Marrying Off Mother: And Other Stories

by Gerald Durrell

  ‘I know,’ I said. ‘She once gave me a fashion show of her clothes and it lasted three hours. It ended with the gown she had worn for the dance that King Edward VII had attended, a blue and white silk gown and a blue and gold velvet cloak. It was a startlingly beautiful get-up and I thought she must have looked ravishing in it when she was young. No wonder Edward pinched her bottom.’

  ‘Gerry!’ said Melanie, but Sister Claire only chuckled.

  ‘I’m glad you saw the cloak and remember it,’ she said. ‘It was that cloak that really started the whole thing.’

  ‘How?’ I said, astonished, remembering Miss Booth-Wycherly pirouetting in front of me, making the heavy blue velvet cloak lined with gold brocade shimmer and curl in blue waves around her.

  ‘Well, naturally, we had to unpack all the clothes and examine them,’ she went on. They were all beautifully kept in tissue paper and camphor, but even so I felt we had to make sure they were all right. It was quite a job, I can tell you, unpacking and then repacking all those clothes, and at the same time, it was really rather exciting, like unpacking a rainbow. Then at the very bottom of one of the trunks we found a very large cardboard box, and inside it were the dress and cloak you described. Now, the box was a big one and filled the whole of the bottom of the trunk. Michel was doing the unpacking and took the lid off the box and lifted out the gown. Do you remember how it was embroidered around the neck and sleeves with small white beads like pearls? Michel held up the dress and said how he wished they were real pearls, so that we could sell them and the orphanage would never have to worry again. I said that I felt sure that if God wished us to have the money for the orphanage He would show us the way, and as I was saying it, Michel pulled the cloak out of the box. Remember the blue and gold cloak, so beautiful, like summer skies and buttercups? A corner of it caught on the edge of the box and lifted it up, and underneath where it must have slipped ages and ages ago was a small bag. It was a tiny thing made out of the same materials as the cloak and with a golden clasp and a short golden chain handle. My first thought was of Lina — she was a young girl at the orphanage and she loved pretty things — for I felt that this bag would be a wonderful gift for her, and then of course I realized that the other children would be jealous. You know they can’t help it sometimes, poor little things. Anyway, I picked up the bag and at once I noticed something curious about it.’

  She paused and sipped her lemonade. To say you could have heard a pin drop would have been an understatement. Jean eased the ash off the end of his cigar as if he feared the sound of it landing in the ash-tray might start an avalanche.

  The thing I noticed was that it was extraordinarily heavy for such a small bag,’ continued Sister Claire, it puzzled me, for the chain and the catch were obviously not gold, so it was not those that made it heavy. It was something inside. So I opened it and I could hardly believe my eyes. It was the third miracle. Do you know what was inside, Mr Durrell? Twenty-one sovereigns. They were fat and golden and sort of rich-looking. I don’t know how to describe it — when they moved together they didn’t chink like ordinary money, they made quite a different sound, you know, like the difference between pouring milk and cream. Do you think that’s silly?’

  ‘I know exactly what you mean,’ I said.

  ‘Well, of course, Michel went absolutely mad when he saw the money, silly boy,’ she said, smiling affectionately at him. ‘He danced round the room, shouting that God had answered our prayers and the orphanage was saved. It took me some moments to quieten him. Mind you, I was a bit dazed myself, but I did realize that it would take more than twenty-one sovereigns to solve the orphanage’s problems. Well, we sat down and discussed it. Michel insisted that he ought to take the sovereigns to the bank to find out what they were worth, so we went to the Credit Lyonnais, a great big place, do you know it? On Boulevard Saint-Martin. It looked more like a palace or a great hotel than a bank, with a marble floor and everything. I was almost afraid to go in, but Michel forced me to. He has such self-confidence. Well, when the clerk saw what we had, he gave us a very peculiar look. I was embarrassed and felt sure he thought we had come by them dishonestly. He said we had better see the manager. So, after a moment we were taken into the manager’s office. Such a sumptuous office it was, with great leather chairs and a simply huge desk like a dining table. Monsieur Fulvard — that was the manager’s name — was such a kind, helpful man. He first asked us how we had come by our treasure and so I had to tell him all about Miss Booth-Wycherly’s clothes and how we had found the sovereigns and he was most impressed and agreed that it was indeed a miracle. Then he called in a charming young man who was . . . well . . . I suppose he was a sort of gold expert. He took the coins away to measure them or weigh them or whatever it is they do with them.

