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diff --git a/638-h/638-h.htm b/638-h/638-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..869f2c4 --- /dev/null +++ b/638-h/638-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,13063 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + An Outcast of the Islands, by Joseph Conrad + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of An Outcast of the Islands, by Joseph Conrad + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: An Outcast of the Islands + +Author: Joseph Conrad + +Release Date: January 9, 2006 [EBook #638] +Last Updated: September 9, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS *** + + + + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Joseph Conrad + </h2> + <h3> + <i>Pues el delito mayor Del hombre es haber nacito</i><br /> + CALDERON <br /> + </h3> + <h3> + TO EDWARD LANCELOT SANDERSON + </h3> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <h2> + Contents + </h2> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> AUTHOR’S NOTE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0002"> <b>AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS</b> </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> <big><b>PART I</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> CHAPTER ONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> CHAPTER TWO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> CHAPTER THREE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> CHAPTER FOUR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> CHAPTER FIVE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> CHAPTER SIX </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> CHAPTER SEVEN </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <big><b>PART II</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> CHAPTER ONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> CHAPTER TWO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> CHAPTER THREE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> CHAPTER FOUR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> CHAPTER FIVE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> CHAPTER SIX </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> <big><b>PART III</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> CHAPTER ONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> CHAPTER TWO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> CHAPTER THREE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> CHAPTER FOUR </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART4"> <big><b>PART IV</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> CHAPTER ONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0019"> CHAPTER TWO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0020"> CHAPTER THREE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0021"> CHAPTER FOUR </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0022"> CHAPTER FIVE </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART5"> <big><b>PART V</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0023"> CHAPTER ONE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0024"> CHAPTER TWO </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0025"> CHAPTER THREE </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0026"> CHAPTER FOUR </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + AUTHOR’S NOTE + </h2> + <p> + “An Outcast of the Islands” is my second novel in the absolute sense of + the word; second in conception, second in execution, second as it were in + its essence. There was no hesitation, half-formed plan, vague idea, or the + vaguest reverie of anything else between it and “Almayer’s Folly.” The + only doubt I suffered from, after the publication of “Almayer’s Folly,” + was whether I should write another line for print. Those days, now grown + so dim, had their poignant moments. Neither in my mind nor in my heart had + I then given up the sea. In truth I was clinging to it desperately, all + the more desperately because, against my will, I could not help feeling + that there was something changed in my relation to it. “Almayer’s Folly,” + had been finished and done with. The mood itself was gone. But it had left + the memory of an experience that, both in thought and emotion was + unconnected with the sea, and I suppose that part of my moral being which + is rooted in consistency was badly shaken. I was a victim of contrary + stresses which produced a state of immobility. I gave myself up to + indolence. Since it was impossible for me to face both ways I had elected + to face nothing. The discovery of new values in life is a very chaotic + experience; there is a tremendous amount of jostling and confusion and a + momentary feeling of darkness. I let my spirit float supine over that + chaos. + </p> + <p> + A phrase of Edward Garnett’s is, as a matter of fact, responsible for this + book. The first of the friends I made for myself by my pen it was but + natural that he should be the recipient, at that time, of my confidences. + One evening when we had dined together and he had listened to the account + of my perplexities (I fear he must have been growing a little tired of + them) he pointed out that there was no need to determine my future + absolutely. Then he added: “You have the style, you have the temperament; + why not write another?” I believe that as far as one man may wish to + influence another man’s life Edward Garnett had a great desire that I + should go on writing. At that time, and I may say, ever afterwards, he was + always very patient and gentle with me. What strikes me most however in + the phrase quoted above which was offered to me in a tone of detachment is + not its gentleness but its effective wisdom. Had he said, “Why not go on + writing,” it is very probable he would have scared me away from pen and + ink for ever; but there was nothing either to frighten one or arouse one’s + antagonism in the mere suggestion to “write another.” And thus a dead + point in the revolution of my affairs was insidiously got over. The word + “another” did it. At about eleven o’clock of a nice London night, Edward + and I walked along interminable streets talking of many things, and I + remember that on getting home I sat down and wrote about half a page of + “An Outcast of the Islands” before I slept. This was committing myself + definitely, I won’t say to another life, but to another book. There is + apparently something in my character which will not allow me to abandon + for good any piece of work I have begun. I have laid aside many + beginnings. I have laid them aside with sorrow, with disgust, with rage, + with melancholy and even with self-contempt; but even at the worst I had + an uneasy consciousness that I would have to go back to them. + </p> + <p> + “An Outcast of the Islands” belongs to those novels of mine that were + never laid aside; and though it brought me the qualification of “exotic + writer” I don’t think the charge was at all justified. + </p> + <p> + For the life of me I don’t see that there is the slightest exotic spirit + in the conception or style of that novel. It is certainly the most <i>tropical</i> + of my eastern tales. The mere scenery got a great hold on me as I went on, + perhaps because (I may just as well confess that) the story itself was + never very near my heart. + </p> + <p> + It engaged my imagination much more than my affection. As to my feeling + for Willems it was but the regard one cannot help having for one’s own + creation. Obviously I could not be indifferent to a man on whose head I + had brought so much evil simply by imagining him such as he appears in the + novel—and that, too, on a very slight foundation. + </p> + <p> + The man who suggested Willems to me was not particularly interesting in + himself. My interest was aroused by his dependent position, his strange, + dubious status of a mistrusted, disliked, worn-out European living on the + reluctant toleration of that Settlement hidden in the heart of the + forest-land, up that sombre stream which our ship was the only white men’s + ship to visit. With his hollow, clean-shaved cheeks, a heavy grey + moustache and eyes without any expression whatever, clad always in a + spotless sleeping suit much be-frogged in front, which left his lean neck + wholly uncovered, and with his bare feet in a pair of straw slippers, he + wandered silently amongst the houses in daylight, almost as dumb as an + animal and apparently much more homeless. I don’t know what he did with + himself at night. He must have had a place, a hut, a palm-leaf shed, some + sort of hovel where he kept his razor and his change of sleeping suits. An + air of futile mystery hung over him, something not exactly dark but + obviously ugly. The only definite statement I could extract from anybody + was that it was he who had “brought the Arabs into the river.” That must + have happened many years before. But how did he bring them into the river? + He could hardly have done it in his arms like a lot of kittens. I knew + that Almayer founded the chronology of all his misfortunes on the date of + that fateful advent; and yet the very first time we dined with Almayer + there was Willems sitting at table with us in the manner of the skeleton + at the feast, obviously shunned by everybody, never addressed by any one, + and for all recognition of his existence getting now and then from Almayer + a venomous glance which I observed with great surprise. In the course of + the whole evening he ventured one single remark which I didn’t catch + because his articulation was imperfect, as of a man who had forgotten how + to speak. I was the only person who seemed aware of the sound. Willems + subsided. Presently he retired, pointedly unnoticed—into the forest + maybe? Its immensity was there, within three hundred yards of the + verandah, ready to swallow up anything. Almayer conversing with my captain + did not stop talking while he glared angrily at the retreating back. + Didn’t that fellow bring the Arabs into the river! Nevertheless Willems + turned up next morning on Almayer’s verandah. From the bridge of the + steamer I could see plainly these two, breakfasting together, tete a tete + and, I suppose, in dead silence, one with his air of being no longer + interested in this world and the other raising his eyes now and then with + intense dislike. + </p> + <p> + It was clear that in those days Willems lived on Almayer’s charity. Yet on + returning two months later to Sambir I heard that he had gone on an + expedition up the river in charge of a steam-launch belonging to the + Arabs, to make some discovery or other. On account of the strange + reluctance that everyone manifested to talk about Willems it was + impossible for me to get at the rights of that transaction. Moreover, I + was a newcomer, the youngest of the company, and, I suspect, not judged + quite fit as yet for a full confidence. I was not much concerned about + that exclusion. The faint suggestion of plots and mysteries pertaining to + all matters touching Almayer’s affairs amused me vastly. Almayer was + obviously very much affected. I believe he missed Willems immensely. He + wore an air of sinister preoccupation and talked confidentially with my + captain. I could catch only snatches of mumbled sentences. Then one + morning as I came along the deck to take my place at the breakfast table + Almayer checked himself in his low-toned discourse. My captain’s face was + perfectly impenetrable. There was a moment of profound silence and then as + if unable to contain himself Almayer burst out in a loud vicious tone: + </p> + <p> + “One thing’s certain; if he finds anything worth having up there they will + poison him like a dog.” + </p> + <p> + Disconnected though it was, that phrase, as food for thought, was + distinctly worth hearing. We left the river three days afterwards and I + never returned to Sambir; but whatever happened to the protagonist of my + Willems nobody can deny that I have recorded for him a less squalid fate. + </p> + <p> + J. C. 1919. <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0002" id="link2H_4_0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h1> + AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER ONE + </h2> + <p> + When he stepped off the straight and narrow path of his peculiar honesty, + it was with an inward assertion of unflinching resolve to fall back again + into the monotonous but safe stride of virtue as soon as his little + excursion into the wayside quagmires had produced the desired effect. It + was going to be a short episode—a sentence in brackets, so to speak—in + the flowing tale of his life: a thing of no moment, to be done + unwillingly, yet neatly, and to be quickly forgotten. He imagined that he + could go on afterwards looking at the sunshine, enjoying the shade, + breathing in the perfume of flowers in the small garden before his house. + He fancied that nothing would be changed, that he would be able as + heretofore to tyrannize good-humouredly over his half-caste wife, to + notice with tender contempt his pale yellow child, to patronize loftily + his dark-skinned brother-in-law, who loved pink neckties and wore + patent-leather boots on his little feet, and was so humble before the + white husband of the lucky sister. Those were the delights of his life, + and he was unable to conceive that the moral significance of any act of + his could interfere with the very nature of things, could dim the light of + the sun, could destroy the perfume of the flowers, the submission of his + wife, the smile of his child, the awe-struck respect of Leonard da Souza + and of all the Da Souza family. That family’s admiration was the great + luxury of his life. It rounded and completed his existence in a perpetual + assurance of unquestionable superiority. He loved to breathe the coarse + incense they offered before the shrine of the successful white man; the + man that had done them the honour to marry their daughter, sister, cousin; + the rising man sure to climb very high; the confidential clerk of Hudig + & Co. They were a numerous and an unclean crowd, living in ruined + bamboo houses, surrounded by neglected compounds, on the outskirts of + Macassar. He kept them at arm’s length and even further off, perhaps, + having no illusions as to their worth. They were a half-caste, lazy lot, + and he saw them as they were—ragged, lean, unwashed, undersized men + of various ages, shuffling about aimlessly in slippers; motionless old + women who looked like monstrous bags of