The Fortunes of Fingel by Simon Raven

Author:Simon Raven
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Stratus

Pandora’s Trunk

“Take a look at this,” Fingel said.

“This” was a glossy book of highly coloured and highly obscene photographs, quite ingeniously done if you liked that kind of thing, with a commentary in one of those languages which puts little circles over “È” and “j” instead of dotting them.

“Where did you get it?” I enquired.

“From the owner of the Urania.”

The Urania was Fingel’s favourite and most long-suffering restaurant in Limassol.

“He got it,” Fingel continued, “from a sailor on a Danish boat which plies from Copenhagen. It calls in here at Cyprus every two months or so. The Danes,” he said heavily, “rather specialise in stuff like that.”

“So one had heard.” And so one had. The fact remained that one had never seen any of it before, or certainly not so luxuriously laid out and so lavish in intimate detail. “Stuff like that” was in those days (the early sixties) a very great rarity, at any rate on Cyprus. I turned the pages with relish – until suddenly the book was whisked from my hands and locked with a clang into Fingel’s black tin trunk.

“It’ll cost you a fiver,” said Fingel, “if you want to look at it any more.”

“You old Jew.”

“I’m going into business,” said Fingel; “I’m an acting Major now, you know, and I’ve got to start thinking of my old age.” He then explained further. It appeared that Alexopoulos, the owner of the Urania, maddened by Fingel’s huge and unpaid account but otherwise well-disposed, had decided to put Fingel in the way of making some money. Alexopoulos would procure large supplies of rude books from his Danish connection and would sell them to Fingel (at a profit though of course on credit). Fingel in turn would set up as distributor within our battalion, a function which his present post as Field Officer i/c Welfare, Amenities and Entertainments would greatly facilitate. He would charge a price of between two and ten pounds sterling per book, fifty per cent being refundable, not in cash but in reductions on future purchases, if the book was returned to him in good order and within a week. In this way, the theory went, he would shortly acquire enough ready money to settle with Alexopoulos both for the books themselves and for the quantities of food and drink lately devoured at the Urania.

“And then of course,” said Fingel, “I can start piling it up on my own account. There’ll be a complete change of stock, in case anyone gets bored, every time that Dane docks with his ship.”

“You do realise,” I said, “that even the Cypriots have laws about pornography. Archbishop Makarios doesn’t care for it.”

“The Cypriot police won’t trouble us.”

“You’re also committing an offence under British Military Law: conspiring to corrupt the morals of Her Majesty’s soldiers, or something of the sort.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Fingel, “I had just thought of that. So I’m going to keep all the goodies in here” – he rapped the black tin trunk – “and put the trunk itself into Welfare and Amenity Stores.

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