jeejee. 'Vhat Andrawathi does is much more complex. He is an expert in levitation, for example, and it is vun of the things I vant to see him about.'

'But I thought levitation was card tricks,' said Margo.

'No,' said Leslie, 'it's floating about, sort of flying, isn't it, Jeejee?'

'Yes,' said Jeejee. 'A vonderful ability. A lot of the early Christian saints could do it. I myself have not yet reached that stage of proficiency; that is vhy I vant to study under Andrawathi.'

'How lovely to be able to float like a bird,' said Margo delightedly. 'What fun you could have.'

'I believe it to be a truly tremendous experience,' said Jeejee, his eyes shining. 'You feel as if you are being lifted tovards heaven.'

The following day, just before lunch, Margo came rushing into the drawing-room in a state of panic.

'Come quickly! Come quickly!' she screamed. 'Jeejee's committing suicide!'

We hurried outside and there, perched on the window-sill of his room, was Jeejee, clad in nothing but a loincloth.

'He's got one of those trances again,' said Margo, as if it were an infectious disease.

Mother straightened her gla.s.ses and stared upwards. Jeejee started to sway gently.

'Go upstairs and grab him, Les,' said Mother. 'Quickly. I'll keep him talking.'

The fact that Jeejee was raptly silent did not occur to her. Leslie rushed into the house. Mother cleared her throat.

'Jeejee, dear,' she fluted, 'I don't think it's very wise wise of you to be up there. Why don't you come down and have lunch?' of you to be up there. Why don't you come down and have lunch?'

Jeejee did come down, but not quite as Mother intended. He stepped gaily out into s.p.a.ce and, accompanied by horrified cries from Mother and Margo, fell earthwards. He crashed into the grapevine some ten feet beneath his window, sending a shower of grapes on to the flagstones. Fortunately, the vine was an old and sinewy one and it held Jeejee's slight weight.

'My G.o.d!' he shouted. 'Vere am I?'

'In the grapevine,' screamed Margo excitedly. 'You agitated yourself there.'

'Don't move till we get a ladder,' said Mother faintly.

We got a ladder and extricated the tousled Jeejee from the depths of the vine. He was bruised and scratched but otherwise unhurt. Everyone's nerves were soothed with brandy and we sat down to a late lunch. By the time evening came, Jeejee had convinced himself that he had in fact succeeded in levitating himself.

'If my toes had not become entangled in the pernicious vine, I vould have gone sailing around the house,' he said, lying bandaged but happy on the sofa. 'Vhat an achievement!' an achievement!'

'Yes, well, I'll be happier if you don't practise while you are staying here,' said Mother. 'My nerves won't stand it.'

'I vill come back from Persia and spend my birthday with you, my dear Mrs Durrell,' said Jeejee, 'and I vill then report progress.'

'Well, I don't want a repet.i.tion of today,' said Mother severely. 'You might have killed yourself.'

Two days later Jeejeebuoy, still covered with sticking plaster but undaunted, left for Persia.

'I wonder if he will come back for his birthday,' said Margo. 'If he does, let's have a special party for him.'

'Yes, that's a good idea,' said Mother. 'He's such a sweet boy, but so... erratic, so... unsafe unsafe.'

'Well, he's the only guest we've had who could really be described as having paid a flying visit,' said Leslie.

6.

The Royal Occasion Kings and Bears oft worry their keepers.

SCOTTISH PROVERB.

In those halcyon days we spent in Corfu it could be said that every day was a special day, specially coloured, specially arranged, so that it differed completely from the other three hundred and sixty-four and was memorable because of this. But there is one day in particular which stands out in my mind, for it involved not only the family and their circle of acquaintances but the entire population of Corfu.

It was the day that King George returned to Greece and nothing like it for colour, excitement and intrigue had ever been experienced in the island. Even the difficulties of organizing St Spiridion's procession paled into insignificance beside this event.

I first heard about the honour that was to fall on Corfu from my tutor, Mr Kralefsky. He was so overwhelmed with excitement that he took scant interest in the c.o.c.k linnet I had been at considerable pains to procure for him.

'Great news, dear boy, great news! Good morning, good morning,' he greeted me, his large soulful eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears of emotion, his shapely hands flapping to and fro and his head bobbing with excitement below his hump-back. 'A proud day for this island, by Jove! Yes indeed, a proud day for Greece, but an especially proud one for this, our island. Er... what? Oh, the linnet... Yes. Nice birdie... tweet, tweet. But, as I was saying, what a triumph for us here in this little realm set in a sea of blue, as Shakespeare has it, to have the King visit us.'

