E-book My family and other animals. Gerald Durrell. My family and other animals Summary of the story my family and animals

Ivanova Julia Nikolaevna ( [email protected])
"My family and other animals": "Peace"; Moscow; 1986
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The book "My Family and Other Animals" is a humorous saga about the childhood of the future famous zoologist and writer on the Greek island of Corfu, where his extravagant family spent five blissful years. Young Gerald Durrell makes the first discoveries in the land of insects, constantly increasing the number of households. He adopts Achilles the turtle, Quasimodo the dove, Ulysses the owlet and many, many other funny animals into his family, leading to big and small dramas and fun adventures.

Gerald Darrell
My family and other animals
Word in your defense
So, sometimes I managed to believe in the incredible six times even before breakfast.
White Queen.
Lewis Carroll, "Alice Through the Looking Glass"

In this book, I talked about the five years our family lived on the Greek island of Corfu. At first, the book was conceived simply as a story about the animal world of the island, in which there would be a little sadness for bygone days. However, I immediately made a serious mistake by letting my relatives into the first pages. Finding themselves on paper, they began to strengthen their positions and invited all sorts of friends with them to all chapters. Only at the cost of incredible efforts and great resourcefulness did I manage to defend here and there a few pages that I could devote entirely to animals.
I have tried to give here accurate portraits of my relatives, without embellishing anything, and they pass through the pages of the book as I saw them. But to explain the funniest thing about their behavior, I must say right away that in those days when we lived in Corfu, everyone was still very young: Larry, the oldest, was twenty-three years old, Leslie was nineteen, Margot was eighteen, and I, the youngest was only ten years old. None of us ever had an exact idea of \u200b\u200bmy mother's age for the simple reason that she never remembered her birthdays. I can only say that my mother was old enough to have four children. At her insistence, I also explain that she was a widow, otherwise, as my mother shrewdly remarked, people can think anything.
So that all the events, observations and joys of these five years of life could be squeezed into a work no larger than the Encyclopædia Britannica, I had to reshape, fold, cut, so that in the end there was almost nothing left of the true duration of the events. I also had to discard many incidents and persons about which I would describe here with great pleasure.
Of course, this book could not have come into being without the support and help of some people. I say this in order to share the responsibility for it equally among all. So I'm grateful to:
Dr. Theodore Stephanides. With his usual generosity, he allowed me to use materials from his unpublished work on the island of Corfu and provided me with many bad puns, of which I used some.
To my relatives. After all, they were the ones who gave me the bulk of the material and were very helpful during the writing of the book, arguing frantically about every case I discussed with them and occasionally agreeing with me.
To my wife - for the fact that she gave me pleasure with her loud laugh while reading the manuscript. As she later explained, she was amused by my spelling.
Sophie, my secretary, who undertook to put commas and mercilessly eradicated all illegal agreements.
I would like to express special gratitude to my mother, to whom this book is dedicated. Like the inspired, gentle and sensitive Noah, she skilfully navigated her ship with her clumsy offspring across the stormy sea of life, always ready for rebellion, always surrounded by dangerous financial shallows, always without confidence that the team would approve of her management, but in the constant consciousness of her full responsibility. for any malfunction on the ship. It is simply incomprehensible how she endured this voyage, but she endured it and did not even lose her mind much. As my brother Larry rightly remarks, one can be proud of the way we brought her up; She does honor to all of us.
I think that my mother managed to reach that happy nirvana, where nothing shocks or surprises anymore, and as proof I will cite at least this fact: recently, on one of the Saturdays, when my mother was left alone in the house, she was suddenly brought a few cages. They had two pelicans, a scarlet ibis, a vulture, and eight monkeys. A less persistent person might have been taken aback by such a surprise, but my mother was not taken aback. On Monday morning I found her in the garage being chased by an angry pelican, whom she was trying to feed with canned sardines.
“It's good that you came, dear,” she said breathlessly. “That pelican was a bit difficult to handle. I asked how she knew they were my animals. - Well, of course, yours, dear. Who else could send them to me?
As you can see, the mother understands at least one of her children very well.
And in conclusion, I want to emphasize that everything told here about the island and its inhabitants is the purest truth. Our life in Corfu could well pass for one of the brightest and most cheerful comic operas. It seems to me that the whole atmosphere, all the charm of this place was correctly reflected by the sea chart that we then had. It depicted the island and the coastline of the adjacent continent in great detail, and below, on a small inset, was the inscription:
We warn you: the buoys marking shallows are often out of place here, so sailors need to be more careful when sailing along these coasts.
moving
A sharp wind blew out July like a candle, and the leaden August sky hung over the earth. Fine prickly rain lashed endlessly, swelling with gusts of wind in a dark gray wave. The baths on the beaches of Bournemouth turned their blind wooden faces to the green-grey frothy sea, which rushed furiously against the concrete bank. Seagulls in confusion flew deep into the coast and then, with plaintive groans, rushed around the city on their elastic wings. This kind of weather is specially designed to harass people.
That day our whole family looked rather ugly, as the bad weather brought with it the usual set of colds, which we caught very easily. For me, sprawled on the floor with a collection of shells, she brought a bad cold, filling my skull like cement, so that I breathed hoarsely through my open mouth. My brother Leslie, perched by a lit fire, had both ears inflamed and bleeding incessantly. Sister Margot had new pimples on her face, already dotted with red dots. My mother had a severe runny nose and, in addition, an attack of rheumatism began. Only my older brother Larry was not affected by the disease, but it was already enough how angry he was looking at our ailments.
Of course, Larry started all this. The rest at that time were simply not able to think about anything else but their illnesses, but Providence itself intended Larry to rush through life with a small bright firework and ignite thoughts in the brains of other people, and then, curled up like a cute kitten , refuse any responsibility for the consequences. That day, Larry's anger was dismantling with ever-increasing force, and finally, looking around the room with an angry look, he decided to attack his mother as the clear culprit of all the troubles.
“And why do we tolerate this accursed climate?” he asked suddenly, turning to the rain-drenched window. “Look over there!” And, for that matter, look at us... Margot is swollen like a bowl of steamed porridge... Leslie wanders around the room with fourteen fathoms of cotton in each ear... Jerry talks like he was born with a wolf mouth... And look at you! Every day you look more and more terrible.
Mom glanced over the top of a huge volume called "Easy Recipes from Rajputana" and protested.
- Nothing like this! - she said.
