There was a confused moment as I sank beneath the dark waters and the silt boiled up into my eyes, ears, and mouth, but I could feel the reptile’s body thrashing wildly to and fro, firmly clasped in my left hand, and I glowed with triumph. Gasping and spluttering under my layer of mud, I sat up in the canal and grabbed the snake round the neck before he could recover his wits and bite me; then I spat for a long time, to rid my teeth and lips of the fine, gritty layer which coated them. When I at last rose to my feet and turned to wade ashore I found to my surprise that my audience of dogs had been enlarged by the silent arrival of a man, who was squatting comfortably on his haunches and watching me with a mixture of interest and amusement.
He was a short, stocky individual whose brown face was topped by a thatch of close-cropped fair hair, the colour of tobacco. He had large, very blue eyes that had a pleasant humorous twinkle in them, and crows’ feet in the fine skin at the corners. A short, hawk’s-beak nose curved over a wide and humorous mouth. He was wearing a blue cotton shirt that was bleached and faded to the colour of a forget-me-not dried by the sun, and old grey flannel trousers. I did not recognize him, and supposed him to be a fisherman from some village farther down the coast. He regarded me gravely as I scrambled up the bank, and then smiled.
‘Your health,’ he said in a rich, deep voice.
I returned his greeting politely, and then busied myself with the job of trying to get the second snake into the basket without letting the first one escape. I expected him to deliver a lecture to me on the deadliness of the harmless water-snakes and the dangers I ran by handling them, but to my surprise he remained silent, watching with interest while I pushed the writhing reptile into the basket. This done, I washed my hands and produced the grapes I had filched from Taki’s fields. The man accepted half the fruit and we sat without talking, sucking the pulp from the grapes with noisy enjoyment. When the last skin had plopped into the canal, the man produced tobacco and rolled a cigarette between his blunt, brown fingers.
‘You are a stranger?’ he asked, inhaling deeply and with immense satisfaction.
I said that I was English, and that I and my family lived in a villa up in the hills. Then I waited for the inevitable questions as to the sex, number, and age of my family, their work and aspirations, followed by a skilful cross-examination as to why we lived in Corfu. This was the usual peasant way; it was not done unpleasantly, nor with any motive other than friendly interest. They would vouchsafe their own private business to you with great simplicity and frankness, and would be hurt if you did not do the same. But, to my surprise, the man seemed satisfied with my answer, and asked nothing further, but sat there blowing fine streamers of smoke into the sky and staring about him with dreamy blue eyes. With my finger-nail I scraped an attractive pattern in the hardening carapace of grey mud on my thigh, and decided that I would have to go down to the sea and wash both myself and my clothes before returning home. I got to my feet and shouldered my bag and nets; the dogs got to their feet, shook themselves, and yawned. More out of politeness than anything, I asked the man where he was going. It was, after all, peasant etiquette to ask questions. It showed your interest in the person. So far I hadn’t asked him anything at all.
‘I’m going down to the sea,’ he said, gesturing with his cigarette – ‘down to my boat… Where are you going?’
I said I was making for the sea too, first to wash and secondly to find some cockles to eat.
‘I will walk with you,’ he said, rising and stretching. ‘I have a basketful of cockles in my boat; you may have some of those if you like.’
We walked through the fields in silence, and when we came out onto the sands he pointed at the distant shape of a rowing-boat, lying comfortably on her side, with a frilly skirt of ripples round her stern. As we walked towards her I asked if he was a fisherman, and if so, where he came from.
‘I come from here… from the hills,’ he replied. ‘At least, my home is here, but I am now at Vido.’
The reply puzzled me, for Vido was a tiny islet lying off the town of Corfu, and as far as I knew it had no one on it at all except convicts and warders, for it was the local prison island. I pointed this out to him.
‘That’s right,’ he agreed, stooping to pat Roger as he ambled past, ‘that’s right. I’m a convict.’
I thought he was joking, and glanced at him sharply, but his expression was quite serious. I said I presumed he had just been let out.