  ‘When he had gone, Monsieur Fulvard explained to us that the miracle was really a double one. You see, the coins were valuable because they were made of gold, but also because they were of a certain year — 1875 — this made them much more valuable. Apparently, there are people who collect coins, I didn’t know this but it is quite true. Such a curious thing to collect, isn’t it? Monsieur said that he had a friend who was a coin collector, and a very honest man, and if we would allow him, he would telephone his friend and ask him to make us an offer. Of course, I felt that this side of things should be left to Sister Mary, but Michel pointed out that she would have to do all this anyway, so we were simply saving her trouble.

  ‘Monsieur Fulvard’s friend came round straight away. He seemed absolutely delighted with the coins and then, I must say to my amazement, he offered us what I thought was an enormous sum. He said that if they’d been just ordinary coins — that sounds silly, but you know what I mean — they would have been worth a hundred thousand francs but as they’d been minted, I think that’s the right word, in 1875 they were worth double that. As you may imagine, both Michel and I simply could not believe our ears, nor our eyes as Monsieur Fulvard counted out the notes. It seemed, at first, a gigantic fortune, something we couldn’t even imagine. I kept thinking how delighted Sister Mary would be when we showed her the money, such beautifully coloured notes, you have no idea. I know it seems silly, but they reminded me of Miss Booth-Wycherly’s clothes. They rustled like her clothes did when we unpacked them. I have never held so much money in my life.’

  She paused and took some more lemonade. My coffee sat cold and untouched in front of me, so fascinated was I by her story.

  ‘What did you put the notes in?’ I asked, for I knew that most nuns’ robes had capacious pockets, not unlike poachers’ pockets, built into them.

  ‘I put them in Miss Booth-Wycherly’s bag,’ she said. ‘Where else? That, after all, is where we found the coins. I felt she would have liked it.’

  ‘Indeed she would,’ I said, warmly, imagining Miss Booth-Wycherly’s delight if she could have witnessed the scene.

  ‘So we went back to the flat,’ said Sister Claire, ‘and I don’t mind admitting we found some coffee in the kitchen and we made ourselves a cup to revive ourselves. It was while we were having coffee that we really sat down and tried to work out what the money could do for the orphanage. Do you know, it came as an awful shock, I mean to have that great mass of notes, but to realize that it just might build an extra room. I can’t tell you how downcast we were. For both of us stupidly had visions of being able to build another twenty or thirty bedrooms, showers and everything. It was a bitter disappointment. It was then, of course, while we were so depressed, that Michel had his idea.

  ‘As we were leaving Monsieur Fulvard’s office, the bank manager had cautioned me not to spend all the money at the Casino, just as a joke, of course. Well, I’d heard of the Casino, naturally, but I didn’t really realize what it was then. Well, while we were sitting drinking our coffee, Michel reminded me of what Monsieur Fulvard had said, and he suggested that the way to make the money grow was in fact through the Casino. Of course, I was adamant that this was impossible. I said so, quite firmly. But I m
ust say somewhat to my surprise Michel was equally firm. He asked me whether or not I thought God was guiding me. Of course, I had to say yes. Then he listed all the things that had happened recently — his arrival, poor Miss Booth-Wycherly’s death, her legacy and the finding of the coins, and then finding they were worth double . . . he asked me if I believed that this was God’s design. Of course, I had to admit that I felt it was, because deep inside myself this is what I did feel. I felt somehow, though I was not sure how, that God was moving me towards the work that he was intending me to do. Michel said that he felt that, too, and this made him an instrument of God just as much as I was. He said that the only way we could make the money grow was by going to the Casino. He said that after all we were only doing what Jesus had done with the loaves and the fishes, though of course not in quite the same way. I must say he was very forceful and convincing and I felt myself, in spite of my better judgement, beginning to waver. He then said that he wouldn’t even risk Miss Booth-Wycherly’s money. He still had a small amount of his wages from his job, and he would wager these first. If God wanted us to increase the legacy this way, we would surely win. We had another cup of coffee and argued about it, I’m afraid, for I was not altogether convinced. But you should have seen Michel! He was so persuasive, so loquacious, his eyes positively shone! In the end, I had to admit that it did seem that it was God’s plan that, having got that amount of money, we should increase it.