“Don't argue,” Larry insisted.
To these words, my mother could not find a completely devastating answer, and therefore limited herself to one gaze before disappearing again behind the book she was reading.
- The sun ... We need the sun! - continued Larry. - Do you agree, Less? .. Less ... Less! Leslie pulled a large tuft of cotton from one ear. - What you said? - he asked.
- Here you see! - Larry said triumphantly, turning to his mother. - Talking to him turns into a complicated procedure. Well, pray tell, is that the case? One brother does not hear what is said to him, the other you yourself cannot understand. It's time to finally do something. I can't create my immortal prose in such a dull atmosphere that smells of eucalyptus tincture. “Of course, dear,” Mom replied absently. “The sun,” said Larry, getting back to business. “The sun, that's what we need ... a place where we can grow in freedom.
“Of course, dear, that would be nice,” Mom agreed, almost not listening to him.
I received a letter from George this morning. He writes that Corfu is a delightful island. Maybe you should pack your things and go to Greece?
“Of course, dear, if you want to,” Mom said carelessly.
Where Larry was concerned, Mother usually acted with great discretion, trying not to bind herself with a word. - When? asked Larry, surprised at her complaisance. Mom, realizing her tactical error, carefully omitted "Easy Recipes from Rajputana".
“It seems to me, dear,” she said, “you'd better go alone first and settle everything. Then you write to me, and if it's good there, we'll all come to you. Larry looked at her with withering eyes. “That’s what you said when I offered to go to Spain,” he reminded me. “I sat in Seville for two whole months waiting for your arrival, and you only wrote me long letters about drinking water and sewerage, as if I were the secretary of the municipal council.” or something like that. No, if you go to Greece, then only all together.
“You're exaggerating, Larry,” Mom said plaintively. “Anyway, I can't leave right now. Something needs to be done about this house. - Decide? Lord, what's the deal here? Sell it, that's all.
"I can't do that, honey," Mom replied, shocked at the suggestion. - Can not? Why can not you? But I just bought it. "Sell it before it's peeled off."
"Don't be stupid, honey. It's out of the question," Mom said firmly. "That would be just crazy.
And so we sold the house and, like a flock of migratory swallows, flew south from the gloomy English summer.
We traveled light, taking with us only what we considered vital. When at customs we opened our luggage for inspection, the contents of the suitcases clearly demonstrated the character and interests of each of us. Margo's luggage, for example, consisted of a pile of see-through clothes, three books with tips on how to keep a slim figure, and a whole battery of vials of some kind of acne liquid. Leslie's suitcase contained two sweaters and a pair of shorts, which contained two revolvers, a blowgun, a book called "Be Your Own Gunsmith" and a large bottle of lubricating oil that was leaking, Larry carried with him two chests of books and a suitcase with clothes. Mom's luggage was wisely divided between clothes and books on cooking and gardening. I took with me on the trip only what could brighten up the long, boring road: four books on zoology, a butterfly net, a dog, and a jam jar full of caterpillars that could turn into pupae at any moment.
And so, fully equipped to our standards, we left the cold shores of England.
France swept by, sad and rainy; Switzerland, like a Christmas cake; bright, noisy, smelly Italy - and soon only vague memories remained of everything. The tiny steamboat left the heel of Italy and went out into the twilight sea. While we slept in our stuffy cabins, somewhere in the middle of the moon-polished water surface, the ship crossed invisible line section and found itself in the bright looking glass of Greece. Gradually, the feeling of this change somehow penetrated into us, we all woke up from an incomprehensible excitement and went out on deck.
In the light of the early morning dawn, the sea rolled its smooth blue waves. Behind the stern, like a white peacock's tail, stretched light foamy streams, sparkling with bubbles. The pale sky was beginning to turn yellow in the east. Ahead was a blur of chocolate-brown earth, fringed with white foam at the bottom. It was Corfu. Straining our eyes, we peered into the outlines of the mountains, trying to distinguish valleys, peaks, gorges, beaches, but before us there was still only the silhouette of the island. Then the sun suddenly emerged from behind the horizon, and the whole sky was filled with an even blue glaze, like the eye of a jay. The sea flashed for a moment with all its smallest waves, taking on a dark, purple hue with green highlights, the fog quickly rose up in soft streams, and an island opened before us. Its mountains seemed to be sleeping under a crumpled brown blanket, olive groves were green in the folds. Amidst a jumble of glittering rocks of gold, white, and red, the white beaches curved like tusks. We went around the northern cape, a smooth, steep cliff with caves washed out in it. Dark waves carried white foam there from our wake and then, at the very openings, began to whirl among the rocks with a whistle. Behind the cape, the mountains receded, they were replaced by a slightly sloping plain with silvery green olives. Here and there a dark cypress tree rose like a pointing finger to the sky. The water in shallow bays was clear blue color, and from the shore, even through the noise of steamship engines, we heard the triumphant ringing of cicadas.
1. Unexpected island
We made our way through the hustle and bustle of customs, and found ourselves on an embankment flooded with bright sunlight. The city rose up steep slopes ahead of us, a tangled row of colorful houses with green shutters like the spread wings of a thousand butterflies. Behind them stretched the mirror-like surface of the bay with its unimaginable blue.
Larry walked at a brisk pace, with his head thrown back proudly and with an expression of such regal arrogance on his face that one could not notice his small stature. He did not take his eyes off the porters, who were barely able to cope with his two trunks. Leslie, the burly man, marched militantly behind him, and Margot followed him in waves of spirits and muslin. Mom, who looked like a captive, restless little missionary, was forcibly dragged by the impatient Roger to the nearest lamppost. She stood there, staring into space as he gave relief to his tense feelings after being locked up for so long. Larry hired two surprisingly filthy cabs, put his luggage in one, climbed into the other himself and looked around angrily. - Well? he asked. “What are we waiting for?” “We're waiting for Mom,” Leslie explained. “Roger found the lantern.
- Oh my God! exclaimed Larry, and, straightening up in the cab to his full height, he roared:
- Hurry, Mom! The dog can be patient.
“I’m coming, dear,” my mother answered obediently, without moving, because Roger was not yet going to leave the post. “That dog got in our way all the way,” said Larry.
“You need to have patience,” Margot was indignant. “It's not the dog's fault... We've been waiting for you for an hour in Naples.
“My stomach got upset then,” Larry explained coldly.
“And maybe he has a stomach, too,” Margot answered triumphantly. “What difference does it make? What's on the forehead, what's on the forehead. - Did you mean to say - on the forehead? “Whatever I want, it's the same.
But then Mom came up, a little disheveled, and our attention turned to Roger, who had to be put in a cab. Roger had never ridden in such a carriage before, so he looked at him suspiciously. In the end, I had to drag him in by force and then, amid a frenzied barking, squeeze in after him, preventing him from jumping out of the cab. Frightened by all this fuss, the horse rushed from its place and rushed at full speed, and we fell into a pile, crushing Roger, who was squealing with all his might.