pink calico stuffed with shapeless + lumps of fat, and deposited askew upon decaying rattan chairs in shady + corners of dusty verandahs; young women, slim and yellow, big-eyed, + long-haired, moving languidly amongst the dirt and rubbish of their + dwellings as if every step they took was going to be their very last. He + heard their shrill quarrellings, the squalling of their children, the + grunting of their pigs; he smelt the odours of the heaps of garbage in + their courtyards: and he was greatly disgusted. But he fed and clothed + that shabby multitude; those degenerate descendants of Portuguese + conquerors; he was their providence; he kept them singing his praises in + the midst of their laziness, of their dirt, of their immense and hopeless + squalor: and he was greatly delighted. They wanted much, but he could give + them all they wanted without ruining himself. In exchange he had their + silent fear, their loquacious love, their noisy veneration. It is a fine + thing to be a providence, and to be told so on every day of one’s life. It + gives one a feeling of enormously remote superiority, and Willems revelled + in it. He did not analyze the state of his mind, but probably his greatest + delight lay in the unexpressed but intimate conviction that, should he + close his hand, all those admiring human beings would starve. His + munificence had demoralized them. An easy task. Since he descended amongst + them and married Joanna they had lost the little aptitude and strength for + work they might have had to put forth under the stress of extreme + necessity. They lived now by the grace of his will. This was power. + Willems loved it. In another, and perhaps a lower plane, his days did not + want for their less complex but more obvious pleasures. He liked the + simple games of skill—billiards; also games not so simple, and + calling for quite another kind of skill—poker. He had been the + aptest pupil of a steady-eyed, sententious American, who had drifted + mysteriously into Macassar from the wastes of the Pacific, and, after + knocking about for a time in the eddies of town life, had drifted out + enigmatically into the sunny solitudes of the Indian Ocean. The memory of + the Californian stranger was perpetuated in the game of poker—which + became popular in the capital of Celebes from that time—and in a + powerful cocktail, the recipe for which is transmitted—in the + Kwang-tung dialect—from head boy to head boy of the Chinese servants + in the Sunda Hotel even to this day. Willems was a connoisseur in the + drink and an adept at the game. Of those accomplishments he was moderately + proud. Of the confidence reposed in him by Hudig—the master—he + was boastfully and obtrusively proud. This arose from his great + benevolence, and from an exalted sense of his duty to himself and the + world at large. He experienced that irresistible impulse to impart + information which is inseparable from gross ignorance. There is always + some one thing which the ignorant man knows, and that thing is the only + thing worth knowing; it fills the ignorant man’s universe. Willems knew + all about himself. On the day when, with many misgivings, he ran away from + a Dutch East-Indiaman in Samarang roads, he had commenced that study of + himself, of his own ways, of his own abilities, of those fate-compelling + qualities of his which led him toward that lucrative position which he now + filled. Being of a modest and diffident nature, his successes amazed, + almost frightened him, and ended—as he got over the succeeding + shocks of surprise—by making him ferociously conceited. He believed + in his genius and in his knowledge of the world. Others should know of it + also; for their own good and for his greater glory. All those friendly men + who slapped him on the back and greeted him noisily should have the + benefit of his example. For that he must talk. He talked to them + conscientiously. In the afternoon he expounded his theory of success over + the little tables, dipping now and then his moustache in the crushed ice + of the cocktails; in the evening he would often hold forth, cue in hand, + to a young listener across the billiard table. The billiard balls stood + still as if listening also, under the vivid brilliance of the shaded oil + lamps hung low over the cloth; while away in the shadows of the big room + the Chinaman marker would lean wearily against the wall, the blank mask of + his face looking pale under the mahogany marking-board; his eyelids + dropped in the drowsy fatigue of late hours and in the buzzing monotony of + the unintelligible stream of words poured out by the white man. In a + sudden pause of the talk the game would recommence with a sharp click and + go on for a time in the flowing soft whirr and the subdued thuds as the + balls rolled zig-zagging towards the inevitably successful cannon. Through + the big windows and the open doors the salt dampness of the sea, the vague + smell of mould and flowers from the garden of the hotel drifted in and + mingled with the odour of lamp oil, growing heavier as the night advanced. + The players’ heads dived into the light as they bent down for the stroke, + springing back again smartly into the greenish gloom of broad lamp-shades; + the clock ticked methodically; the unmoved Chinaman continuously repeated + the score in a lifeless voice, like a big talking doll—and Willems + would win the game. With a remark that it was getting late, and that he + was a married man, he would say a patronizing good-night and step out into + the long, empty street. At that hour its white dust was like a dazzling + streak of moonlight where the eye sought repose in the dimmer gleam of + rare oil lamps. Willems walked homewards, following the line of walls + overtopped by the luxuriant vegetation of the front gardens. The houses + right and left were hidden behind the black masses of flowering shrubs. + Willems had the street to himself. He would walk in the middle, his shadow + gliding obsequiously before him. He looked down on it complacently. The + shadow of a successful man! He would be slightly dizzy with the cocktails + and with the intoxication of his own glory. As he often told people, he + came east fourteen years ago—a cabin boy. A small boy. His shadow + must have been very small at that time; he thought with a smile that he + was not aware then he had anything—even a shadow—which he + dared call his own. And now he was looking at the shadow of the + confidential clerk of Hudig & Co. going home. How glorious! How good + was life for those that were on the winning side! He had won the game of + life; also the game of billiards. He walked faster, jingling his winnings, + and thinking of the white stone days that had marked the path of his + existence. He thought of the trip to Lombok for ponies—that first + important transaction confided to him by Hudig; then he reviewed the more + important affairs: the quiet deal in opium; the illegal traffic in + gunpowder; the great affair of smuggled firearms, the difficult business + of the Rajah of Goak. He carried that last through by sheer pluck; he had + bearded the savage old ruler in his council room; he had bribed him with a + gilt glass coach, which, rumour said, was used as a hen-coop now; he had + over-persuaded him; he had bested him in every way. That was the way to + get on. He disapproved of the elementary dishonesty that dips the hand in + the cash-box, but one could evade the laws and push the principles of + trade to their furthest consequences. Some call that cheating. Those are + the fools, the weak, the contemptible. The wise, the strong, the + respected, have no scruples. Where there are scruples there can be no + power. On that text he preached often to the young men. It was his + doctrine, and he, himself, was a shining example of its truth. + </p> + <p> + Night after night he went home thus, after a day of toil and pleasure, + drunk with the sound of his own voice celebrating his own prosperity. On + his thirtieth birthday he went home thus. He had spent in good company a + nice, noisy evening, and, as he walked along the empty street, the feeling + of his own greatness grew upon him, lifted him above the white dust of the + road, and filled him with exultation and regrets. He had not done himself + justice over there in the hotel, he had not talked enough about himself, + he had not impressed his hearers enough. Never mind. Some other time. Now + he would go home and make his wife get up and listen to him. Why should + she not get up?—and mix a cocktail for him—and listen + patiently. Just so. She shall. If he wanted he could make all the Da Souza + family get up. He had only to say a word and they would all come and sit + silently in their night vestments on the hard, cold ground of his compound + and listen, as long as he wished to go on explaining to them from the top + of the stairs, how great and good he was. They would. However, his wife + would do—for to-night. + </p> + <p> + His wife! He winced inwardly. A dismal woman with startled eyes and + dolorously drooping mouth, that would listen to him in pained wonder and + mute stillness. She was used to those night-discourses now. She had + rebelled once—at the beginning. Only once. Now, while he sprawled in + the long chair and drank and talked, she would stand at the further end of + the table, her hands resting on the edge, her frightened eyes watching his + lips, without a sound, without a stir, hardly breathing, till he dismissed + her with a contemptuous: “Go to bed, dummy.” She would draw a long breath + then and trail out of the room, relieved but unmoved. Nothing could + startle her, make her scold or make her cry. She did not complain, she did + not rebel. That first difference of theirs was decisive. Too decisive, + thought Willems, discontentedly. It had frightened the soul out of her + body apparently. A dismal woman! A damn’d business altogether! What the + devil did he want to go and saddle himself. . . . Ah! Well! he wanted a + home, and the match seemed to please Hudig, and Hudig gave him the + bungalow, that flower-bowered house to which he was wending his way in the + cool moonlight. And he had the worship of the Da Souza tribe. A man of his + stamp could carry off anything, do anything, aspire to anything. In + another five years those white people who attended the Sunday card-parties + of the Governor would accept him—half-caste wife and all! Hooray! He + saw his shadow dart forward and wave a hat, as big as a rum barrel, at the + end of an arm several yards long. . . . Who shouted hooray? . . . He + smiled shamefacedly to himself, and, pushing his hands deep into his + pockets, walked faster with a suddenly grave face. Behind him—to the + left—a cigar end glowed in the gateway of Mr. Vinck’s front yard. + Leaning against one of the brick pillars, Mr. Vinck, the cashier of Hudig + & Co., smoked the last cheroot of the evening. Amongst the shadows of + the trimmed bushes Mrs. Vinck crunched slowly, with measured steps, the + gravel of the circular path before the house. + </p> + <p> + “There’s Willems going home on foot—and drunk I fancy,” said Mr. + Vinck over his shoulder. “I saw him jump and wave his hat.” + </p> + <p> + The crunching of the gravel stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Horrid man,” said Mrs. Vinck, calmly. “I have heard he beats his wife.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, my dear, no,” muttered absently Mr. Vinck, with a vague gesture. + The aspect of Willems as a wife-beater presented to him no interest. How + women do misjudge! If Willems wanted to torture his wife he would have + recourse to less primitive methods. Mr. Vinck knew Willems well, and + believed him to be very able, very smart—objectionably so. As he + took the last quick draws at the stump of his cheroot, Mr. Vinck reflected + that the confidence accorded by Hudig to Willems was open, under the + circumstances, to loyal criticism from Hudig’s cashier. + </p> + <p> + “He is becoming dangerous; he knows too much. He will have to be got rid + of,” said Mr. Vinck aloud. But Mrs. Vinck had gone in already, and after + shaking his head he threw away his cheroot and followed her slowly. + </p> + <p> + Willems walked on homeward weaving the splendid web of his future. The + road to greatness lay plainly before his eyes, straight and shining, + without any obstacle that he could see. He had stepped off the path of + honesty, as he understood it, but he would soon regain it, never to leave + it any more! It was a very small matter. He would soon put it right again. + Meantime his duty was not to be found out, and he trusted in his skill, in + his luck, in his well-established reputation that would disarm suspicion + if anybody dared to suspect. But nobody would dare! True, he was conscious + of a slight deterioration. He had appropriated temporarily some of Hudig’s + money. A deplorable necessity. But he judged himself with the indulgence + that should be extended to the weaknesses of genius. He would make + reparation and all would be as before; nobody would be the loser for it, + and he would go on unchecked toward the brilliant goal of his ambition. + </p> + <p> + Hudig’s partner! + </p> + <p> + Before going up the steps of his house he stood for awhile, his feet well + apart, chin in hand, contemplating mentally Hudig’s future partner. A + glorious occupation. He saw him quite safe; solid as the hills; deep—deep + as an abyss; discreet as the grave. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER TWO + </h2> + <p> + The sea, perhaps because of its saltness, roughens the outside but keeps + sweet the kernel of its servants’ soul. The old sea; the sea of many years + ago, whose servants were devoted slaves and went from youth to age or to a + sudden grave without needing to open the book of life, because they could + look at eternity reflected on the element that gave the life and dealt the + death. Like a beautiful and unscrupulous woman, the sea of the past was + glorious in its smiles, irresistible in its anger, capricious, enticing, + illogical, irresponsible; a thing to love, a thing to fear. It cast a + spell, it gave joy, it lulled gently into boundless faith; then with quick + and causeless anger it killed. But its cruelty was redeemed by the charm + of its inscrutable mystery, by the immensity of its promise, by the + supreme witchery of its possible favour. Strong men with childlike hearts + were faithful to it, were content to live by its grace—to die by its + will. That was the sea before the time when the French mind set the + Egyptian muscle in motion and produced a dismal but profitable ditch. Then + a great pall of smoke sent out by countless steam-boats was spread over + the restless mirror of the Infinite. The hand of the engineer tore down + the veil of the terrible beauty in order that greedy and faithless + landlubbers might pocket dividends. The mystery was destroyed. Like all + mysteries, it lived only in the hearts of its worshippers. The hearts + changed; the men changed. The once loving and devoted servants went out + armed with fire and iron, and conquering the fear of their own hearts + became a calculating crowd of cold and exacting masters. The sea of the + past was an incomparably beautiful mistress, with inscrutable face, with + cruel and promising eyes. The sea of to-day is a used-up drudge, wrinkled + and defaced by the churned-up wakes of brutal propellers, robbed of the + enslaving charm of its vastness, stripped of its beauty, of its mystery + and of its promise. + </p> + <p> + Tom Lingard was a master, a lover, a servant of the sea. The sea took him + young, fashioned him body and soul; gave him his fierce aspect, his loud + voice, his fearless eyes, his stupidly guileless heart. Generously it gave + him his absurd faith in himself, his universal love of creation, his wide + indulgence, his contemptuous severity, his straightforward simplicity of + motive and honesty of aim. Having made him what he was, womanlike, the sea + served him humbly and let him bask unharmed in the sunshine of its + terribly uncertain favour. Tom Lingard grew rich on the sea and by the + sea. He loved it with the ardent affection of a lover, he made light of it + with the assurance of perfect mastery, he feared it with the wise fear of + a brave man, and he took liberties with it as a spoiled child might do + with a paternal and good-natured ogre. He was grateful to it, with the + gratitude of an honest heart. His greatest pride lay in his profound + conviction of its faithfulness—in the deep sense of his unerring + knowledge of its treachery. + </p> + <p> + The little brig Flash was the instrument of Lingard’s fortune. They came + north together—both young—out of an Australian port, and after + a very few years there was not a white man in the islands, from Palembang + to Ternate, from Ombawa to Palawan, that did not know Captain Tom and his + lucky craft. He was liked for his reckless generosity, for his unswerving + honesty, and at first was a little feared on account of his violent + temper. Very soon, however, they found him out, and the word went round + that Captain Tom’s fury was less dangerous than many a man’s smile. He + prospered greatly. After his first—and successful—fight with + the sea robbers, when he rescued, as rumour had it, the yacht of some big + wig from home, somewhere down Carimata way, his great popularity began. As + years went on it grew apace. Always visiting out-of-the-way places of that + part of the world, always in search of new markets for his cargoes—not + so much for profit as for the pleasure of finding them—he soon + became known to the Malays, and by his successful recklessness in several + encounters with pirates, established the terror of his name. Those white + men with whom he had business, and who naturally were on the look-out for + his weaknesses, could easily see that it was enough to give him his Malay + title to flatter him greatly. So when there was anything to be gained by + it, and sometimes out of pure and unprofitable good nature, they would + drop the ceremonious “Captain Lingard” and address him half seriously as + Rajah Laut—the King of the Sea. + </p> + <p> + He carried the name bravely on his broad shoulders. He had carried it many + years already when the boy Willems ran barefooted on the deck of the ship + Kosmopoliet IV. in Samarang roads, looking with innocent eyes on the + strange shore and objurgating his immediate surroundings with blasphemous + lips, while his childish brain worked upon the heroic idea of running + away. From the poop of the Flash Lingard saw in the early morning the + Dutch ship get lumberingly under weigh, bound for the eastern ports. Very + late in the evening of the same day he stood on the quay of the landing + canal, ready to go on board of his brig. The night was starry and clear; + the little custom-house building was shut up, and as the gharry that + brought him down disappeared up the long avenue of dusty trees leading to + the town, Lingard thought himself alone on the quay. He roused up his + sleeping boat-crew and stood waiting for them to get ready, when he felt a + tug at his coat and a thin voice said, very distinctly— + </p> + <p> + “English captain.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard turned round quickly, and what seemed to be a very lean boy jumped + back with commendable activity. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you? Where do you spring from?” asked Lingard, in startled + surprise. + </p> + <p> + From a safe distance the boy pointed toward a cargo lighter moored to the + quay. + </p> + <p> + “Been hiding there, have you?” said Lingard. “Well, what do you want? + Speak out, confound you. You did not come here to scare me to death, for + fun, did you?” + </p> + <p> + The boy tried to explain in imperfect English, but very soon Lingard + interrupted him. + </p> + <p> + “I see,” he exclaimed, “you ran away from the big ship that sailed this + morning. Well, why don’t you go to your countrymen here?” + </p> + <p> + “Ship gone only a little way—to Sourabaya. Make me go back to the + ship,” explained the boy. + </p> + <p> + “Best thing for you,” affirmed Lingard with conviction. + </p> + <p> + “No,” retorted the boy; “me want stop here; not want go home. Get money + here; home no good.” + </p> + <p> + “This beats all my going a-fishing,” commented the astonished Lingard. + “It’s money you want? Well! well! And you were not afraid to run away, you + bag of bones, you!” + </p> + <p> + The boy intimated that he was frightened of nothing but of being sent back + to the ship. Lingard looked at him in meditative silence. + </p> + <p> + “Come closer,” he said at last. He took the boy by the chin, and turning + up his face gave him a searching look. “How old are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Seventeen.” + </p> + <p> + “There’s not much of you for seventeen. Are you hungry?” + </p> + <p> + “A little.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come with me, in that brig there?” + </p> + <p> + The boy moved without a word towards the boat and scrambled into the bows. + </p> + <p> + “Knows his place,” muttered Lingard to himself as he stepped heavily into + the stern sheets and took up the yoke lines. “Give way there.” + </p> + <p> + The Malay boat crew lay back together, and the gig sprang away from the + quay heading towards the brig’s riding light. + </p> + <p> + Such was the beginning of Willems’ career. + </p> + <p> + Lingard learned in half an hour all that there was of Willems’ commonplace + story. Father outdoor clerk of some ship-broker in Rotterdam; mother dead. + The boy quick in learning, but idle in school. The straitened + circumstances in the house filled with small brothers and sisters, + sufficiently clothed and fed but otherwise running wild, while the + disconsolate widower tramped about all day in a shabby overcoat and + imperfect boots on the muddy quays, and in the evening piloted wearily the + half-intoxicated foreign skippers amongst the places of cheap delights, + returning home late, sick with too much smoking and drinking—for + company’s sake—with these men, who expected such attentions in the + way of business. Then the offer of the good-natured captain of Kosmopoliet + IV., who was pleased to do something for the patient and obliging fellow; + young Willems’ great joy, his still greater disappointment with the sea + that looked so charming from afar, but proved so hard and exacting on + closer acquaintance—and then this running away by a sudden impulse. + The boy was hopelessly at variance with the spirit of the sea. He had an + instinctive contempt for the honest simplicity of that work which led to + nothing he cared for. Lingard soon found this out. He offered to send him + home in an English ship, but the boy begged hard to be permitted to + remain. He wrote a beautiful hand, became soon perfect in English, was + quick at figures; and Lingard made him useful in that way. As he grew + older his trading instincts developed themselves astonishingly, and + Lingard left him often to trade in one island or another while he, + himself, made an intermediate trip to some out-of-the-way place. On + Willems expressing a wish to that effect, Lingard let him enter Hudig’s + service. He felt a little sore at that abandonment because he had attached + himself, in a way, to his protege. Still he was proud of him, and spoke up + for him loyally. At first it was, “Smart boy that—never make a + seaman though.” Then when Willems was helping in the trading he referred + to him as “that clever young fellow.” Later when Willems became the + confidential agent of Hudig, employed in many a delicate affair, the + simple-hearted old seaman would point an admiring finger at his back and + whisper to whoever stood near at the moment, “Long-headed chap that; + deuced long-headed chap. Look at him. Confidential man of old Hudig. I + picked him up in a ditch, you may say, like a starved cat. Skin and bone. + ‘Pon my word I did. And now he knows more than I do about island trading. + Fact. I am not joking. More than I do,” he would repeat, seriously, with + innocent pride in his honest eyes. + </p> + <p> + From the safe elevation of his commercial successes Willems patronized + Lingard. He had a liking for his benefactor, not unmixed with some disdain + for the crude directness of the old fellow’s methods of conduct. There + were, however, certain sides of Lingard’s character for which Willems felt + a qualified respect. The talkative seaman knew how to be silent on certain + matters that to Willems were very interesting. Besides, Lingard was rich, + and that in itself was enough to compel Willems’ unwilling admiration. In + his confidential chats with Hudig, Willems generally alluded to the + benevolent Englishman as the “lucky old fool” in a very distinct tone of + vexation; Hudig would grunt an unqualified assent, and then the two would + look at each other in a sudden immobility of pupils fixed by a stare of + unexpressed thought. + </p> + <p> + “You can’t find out where he gets all that india-rubber, hey Willems?” + Hudig would ask at last, turning away and bending over the papers on his + desk. + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Hudig. Not yet. But I am trying,” was Willems’ invariable reply, + delivered with a ring of regretful deprecation. + </p> + <p> + “Try! Always try! You may try! You think yourself clever perhaps,” rumbled + on Hudig, without looking up. “I have been trading with him twenty—thirty + years now. The old fox. And I have tried. Bah!” + </p> + <p> + He stretched out a short, podgy leg and contemplated the bare instep and + the grass slipper hanging by the toes. “You can’t make him drunk?” he + would add, after a pause of stertorous breathing. + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Hudig, I can’t really,” protested Willems, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + “Well, don’t try. I know him. Don’t try,” advised the master, and, bending + again over his desk, his staring bloodshot eyes close to the paper, he + would go on tracing laboriously with his thick fingers the slim unsteady + letters of his correspondence, while Willems waited respectfully for his + further good pleasure before asking, with great deference— + </p> + <p> + “Any orders, Mr. Hudig?” + </p> + <p> + “Hm! yes. Go to Bun-Hin yourself and see the dollars of that payment + counted and packed, and have them put on board the mail-boat for Ternate. + She’s due here this afternoon.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Mr. Hudig.” + </p> + <p> + “And, look here. If the boat is late, leave the case in Bun-Hin’s godown + till to-morrow. Seal it up. Eight seals as usual. Don’t take it away till + the boat is here.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Hudig.” + </p> + <p> + “And don’t forget about these opium cases. It’s for to-night. Use my own + boatmen. Transship them from the Caroline to the Arab barque,” went on the + master in his hoarse undertone. “And don’t you come to me with another + story of a case dropped overboard like last time,” he added, with sudden + ferocity, looking up at his confidential clerk. + </p> + <p> + “No, Mr. Hudig. I will take care.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s all. Tell that pig as you go out that if he doesn’t make the + punkah go a little better I will break every bone in his body,” finished + up Hudig, wiping his purple face with a red silk handkerchief nearly as + big as a counterpane. + </p> + <p> + Noiselessly Willems went out, shutting carefully behind him the little + green door through which he passed to the warehouse. Hudig, pen in hand, + listened to him bullying the punkah boy with profane violence, born of + unbounded zeal for the master’s comfort, before he returned to his writing + amid the rustling of papers fluttering in the wind sent down by the punkah + that waved in wide sweeps above his head. + </p> + <p> + Willems would nod familiarly to Mr. Vinck, who had his desk close to the + little door of the private office, and march down the warehouse with an + important air. Mr. Vinck—extreme dislike lurking in every wrinkle of + his gentlemanly countenance—would follow with his eyes the white + figure flitting in the gloom amongst the piles of bales and cases till it + passed out through the big archway into the glare of the street. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THREE + </h2> + <p> + The opportunity and the temptation were too much for Willems, and under + the pressure of sudden necessity he abused that trust which was his pride, + the perpetual sign of his cleverness and a load too heavy for him to + carry. A run of bad luck at cards, the failure of a small speculation + undertaken on his own account, an unexpected demand for money from one or + another member of the Da Souza family—and almost before he was well + aware of it he was off the path of his peculiar honesty. It was such a + faint and ill-defined track that it took him some time to find out how far + he had strayed amongst the brambles of the dangerous wilderness he had + been skirting for so many years, without any other guide than his own + convenience and that doctrine of success which he had found for himself in + the book of life—in those interesting chapters that the Devil has + been permitted to write in it, to test the sharpness of men’s eyesight and + the steadfastness of their hearts. For one short, dark and solitary moment + he was dismayed, but he had that courage that will not scale heights, yet + will wade bravely through the mud—if there be no other road. He + applied himself to the task of restitution, and devoted himself to the + duty of not being found out. On his thirtieth birthday he had almost + accomplished the task—and the duty had been faithfully and cleverly + performed. He saw himself safe. Again he could look hopefully towards the + goal of his legitimate ambition. Nobody would dare to suspect him, and in + a few days there would be nothing to suspect. He was elated. He did not + know that his prosperity had touched then its high-water mark, and that + the tide was already on the turn. + </p> + <p> + Two days afterwards he knew. Mr. Vinck, hearing the rattle of the + door-handle, jumped up from his desk—where he had been tremulously + listening to the loud voices in the private office—and buried his + face in the big safe with nervous haste. For the last time Willems passed + through the little green door leading to Hudig’s sanctum, which, during + the past half-hour, might have been taken—from the fiendish noise + within—for the cavern of some wild beast. Willems’ troubled eyes + took in the quick impression of men and things as he came out from the + place of his humiliation. He saw the scared expression of the punkah boy; + the Chinamen tellers sitting on their heels with unmovable faces turned up + blankly towards him while their arrested hands hovered over the little + piles of bright guilders ranged on the floor; Mr. Vinck’s shoulder-blades + with the fleshy rims of two red ears above. He saw the long avenue of gin + cases stretching from where he stood to the arched doorway beyond which he + would be able to breathe perhaps. A thin rope’s end lay across his path + and he saw it distinctly, yet stumbled heavily over it as if it had been a + bar of iron. Then he found himself in the street at last, but could not + find air enough to fill his lungs. He walked towards his home, gasping. + </p> + <p> + As the sound of Hudig’s insults that lingered in his ears grew fainter by + the lapse of time, the feeling of shame was replaced slowly by a passion + of anger against himself and still more against the stupid concourse of + circumstances that had driven him into his idiotic indiscretion. Idiotic + indiscretion; that is how he defined his guilt to himself. Could there be + anything worse from the point of view of his undeniable cleverness? What a + fatal aberration of an acute mind! He did not recognize himself there. He + must have been mad. That’s it. A sudden gust of madness. And now the work + of long years was destroyed utterly. What would become of him? + </p> + <p> + Before he could answer that question he found himself in the garden before + his house, Hudig’s wedding gift. He looked at it with a vague surprise to + find it there. His past was so utterly gone from him that the dwelling + which belonged to it appeared to him incongruous standing there intact, + neat, and cheerful in the sunshine of the hot afternoon. The house was a + pretty little structure all doors and windows, surrounded on all sides by + the deep verandah supported on slender columns clothed in the green + foliage of creepers, which also fringed the overhanging eaves of the + high-pitched roof. Slowly, Willems mounted the dozen steps that led to the + verandah. He paused at every step. He must tell his wife. He felt + frightened at the prospect, and his alarm dismayed him. Frightened to face + her! Nothing could give him a better measure of the greatness of the + change around him, and in him. Another man—and another life with the + faith in himself gone. He could not be worth much if he was afraid to face + that woman. + </p> + <p> + He dared not enter the house through the open door of the dining-room, but + stood irresolute by the little work-table where trailed a white piece of + calico, with a needle stuck in it, as if the work had been left hurriedly. + The pink-crested cockatoo started, on his appearance, into clumsy activity + and began to climb laboriously up and down his perch, calling “Joanna” + with indistinct loudness and a persistent screech that prolonged the last + syllable of the name as if in a peal of insane laughter. The screen in the + doorway moved gently once or twice in the breeze, and each time Willems + started slightly, expecting his wife, but he never lifted his eyes, + although straining his ears for the sound of her footsteps. Gradually he + lost himself in his thoughts, in the endless speculation as to the manner + in which she would receive his news—and his orders. In this + preoccupation he almost forgot the fear of her presence. No doubt she will + cry, she will lament, she will be helpless and frightened and passive as + ever. And he would have to drag that limp weight on and on through the + darkness of a spoiled life. Horrible! Of course he could not abandon her + and the child to certain misery or possible starvation. The wife and the + child of Willems. Willems the successful, the smart; Willems the conf . . + . . Pah! And what was Willems now? Willems the. . . . He strangled the + half-born thought, and cleared his throat to stifle a groan. Ah! Won’t + they talk to-night in the billiard-room—his world, where he had been + first—all those men to whom he had been so superciliously + condescending. Won’t they talk with surprise, and affected regret, and + grave faces, and wise nods. Some of them owed him money, but he never + pressed anybody. Not he. Willems, the prince of good fellows, they called + him. And now they will rejoice, no doubt, at his downfall. A crowd of + imbeciles. In his abasement he was yet aware of his superiority over those + fellows, who were merely honest or simply not found out yet. A crowd of + imbeciles! He shook his fist at the evoked image of his friends, and the + startled parrot fluttered its wings and shrieked in desperate fright. + </p> + <p> + In a short glance upwards Willems saw his wife come round the corner of + the house. He lowered his eyelids quickly, and waited silently till she + came near and stood on the other side of the little table. He would not + look at her face, but he could see the red dressing-gown he knew so well. + She trailed through life in that red dressing-gown, with its row of dirty + blue bows down the front, stained, and hooked on awry; a torn flounce at + the bottom following her like a snake as she moved languidly about, with + her hair negligently caught up, and a tangled wisp straggling untidily + down her back. His gaze travelled upwards from bow to bow, noticing those + that hung only by a thread, but it did not go beyond her chin. He looked + at her lean throat, at the obtrusive collarbone visible in the disarray of + the upper part of her attire. He saw the thin arm and the bony hand + clasping the child she carried, and he felt an immense distaste for those + encumbrances of his life. He waited for her to say something, but as he + felt her eyes rest on him in unbroken silence he sighed and began to + speak. + </p> + <p> + It was a hard task. He spoke slowly, lingering amongst the memories of + this early life in his reluctance to confess that this was the end of it + and the beginning of a less splendid existence. In his conviction of + having made her happiness in the full satisfaction of all material wants + he never doubted for a moment that she was ready to keep him company on no + matter how hard and stony a road. He was not elated by this certitude. He + had married her to please Hudig, and the greatness of his sacrifice ought + to have made her happy without any further exertion on his part. She had + years of glory as Willems’ wife, and years of comfort, of loyal care, and + of such tenderness as she deserved. He had guarded her carefully from any + bodily hurt; and of any other suffering he had no conception. The + assertion of his superiority was only another benefit conferred on her. + All this was a matter of course, but he told her all this so as to bring + vividly before her the greatness of her loss. She was so dull of + understanding that she would not grasp it else. And now it was at an end. + They would have to go. Leave this house, leave this island, go far away + where he was unknown. To the English Strait-Settlements perhaps. He would + find an opening there for his abilities—and juster men to deal with + than old Hudig. He laughed bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “You have the money I left at home this morning, Joanna?” he asked. “We + will want it all now.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke those words he thought he was a fine fellow. Nothing new that. + Still, he surpassed there his own expectations. Hang it all, there are + sacred things in life, after all. The marriage tie was one of them, and he + was not the man to break it. The solidity of his principles caused him + great satisfaction, but he did not care to look at his wife, for all that. + He waited for her to speak. Then he would have to console her; tell her + not to be a crying fool; to get ready to go. Go where? How? When? He shook + his head. They must leave at once; that was the principal thing. He felt a + sudden need to hurry up his departure. + </p> + <p> + “Well, Joanna,” he said, a little impatiently—-“don’t stand there in + a trance. Do you hear? We must. . . .” + </p> + <p> + He looked up at his wife, and whatever he was going to add remained + unspoken. She was staring at him with her big, slanting eyes, that seemed + to him twice their natural size. The child, its dirty little face pressed + to its mother’s shoulder, was sleeping peacefully. The deep silence of the + house was not broken, but rather accentuated, by the low mutter of the + cockatoo, now very still on its perch. As Willems was looking at Joanna + her upper lip was drawn up on one side, giving to her melancholy face a + vicious expression altogether new to his experience. He stepped back in + his surprise. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! You great man!” she said distinctly, but in a voice that was hardly + above a whisper. + </p> + <p> + Those words, and still more her tone, stunned him as if somebody had fired + a gun close to his ear. He stared back at her stupidly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! you great man!” she repeated slowly, glancing right and left as if + meditating a sudden escape. “And you think that I am going to starve with + you. You are nobody now. You think my mamma and Leonard would let me go + away? And with you! With you,” she repeated scornfully, raising her voice, + which woke up the child and caused it to whimper feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Joanna!” exclaimed Willems. + </p> + <p> + “Do not speak to me. I have heard what I have waited for all these years. + You are less than dirt, you that have wiped your feet on me. I have waited + for this. I am not afraid now. I do not want you; do not come near me. + Ah-h!” she screamed shrilly, as he held out his hand in an entreating + gesture—“Ah! Keep off me! Keep off me! Keep off!” + </p> + <p> + She backed away, looking at him with eyes both angry and frightened. + Willems stared motionless, in dumb amazement at the mystery of anger and + revolt in the head of his wife. Why? What had he ever done to her? This + was the day of injustice indeed. First Hudig—and now his wife. He + felt a terror at this hate that had lived stealthily so near him for + years. He tried to speak, but she shrieked again, and it was like a needle + through his heart. Again he raised his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Help!” called Mrs. Willems, in a piercing voice. “Help!” + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet! You fool!” shouted Willems, trying to drown the noise of his + wife and child in his own angry accents and rattling violently the little + zinc table in his exasperation. + </p> + <p> + From under the house, where there were bathrooms and a tool closet, + appeared Leonard, a rusty iron bar in his hand. He called threateningly + from the bottom of the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Do not hurt her, Mr. Willems. You are a savage. Not at all like we, + whites.” + </p> + <p> + “You too!” said the bewildered Willems. “I haven’t touched her. Is this a + madhouse?” He moved towards the stairs, and Leonard dropped the bar with a + clang and made for the gate of the compound. Willems turned back to his + wife. + </p> + <p> + “So you expected this,” he said. “It is a conspiracy. Who’s that sobbing + and groaning in the room? Some more of your precious family. Hey?” + </p> + <p> + She was more calm now, and putting hastily the crying child in the big + chair walked towards him with sudden fearlessness. + </p> + <p> + “My mother,” she said, “my mother who came to defend me from you—man + from nowhere; a vagabond!” + </p> + <p> + “You did not call me a vagabond when you hung round my neck—before + we were married,” said Willems, contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “You took good care that I should not hang round your neck after we were,” + she answered, clenching her hands, and putting her face close to his. “You + boasted while I suffered and said nothing. What has become of your + greatness; of our greatness—you were always speaking about? Now I am + going to live on the charity of your master. Yes. That is true. He sent + Leonard to tell me so. And you will go and boast somewhere else, and + starve. So! Ah! I can breathe now! This house is mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Enough!” said Willems, slowly, with an arresting gesture. + </p> + <p> + She leaped back, the fright again in her eyes, snatched up the child, + pressed it to her breast, and, falling into a chair, drummed insanely with + her heels on the resounding floor of the verandah. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go,” said Willems, steadily. “I thank you. For the first time in + your life you make me happy. You were a stone round my neck; you + understand. I did not mean to tell you that as long as you lived, but you + made me—now. Before I pass this gate you shall be gone from my mind. + You made it very easy. I thank you.