‘No, no, worse luck,’ he smiled. ‘I have another two years to do. But I’m a good prisoner, you see. Trustworthy and make no trouble. Any like me, those they feel they can trust, are allowed to make boats and sail home for the week-end, if it’s not too far. I’ve got to be back there first thing Monday morning.’
Once the thing was explained, of course, it was simple. It never even occurred to me that the procedure was unusual. I knew one wasn’t allowed home for week-ends from an English prison, but this was Corfu, and in Corfu anything could happen. I was bursting with curiosity to know what his crime had been, and I was just phrasing a tactful inquiry in my mind when we reached the boat, and inside it was something that drove all other thoughts from my head. In the stern, tethered to the seat by one yellow leg, sat an immense black-backed gull, who contemplated me with sneering yellow eyes. I stepped forward eagerly and stretched out my hand to the broad, dark back.
‘Be careful… watch out; he is a bully, that one!’ said the man urgently.
His warning came too late, for I had already placed my hand on the bird’s back and was gently running my fingers over the silken feathering. The gull crouched, opened his beak slightly, and the dark iris of his eye contracted with surprise, but he was so taken aback by my audacity that he did nothing.
‘Spiridion!’ said the man in amazement, ‘he must like you; he’s never let anyone else touch him without biting.’
I buried my fingers in the crisp white feathers on the bird’s neck, and as I scratched gently the gull’s head drooped forwards and his yellow eyes became dreamy. I asked the man where he had managed to catch such a magnificent bird.
‘I sailed over to Albania in the spring to try to get some hares, and I found him in a nest. He was small then, and fluffy as a lamb. Now he’s like a great duck,’ the man said, staring pensively at the gull. ‘Fat duck, ugly duck, biting duck, aren’t you, eh?’
The gull at being thus addressed opened one eye and gave a short, harsh yarp, which may have been repudiation or agreement. The man leaned down and pulled a big basket from under the seat; it was full to the brim with great fat cockles that chinked musically. We sat in the boat and ate the shellfish, and all the time I watched the bird, fascinated by the snow-white breast and head, his long hooked beak and fierce eyes, as yellow as spring crocuses, the broad back and powerful wings, sooty black. From the soles of his great webbed feet to the tip of his beak he was, in my opinion, quite admirable. I swallowed a final cockle, wiped my hands on the side of the boat, and asked the man if he could get a baby gull for me the following spring.
‘You want one?’ he said in surprise; ‘you like them?’
I felt this was understanding my feelings. I would have sold my soul for such a gull.
‘Well, have him if you want him,’ said the man casually, jerking a thumb at the bird.
I could hardly believe my ears. For someone to possess such a wonderful creature and to offer him as a gift so carelessly was incredible. Didn’t he want the bird, I asked?
‘Yes, I like him,’ said the man, looking at the bird meditatively, ‘but he eats more than I can catch for him, and he is such a wicked one that he bites everybody; none of the other prisoners or the warders like him. I’ve tried letting him go, but he won’t go – he keeps coming back. I was going to take him over to Albania one week-end and leave him there. So if you’re sure you want him you can have him.’
Sure I wanted him? It was like being offered an angel. A slightly sardonic-looking angel, it’s true, but one with the most magnificent win
gs. In my excitement I never even stopped to wonder how the family would greet the arrival of a bird the size of a goose with a beak like a razor. In case the man changed his mind I hastily took off my clothes, beat as much of the dried mud off them as possible, and had a quick swim in the shallows. I put on my clothes again, whistled the dogs, and prepared to carry my prize home. The man untied the string, lifted the gull up, and handed him to me; I clasped it under one arm, surprised that such a huge bird should be so feather-light. I thanked the man profusely for his wonderful present.
‘He knows his name,’ he remarked, clasping the gull’s beak between his fingers and waggling it gently. ‘I call him Alecko. He’ll come when you call.’
Alecko, on hearing his name, paddled his feet wildly and looked up into my face with questioning yellow eyes.
‘You’ll be wanting some fish for him,’ remarked the man. ‘I’m going out in the boat tomorrow, about eight. If you like to come we can catch a good lot for him.’
I said that would be fine, and Alecko gave a yarp of agreement. The man leaned against the bows of the boat to push it out, and I suddenly remembered something. As casually as I could I asked him what his name was, and why he was in prison. He smiled charmingly over his shoulder.