“Nice start,” grumbled Larry. “I was hoping we'd have a dignified air, and this is how it turned out... We ride into town like a troupe of medieval acrobats.
“Enough, enough, dear,” his mother soothed him, straightening her hat. “Soon we will be at the hotel.”
As the cab rattled and clattered into town, we squatted on our hairy seats and tried to put on the air of nobility so much needed for Larry. Roger, clenched in Leslie's powerful arms, hung his head over the edge of the cab and rolled his eyes as though he were dying. Then we raced past an alley where four shabby mongrels were basking in the sun. Seeing them, Roger tensed up and barked loudly. Immediately, the revived mongrels with a piercing squeal rushed after the cab. There was no trace of our noble majesty, for two now held the distraught Roger, and the rest, leaning back, frantically waved books and magazines, trying to drive away the shrill pack, but only annoyed it even more. With each new street there were more and more dogs, and when we rolled along the main thoroughfare of the city, twenty-four dogs bursting with anger were already spinning at our wheels.
Why don't you do something? Larry asked over the barking of the dogs. “It's just a scene from Uncle Tom's Cabin.”
“That would do something than to breed criticism,” Leslie snapped, continuing the single combat with Roger.
Larry quickly jumped to his feet, snatched the whip from the hands of the astonished coachman, and lashed at the pack of dogs. However, he did not reach the dogs, and the whip fell on the back of Leslie's head.
- What the heck? Leslie boiled, turning his face, which had turned purple with anger, to him. “Where are you just looking?”
“It was me by accident,” Larry explained as if nothing had happened. “There was no training ... I haven’t held a whip in my hands for a long time.
“So think with your stupid head what you are doing,” Leslie blurted out. “Calm down, dear, he didn’t do it on purpose,” Mom said.
Larry cracked the whip again on the pack and knocked the hat off my mother's head.
"You're more troublesome than dogs," Margot remarked. “Be careful, dear,” said mother, clutching at her hat. “Well, you can kill someone. You'd better leave the whip alone.
At that moment, the cab stopped at the entrance, above which it was marked in French: "Swiss boarding house." The mutts, sensing that they would finally be able to grapple with the pampered dog that drives around in cabs, surrounded us with a dense growling wall. The door of the inn opened, and an old porter with sideburns appeared on the threshold and began to stare indifferently at the bustle in the street. It was not easy for us to drag Roger from the cab to the hotel. Lifting a heavy dog, carrying it in your arms and restraining it all the time - this required the joint efforts of the whole family. Larry, no longer thinking about his majestic pose, was now having fun with might and main. He jumped down to the ground and, with a whip in his hands, moved along the sidewalk, breaking through the dog barrier. Leslie, Margot, Mom and I followed him down the cleared aisle with Roger snarling and thrashing. When we finally squeezed into the lobby of the hotel, the porter slammed the front door and leaned on it so that his mustache quivered. The owner who appeared at that moment looked at us with curiosity and fear. Mom, in a hat that had slipped to one side, came up to him, clutching my can of caterpillars in her hands, and with a sweet smile, as if our arrival was the most ordinary thing, she said:
Our last name is Darrell. I hope they left a number for us?
“Yes, madam,” the owner replied, walking around the still grumbling Roger. “On the second floor ... four rooms with a balcony.
“That's good,” Mom beamed. “Then we'll go up to the room right away and have a little rest before eating.”
And with quite majestic nobility, she led her family upstairs.
After a while we went downstairs and had breakfast in a large, dreary room lined with dusty potted palm trees and crooked sculptures. We were served by a porter with whiskers, who, having changed into a tailcoat and a celluloid shirt-front that creaked like a whole platoon of crickets, has now turned into a head waiter. The food, however, was plentiful and tasty, and everyone ate it with great appetite. When the coffee arrived, Larry leaned back in his chair with a blissful sigh.
"Right food," he said magnanimously. "What do you think of this place, mother?"
“The food is good here, honey,” Mom said evasively. “They are nice guys,” Larry continued. “The owner himself moved my bed closer to the window.
“He wasn't so nice when I asked him for papers,” said Leslie.
– Papers? Mom asked. “What do you need paper for?
"For the toilet... she wasn't there," Leslie explained.
- Shhhh! Not at the table,” my mother said in a whisper.
“You just didn't look well,” Margo said in a clear, loud voice. “They've got a whole case of her there.
Margot, dear! Mom exclaimed in fear. - What's happened? Have you seen the box? Larry chuckled.
“Because of some oddity in the city sewerage system,” he explained to Margot kindly, “this box is meant for… uh…” Margo blushed.
“You mean… you mean… what it was… My God!”
And bursting into tears, she rushed out of the dining room.
“Yes, very unhygienic,” my mother said sternly. “It's just ugly. In my opinion, it doesn't even matter if you made a mistake or not, you can still catch typhoid fever.
“Nobody would be wrong if there were real order,” said Leslie.
- Certainly cute. I just don't think we should start arguing about it right now. It's best to find a home as soon as possible before anything happens to us.
In addition to all my mother's worries, the "Swiss Boarding House" was located on the way to the local cemetery. As we sat on our balcony, the funeral processions were dragging along the street in an endless line. Obviously, of all the rites, the people of Corfu valued the funeral most of all, and each new procession seemed more magnificent than the previous one. The hired carriages were covered in red and black crepe, and the horses were wrapped in so many blankets and plumes that it was hard to even imagine how they could only move. Six or seven such carriages with people seized with deep, unrestrained grief followed one another in front of the body of the deceased, and it rested on the tracks like a wagon in a large and very elegant coffin. Some of the coffins were white with rich black-and-scarlet and blue decorations, others were black, lacquered, entwined with intricate gold and silver filigree, and with gleaming brass handles. I have never seen such an alluring beauty. Here, I decided, this is the way to die, so that there are horses in blankets, a sea of flowers and a crowd of grief-stricken relatives. Hanging from the balcony, I watched in ecstatic self-forgetfulness as the coffins floated by below.
After each procession, when the wailing faded in the distance and the clatter of hooves ceased, my mother began to get more and more worried.
“Well, clearly, this is an epidemic,” she finally exclaimed, looking anxiously around the street.
“What nonsense,” said Larry briskly. “Don't get on your nerves for nothing. - But, my dear, there are so many of them ... It's unnatural.
“There is nothing unnatural about death, people die all the time.
“Yes, but they don't drop like flies if everything is in order.
“Maybe they pile them up and then bury them all together,” said Leslie heartlessly.
“Don't be stupid,” Mom said. “I'm sure it's all from the sewer. If it is so arranged, people cannot be healthy.
- God! Margo said in a sepulchral voice. “It means that I got infected.
“No, no, honey, it’s not transmitted,” Mom said absently. “It’s probably something non-contagious.”
“I don’t understand what kind of epidemic you can talk about if it’s something that is not contagious,” Leslie remarked logically.