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and went down the steps without giving her a glance, while she + sat upright and quiet, with wide-open eyes, the child crying querulously + in her arms. At the gate he came suddenly upon Leonard, who had been + dodging about there and failed to get out of the way in time. + </p> + <p> + “Do not be brutal, Mr. Willems,” said Leonard, hurriedly. “It is + unbecoming between white men with all those natives looking on.” Leonard’s + legs trembled very much, and his voice wavered between high and low tones + without any attempt at control on his part. “Restrain your improper + violence,” he went on mumbling rapidly. “I am a respectable man of very + good family, while you . . . it is regrettable . . . they all say so . . + .” + </p> + <p> + “What?” thundered Willems. He felt a sudden impulse of mad anger, and + before he knew what had happened he was looking at Leonard da Souza + rolling in the dust at his feet. He stepped over his prostrate + brother-in-law and tore blindly down the street, everybody making way for + the frantic white man. + </p> + <p> + When he came to himself he was beyond the outskirts of the town, stumbling + on the hard and cracked earth of reaped rice fields. How did he get there? + It was dark. He must get back. As he walked towards the town slowly, his + mind reviewed the events of the day and he felt a sense of bitter + loneliness. His wife had turned him out of his own house. He had assaulted + brutally his brother-in-law, a member of the Da Souza family—of that + band of his worshippers. He did. Well, no! It was some other man. Another + man was coming back. A man without a past, without a future, yet full of + pain and shame and anger. He stopped and looked round. A dog or two glided + across the empty street and rushed past him with a frightened snarl. He + was now in the midst of the Malay quarter whose bamboo houses, hidden in + the verdure of their little gardens, were dark and silent. Men, women and + children slept in there. Human beings. Would he ever sleep, and where? He + felt as if he was the outcast of all mankind, and as he looked hopelessly + round, before resuming his weary march, it seemed to him that the world + was bigger, the night more vast and more black; but he went on doggedly + with his head down as if pushing his way through some thick brambles. Then + suddenly he felt planks under his feet and, looking up, saw the red light + at the end of the jetty. He walked quite to the end and stood leaning + against the post, under the lamp, looking at the roadstead where two + vessels at anchor swayed their slender rigging amongst the stars. The end + of the jetty; and here in one step more the end of life; the end of + everything. Better so. What else could he do? Nothing ever comes back. He + saw it clearly. The respect and admiration of them all, the old habits and + old affections finished abruptly in the clear perception of the cause of + his disgrace. He saw all this; and for a time he came out of himself, out + of his selfishness—out of the constant preoccupation of his + interests and his desires—out of the temple of self and the + concentration of personal thought. + </p> + <p> + His thoughts now wandered home. Standing in the tepid stillness of a + starry tropical night he felt the breath of the bitter east wind, he saw + the high and narrow fronts of tall houses under the gloom of a clouded + sky; and on muddy quays he saw the shabby, high-shouldered figure—the + patient, faded face of the weary man earning bread for the children that + waited for him in a dingy home. It was miserable, miserable. But it would + never come back. What was there in common between those things and Willems + the clever, Willems the successful. He had cut himself adrift from that + home many years ago. Better for him then. Better for them now. All this + was gone, never to come back again; and suddenly he shivered, seeing + himself alone in the presence of unknown and terrible dangers. + </p> + <p> + For the first time in his life he felt afraid of the future, because he + had lost his faith, the faith in his own success. And he had destroyed it + foolishly with his own hands! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FOUR + </h2> + <p> + His meditation which resembled slow drifting into suicide was interrupted + by Lingard, who, with a loud “I’ve got you at last!” dropped his hand + heavily on Willems’ shoulder. This time it was the old seaman himself + going out of his way to pick up the uninteresting waif—all that + there was left of that sudden and sordid shipwreck. To Willems, the rough, + friendly voice was a quick and fleeting relief followed by a sharper pang + of anger and unavailing regret. That voice carried him back to the + beginning of his promising career, the end of which was very visible now + from the jetty where they both stood. He shook himself free from the + friendly grasp, saying with ready bitterness— + </p> + <p> + “It’s all your fault. Give me a push now, do, and send me over. I have + been standing here waiting for help. You are the man—of all men. You + helped at the beginning; you ought to have a hand in the end.” + </p> + <p> + “I have better use for you than to throw you to the fishes,” said Lingard, + seriously, taking Willems by the arm and forcing him gently to walk up the + jetty. “I have been buzzing over this town like a bluebottle fly, looking + for you high and low. I have heard a lot. I will tell you what, Willems; + you are no saint, that’s a fact. And you have not been over-wise either. I + am not throwing stones,” he added, hastily, as Willems made an effort to + get away, “but I am not going to mince matters. Never could! You keep + quiet while I talk. Can’t you?” + </p> + <p> + With a gesture of resignation and a half-stifled groan Willems submitted + to the stronger will, and the two men paced slowly up and down the + resounding planks, while Lingard disclosed to Willems the exact manner of + his undoing. After the first shock Willems lost the faculty of surprise in + the over-powering feeling of indignation. So it was Vinck and Leonard who + had served him so. They had watched him, tracked his misdeeds, reported + them to Hudig. They had bribed obscure Chinamen, wormed out confidences + from tipsy skippers, got at various boatmen, and had pieced out in that + way the story of his irregularities. The blackness of this dark intrigue + filled him with horror. He could understand Vinck. There was no love lost + between them. But Leonard! Leonard! + </p> + <p> + “Why, Captain Lingard,” he burst out, “the fellow licked my boots.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes, yes,” said Lingard, testily, “we know that, and you did your + best to cram your boot down his throat. No man likes that, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “I was always giving money to all that hungry lot,” went on Willems, + passionately. “Always my hand in my pocket. They never had to ask twice.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so. Your generosity frightened them. They asked themselves where all + that came from, and concluded that it was safer to throw you overboard. + After all, Hudig is a much greater man than you, my friend, and they have + a claim on him also.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean, Captain Lingard?” + </p> + <p> + “What do I mean?” repeated Lingard, slowly. “Why, you are not going to + make me believe you did not know your wife was Hudig’s daughter. Come + now!” + </p> + <p> + Willems stopped suddenly and swayed about. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I understand,” he gasped. “I never heard . . . Lately I thought there + was . . . But no, I never guessed.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you simpleton!” said Lingard, pityingly. “‘Pon my word,” he muttered + to himself, “I don’t believe the fellow knew. Well! well! Steady now. Pull + yourself together. What’s wrong there. She is a good wife to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent wife,” said Willems, in a dreary voice, looking far over the + black and scintillating water. + </p> + <p> + “Very well then,” went on Lingard, with increasing friendliness. “Nothing + wrong there. But did you really think that Hudig was marrying you off and + giving you a house and I don’t know what, out of love for you?” + </p> + <p> + “I had served him well,” answered Willems. “How well, you know yourself—through + thick and thin. No matter what work and what risk, I was always there; + always ready.” + </p> + <p> + How well he saw the greatness of his work and the immensity of that + injustice which was his reward. She was that man’s daughter! + </p> + <p> + In the light of this disclosure the facts of the last five years of his + life stood clearly revealed in their full meaning. He had spoken first to + Joanna at the gate of their dwelling as he went to his work in the + brilliant flush of the early morning, when women and flowers are charming + even to the dullest eyes. A most respectable family—two women and a + young man—were his next-door neighbours. Nobody ever came to their + little house but the priest, a native from the Spanish islands, now and + then. The young man Leonard he had met in town, and was flattered by the + little fellow’s immense respect for the great Willems. He let him bring + chairs, call the waiters, chalk his cues when playing billiards, express + his admiration in choice words. He even condescended to listen patiently + to Leonard’s allusions to “our beloved father,” a man of official + position, a government agent in Koti, where he died of cholera, alas! a + victim to duty, like a good Catholic, and a good man. It sounded very + respectable, and Willems approved of those feeling references. Moreover, + he prided himself upon having no colour-prejudices and no racial + antipathies. He consented to drink curacoa one afternoon on the verandah + of Mrs. da Souza’s house. He remembered Joanna that day, swinging in a + hammock. She was untidy even then, he remembered, and that was the only + impression he carried away from that visit. He had no time for love in + those glorious days, no time even for a passing fancy, but gradually he + fell into the habit of calling almost every day at that little house where + he was greeted by Mrs. da Souza’s shrill voice screaming for Joanna to + come and entertain the gentleman from Hudig & Co. And then the sudden + and unexpected visit of the priest. He remembered the man’s flat, yellow + face, his thin legs, his propitiatory smile, his beaming black eyes, his + conciliating manner, his veiled hints which he did not understand at the + time. How he wondered what the man wanted, and how unceremoniously he got + rid of him. And then came vividly into his recollection the morning when + he met again that fellow coming out of Hudig’s office, and how he was + amused at the incongruous visit. And that morning with Hudig! Would he + ever forget it? Would he ever forget his surprise as the master, instead + of plunging at once into business, looked at him thoughtfully before + turning, with a furtive smile, to the papers on the desk? He could hear + him now, his nose in the paper before him, dropping astonishing words in + the intervals of wheezy breathing. + </p> + <p> + “Heard said . . . called there often . . . most respectable ladies . . . + knew the father very well . . . estimable . . . best thing for a young man + . . . settle down. . . . Personally, very glad to hear . . . thing + arranged. . . . Suitable recognition of valuable services. . . . Best + thing—best thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + And he believed! What credulity! What an ass! Hudig knew the father! + Rather. And so did everybody else probably; all except himself. How proud + he had been of Hudig’s benevolent interest in his fate! How proud he was + when invited by Hudig to stay with him at his little house in the country—where + he could meet men, men of official position—as a friend. Vinck had + been green with envy. Oh, yes! He had believed in the best thing, and took + the girl like a gift of fortune. How he boasted to Hudig of being free + from prejudices. The old scoundrel must have been laughing in his sleeve + at his fool of a confidential clerk. He took the girl, guessing nothing. + How could he? There had been a father of some kind to the common + knowledge. Men knew him; spoke about him. A lank man of hopelessly mixed + descent, but otherwise—apparently—unobjectionable. The shady + relations came out afterward, but—with his freedom from prejudices—he + did not mind them, because, with their humble dependence, they completed + his triumphant life. Taken in! taken in! Hudig had found an easy way to + provide for the begging crowd. He had shifted the burden of his youthful + vagaries on to the shoulders of his confidential clerk; and while he + worked for the master, the master had cheated him; had stolen his very + self from him. He was married. He belonged to that woman, no matter what + she might do! . . . Had sworn . . . for all life! . . . Thrown himself + away. . . . And that man dared this very morning call him a thief! + Damnation! + </p> + <p> + “Let go, Lingard!” he shouted, trying to get away by a sudden jerk from + the watchful old seaman. “Let me go and kill that . . .” + </p> + <p> + “No you don’t!” panted Lingard, hanging on manfully. “You want to kill, do + you? You lunatic. Ah!