The Alexandria Quartet - Lawrence Durrell [178]
‘We were surprised to find that all was chaos in the old man’s lodgings, for in some mysterious way the neighbourhood had al-ready got to hear of his death. At least, so I presumed. All the doors of his rooms had been burst open and cupboards rifled. In a sort of lavatory there was a bathtub full of some brew which smelt like arak and the local people had apparently been helping themselves freely, for there were prints from countless wet feet on the stairs and wet hands on the walls. The landing was awash. In the court-yard, a boab dancing round his stave and singing — a most unusual sight. Indeed, the whole neighbourhood seemed to wear an air of raffish celebration. It was most uncanny. Though most of Scobie’s things had been stolen, his uniform was hanging quite safely be-hind the door and we grabbed it. As we did so, we got a tremendous
start for a green parrot in a cage in the corner of the room said in what Nimrod swore was a perfect imitation of Scobie’s voice:
“Come the four corners of the world in arms,
We’ll ( hic) shock ’em. ”
‘It was clear that the bird was drunk. Its voice sounded so strange in that dismal empty room. (I have not told Clea any of this, for fear that it would upset her, as she too cared for him very much.)
‘Well, back to the police post with the uniform, then. We were in luck, for there was no sign of Keats. We locked ourselves into the cell again, gasping at the heat. The body was setting so fast that it seemed impossible to get the tunic on without breaking his arms
— which, God knows, were so frail that they would have snapped off like celery, or so it seemed: so I compromised by wrapping it round him. The trousers were easier. Nimrod tried to help me but was overtaken by violent nausea and spent most of the time retch-ing in a corner. He was indeed much moved by the whole thing and kept repeating under his breath “Poor old bugger”. Anyway, by a smart bit of work, the scandal he feared was averted, and hardly had we brought your Scobie into line with the general proprieties than we heard the unmistakable rumble of the Globe car at the door and the voice of Keats in the charge-room.
‘Must not forget to add that during the following few days there were two deaths and over twenty cases of acute arak poisoning in the area around Tatwig Street so that Scobie may be said to have left his mark in the neighbourhood. We tried to get an analysis of the stuff he was brewing, but the Government analyst gave up after testing several samples. God knows what the old man was up to.
‘Nevertheless the funeral was a great success (he was buried with full honours as an officer killed in the execution of his duty) and everyone turned out for it. There was quite a contingent of Arabs from around his home. It is rare to hear Moslem ululations at a Christian graveside, and the R.C. Chaplain, Father Paul, was most put out, fearing perhaps the afreets of Eblis conjured up by home-made arak — who knows? Also there were the usual splendid in-advertencies, so characteristic of life here (grave too small, grave-diggers strike for more pay in the middle of widening it, Greek consul’s carriage runs away with him and deposits him in a bush, etc., etc.) I think I described all this in a letter. It was just what Scobie would have desired — to lie covered with honours while
the Police Band blew the Last Post — albeit waveringly and with a strong suggestion of Egyptian quarter-tones — over the grave. And the speeches, the tears! You know how people let themselves go on such occasions. You would have thought he was a saint. I kept remembering the body of the old woman in the police cell!