“Anyway,” Mom said, not letting herself be dragged into medical disputes, “we need to find out all this. Larry, could you call someone from the local health department?
“There probably isn’t any health care here,” Larry replied. “And if there was, they wouldn’t tell me anything there.
“Well,” Mom said decisively, “we have no other choice. We must leave. We must leave the city. You need to immediately look for a house in the village.
The next morning we went to look for a house, accompanied by Mr. Beeler, an agent from the hotel. He was a short, fat man with an ingratiating look and perpetual perspiration. When we left the hotel, he was in a rather cheerful mood, but he did not yet know what lay ahead of him. And no one could have imagined this if he had never once helped his mother find a place to live. In clouds of dust we raced all over the island, and Mr. Beeler showed us one house after another. They came in all sorts of sizes, colors, and locations, but Mom shook her head resolutely, rejecting each one. Finally, we looked at the tenth, last house on Beeler's list, and my mother shook her head again. Mr. Beeler sank down on the steps, wiping his face with his handkerchief.
“Madame Darrell,” he said at last, “I showed you all the houses I knew, and none suited you. What do you need, madam? Tell me, what is the disadvantage of these houses? Mom looked at him in surprise.
- Didn't you notice? she asked. “None of them have a bathtub.
Mr. Beeler looked at his mother with wide eyes. “I don’t understand, madam,” he said with true anguish, “what do you need a bath for? Isn't there a sea here? In complete silence, we returned to the hotel. The next morning, my mother decided that we should take a taxi and go looking for one. She was sure that somewhere on the island there was still a house with a bathroom hiding. We did not share my mother's faith, murmuring and bickering as she led us like a recalcitrant herd to the taxi rank on the main square. Taxi drivers, noticing our innocent innocence, swooped down on us like kites, trying to outshout one another. Their voices grew louder, fire flared in their eyes. They grabbed each other's hands, gnashed their teeth and pulled us in different directions with such force, as if they wanted to tear us apart. In fact, it was the most tender of gentle tricks, but we were not yet accustomed to the Greek temperament, and therefore it seemed to us that our life was in danger.
What to do, Larry? - Mom screamed, with difficulty breaking out of the tenacious embrace of a huge driver.
“Tell them we'll complain to the English consul,” said Larry, trying to outshout the drivers.
“Don't be silly, dear,” Mom said breathlessly. “Just explain to them that we don't understand anything. Margot, with a stupid smile, rushed to the rescue. “We are English,” she called out shrilly. “We don't understand Greek.
“If this guy pushes me again, I'll hit him in the ear,” Leslie said, flushing with anger.
“Calm down, dear,” Mom said with difficulty, still fighting off the driver, who was pulling her to his car. “I don’t think they want to offend us.
At that moment, everyone suddenly fell silent. Above the general uproar, a low, strong, booming voice thundered in the air, such as could be from a volcano.
- Hey! boomed a voice and, heavily mangling the words, asked in English: “Why don’t you take with you a person who can speak your language?”
Turning around, we saw an old Dodge at the side of the road, and behind the wheel a short, thick man with huge hands and a wide, weather-beaten face. He gave a frown from under a cap that was pulled down smartly, opened the car door, rolled out onto the sidewalk and swam in our direction. Then he stopped and, frowning even more deeply, began to look at the silent taxi drivers. Did they besiege you? he asked his mother. “No, no,” Mom said, trying to smooth things over. “We just couldn't understand them.
“You need someone who can speak your language,” he repeated once more. One minute, I'll show them now.
And he brought down on the drivers such a stream of Greek words that he almost knocked them off their feet. Expressing their anger and resentment with desperate gestures, the drivers returned to their cars, and this eccentric, sending after them the last and, obviously, annihilating volley, turned to us again. “Where do you need to go?” he asked almost fiercely.
"We're looking for a home," Larry said. "Can you take us out of town?"
- Certainly. I can take you anywhere. Just say. “We are looking for a house,” Mom said firmly, “that would have a bath. Do you know such a house?
His tanned face wrinkled amusingly in thought, black brows furrowed.
- Bath? he asked. "Do you need a bath?"
“All the houses we have seen have been without baths,” Mom replied.
“I know a house with a bathroom,” our new acquaintance said. “I just doubt whether it will fit you in size.
- Can you take us there? Mom asked.
- Certainly can. Get in the car.
Everyone climbed into a roomy car, and our driver got behind the wheel and turned on the engine with a terrible noise. With relentless deafening signals, we rushed through the crooked streets on the outskirts of the city, maneuvering among loaded donkeys, carts, village women and countless dogs. During this time, the driver managed to start a conversation with us. Every time he uttered a phrase, he turned his big head towards us to check how we reacted to his words, and then the car began to rush along the road like a crazed swallow.
- Are you English? That's what I thought... The English always need a bath... there's a bath in my house... my name is Spiro, Spiro Hakyaopoulos... but everyone calls me Spiro the American because I lived in America... Yes, I spent eight years in Chicago... That's where I learned to speak English so well... I went there to make money... Eight years later I said, "Spiro," I said, "you've had enough..." and went back to Greece... brought this car... the best car on the island... no one has one like it. All English tourists know me, and everyone asks me when they come here ... they understand that they will not be fooled.
We were driving along a road covered with a thick layer of silky white dust that billowed up behind us in huge thick clouds. Thickets of prickly pear stretched along the sides of the road, like a fence of green plates, deftly stacked on top of each other and dotted with bumps of bright crimson fruits. Vineyards floated by with curly greens on tiny vines, olive groves with hollow trunks turning their surprised faces to us from under the dusk of their own shadow, striped reed beds with leaves flying like green flags. Finally we roared up the hillside, Spiro slammed on the brakes and the car came to a stop in a cloud of dust.
“Here,” Spiro pointed with his short fat finger, “is the house with the bathroom you need.”
Mother, who had been driving all the way with her eyes tightly closed, now cautiously opened them and looked around. Spiro pointed to
a gentle slope descending directly to the sea. The whole hill and the valleys around were buried in the soft green of olive groves, silvering like fish scales, as soon as the breeze touched the leaves. In the middle of the slope, surrounded by tall slender cypresses, nestled a small strawberry-pink house, like some exotic fruit, framed by greenery. The cypress trees swayed slightly in the wind, as if they were painting the sky for our arrival to make it even bluer.
2. Strawberry pink house