—I’ve got you now! Be quiet, I say!” + </p> + <p> + They struggled violently, Lingard forcing Willems slowly towards the + guard-rail. Under their feet the jetty sounded like a drum in the quiet + night. On the shore end the native caretaker of the wharf watched the + combat, squatting behind the safe shelter of some big cases. The next day + he informed his friends, with calm satisfaction, that two drunken white + men had fought on the jetty. + </p> + <p> + It had been a great fight. They fought without arms, like wild beasts, + after the manner of white men. No! nobody was killed, or there would have + been trouble and a report to make. How could he know why they fought? + White men have no reason when they are like that. + </p> + <p> + Just as Lingard was beginning to fear that he would be unable to restrain + much longer the violence of the younger man, he felt Willems’ muscles + relaxing, and took advantage of this opportunity to pin him, by a last + effort, to the rail. They both panted heavily, speechless, their faces + very close. + </p> + <p> + “All right,” muttered Willems at last. “Don’t break my back over this + infernal rail. I will be quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “Now you are reasonable,” said Lingard, much relieved. “What made you fly + into that passion?” he asked, leading him back to the end of the jetty, + and, still holding him prudently with one hand, he fumbled with the other + for his whistle and blew a shrill and prolonged blast. Over the smooth + water of the roadstead came in answer a faint cry from one of the ships at + anchor. + </p> + <p> + “My boat will be here directly,” said Lingard. “Think of what you are + going to do. I sail to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “What is there for me to do, except one thing?” said Willems, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Lingard; “I picked you up as a boy, and consider myself + responsible for you in a way. You took your life into your own hands many + years ago—but still . . .” + </p> + <p> + He paused, listening, till he heard the regular grind of the oars in the + rowlocks of the approaching boat then went on again. + </p> + <p> + “I have made it all right with Hudig. You owe him nothing now. Go back to + your wife. She is a good woman. Go back to her.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, Captain Lingard,” exclaimed Willems, “she . . .” + </p> + <p> + “It was most affecting,” went on Lingard, without heeding him. “I went to + your house to look for you and there I saw her despair. It was + heart-breaking. She called for you; she entreated me to find you. She + spoke wildly, poor woman, as if all this was her fault.” + </p> + <p> + Willems listened amazed. The blind old idiot! How queerly he + misunderstood! But if it was true, if it was even true, the very idea of + seeing her filled his soul with intense loathing. He did not break his + oath, but he would not go back to her. Let hers be the sin of that + separation; of the sacred bond broken. He revelled in the extreme purity + of his heart, and he would not go back to her. Let her come back to him. + He had the comfortable conviction that he would never see her again, and + that through her own fault only. In this conviction he told himself + solemnly that if she would come to him he would receive her with generous + forgiveness, because such was the praiseworthy solidity of his principles. + But he hesitated whether he would or would not disclose to Lingard the + revolting completeness of his humiliation. Turned out of his house—and + by his wife; that woman who hardly dared to breathe in his presence, + yesterday. He remained perplexed and silent. No. He lacked the courage to + tell the ignoble story. + </p> + <p> + As the boat of the brig appeared suddenly on the black water close to the + jetty, Lingard broke the painful silence. + </p> + <p> + “I always thought,” he said, sadly, “I always thought you were somewhat + heartless, Willems, and apt to cast adrift those that thought most of you. + I appeal to what is best in you; do not abandon that woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I have not abandoned her,” answered Willems, quickly, with conscious + truthfulness. “Why should I? As you so justly observed, she has been a + good wife to me. A very good, quiet, obedient, loving wife, and I love her + as much as she loves me. Every bit. But as to going back now, to that + place where I . . . To walk again amongst those men who yesterday were + ready to crawl before me, and then feel on my back the sting of their + pitying or satisfied smiles—no! I can’t. I would rather hide from + them at the bottom of the sea,” he went on, with resolute energy. “I don’t + think, Captain Lingard,” he added, more quietly, “I don’t think that you + realize what my position was there.” + </p> + <p> + In a wide sweep of his hand he took in the sleeping shore from north to + south, as if wishing it a proud and threatening good-bye. For a short + moment he forgot his downfall in the recollection of his brilliant + triumphs. Amongst the men of his class and occupation who slept in those + dark houses he had been indeed the first. + </p> + <p> + “It is hard,” muttered Lingard, pensively. “But whose the fault? Whose the + fault?” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Lingard!” cried Willems, under the sudden impulse of a felicitous + inspiration, “if you leave me here on this jetty—it’s murder. I + shall never return to that place alive, wife or no wife. You may just as + well cut my throat at once.” + </p> + <p> + The old seaman started. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t try to frighten me, Willems,” he said, with great severity, and + paused. + </p> + <p> + Above the accents of Willems’ brazen despair he heard, with considerable + uneasiness, the whisper of his own absurd conscience. He meditated for + awhile with an irresolute air. + </p> + <p> + “I could tell you to go and drown yourself, and be damned to you,” he + said, with an unsuccessful assumption of brutality in his manner, “but I + won’t. We are responsible for one another—worse luck. I am almost + ashamed of myself, but I can understand your dirty pride. I can! By . . .” + </p> + <p> + He broke off with a loud sigh and walked briskly to the steps, at the + bottom of which lay his boat, rising and falling gently on the slight and + invisible swell. + </p> + <p> + “Below there! Got a lamp in the boat? Well, light it and bring it up, one + of you. Hurry now!” + </p> + <p> + He tore out a page of his pocketbook, moistened his pencil with great + energy and waited, stamping his feet impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I will see this thing through,” he muttered to himself. “And I will have + it all square and ship-shape; see if I don’t! Are you going to bring that + lamp, you son of a crippled mud-turtle? I am waiting.” + </p> + <p> + The gleam of the light on the paper placated his professional anger, and + he wrote rapidly, the final dash of his signature curling the paper up in + a triangular tear. + </p> + <p> + “Take that to this white Tuan’s house. I will send the boat back for you + in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + The coxswain raised his lamp deliberately to Willem’s face. + </p> + <p> + “This Tuan? Tau! I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Quick then!” said Lingard, taking the lamp from him—and the man + went off at a run. + </p> + <p> + “Kassi mem! To the lady herself,” called Lingard after him. + </p> + <p> + Then, when the man disappeared, he turned to Willems. + </p> + <p> + “I have written to your wife,” he said. “If you do not return for good, + you do not go back to that house only for another parting. You must come + as you stand. I won’t have that poor woman tormented. I will see to it + that you are not separated for long. Trust me!” + </p> + <p> + Willems shivered, then smiled in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + “No fear of that,” he muttered, enigmatically. “I trust you implicitly, + Captain Lingard,” he added, in a louder tone. + </p> + <p> + Lingard led the way down the steps, swinging the lamp and speaking over + his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “It is the second time, Willems, I take you in hand. Mind it is the last. + The second time; and the only difference between then and now is that you + were bare-footed then and have boots now. In fourteen years. With all your + smartness! A poor result that. A very poor result.” + </p> + <p> + He stood for awhile on the lowest platform of the steps, the light of the + lamp falling on the upturned face of the stroke oar, who held the gunwale + of the boat close alongside, ready for the captain to step in. + </p> + <p> + “You see,” he went on, argumentatively, fumbling about the top of the + lamp, “you got yourself so crooked amongst those ‘longshore quill-drivers + that you could not run clear in any way. That’s what comes of such talk as + yours, and of such a life. A man sees so much falsehood that he begins to + lie to himself. Pah!” he said, in disgust, “there’s only one place for an + honest man. The sea, my boy, the sea! But you never would; didn’t think + there was enough money in it; and now—look!” + </p> + <p> + He blew the light out, and, stepping into the boat, stretched quickly his + hand towards Willems, with friendly care. Willems sat by him in silence, + and the boat shoved off, sweeping in a wide circle towards the brig. + </p> + <p> + “Your compassion is all for my wife, Captain Lingard,” said Willems, + moodily. “Do you think I am so very happy?” + </p> + <p> + “No! no!” said Lingard, heartily. “Not a word more shall pass my lips. I + had to speak my mind once, seeing that I knew you from a child, so to + speak. And now I shall forget; but you are young yet. Life is very long,” + he went on, with unconscious sadness; “let this be a lesson to you.” + </p> + <p> + He laid his hand affectionately on Willems’ shoulder, and they both sat + silent till the boat came alongside the ship’s ladder. + </p> + <p> + When on board Lingard gave orders to his mate, and leading Willems on the + poop, sat on the breech of one of the brass six-pounders with which his + vessel was armed. The boat went off again to bring back the messenger. As + soon as it was seen returning dark forms appeared on the brig’s spars; + then the sails fell in festoons with a swish of their heavy folds, and + hung motionless under the yards in the dead calm of the clear and dewy + night. From the forward end came the clink of the windlass, and soon + afterwards the hail of the chief mate informing Lingard that the cable was + hove short. + </p> + <p> + “Hold on everything,” hailed back Lingard; “we must wait for the + land-breeze before we let go our hold of the ground.” + </p> + <p> + He approached Willems, who sat on the skylight, his body bent down, his + head low, and his hands hanging listlessly between his knees. + </p> + <p> + “I am going to take you to Sambir,” he said. “You’ve never heard of the + place, have you? Well, it’s up that river of mine about which people talk + so much and know so little. I’ve found out the entrance for a ship of + Flash’s size. It isn’t easy. You’ll see. I will show you. You have been at + sea long enough to take an interest. . . . Pity you didn’t stick to it. + Well, I am going there. I have my own trading post in the place. Almayer + is my partner. You knew him when he was at Hudig’s. Oh, he lives there as + happy as a king. D’ye see, I have them all in my pocket. The rajah is an + old friend of mine. My word is law—and I am the only trader. No + other white man but Almayer had ever been in that settlement. You will + live quietly there till I come back from my next cruise to the westward. + We shall see then what can be done for you. Never fear. I have no doubt my + secret will be safe with you. Keep mum about my river when you get amongst + the traders again. There’s many would give their ears for the knowledge of + it. I’ll tell you something: that’s where I get all my guttah and rattans. + Simply inexhaustible, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + While Lingard spoke Willems looked up quickly, but soon his head fell on + his breast in the discouraging certitude that the knowledge he and Hudig + had wished for so much had come to him too late. He sat in a listless + attitude. + </p> + <p> + “You will help Almayer in his trading if you have a heart for it,” + continued Lingard, “just to kill time till I come back for you. Only six + weeks or so.” + </p> + <p> + Over their heads the damp sails fluttered noisily in the first faint puff + of the breeze; then, as the airs freshened, the brig tended to the wind, + and the silenced canvas lay quietly aback. The mate spoke with low + distinctness from the shadows of the quarter-deck. + </p> + <p> + “There’s the breeze. Which way do you want to cast her, Captain Lingard?” + </p> + <p> + Lingard’s eyes, that had been fixed aloft, glanced down at the dejected + figure of the man sitting on the skylight. He seemed to hesitate for a + minute. + </p> + <p> + “To the northward, to the northward,” he answered, testily, as if annoyed + at his own fleeting thought, “and bear a hand there. Every puff of wind is + worth money in these seas.” + </p> + <p> + He remained motionless, listening to the rattle of blocks and the creaking + of trusses as the head-yards were hauled round. Sail was made on the ship + and the windlass manned again while he stood still, lost in thought. He + only roused himself when a barefooted seacannie glided past him silently + on his way to the wheel. + </p> + <p> + “Put the helm aport! Hard over!” he said, in his harsh sea-voice, to the + man whose face appeared suddenly out of the darkness in the circle of + light thrown upwards from the binnacle lamps. + </p> + <p> + The anchor was secured, the yards trimmed, and the brig began to move out + of the roadstead. The sea woke up under the push of the sharp cutwater, + and whispered softly to the gliding craft in that tender and rippling + murmur in which it speaks sometimes to those it nurses and loves. Lingard + stood by the taff-rail listening, with a pleased smile till the Flash + began to draw close to the only other vessel in the anchorage. + </p> + <p> + “Here, Willems,” he said, calling him to his side, “d’ye see that barque + here? That’s an Arab vessel. White men have mostly given up the game, but + this fellow drops in my wake often, and lives in hopes of cutting me out + in that settlement. Not while I live, I trust. You see, Willems, I brought + prosperity to that place. I composed their quarrels, and saw them grow + under my eyes. There’s peace and happiness there. I am more master there + than his Dutch Excellency down in Batavia ever will be when some day a + lazy man-of-war blunders at last against the river. I mean to keep the + Arabs out of it, with their lies and their intrigues. I shall keep the + venomous breed out, if it costs me my fortune.” + </p> + <p> + The Flash drew quietly abreast of the barque, and was beginning to drop it + astern when a white figure started up on the poop of the Arab vessel, and + a voice called out— + </p> + <p> + “Greeting to the Rajah Laut!” + </p> + <p> + “To you greeting!” answered Lingard, after a moment of hesitating + surprise. Then he turned to Willems with a grim smile. “That’s Abdulla’s + voice,” he said. “Mighty civil all of a sudden, isn’t he? I wonder what it + means. Just like his impudence! No matter! His civility or his impudence + are all one to me. I know that this fellow will be under way and after me + like a shot. I don’t care! I have the heels of anything that floats in + these seas,” he added, while his proud and loving glance ran over and + rested fondly amongst the brig’s lofty and graceful spars. