The Corfu Trilogy Read Free Page B

herself.
    ‘They seem a helpful crowd,’ Larry went on. ‘The manager himself shifted my bed nearer the window.’
    ‘He wasn’t very helpful when I asked for paper,’ said Leslie.
    ‘Paper?’ asked Mother. ‘What did you want paper for?’
    ‘For the lavatory…there wasn’t any in there,’ explained Leslie.
    ‘Shhh! Not at the table,’ whispered Mother.
    ‘You obviously don’t look,’ said Margo in a clear and penetrating voice; ‘they’ve got a little box full by the pan.’
    ‘Margo, dear!’ exclaimed Mother, horrified.
    ‘What’s the matter? Didn’t you see the little box?’
    Larry gave a snort of laughter.
    ‘Owing to the somewhat eccentric plumbing system of the town,’ he explained to Margo kindly, ‘that little box is provided for the… er… debris, as it were, when you have finished communing with nature.’
    Margo’s face turned scarlet with a mixture of embarrassment and disgust.
    ‘You mean… you mean… that was… My God! I might have caught some foul disease,’ she wailed, and, bursting into tears, fled from the dining-room.
    ‘Most insanitary,’ said Mother severely; ‘it really is a
disgusting
way to do things. Quite apart from the mistakes one can make, I should think there’s a danger of getting typhoid.’
    ‘Mistakes wouldn’t happen if they’d organize things properly,’ Leslie pointed out, returning to his original complaint.
    ‘Yes, dear; but I don’t think we ought to discuss it now. The best thing we can do is to find a house as soon as possible, before we all go down with something.’
    Upstairs Margo was in a state of semi-nudity, splashing disinfectant over herself in quantities, and Mother spent an exhausting afternoon being forced to examine her at intervals for the symptoms of the diseases which Margo felt sure she was hatching. It was unfortunate for Mother’s peace of mind that the Pension Suisse happened to be situated in the road leading to the local cemetery. As we sat on our small balcony overhanging the street an apparently endless succession of funerals passed beneath us. The inhabitants of Corfu obviously believed that the best part of a bereavement was the funeral, for each seemed more ornate than the last. Cabs decorated with yards of purple and black crêpewere drawn by horses so enveloped in plumes and canopies that it was a wonder they could move. Six or seven of these cabs, containing the mourners in full and uninhibited grief, preceded the corpse itself. This came on another cartlike vehicle, and was ensconced in a coffin so large and lush that it looked more like an enormous birthday cake. Some were white, with purple, black-and-scarlet, and deep blue decorations; others were gleaming black with complicated filigrees of gold and silver twining abundantly over them, and glittering brass handles. I had never seen anything so colourful and attractive. This, I decided, was really the way to die, with shrouded horses, acres of flowers, and a horde of most satisfactorily grief-stricken relatives. I hung over the balcony rail watching the coffins pass beneath, absorbed and fascinated.
    As each funeral passed, and the sounds of mourning and the clopping of hooves died away in the distance, Mother became more and more agitated.
    ‘I’m sure it’s an epidemic,’ she exclaimed at last, peering down nervously into the street.
    ‘Nonsense, Mother; don’t fuss,’ said Larry airily.
    ‘But, dear, so
many
of them… it’s unnatural.’
    ‘There’s nothing unnatural about dying. People do it all the time.’
    ‘Yes, but they don’t die like flies unless there’s something wrong.’
    ‘Perhaps they save ’em up and bury ’em in a bunch,’ suggested Leslie callously.
    ‘Don’t be silly,’ said Mother. ‘I’m sure it’s something to do with the drains. It can’t be healthy for people to have
those
sort of arrangements.’
    ‘My God!’ said Margo sepulchrally, ‘then I suppose I’ll get it.’
    ‘No, no, dear; it doesn’t