This small square house stood in the middle of a small garden with an expression of some kind of determination on its pink face. green paint on its shutters it turned white from the sun, cracked and swelled in places with bubbles. In the garden, with a hedge of tall fuchsias, flower beds of the most varied forms were laid out, lined around the edges with smooth white pebbles. Light-coloured paved paths wound in a narrow ribbon around flowerbeds shaped like stars, crescents, circles, triangles a little bigger than a straw hat. Flowers in all the flowerbeds, long left unattended, are lushly overgrown with grass. Roses were shedding silk petals the size of saucers, fiery red, silvery white, without a single wrinkle. The marigolds stretched their fiery heads towards the sun, as if they were his children. Near the ground, among the greenery, the velvet stars of daisies shone modestly, and sad violets peeped out from under the heart-shaped leaves. Over a small balcony, a bougainvillea sprawls luxuriantly, festooned, as if for a carnival, with lanterns of bright crimson flowers; on the close bushes of fuchsias, like little ballerinas in tutus, thousands of blossoming buds froze in quivering expectation. The warm air was saturated with the scent of withering flowers and filled with the quiet, soft rustling and buzzing of insects. We immediately wanted to live in this house as soon as we saw it. He stood and seemed to be waiting for our arrival, and we all felt at home here.
Having burst so unexpectedly into our lives, Spiro now took up the organization of all our affairs. As he explained, he will be much more useful, because everyone here knows him, and he will try not to cheat us.
“Don't worry about anything, Mrs. Darrell,” he said, knitting his brows. “Leave everything to me.
And so Spiro began to go shopping with us. After an hour of incredible effort and loud arguments, he finally managed to reduce the price of a piece of drachma by two, which was about one pence. This, of course, is not money, he explained, but the whole thing is in principle! And, of course, the point was that he was very fond of haggling. When Spiro learned that our money had not yet arrived from England, he lent us a certain amount and undertook to have a proper talk with the bank director about his poor organizational skills. And the fact that it did not depend on the poor director at all did not bother him in the least. Spiro paid our bills at the hotel, got a cart to carry luggage to the pink house, and took us there ourselves in his car, along with a pile of provisions that he had bought for us.
As we soon saw, his statement that he knew every inhabitant of the island and that everyone knew him was not empty boasting. Wherever his car stopped, always a dozen voices called Spiro by name, inviting him to a cup of coffee at a table under a tree. Policemen, peasants and priests greeted him warmly on the street, fishermen, grocers, cafe owners greeted him like a brother. "Ah, Spiro!" - they said and smiled at him affectionately, like a naughty, but sweet child. He was respected for his honesty, ardor, and most of all they valued in him a truly Greek fearlessness and contempt for all kinds of officials. When we arrived on the island, the customs officers confiscated two suitcases with linen and other things from us on the grounds that they were goods for sale. Now that we had moved into the strawberry-pink house and the question of bed linen arose, my mother told Spiro about the suitcases held by customs and asked for his advice.
“Those times, Mrs. Darrell!” he roared, turning purple with anger. “Why have you been silent until now?” There are only bastards at customs. Tomorrow we will go there with you, and I will put them in their place. I know everyone there, and they know me. Leave it to me, I'll put them all in their place.
The next morning he drove my mother to customs. In order not to miss a fun performance, we also went with them. Spiro burst into the customs office like an angry tiger.
Where are these people's things? he asked the plump customs officer.
Are you talking about suitcases with goods? the customs officer asked, carefully pronouncing the English words.
- Don't you understand what I'm talking about?
"They're here," the official said cautiously.
“We came for them,” Spiro frowned. “So get them ready.”
He turned and solemnly walked out to look for someone to help him load his luggage. When he returned, he saw that the customs officer had taken the keys from his mother and was just opening the lid on one of the suitcases. Spiro roared with anger and, instantly jumping up to the customs officer, slammed the lid right on his fingers.
Why are you opening it, you son of a bitch? he asked fiercely. The customs officer, waving his pinched hand in the air, said angrily that it was his duty to look through the luggage.
- Duty? Spiro asked mockingly. "What does duty mean?" Duty to attack poor foreigners? Treat them like smugglers? Do you consider this a duty?
Spiro stopped for a moment, took a breath, grabbed both huge suitcases and headed for the exit. On the threshold, he turned around to fire another parting charge.
“I know you, Christaki, and you better not start talking about duties with me. I have not forgotten how you were fined twenty thousand drachmas for killing fish with dynamite, and I do not want every criminal to talk to me about duties.
We returned from customs in triumph, taking our luggage without checking and in complete safety.
“Those bastards think they are the masters here,” Spiro commented, apparently unaware that he himself was acting as the master of the island.
Once taking care of us, Spiro remained with us. Within a few hours he had gone from being a taxi driver to our protector, and in a week he was our guide, philosopher and friend. Very soon we already perceived him as a member of our family, and almost not a single event, not a single idea could do without him. He was always at hand with his thunderous voice and knitted eyebrows, arranging our affairs, telling us how much to pay for what, keeping a close eye on us and telling my mother everything she thought she needed to know. A heavy, ungainly tanned-skinned angel, he guarded us as gently and carefully as if we were foolish children. He looked at his mother with sincere adoration and everywhere in a loud voice lavished compliments on her, which embarrassed her no little.
“You must think what you are doing,” he told us with a serious look. “You must not upset your mother.
- Why so? asked Larry with mock surprise. “She never tries for us, so why should we think about her?
"Fear God, Master Larry, don't joke like that," Spiro said with anguish in his voice.
“He's quite right, Spiro,” Leslie said in all seriousness. “She's not such a good mother.
Don't you dare say that, don't you dare! Spiro roared. “If I had such a mother, I would kneel down every morning and kiss her feet.
So, we settled in a pink house. Everyone arranged his life and adapted himself to the environment in accordance with his habits and tastes. Margo, for example, sunbathed in the olive groves in a microscopic bathing suit and gathered around her a whole gang of handsome country boys who appeared as if from the ground every time they needed to drive away a bee or move a deck chair. Mom felt it her duty to tell her that she thought these sunbathings were rather unreasonable.
“Because this suit, my dear,” she explained, “does not cover so much.
“Don't be old-fashioned, Mom,” Margo flared up. “After all, we only die once.
To this remark, which contained as much surprise as truth, my mother had no answer.
To bring Larry's trunks into the house, three strong village boys had to sweat and overwork for half an hour, while Larry himself ran around and gave valuable instructions. One chest turned out to be so huge that it had to be dragged through the window. When the two chests were at last put in their place, Larry spent a happy day unpacking them, so cluttering the room with books that it was impossible to get in or out. Then he erected crenellated towers of books along the walls and spent the whole day sitting in this fortress with his typewriter, leaving only to the table. The next morning, Larry appeared in a very bad mood, because a peasant had tied a donkey near the very fence of our garden. From time to time the donkey tossed its head and yelled out in its hysterical voice.
- Well, think! said Larry. “Isn't it funny that future generations will be deprived of my book just because some brainless idiot would take it into his head to tie this nasty beast of burden right under my window.