This, I thought, was more like it. I could raise a faint enthusiasm for a real king, if only for the fringe benefits that might accrue. Which king was it, I inquired, and would I have a holiday when he came?

'Why, the King of Greece, King George,' said Mr Kralefsky, shocked by my ignorance. 'Didn't you know?'

I pointed out that we did not have the dubious benefits of a wireless and so, for the most part, lived in a state of blissful ignorance.

'Well,' said Mr Kralefsky, gazing at me rather worriedly, as if blaming himself for my lack of knowledge, 'well, we had Metaxas, as you know, and he was a dictator. Now, mercifully, they've got rid of him, odious man, so now His Majesty can come back.'

When, I inquired, had they got rid of Metaxas? n.o.body had told me.

'Why, you remember, surely!' cried Kralefsky. 'You must must remember when we had the revolution and that cake shop was so badly damaged by the machine-gun bullets. Such unsafe things, I always think, machine-guns.' remember when we had the revolution and that cake shop was so badly damaged by the machine-gun bullets. Such unsafe things, I always think, machine-guns.'

I did remember the revolution because it had given me three days' blissful holiday from my lessons and the cake shop had been one of my favourite shops. But I had not connected this with Metaxas. Would there, I inquired hopefully, be another shop disembowelled by machine-gun fire when the King came?

'No, no,' said Kralefsky shocked. 'No, it'll be a most gay occasion. Everyone en fete, en fete, as they say. Well, it's such exciting news that I think we might be forgiven if we take the morning off to celebrate. Come upstairs and help me feed the birds.' as they say. Well, it's such exciting news that I think we might be forgiven if we take the morning off to celebrate. Come upstairs and help me feed the birds.'

So we made our way up to the huge attic in which Kralefsky kept his collection of wild birds and canaries and spent a satisfying morning feeding them, Kralefsky dancing about the room waving the watering-can, his feet scrunching on the fallen seed as if it were a shingle beach, singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of the 'Ma.r.s.eillaise' to himself.

Over lunch I imparted the news of the King's visit to the family. They each received it in their characteristic ways.

'That'll be nice,' said Mother, 'I'd better start working out menus.'

'He's not coming to stay here here, thank G.o.d,' Larry pointed out.

'I know that, dear,' said Mother, 'but... er... there'll be all sorts of parties and things I suppose.'

'I don't see why,' said Larry.

'Because they always do,' said Mother. 'When we were in India we always had parties during the durbar.'

'This is not India,' said Larry, 'so I don't intend to waste my time working out the stabling for elephants. The whole thing will have a disruptive enough effect on the even tenor of our ways as it is, mark my words.'

'If we're having parties, can I have some new clothes, Mother?' asked Margo eagerly. 'I really haven't got a thing to wear.'

'I wonder if they'll fire a salute,' mused Leslie. 'They've only got those old Venetian cannons, but I should think they'd be d.a.m.ned dangerous. I wonder if I ought to pop in and see the Commandant of the Fort.'

'You keep out of it,' Larry advised. 'They want to welcome the man, not a.s.sa.s.sinate him.'

'I saw some lovely red silk the other day,' said Margo, 'in that little shop... you know, the one where you turn right by Theodore's laboratory?'

'Yes, dear, how nice,' said Mother, not listening. 'I wonder if Spiro can get me some turkeys?'

But the effect of the Royal Visit on the family paled into insignificance in comparison with the traumatic effect it had on Corfu as a whole. It was pointed out, by somebody who should have known better, that not only was the island going to be graced by a visit from the monarch but the whole episode would be particularly symbolic as when the King arrived in Corfu he would be setting foot on Greek soil for the first time since his exile. At this thought the Corfiotes lashed themselves into a fever of activity and before long so complicated and so acrimonious had the preparations become that we were forced to go into town each day to sit on the Platia with the rest of Corfu to learn the news of the latest scandal.

The Platia, laid out with its great arches to resemble the Rue de Rivoli by French architects in the early days of the French occupation of Corfu, was the hub of the island. Here you would sit at little tables under the arches or beneath the shimmering trees and, sooner or later, you would see everyone on the island and hear every facet of every scandal. One sat there drinking quietly and, sooner or later, all the protagonists in the drama were washed up at one's table.