  ‘Michel said that I should stay in the flat while he went to the Casino and then if he was successful he would come back to me for the money. But there were two things against this. First, I did not want him going to the Casino alone. I knew that in some ways he is more worldly than I am, but I still felt that he was very young to do this on his own. The second point was his clothing. He was wearing only some very old and patched jeans and a threadbare shirt. I felt sure that if he turned up looking so young and such a . . . such a ragamuffin, they wouldn’t let him in. Then Michel had an idea. He suggested that we both dressed up in Miss Booth-Wycherly’s clothes and went to the Casino.’

  I gazed at Sister Claire, unable to comment, for the idea of a nun in Miss Booth-Wycherly’s clothes was in itself unbelievable, let alone a nun gambling in them. But as well as this, for her to be accompanied by a boy in drag lifted the whole thing into the realms of fantasy. I found myself smiling in spite of my effort to wear a grave and attentive expression. Sister Claire blushed.

  ‘Of course, I was adamant,’ she said, just a shade defensively, ‘I said that such an idea was quite impossible. But Michel stood firm. He said that God had shown us the way and for us to lose courage now would mean that we had no faith in His design. He said that, in his opinion, God had given us proof after proof of what we should do, and he felt that it would be cowardly of us to give up now, when we were in sight of success. I remained unconvinced, though I had to admit that all the signs appeared to indicate that God wanted us to increase His bounty — but doing it at the Casino, that was the thing that worried me. In any case, I pointed out, Miss Booth-Wycherly’s clothes probably wouldn’t fit us. So then Michel said that, if the clothes fitted us, would I take it as a sign that God wanted us to go to the Casino? Well, of course, I thought it was too ridiculous. I mean, Michel and I are the same height and build, but the clothes looked huge, somehow. So, naturally, jokingly, I said that if the clothes fitted I would go, never dreaming for a moment that there was any possibility.’

  She paused and laced her fingers together, placing them on the table-cloth.

  ‘Well, of course they fitted perfectly, as you can see.’ She held out her arm and the crimson velvet caught the light, red as blood and dark as wine in the folds.

  ‘As a matter of fact,’ she confessed, ‘Michel made a very good girl, really very pretty, if you can use that word to describe a boy. He chose a simple yellow silk dress, with shoes to match and a black and yellow hat, rather tight-fitting — I think they call them cloche hats, and his hair being curly and fairly long, it made him look as though he had one of those short haircuts that so many girls seem to be wearing nowadays. He insisted that I wore the blue and white dress and the cloak, because he said that these were the clothes that had helped us find the money.

  She paused and gave a tiny cough and smiled apologetically.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m talking too much,’ she said. ‘I’m giving myself a sore throat. I wonder, if it’s no trouble, may I have a Perrier water?’

  Perrier was produced at once. Sister Claire drank half a glass as if it were a rare vintage, cleared her throat and smiled round at us ravishingly.

  ‘You have absolutely no idea how very curious ordinary clothes felt after a habit,’ she confessed. ‘I really felt like . . . well, I don’t know what . . . yes I do . . . it was when I was young and at Christmas we used to play charades — you know, you dressed up in curious clothes and somehow you didn’t really feel like you, if you know what I mean? That was exactly how I felt. As a matter of fact, I felt really shy — just as I did, you know, when we used to play charades, and awkward, you know. I kept feeling I might trip over the dress, and then of course Michel looked so funny as a girl, and this made me ... I mean he looked so like a girl . . . it made me laugh, and then this of course made him laugh. So really we laughed so much it was quite some time before we were fit to go to the Casino.’