A wonderful work. One of Darrell's best. I, perhaps, will not name another book that would so strongly awaken a love for nature, which would so easily and fascinatingly acquaint the reader with the amazing wonders of nature that are around us. Every butterfly or beetle, lizard or bird that we pass by hundreds of times a day, completely unaware of them, suddenly becomes amazing, almost magical creatures under Darrell's pen. Surprisingly, this book is completely realistic, sometimes it seems almost fantastic. So cool the author conveyed his childish feeling of the miracles surrounding him.

I never tire of being amazed at the observation of young Jerry, who remembered so well, and later so successfully and aptly described the people around him. The loud and kind Spiro or Dr. Theodore appear before us as if they were alive. And what about the Durrell family itself. Gerald walked heartily through his relatives, not forgetting to laugh at himself as well. There are many comical moments in the book, and in terms of richness of humor it is not inferior, for example, to my beloved Jerome. For some reason, I remember the scene with my mother's bathing suit the most. :wink:

And how much trouble Jerry himself brought to those around him! Yes, relatives suffered with him.

Perhaps this book should be given to every child to read, so that he looks at the world with slightly different eyes. I hope after this, he won't carry scorpions in a matchbox :wink:

Score: 10

After the first reading, Corfu became the island of my dreams. It was in second grade...

Unique book. You can grow up, change your outlook on life, become discouraged or vice versa rejoice. And in any mood and age, re-read it, looking for something close right now. And don't be disappointed. No one else is able to look at the world like that! Noticing the smallest details, experiencing and admiring. Huge heart. Solar warmth. And a subtle irony that does not turn into banter, or sarcasm, or vulgarity. Surprisingly combined are the living characters of people and no less alive - everything crawling / flying / running, even insects.

About the latter, by the way. When I read it, I was delighted with the earwigs. Cute, cute... How I squealed when I found them in my garden:lol:

The main thing is that I can’t kill, I can’t fight with brutal methods ... I was brought up by a book. Like this. The magical power of art :smile:

Score: 10

One of those books that you come back to again and again. Acquaintance with Darrell happened almost by accident: friends of my parents gave me one collection. I remember all the details - how old I was, on what holiday I was presented with a book ... Because from that day I began the “Darrell Age”. First, I found and read all of his books in the school library, and when everything was read there, I went and enrolled in the city library.

"My family and other animals", in my opinion, one of the most comfortable and good books author. Read as a child, as it turned out, it affects your whole life. The way you treat those around you (both people and animals), where you would like to go, which can dispel sad thoughts (reading My family, of course) - a lot, if you start to figure it out, comes from childhood, namely from this book.

And one more thing, about the influence, when I received my first international passport, the first thing I went to Corfu ... That's it, I'll go re-read the book and flip through the photos)))

Score: 10

I join all the rave reviews for this excellent book. You remember: “uncork a bottle of champagne, or reread The Marriage of Figaro.” So, in my difficult hours, I re-read My Family and Other Animals. It always helps: both from depression and from bad mood, and from bad weather, and (as it seems to me) even from high blood pressure and a cold! Corfu - this shining world! The family is a company of the sweetest and extremely original people (and mom, and Larry, and Margot ..., and little Darrell himself). Animals are not animals at all (in the general sense of this definition), but amazing, funny and mysterious creatures. For those who haven't read this book yet, please read it! Maybe you'll like it as much as I do!

Score: 10

One of the author's best works. Relatives (and not only) with all adult heavy conviction in the indisputable rightness of their own view of things compete with animals and the world full of sun and discoveries for Jerry's attention, and this struggle often turns the surrounding reality into a real theater of the absurd. The author, with his characteristic expressiveness, thoroughness and sense of humor, describes the events of his childhood, almost turning the reader into a participant in these events.

Very good and warm book.

Score: 10

A wonderful book, literally seething with kind irony and love of life. One of those that you don't read - you live in them. The characters are right in front of your eyes: what birds, what animals, what numerous members and friends of the eccentric, but friendly Durrell family. It is impossible to understand what is true, what is added, it is painfully bright and memorable images obtained from the author. You re-read it, and every time it's like meeting good old friends.

