The Alexandria Quartet - Lawrence Durrell [126]
he said, still hovering somewhere on the edge of tears despite his smiling face, and still by his tone inviting sympathy in misfortune.
‘I don’t know what comes over me. And yet, you know, it’s always the old thrill’
A sudden and characteristic change of mood came over him at the words: his disharmony, his discomfiture gave place to a new jauntiness. His look became arch now, not wistful, and crossing to the mirror before my astonished eyes, he placed the hat upon his bald head. In a second he replaced his own image with that of a little old tart, button-eyed and razor-nosed — a tart of the Water-loo Bridge epoch, a veritable Tuppeny Upright. Laughter and astonishment packed themselves into a huge parcel inside me, neither finding expression. ‘For God’s sake!’ I said at last. ‘You don’t go around like that, do you, Scobie?’
‘Only’ said Scobie, sitting helplessly down on the bed again and relapsing into a gloom which gave his funny little face an even more comical expression (he still wore the Dolly Varden), ‘on ly when the Influence comes over me. When I’m not fully Answer-able, old man.’
He sat there looking crushed. I gave a low whistle of surprise which the parrot immediately copied. This was indeed serious. I understood now why the deliberations which had consumed him all morning had been so full of heart-searching. Obviously if one went around in a rig like that in the Arab quarter…. He must have been following my train of thought, for he said ‘It’s only sometimes when the Fleet’s in.’ Then he went on with a touch of self-righteousness : ‘Of course, if there was ever any trouble, I’d say I was in disguise. I am a policeman when you come to think of it. After all, even Lawrence of Arabia wore a nightshirt, didn’t he?’ I nodded. ‘But not a Dolly Varden’ I said. ‘You must admit, Scobie, it’s most original …’ and here the laughter overtook me. Scobie watched me laugh, still sitting on the bed in that fantastic headpiece. ‘Take if off!’ I implored. He looked serious and pre-occupied now, but made no motion. ‘Now you know all’ he said.
‘The best and the worst in the old skipper. Now what I was going to ——’
At this moment there came a knock at the landing door. With surprising presence of mind Scobie leaped spryly into the cup-board, locking himself noisily in. I went to the door. On the
land ing stood a servant with a pitcher full of some liquid which he said was for the Effendi Skob. I took it from him and got rid of him, before returning to the room and shouting to the old man who emerged once more — now completely himself, bareheaded and blazered.
‘That was a near shave’ he breathed. ‘What was it?’ I indicated the pitcher. ‘Oh, that — it’s for the Mock Whisky. Every three hours.’
‘Well,’ I said at last, still struggling with these new and indiges-tible revelations of temperament, ‘I must be going.’ I was still hovering explosively between amazement and laughter at the thought of Scobie’s second life at full moon — how had he managed to avoid a scandal all these years? — when he said: ‘Just a minute, old man. I only told you all this because I want you to do me a favour.’ His false eye rolled around earnestly now under the pressure of thought. He sagged again. ‘A thing like that could do me Untold Harm’ he said. ‘Untold Harm, old man.’
‘I should think it could.’
‘Old man,’ said Scobie, ‘I want you to confiscate my duds. It’s the only way of controlling the Influence.’
‘Confiscate them?’
‘Take them away. Lock them up. It’ll save me, old man. I know it will. The whim is too strong for me otherwise, when it comes.’
‘All right’ I said.
‘God bless you, son.’
Together we wrapped his full-moon