  She stopped and slowly savoured the remains of her Perrier.

  ‘I’m afraid I’m describing it very badly,’ she apologized, ‘but it’s difficult to explain exactly how all the events of that day built up. Looking back on it, I’m astonished that I did what I did, but I suppose everyone who is guided by God feels the same. But it was when we actually got to the Casino that I really faltered. It was so huge, rather as I imagined St Peter’s in Rome to be, though of course not built for the same purpose. All those columns as we went in, all the marble. I didn’t know there was so much marble in the world. I was very afraid that they would see that Michel was not a girl, and I couldn’t help feeling that somehow they would guess that I was a nun, though goodness knows how, seeing the clothes I was wearing. He went in, and I had to rely entirely on Michel of course, and he had never been to the Casino himself, but the baker he worked for had frequently gone, and he had told Michel all about it. Michel decided that we should try the chemin de fer, and so we approached the table. Everyone looked at us curiously, but I know now that it was because of the clothes. I know people wear eccentric clothes nowadays, but you must admit that Miss Booth-Wycherly’s clothes were a little extraordinary, even by today’s standards. Of course, I didn’t know what to do, but Michel soon showed me. He was so clever, considering he had never gambled before. For our first bet we used only the minimum stake. I’d said to Michel that if we didn’t win with the first bet this was a sign that God did not want us to gamble. We placed it on the red and I must admit my heart was in my mouth as the ball whirled round and round.’

  She took a sip of Perrier and gazed at us with a sort of serene triumph.

  ‘Of course, we won,’ she said. ‘It was for me a clear sign. I now knew at last what it was that God intended I should do. It was like a glow inside me, you know, I simply knew for certain that my hand was being guided, that I was merely the instrument. I was so sure that before Michel could stop me I placed all our money on the next bet. He was horrified, but I told him that he must trust in God. Of course we won again and twenty-four times after that. Twice we lost, but on each occasion I’d only felt that I should put on a small bet and so the loss was not great. After three hours’ play, we had made over two million francs. Michel wanted me to go on, but I felt it was time to stop, and to go back and tell Sister Mary the good news.

  ‘So we returned to San Sebastian, after changing our clothes, of course, and we were so excited, you have no idea. You see, not only had we started to really help the orphanage but I felt that I had at last been shown my true vocation.’

  She paused and gave a tiny sob.

  ‘Unfortunate
ly, the Reverend Mother didn’t see it this way. I was most distressed, for she was considerably shocked. She felt that not only had I done something terrible because I was a nun, but that I had led Michel into temptation. She did not seem to realize that it was God’s plan and nothing I could say would alter her opinion. So I was expelled from the Order.’

  ‘You weren’t!’ I said, incredulous.

  ‘Yes, Gerry, it was such a cruel thing to do,’ said Jean, heavily.

  ‘However,’ said Sister Claire, wiping her eyes, ‘Michel was staunchly with me. I still do not think we are wrong. A gift given by God cannot be bad, especially if it is used for good purposes. I believe that God gave me the ability to . . . to . . . to gamble in order to help the children. I was determined not to go against His wishes . . . it seemed to me it would be a sin. So, through a second-hand dealer, I bought Miss Booth-Wycherly’s clothes from the convent — because it was obvious that it was her clothes that the Almighty wanted me to wear — and I went on gambling. When I had raised a significant sum of money, I sent a cheque to the Mother Superior, saying it was money from God. She sent the cheque back saying that, in the eyes of the Almighty, it would be like accepting money from prostitution. For days I was so distraught that poor Michel was at his wits’ end. You understand? Here I had an enormous sum of money which God had shown me how to earn and what purpose to put it to, and now I was being defeated. It was then that Michel had his brilliant idea. Mother Superior, of course, knew my name and where I had the bank account, so any money coming from that source would be refused by her. So, we decided to open a new bank account in Michel’s name, so the money would be accepted. Of course, he had no name, poor dear, because . . . because . . . well, because. So we had to find a new one.’