Score: 10

First of all, it is worth noting the incredible beauty and warmth of this book. The author describes the beauty of Corfu in such a way that this particular Greek island has become my dream forever, where the sun is pouring from heaven, the surf is making noise and we are going along the road over the sea ... Where? Maybe looking for animals, or maybe just swimming or snorkeling, exploring the underwater world - it doesn't matter. It is important that after reading this book, one cannot help but admire the world around you, one cannot help but learn to understand people close to you - in dreams of someone else's, we so often miss our own ...

Score: 10

The best series is about Corfu, definitely the best! And one of the most wonderful descriptions of childhood is from Darrell! I think everyone who has read the cycle would like to visit Corfu in pre-war times and enjoy the serenity.

Score: 10

A wonderfully written book.

For me, in this book, the first place is not young Jerry's zoological research, but his family, the people around them and pets. With humor and only his characteristic irony, he describes the crazy events happening to them. Subtly and vividly reveals their characters and hobbies, which seems like a little more and they will leave the pages of the book and live their own lives. When reading a book, one gets the impression that one is watching (actually watching, not reading) a comedy performance, where each page is a new, unpredictable comic action with an unknown end result.

And after reading, there is a feeling of regret that this book is so small, and not 2 or 3 times thicker.

Score: 10

When it’s slushy autumn outside, and depression is born in my soul, I take this book and everything changes. Through this book you find yourself in the world of bright sun, blue sea and joyful childhood. This is perhaps the most positive book that I have read in my life and from the age of 8 to 30 I read it 20 times and I think I will read the same number of times. A book for all times and for everyone from 6 to 90 years old.

Score: 10

Lawrence Durrell in conversation with Claudine Brele, autumn 1972, Radio Europe I, translated by Mushinskaya:

“He has great books. But to me, his brother, he is too harsh! Actually, I didn't live with them. I was married, and my wife and I settled quite far away from them. Most of his stories are built in the Irish manner: a little truth in the base and a lot of exaggeration. That's how the Irish joke."

So that's what's missing - Irish humor! Thank you.

Rating: no

First of all, this book is distinguished by the abyss of humor with warmth. I read it in 1st grade and have re-read it a couple of times since then.

The kindness inherent in Gerald envelops you with calmness and reading such books is always very comfortable and pleasant :)

In addition, the animal world described by him is completely unfamiliar to us, and therefore interesting.

Score: 10

The book is very kind and pleasant, if I may say so, to read. It lacks a little dynamism, so it is read calmly and unhurriedly, the text constantly evokes a kind smile, and I also broke into a loud laugh more than once. Especially in terms of humor, I liked the scene of the hunting dispute between the brothers Larry and Leslie and its finale. The author's humor is very organically woven into the narrative, as if everything happens naturally, without the slightest effort of the author to make the reader smile.

The author admits that the book was conceived entirely about the animal world and the family got there by mistake, I think he is being cunning, using his signature style of introducing humor described above. It’s just that even though I love nature, animals, but Gerald’s family is the basis of the whole book, even though all sorts of pilgrims, scorpions, lizards and snakes in the bathroom are sweet to the author, the basis of the book is still a family, without it the story would lose all its meaning and charm . Well, this is my opinion. The whole family is so different, with their own interests, phobias and outlook on life, with a firm belief in only their own exceptional correctness in their views on life, one can only wonder how they managed to get along together, and not push each other, and the author did not even describe one mischief caused intentionally. In fact, it was the author who did a lot of dirty tricks, being the youngest member of the family, but he did it not from evil, but always unintentionally and only as part of his passion for animals.

Although if you take a broader and more cynical look at the life of the Darell family on the paradise island of Corfu (but this is me, I can’t see only the good, my life experience opposes and prevents me from believing in it), then a number of clarification questions arise. Firstly, the family consists of a mother and four children who do not deny themselves anything. And they ended up in Corfu, where they lived a heavenly life, after the death of their father. One must think that the father also had to be not a bad person, looking at the children, how they managed to raise them, and at the mother who agreed to have four children, and maybe more, if not for the death of her husband. But no one ever remembered about his father. Well, the youngest Gerald, although here he is 10 years old, and the older children, and the mother? It's a shame for the father, who, presumably, was able to provide this heavenly life, but he himself did not get into it, moreover, in order for the family to go to heaven, he first had to die. Well, about providing a comfortable paradise, everyone would like to live like this, swim all day on the beach, write books, catch grasshoppers, go hunting, sunbathe and indulge in other favorite activities, but the question is, where is the money, Zin?

Score: 9

Today in our review is a new edition of Gerald Durrell's autobiographical story "My Family and Other Animals", with atmospheric illustrations, verified to the smallest detail, by Maria Mazirko. The drawings in the book are black and white, but this only adds to their realism.

“My Family and Other Animals” is a book about love for nature and how beautiful and diverse the living world is. And this book is also about a strong and friendly family that is easy-going and not afraid of change. What is there, this is a real guide to solving all problems. And a laudatory ode to English equanimity and sense of humour.

Well, actually. Rainy summers, endless colds, not the best climate. The entire population of Great Britain endures and suffers, and the Durrell family was indignant: why endure? After all, you can sell your house and move to where the sun always shines! To warm, blessed Greece!

Yes, of course, for this you need to have a house that can be sold, have money for traveling, moving, living abroad ... But, in addition to money, it takes a lot, a lot of optimism, determination and courage. And strong nerves, not only to settle down in an unfamiliar country where everyone speaks an incomprehensible language, but also to make friends there and enjoy every day.

At the center of the story - happy childhood Jerry boy. He has absolutely everything you need to be happy. A kind loving mother who does not forbid anything, two older brothers, one is a writer, the second is a hunter, and an older sister, from whom you can borrow cream jars and plant different animals in them.

And Jerry also has a dog, Roger, and lots and lots of freedom. And a whole island that you can explore for days on end at your leisure. Olive groves, vineyards, reed beds, lakes and swamps, fields and meadows.

In every line one can feel the author's genuine love for the island of Corfu, one of the most beautiful places on earth. There are strawberry-pink houses entwined with bougainvillea, there fireflies light their lanterns in the evenings, dolphins splash in the sea, and a man with bronze coats walks along the roads and plays the flute ...

There you can live by the sea, dig in the garden, breathe in the aroma of flowers and herbs, listen to the music of cicadas, swim in a boat, sunbathe, collect shell collections, go on picnics during the lily season.