‘My name’s Kosti,’ he said, ‘Kosti Panopoulos. I killed my wife.’
He leaned against the bows of the boat and heaved; she slid whispering across the sand and into the water, and the little ripples leaped and licked at her stern like excited puppies. Kosti scrambled into the boat and took up the oars.
‘Your health,’ he called. ‘Until tomorrow.’
The oars creaked musically, and the boat skimmed rapidly over the limpid waters. I turned, clasping my precious bird under my arm, and started to trudge back over the sand, towards the chessboard fields.
The walk home took me some time. I decided that I had misjudged Alecko’s weight, for he appeared to get heavier and heavier as we progressed. He was a dead weight that sagged lower and lower, until I was forced to jerk him up under my arm again, whereupon he would protest with a vigorous yarp. We were half-way through the fields when I saw a convenient fig tree which would, I thought, provide both shade and sustenance, so I decided to take a rest. While I lay in the long grass and munched figs, Alecko sat nearby as still as though he were carved out of wood, watching the dogs with unblinking eyes. The only sign of life were his irises, which would expand and contract excitedly each time one of the dogs moved.
Presently, rested and refreshed, I suggested to my band that we tackle the last stage of the journey; the dogs rose obediently, but Alecko fluffed out his feathers so that they rustled like dry leaves, and shuddered all over at the thought. Apparently he disapproved of my hawking him around under my arm like an old sack, ruffling his feathers. Now that he had persuaded me to put him down in such a pleasant spot he had no intention of continuing what appeared to him to be a tedious and unnecessary journey. As I stooped to pick him up he snapped his beak, uttered a loud, harsh scream, and lifted his wings above his back in the posture usually adopted by tombstone angels. He glared at me. Why, his look seemed to imply, leave this spot? There was shade, soft grass to sit on, and water nearby; what point was there in leaving it to be humped about the countryside in a manner both uncomfortable and undignified? I pleaded with him for some time, and, as he appeared to have calmed down, I made another attempt to pick him up. This time he left me in no doubt as to his desire to stay where he was. His beak shot out so fast I could not avoid it, and it hit my approaching hand accurately. It was as though I had been slashed by an ice-pick. My knuckles were bruised and aching, and a two-inch gash welled blood in great profusion. Alecko looked so smug and satisfied with this attack that I lost my temper. Grabbing my butterfly net I brought it down skilfully and, to his surprise, enveloped him in its folds. I jumped on him before he could recover from the shock and grabbed his beak in one hand. Then I wrapped my handkerchief round and round his beak and tied it securely in place with a bit of string, after which I took off my shirt and wrapped it round him, so that his flailing wings were pinioned tightly to his body. He lay there, trussed up as though for market, glaring at me and uttering muffled screams of rage. Grimly I picked up my equipment, put him under my arm, and stalked off towards home. Having got the gull, I wasn’t going to stand any nonsense about getting him back to the villa. For the rest of the journey Alecko proceeded to produce, uninterruptedly, a series of wild, strangled cries of piercing quality, so by the time we reached the house I was thoroughly angry with him.
I stamped into the drawing-room, put Alecko on the floor, and started to unwrap him, while he accompanied the operation raucously. The noise brought Mother and Margo hurrying in from the kitchen. Alecko, now freed from my shirt, stood in the middle of the room with the handkerchief still tied round his beak and trumpeted furiously.
‘What on earth’s that?’ gasped Mother.
‘What an enormous bird!’exclaimed Margo.‘What is it, an eagle?’
My family’s lack of ornithological knowledge had always been a source of annoyance to me. I explained testily that it was not an eagle but a black-backed gull, and told them how I had got him.
‘But, dear, how on earth are we going to feed him?’ asked Mother. ‘Does he eat fish?’
Alecko, I said hopefully, would eat anything. I tried to catch him to remove the handkerchief from his beak, but he was obviously under the impression that I was trying to attack him, so he screamed and trumpeted loudly and ferociously through the handkerchief. This fresh outburst brought Larry and Leslie down from their rooms.