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FIVE + </h2> + <p> + “It was the writing on his forehead,” said Babalatchi, adding a couple of + small sticks to the little fire by which he was squatting, and without + looking at Lakamba who lay down supported on his elbow on the other side + of the embers. “It was written when he was born that he should end his + life in darkness, and now he is like a man walking in a black night—with + his eyes open, yet seeing not. I knew him well when he had slaves, and + many wives, and much merchandise, and trading praus, and praus for + fighting. Hai—ya! He was a great fighter in the days before the + breath of the Merciful put out the light in his eyes. He was a pilgrim, + and had many virtues: he was brave, his hand was open, and he was a great + robber. For many years he led the men that drank blood on the sea: first + in prayer and first in fight! Have I not stood behind him when his face + was turned to the West? Have I not watched by his side ships with high + masts burning in a straight flame on the calm water? Have I not followed + him on dark nights amongst sleeping men that woke up only to die? His + sword was swifter than the fire from Heaven, and struck before it flashed. + Hai! Tuan! Those were the days and that was a leader, and I myself was + younger; and in those days there were not so many fireships with guns that + deal fiery death from afar. Over the hill and over the forest—O! + Tuan Lakamba! they dropped whistling fireballs into the creek where our + praus took refuge, and where they dared not follow men who had arms in + their hands.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head with mournful regret and threw another handful of fuel + on the fire. The burst of clear flame lit up his broad, dark, and + pock-marked face, where the big lips, stained with betel-juice, looked + like a deep and bleeding gash of a fresh wound. The reflection of the + firelight gleamed brightly in his solitary eye, lending it for a moment a + fierce animation that died out together with the short-lived flame. With + quick touches of his bare hands he raked the embers into a heap, then, + wiping the warm ash on his waistcloth—his only garment—he + clasped his thin legs with his entwined fingers, and rested his chin on + his drawn-up knees. Lakamba stirred slightly without changing his position + or taking his eyes off the glowing coals, on which they had been fixed in + dreamy immobility. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” went on Babalatchi, in a low monotone, as if pursuing aloud a train + of thought that had its beginning in the silent contemplation of the + unstable nature of earthly greatness—“yes. He has been rich and + strong, and now he lives on alms: old, feeble, blind, and without + companions, but for his daughter. The Rajah Patalolo gives him rice, and + the pale woman—his daughter—cooks it for him, for he has no + slave.” + </p> + <p> + “I saw her from afar,” muttered Lakamba, disparagingly. “A she-dog with + white teeth, like a woman of the Orang-Putih.” + </p> + <p> + “Right, right,” assented Babalatchi; “but you have not seen her near. Her + mother was a woman from the west; a Baghdadi woman with veiled face. Now + she goes uncovered, like our women do, for she is poor and he is blind, + and nobody ever comes near them unless to ask for a charm or a blessing + and depart quickly for fear of his anger and of the Rajah’s hand. You have + not been on that side of the river?” + </p> + <p> + “Not for a long time. If I go . . .” + </p> + <p> + “True! true!” interrupted Babalatchi, soothingly, “but I go often alone—for + your good—and look—and listen. When the time comes; when we + both go together towards the Rajah’s campong, it will be to enter—and + to remain.” + </p> + <p> + Lakamba sat up and looked at Babalatchi gloomily. + </p> + <p> + “This is good talk, once, twice; when it is heard too often it becomes + foolish, like the prattle of children.” + </p> + <p> + “Many, many times have I seen the cloudy sky and have heard the wind of + the rainy seasons,” said Babalatchi, impressively. + </p> + <p> + “And where is your wisdom? It must be with the wind and the clouds of + seasons past, for I do not hear it in your talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Those are the words of the ungrateful!” shouted Babalatchi, with sudden + exasperation. “Verily, our only refuge is with the One, the Mighty, the + Redresser of . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Peace! Peace!” growled the startled Lakamba. “It is but a friend’s talk.” + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi subsided into his former attitude, muttering to himself. After + awhile he went on again in a louder voice— + </p> + <p> + “Since the Rajah Laut left another white man here in Sambir, the daughter + of the blind Omar el Badavi has spoken to other ears than mine.” + </p> + <p> + “Would a white man listen to a beggar’s daughter?” said Lakamba, + doubtingly. + </p> + <p> + “Hai! I have seen . . .” + </p> + <p> + “And what did you see? O one-eyed one!” exclaimed Lakamba, contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “I have seen the strange white man walking on the narrow path before the + sun could dry the drops of dew on the bushes, and I have heard the whisper + of his voice when he spoke through the smoke of the morning fire to that + woman with big eyes and a pale skin. Woman in body, but in heart a man! + She knows no fear and no shame. I have heard her voice too.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded twice at Lakamba sagaciously and gave himself up to silent + musing, his solitary eye fixed immovably upon the straight wall of forest + on the opposite bank. Lakamba lay silent, staring vacantly. Under them + Lingard’s own river rippled softly amongst the piles supporting the bamboo + platform of the little watch-house before which they were lying. Behind + the house the ground rose in a gentle swell of a low hill cleared of the + big timber, but thickly overgrown with the grass and bushes, now withered + and burnt up in the long drought of the dry season. This old rice + clearing, which had been several years lying fallow, was framed on three + sides by the impenetrable and tangled growth of the untouched forest, and + on the fourth came down to the muddy river bank. There was not a breath of + wind on the land or river, but high above, in the transparent sky, little + clouds rushed past the moon, now appearing in her diffused rays with the + brilliance of silver, now obscuring her face with the blackness of ebony. + Far away, in the middle of the river, a fish would leap now and then with + a short splash, the very loudness of which measured the profundity of the + overpowering silence that swallowed up the sharp sound suddenly. + </p> + <p> + Lakamba dozed uneasily off, but the wakeful Babalatchi sat thinking + deeply, sighing from time to time, and slapping himself over his naked + torso incessantly in a vain endeavour to keep off an occasional and + wandering mosquito that, rising as high as the platform above the swarms + of the riverside, would settle with a ping of triumph on the unexpected + victim. The moon, pursuing her silent and toilsome path, attained her + highest elevation, and chasing the shadow of the roof-eaves from Lakamba’s + face, seemed to hang arrested over their heads. Babalatchi revived the + fire and woke up his companion, who sat up yawning and shivering + discontentedly. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi spoke again in a voice which was like the murmur of a brook + that runs over the stones: low, monotonous, persistent; irresistible in + its power to wear out and to destroy the hardest obstacles. Lakamba + listened, silent but interested. They were Malay adventurers; ambitious + men of that place and time; the Bohemians of their race. In the early days + of the settlement, before the ruler Patalolo had shaken off his allegiance + to the Sultan of Koti, Lakamba appeared in the river with two small + trading vessels. He was disappointed to find already some semblance of + organization amongst the settlers of various races who recognized the + unobtrusive sway of old Patalolo, and he was not politic enough to conceal + his disappointment. He declared himself to be a man from the east, from + those parts where no white man ruled, and to be of an oppressed race, but + of a princely family. And truly enough he had all the gifts of an exiled + prince. He was discontented, ungrateful, turbulent; a man full of envy and + ready for intrigue, with brave words and empty promises for ever on his + lips. He was obstinate, but his will was made up of short impulses that + never lasted long enough to carry him to the goal of his ambition. + Received coldly by the suspicious Patalolo, he persisted—permission + or no permission—in clearing the ground on a good spot some fourteen + miles down the river from Sambir, and built himself a house there, which + he fortified by a high palisade. As he had many followers and seemed very + reckless, the old Rajah did not think it prudent at the time to interfere + with him by force. Once settled, he began to intrigue. The quarrel of + Patalolo with the Sultan of Koti was of his fomenting, but failed to + produce the result he expected because the Sultan could not back him up + effectively at such a great distance. Disappointed in that scheme, he + promptly organized an outbreak of the Bugis settlers, and besieged the old + Rajah in his stockade with much noisy valour and a fair chance of success; + but Lingard then appeared on the scene with the armed brig, and the old + seaman’s hairy forefinger, shaken menacingly in his face, quelled his + martial ardour. No man cared to encounter the Rajah Laut, and Lakamba, + with momentary resignation, subsided into a half-cultivator, half-trader, + and nursed in his fortified house his wrath and his ambition, keeping it + for use on a more propitious occasion. Still faithful to his character of + a prince-pretender, he would not recognize the constituted authorities, + answering sulkily the Rajah’s messenger, who claimed the tribute for the + cultivated fields, that the Rajah had better come and take it himself. By + Lingard’s advice he was left alone, notwithstanding his rebellious mood; + and for many days he lived undisturbed amongst his wives and retainers, + cherishing that persistent and causeless hope of better times, the + possession of which seems to be the universal privilege of exiled + greatness. + </p> + <p> + But the passing days brought no change. The hope grew faint and the hot + ambition burnt itself out, leaving only a feeble and expiring spark + amongst a heap of dull and tepid ashes of indolent acquiescence with the + decrees of Fate, till Babalatchi fanned it again into a bright flame. + Babalatchi had blundered upon the river while in search of a safe refuge + for his disreputable head. + </p> + <p> + He was a vagabond of the seas, a true Orang-Laut, living by rapine and + plunder of coasts and ships in his prosperous days; earning his living by + honest and irksome toil when the days of adversity were upon him. So, + although at times leading the Sulu rovers, he had also served as Serang of + country ships, and in that wise had visited the distant seas, beheld the + glories of Bombay, the might of the Mascati Sultan; had even struggled in + a pious throng for the privilege of touching with his lips the Sacred + Stone of the Holy City. He gathered experience and wisdom in many lands, + and after attaching himself to Omar el Badavi, he affected great piety (as + became a pilgrim), although unable to read the inspired words of the + Prophet. He was brave and bloodthirsty without any affection, and he hated + the white men who interfered with the manly pursuits of throat-cutting, + kidnapping, slave-dealing, and fire-raising, that were the only possible + occupation for a true man of the sea. He found favour in the eyes of his + chief, the fearless Omar el Badavi, the leader of Brunei rovers, whom he + followed with unquestioning loyalty through the long years of successful + depredation. And when that long career of murder, robbery and violence + received its first serious check at the hands of white men, he stood + faithfully by his chief, looked steadily at the bursting shells, was + undismayed by the flames of the burning stronghold, by the death of his + companions, by the shrieks of their women, the wailing of their children; + by the sudden ruin and destruction of all that he deemed indispensable to + a happy and glorious existence. The beaten ground between the houses was + slippery with blood, and the dark mangroves of the muddy creeks were full + of sighs of the dying men who were stricken down before they could see + their enemy. They died helplessly, for into the tangled forest there was + no escape, and their swift praus, in which they had so often scoured the + coast and the seas, now wedged together in the narrow creek, were burning + fiercely. Babalatchi, with the clear perception of the coming end, devoted + all his energies to saving if it was but only one of them. He succeeded in + time. When the end came in the explosion of the stored powder-barrels, he + was ready to look for his chief. He found him half dead and totally + blinded, with nobody near him but his daughter Aissa:—the sons had + fallen earlier in the day, as became men of their courage. Helped by the + girl with the steadfast heart, Babalatchi carried Omar on board the light + prau and succeeded in escaping, but with very few companions only. As they + hauled their craft into the network of dark and silent creeks, they could + hear the cheering of the crews of the man-of-war’s boats dashing to the + attack of the rover’s village. Aissa, sitting on the high after-deck, her + father’s blackened and bleeding head in her lap, looked up with fearless + eyes at Babalatchi. “They shall find only smoke, blood and dead men, and + women mad with fear there, but nothing else living,” she said, mournfully. + Babalatchi, pressing with his right hand the deep gash on his shoulder, + answered sadly: “They are very strong. When we fight with them we can only + die. Yet,” he