Of course, in this paradise there are many different living creatures. Scorpions, for example. Spiders. Mantises. Earwigs. Maybe someone does not like all these comrades, but not Jerry. He is just crazy about all living beings and is trying to collect them all under the roof of his house, so he does not go for a walk without a net.

Oh, how many important things Jerry has to do! Feed strawberries to a pet turtle. Launch water snakes into the bath, to the displeasure of the older brother. Watch the battle between the praying mantis and the gecko. To bring up a couple of thieving and noisy magpies. Go for an evening walk with your own owl. Guard the earwig's nest while waiting for the eggs to hatch.

It's no surprise that Jerry grew up to be a writer. And he created such amazing, funny and soul-stirring memories of the unforgettable years spent on the island of Corfu.
Text and photo: Katya Medvedeva

MY FAMILY AND OTHER ANIMALS

This edition is published by arrangement with Curtis Brown UK and The Van Lear Agency.

Series "Big Romance"

The publication was prepared with the participation of the Azbuka publishing house.

Inostranka® Publishing House

Dedicated to my mother

But I have my own melancholy, composed of many elements, extracted from many objects, and in essence the result of reflections taken from my wanderings, plunging into which I experience the most humorous sadness.

William Shakespeare. How do you like it

(Translated by T. Shchepkina-Kupernik)

Defender's speech

Other days I had time to believe in a dozen impossibilities before breakfast!

The White Queen in Alice in Wonderland

(Translated by N. Demurova)

This is a story about a five-year stay of my whole family on the Greek island of Corfu. It was conceived as a description of the local nature, with nostalgic overtones, but I made a big mistake by introducing my loved ones on the very first pages. Having fixed themselves on paper, they began to seize space and invite all sorts of friends to share the chapters of this book with them. It was only with great difficulty and all sorts of tricks that I managed to save separate pages devoted exclusively to animals.

I have tried to draw an accurate, without exaggeration, portrait of my family; they look just like I saw them. However, in order to explain their somewhat eccentric behavior, I think it should be clarified that in those days of their stay in Corfu, everyone was still quite young: the eldest, Larry, was twenty-three, Leslie was nineteen, Margot was eighteen, and I, the youngest , was an impressionable ten-year-old youth. It was difficult for us to judge the age of our mother for the simple reason that she never really remembered the date of her birth; so I will simply say: she was the mother of four children. She also insists that I be sure to clarify: she is a widow, because, as she very astutely noted, there is not much that people can think of.

In order to compress five years of events, observations and simply pleasant pastimes to a volume more modest than the Encyclopædia Britannica, I had to reduce, simplify and move the material, as a result of which there was little left of the original sequence of events. And I was also forced to bracket out a bunch of episodes and characters that I would love to describe.

I doubt that this book would have been completed without the help and enthusiastic support of the following people. I mention this in order to have someone to shift the blame. So my thanks:

Dr. Theodore Stephanides. With characteristic generosity, he allowed me to use the sketches for his unpublished work on Corfu, and gave me killer puns, some of which I used.

To my family, who, unwittingly, supplied me with the necessary material and provided invaluable assistance in writing the book by those who vehemently disputed everything, almost never agreeing with this or that fact about which I consulted with them.

To my wife, who delighted me with Homeric laughter while reading the manuscript, followed by a confession that she was so amused by my spelling mistakes.

To my secretary Sophie, responsible for inserting commas and ruthlessly deleting split infinitives.

I would like to express special recognition to my mother, to whom this book is dedicated. Like the kind, energetic, sensitive Noah, she sailed her ark with eccentric offspring through the turbulent waves of life, showing the greatest skill and constantly encountering a possible riot on the ship, now and then risking to run aground overexpenditures and excesses, without any certainty that her navigational abilities will be approved by the team, but knowing full well that all the bumps will fall on her if something goes wrong. The fact that she survived this test can be considered a miracle, but she survived it and, moreover, managed to maintain her sanity. As my brother Larry rightly says, we can be proud of the way we raised our mother; she does us credit. She gained a state of happy nirvana, when nothing can shock or surprise, which is proved by at least a recent example: on the weekend, when she was alone in the house, several cages were unexpectedly delivered at once with two pelicans, a bright red ibis, a vulture - a vulture and eight monkeys. At the sight of such a contingent, a weaker mortal would most likely flinch, but not my mother. On Monday morning I found her in the garage, where she was being chased by an angry pelican, whom she was trying to feed with canned sardines.

“Darling, how good of you to come. She was already out of breath. - This pelican is somehow not very willing to communicate.

When I asked why she thought it was my wards, followed by the answer:

“Darling, who else could send me pelicans?”

This shows how well she knew at least one family member.

Finally, I want to emphasize that all the jokes about the island and the islanders are not fictional. Life in Corfu is something like a bright comic opera. The atmosphere and charm of this place, it seems to me, was fairly accurately reflected by our map issued by the British Admiralty; it showed the island and neighboring coastlines in detail. And below, in a box, a note:

Since buoys that mark shallow water are often misplaced, sailors entering these waters should be vigilant.

Part one

Being crazy is a delight

Which is known only to crazy people.

John Dryden. Spanish monk. II, 2

Migration

A prickly wind blew out July like a miserable candle, and drove the leaden August sky. A needle-like stinging drizzle charged, which, with gusts of wind, walked back and forth like a matte gray sheet. On the coast of Bournemouth, the beach cabanas turned their impassive wooden faces to the gray-green, foamy-scalloped sea that greedily rolled onto the concrete pier. Seagulls fell on the city and, on their tensed wings, rushed over the roofs of houses with plaintive groans. This weather will be a test for anyone.

On a day like this, my family as a whole did not make a very favorable impression, since such weather brought with it the usual set of diseases to which we were all subject. After I lay on the floor, sticking labels on a collection of shells, I caught a cold, which instantly clogged the entire nasal cavity, like cement, so that I had to wheeze with an open mouth. My brother Leslie, huddled in a miserable shadow by the burning fireplace, suffered from inflammation of the middle ear, and from his ears some kind of liquid constantly oozed. My sister Margot had new pimples on her face, which already looked like a red veil. The mother had a severe runny nose and an attack of rheumatism to boot. And only my older brother Larry was like a cucumber, except for the fact that he was annoyed by our ailments.