‘Who the hell’s playing bagpipes?’ demanded Larry as he swept in.
Alecko paused for a moment, surveyed this newcomer coldly, and, having summed him up, yarped loudly and scornfully.
‘My God!’ said Larry, backing hastily and bumping into Leslie. ‘What the devil’s that?’
‘It’s a new bird Gerry’s got,’ said Margo; ‘doesn’t it look fierce?’
‘It’s a gull,’ said Leslie, peering over Larry’s shoulder; ‘what a whacking great thing!’
‘Nonsense,’ said Larry; ‘it’s an albatross.’
‘No, it’s a gull.’
‘Don’t be silly. Whoever saw a gull that size? I tell you it’s a bloody great albatross.’
Alecko padded a few paces towards Larry and yarped at him again.
‘Call him off,’ Larry commanded. ‘Gerry, get the damn thing under control; it’s attacking me.’
‘Just stand still. He won’t hurt you,’ advised Leslie.
‘It’s all very well for you; you’re behind me. Gerry, catch that bird at once, before it does me irreparable damage.’
‘Don’t shout so, dear; you’ll frighten it.’
‘I like that! A thing like a roc flapping about on the floor attacking everyone, and you tell me not to frighten it.’
I managed to creep up behind Alecko and grab him; then, amid his deafening protests, I removed the handkerchief from his beak. When I let him go again he shuddered indignantly, and snapped his beak two or three times with a sound like a whip-crack.
‘Listen to it!’ exclaimed Larry. ‘Gnashing its teeth!’
‘They haven’t got teeth,’ observed Leslie.
‘Well, it’s gnashing something. I hope you’re not going to let him keep it, Mother? It’s obviously a dangerous brute; look at his eyes. Besides, it’s unlucky.’
‘Why unlucky?’ asked Mother, who had a deep interest in superstition.
‘It’s a well-known thing. Even if you have just the feathers in the house everyone goes down with plague, or goes mad or something.’
‘That’s peacocks you’re thinking of, dear.’
‘No, I tell you it’s albatrosses. It’s well known.’
‘No, dear, it’s peacocks that are unlucky.’
‘Well, anyway, we can’t have that thing in the house. It would be sheer lunacy. Look what happened to the Ancient Mariner. We’ll all have to sleep with c
rossbows under our pillows.’
‘Really, Larry, you do complicate things,’ said Mother. ‘It seems quite tame to me.’
‘You wait until you wake up one morning and find you’ve had your eyes gouged out.’
‘What nonsense you talk, dear. It looks quite harmless.’
At this moment Dodo, who always took a little while to catch up with rapidly moving events, noticed Alecko for the first time. Breathing heavily, her eyes protruding with interest, she waddled forward and sniffed at him. Alecko’s beak flashed out, and if Dodo had not turned her head at that moment – in response to my cry of alarm – her nose would have been neatly sliced off; as it was she received a glancing blow on the side of the head that surprised her so much that her leg leaped out of joint. She threw back her head and let forth a piercing yell. Alecko, evidently under the impression that it was a sort of vocal contest, did his best to out-scream Dodo, and flapped his wings so vigorously that he blew out the nearest lamp.
‘There you are,’ said Larry in triumph. ‘What did I say? Hasn’t been in the house five minutes and it kills the dog.’
Mother and Margo massaged Dodo back to silence, and Alecko sat and watched the operation with interest. He clicked his beak sharply, as if astonished at the frailty of the dog tribe, decorated the floor lavishly, and wagged his tail with the swagger of one who had done something clever.
‘How nice!’ said Larry. ‘Now we’re expected to wade about the house waist deep in guano.’
‘Hadn’t you better take him outside, dear?’ suggested Mother. ‘Where are you going to keep him?’
I said that I had thought of dividing the Magenpies’ cage and keeping Alecko there. Mother said this was a very good idea. Until his cage was ready I tethered him on the veranda, warning each member of the family in turn as to his whereabouts.
‘Well,’ observed Larry as we sat over dinner, ‘don’t blame me if the house is hit by a cyclone. I’ve warned you; I can do no more.’
The Corfu Trilogy (the corfu trilogy) Page 27