The Alexandria Quartet - Lawrence Durrell [201]
the landing and pressed the airtight door with my foot, and it sucked open to admit me. The long room with its gleaming shelves of books was empty save for a Mephistopheles sitting in an arm-chair by the fire with a book on his knees. He took his spectacles off in order to identify me and I saw that it was Capodistria. He could not have chosen a more suitable costume. It suited his great ravening beak of a nose and those small, keen eyes, set so close together. ‘Come in’ he cried. ‘I was afraid it might be someone wanting to make love in which case … toujours la politesse, I should have felt bound…. What are you eating? The fire is love ly. I was just looking up a quotation which has been worrying me all evening.’
I joined him and placed my loaded plate as an offering between us to be shared. ‘I came to see the new Cavafy manuscript’ I said.
‘All locked up, the manuscripts’ he said.
‘Well.’
The fire crackled brightly and the room was silent and wel-coming with its lining of fine books. I took off my cape and sat down after a preliminary quest along the walls, during which Da Capo finished copying something out on to a piece of paper. ‘Curious thing about Mountolive’s father’ he said absently. ‘This huge eight-volume edition of Buddhist texts. Did you know?’
‘I had heard’ I said vaguely.
‘The old man was a judge in India. When he retired he stayed on there, is still there; foremost European scholar on Pali texts. I must say…. Mountolive hasn’t seen him for years. He dresses like a saddhu he says. You English are eccentrics through and through. Why shouldn’t the old man work on his texts in Oxford, eh?’
‘Climate, perhaps?’
‘Perhaps.’ He agreed. ‘There. That’s what I was hunting for —
I knew it was somewhere in the fourth volume.’ He banged his book shut.
‘What is it?’
He held his paper out to the fire and read slowly with an air of puzzled pleasure the quotation he had copied out: ‘The fruit of the tree of good and evil is itself but flesh; yes, and the apple itself is but an apple of the dust.’
‘That’s not Buddhist, surely’ I said.
‘No, it’s Mountolive père himself, from the introduction.’
‘I think that….’
But now there came a confused screaming from somewhere near at hand, and Capodistria sighed. ‘I don’t know why the devil I take part in this damned carnival year after year’ he said peevishly, draining his whisky. ‘It is an unlucky time astrologically. For me, I mean. And every year there are ugly accidents. It makes one uneasy. Two years ago Arnelh was found hanging in the musicians’
gallery at the Fontanas’ house. Funny eh? Damned inconsiderate if he did it himself. And then Martin Fery fought that duel with Jacomo Forte…. It brings out the devil. That is why I am dressed as the devil. I hang about waiting for people to come and sell me their souls. Aha!’ He sniffed and rubbed his hands with a parch-ment sound and gave his little dry cachinnation. And then, stand-ing up and finishing the last slice of turkey, ‘God, have you seen the time? I must be going home. Beelzebub’s bedtime.’
‘So should I’ I said, disappointed that I could not get a look at the handwriting of the old poet. ‘So should I.’
‘Can I lift you?’ he said, as the sucking door expelled us once more into the trampled musical air of the landing. ‘Useless to expect to say good-bye to our hosts. Cervoni is probably in bed by now.’
We went down slowly chatting into the great hall where the music rolled on in an unbroken stream of syncopated sound. Da
Capo had adjusted his mask now and looked like some weird bird-like demon. We stood for a moment watching the dancers, and then yawning he said: ‘Well, this is where to quote Cavafy the God abandons Antony. Good night. I can’t stay awake any longer, though I am afraid the evening will be full of surprises yet. It always is.’
Nor was he to be proved wrong. I hovered for a while, watching the dance, and then walked down the stairs into the dark coolness