added, menacingly—“some of us still live! Some of us + still live!” + </p> + <p> + For a short time he dreamed of vengeance, but his dream was dispelled by + the cold reception of the Sultan of Sulu, with whom they sought refuge at + first and who gave them only a contemptuous and grudging hospitality. + While Omar, nursed by Aissa, was recovering from his wounds, Babalatchi + attended industriously before the exalted Presence that had extended to + them the hand of Protection. For all that, when Babalatchi spoke into the + Sultan’s ear certain proposals of a great and profitable raid, that was to + sweep the islands from Ternate to Acheen, the Sultan was very angry. “I + know you, you men from the west,” he exclaimed, angrily. “Your words are + poison in a Ruler’s ears. Your talk is of fire and murder and booty—but + on our heads falls the vengeance of the blood you drink. Begone!” + </p> + <p> + There was nothing to be done. Times were changed. So changed that, when a + Spanish frigate appeared before the island and a demand was sent to the + Sultan to deliver Omar and his companions, Babalatchi was not surprised to + hear that they were going to be made the victims of political expediency. + But from that sane appreciation of danger to tame submission was a very + long step. And then began Omar’s second flight. It began arms in hand, for + the little band had to fight in the night on the beach for the possession + of the small canoes in which those that survived got away at last. The + story of that escape lives in the hearts of brave men even to this day. + They talk of Babalatchi and of the strong woman who carried her blind + father through the surf under the fire of the warship from the north. The + companions of that piratical and son-less Aeneas are dead now, but their + ghosts wander over the waters and the islands at night—after the + manner of ghosts—and haunt the fires by which sit armed men, as is + meet for the spirits of fearless warriors who died in battle. There they + may hear the story of their own deeds, of their own courage, suffering and + death, on the lips of living men. That story is told in many places. On + the cool mats in breezy verandahs of Rajahs’ houses it is alluded to + disdainfully by impassive statesmen, but amongst armed men that throng the + courtyards it is a tale which stills the murmur of voices and the tinkle + of anklets; arrests the passage of the siri-vessel, and fixes the eyes in + absorbed gaze. They talk of the fight, of the fearless woman, of the wise + man; of long suffering on the thirsty sea in leaky canoes; of those who + died. . . . Many died. A few survived. The chief, the woman, and another + one who became great. + </p> + <p> + There was no hint of incipient greatness in Babalatchi’s unostentatious + arrival in Sambir. He came with Omar and Aissa in a small prau loaded with + green cocoanuts, and claimed the ownership of both vessel and cargo. How + it came to pass that Babalatchi, fleeing for his life in a small canoe, + managed to end his hazardous journey in a vessel full of a valuable + commodity, is one of those secrets of the sea that baffle the most + searching inquiry. In truth nobody inquired much. There were rumours of a + missing trading prau belonging to Menado, but they were vague and remained + mysterious. Babalatchi told a story which—it must be said in justice + to Patalolo’s knowledge of the world—was not believed. When the + Rajah ventured to state his doubts, Babalatchi asked him in tones of calm + remonstrance whether he could reasonably suppose that two oldish men—who + had only one eye amongst them—and a young woman were likely to gain + possession of anything whatever by violence? Charity was a virtue + recommended by the Prophet. There were charitable people, and their hand + was open to the deserving. Patalolo wagged his aged head doubtingly, and + Babalatchi withdrew with a shocked mien and put himself forthwith under + Lakamba’s protection. The two men who completed the prau’s crew followed + him into that magnate’s campong. The blind Omar, with Aissa, remained + under the care of the Rajah, and the Rajah confiscated the cargo. The prau + hauled up on the mud-bank, at the junction of the two branches of the + Pantai, rotted in the rain, warped in the sun, fell to pieces and + gradually vanished into the smoke of household fires of the settlement. + Only a forgotten plank and a rib or two, sticking neglected in the shiny + ooze for a long time, served to remind Babalatchi during many months that + he was a stranger in the land. + </p> + <p> + Otherwise, he felt perfectly at home in Lakamba’s establishment, where his + peculiar position and influence were quickly recognized and soon submitted + to even by the women. He had all a true vagabond’s pliability to + circumstances and adaptiveness to momentary surroundings. In his readiness + to learn from experience that contempt for early principles so necessary + to a true statesman, he equalled the most successful politicians of any + age; and he had enough persuasiveness and firmness of purpose to acquire a + complete mastery over Lakamba’s vacillating mind—where there was + nothing stable but an all-pervading discontent. He kept the discontent + alive, he rekindled the expiring ambition, he moderated the poor exile’s + not unnatural impatience to attain a high and lucrative position. He—the + man of violence—deprecated the use of force, for he had a clear + comprehension of the difficult situation. From the same cause, he—the + hater of white men—would to some extent admit the eventual + expediency of Dutch protection. But nothing should be done in a hurry. + Whatever his master Lakamba might think, there was no use in poisoning old + Patalolo, he maintained. It could be done, of course; but what then? As + long as Lingard’s influence was paramount—as long as Almayer, + Lingard’s representative, was the only great trader of the settlement, it + was not worth Lakamba’s while—even if it had been possible—to + grasp the rule of the young state. Killing Almayer and Lingard was so + difficult and so risky that it might be dismissed as impracticable. What + was wanted was an alliance; somebody to set up against the white men’s + influence—and somebody who, while favourable to Lakamba, would at + the same time be a person of a good standing with the Dutch authorities. A + rich and considered trader was wanted. Such a person once firmly + established in Sambir would help them to oust the old Rajah, to remove him + from power or from life if there was no other way. Then it would be time + to apply to the Orang Blanda for a flag; for a recognition of their + meritorious services; for that protection which would make them safe for + ever! The word of a rich and loyal trader would mean something with the + Ruler down in Batavia. The first thing to do was to find such an ally and + to induce him to settle in Sambir. A white trader would not do. A white + man would not fall in with their ideas—would not be trustworthy. The + man they wanted should be rich, unscrupulous, have many followers, and be + a well-known personality in the islands. Such a man might be found amongst + the Arab traders. Lingard’s jealousy, said Babalatchi, kept all the + traders out of the river. Some were afraid, and some did not know how to + get there; others ignored the very existence of Sambir; a good many did + not think it worth their while to run the risk of Lingard’s enmity for the + doubtful advantage of trade with a comparatively unknown settlement. The + great majority were undesirable or untrustworthy. And Babalatchi mentioned + regretfully the men he had known in his young days: wealthy, resolute, + courageous, reckless, ready for any enterprise! But why lament the past + and speak about the dead? There is one man—living—great—not + far off . . . + </p> + <p> + Such was Babalatchi’s line of policy laid before his ambitious protector. + Lakamba assented, his only objection being that it was very slow work. In + his extreme desire to grasp dollars and power, the unintellectual exile + was ready to throw himself into the arms of any wandering cut-throat whose + help could be secured, and Babalatchi experienced great difficulty in + restraining him from unconsidered violence. It would not do to let it be + seen that they had any hand in introducing a new element into the social + and political life of Sambir. There was always a possibility of failure, + and in that case Lingard’s vengeance would be swift and certain. No risk + should be run. They must wait. + </p> + <p> + Meantime he pervaded the settlement, squatting in the course of each day + by many household fires, testing the public temper and public opinion—and + always talking about his impending departure. + </p> + <p> + At night he would often take Lakamba’s smallest canoe and depart silently + to pay mysterious visits to his old chief on the other side of the river. + Omar lived in odour of sanctity under the wing of Patalolo. Between the + bamboo fence, enclosing the houses of the Rajah, and the wild forest, + there was a banana plantation, and on its further edge stood two little + houses built on low piles under a few precious fruit trees that grew on + the banks of a clear brook, which, bubbling up behind the house, ran in + its short and rapid course down to the big river. Along the brook a narrow + path led through the dense second growth of a neglected clearing to the + banana plantation and to the houses in it which the Rajah had given for + residence to Omar. The Rajah was greatly impressed by Omar’s ostentatious + piety, by his oracular wisdom, by his many misfortunes, by the solemn + fortitude with which he bore his affliction. Often the old ruler of Sambir + would visit informally the blind Arab and listen gravely to his talk + during the hot hours of an afternoon. In the night, Babalatchi would call + and interrupt Omar’s repose, unrebuked. Aissa, standing silently at the + door of one of the huts, could see the two old friends as they sat very + still by the fire in the middle of the beaten ground between the two + houses, talking in an indistinct murmur far into the night. She could not + hear their words, but she watched the two formless shadows curiously. + Finally Babalatchi would rise and, taking her father by the wrist, would + lead him back to the house, arrange his mats for him, and go out quietly. + Instead of going away, Babalatchi, unconscious of Aissa’s eyes, often sat + again by the fire, in a long and deep meditation. Aissa looked with + respect on that wise and brave man—she was accustomed to see at her + father’s side as long as she could remember—sitting alone and + thoughtful in the silent night by the dying fire, his body motionless and + his mind wandering in the land of memories, or—who knows?—perhaps + groping for a road in the waste spaces of the uncertain future. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi noted the arrival of Willems with alarm at this new accession + to the white men’s strength. Afterwards he changed his opinion. He met + Willems one night on the path leading to Omar’s house, and noticed later + on, with only a moderate surprise, that the blind Arab did not seem to be + aware of the new white man’s visits to the neighbourhood of his dwelling. + Once, coming unexpectedly in the daytime, Babalatchi fancied he could see + the gleam of a white jacket in the bushes on the other side of the brook. + That day he watched Aissa pensively as she moved about preparing the + evening rice; but after awhile he went hurriedly away before sunset, + refusing Omar’s hospitable invitation, in the name of Allah, to share + their meal. That same evening he startled Lakamba by announcing that the + time had come at last to make the first move in their long-deferred game. + Lakamba asked excitedly for explanation. Babalatchi shook his head and + pointed to the flitting shadows of moving women and to the vague forms of + men sitting by the evening fires in the courtyard. Not a word would he + speak here, he declared. But when the whole household was reposing, + Babalatchi and Lakamba passed silent amongst sleeping groups to the + riverside, and, taking a canoe, paddled off stealthily on their way to the + dilapidated guard-hut in the old rice-clearing. There they were safe from + all eyes and ears, and could account, if need be, for their excursion by + the wish to kill a deer, the spot being well known as the drinking-place + of all kinds of game. In the seclusion of its quiet solitude Babalatchi + explained his plan to the attentive Lakamba. His idea was to make use of + Willems for the destruction of Lingard’s influence. + </p> + <p> + “I know the white men, Tuan,” he said, in conclusion. “In many lands have + I seen them; always the slaves of their desires, always ready to give up + their strength and their reason into the hands of some woman. The fate of + the Believers is written by the hand of the Mighty One, but they who + worship many gods are thrown into the world with smooth foreheads, for any + woman’s hand to mark their destruction there. Let one white man destroy + another. The will of the Most High is that they should be fools. They know + how to keep faith with their enemies, but towards each other they know + only deception. Hai! I have seen! I have seen!” + </p> + <p> + He stretched himself full length before the fire, and closed his eye in + real or simulated sleep. Lakamba, not quite convinced, sat for a long time + with his gaze riveted on the dull embers. As the night advanced, a slight + white mist rose from the river, and the declining moon, bowed over the + tops of the forest, seemed to seek the repose of the earth, like a wayward + and wandering lover who returns at last to lay his tired and silent head + on his beloved’s breast. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER SIX + </h2> + <p> + “Lend me your gun, Almayer,” said Willems, across the table on which a + smoky lamp shone redly above the disorder of a finished meal. “I have a + mind to go and look for a deer when the moon rises to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer, sitting sidewise to the table, his elbow pushed amongst the dirty + plates, his chin on his breast and his legs stretched stiffly out, kept + his eyes steadily on the toes of his grass slippers and laughed abruptly. + </p> + <p> + “You might say yes or no instead of making that unpleasant noise,” + remarked Willems, with calm irritation. + </p> + <p> + “If I believed one word of what you say, I would,” answered Almayer + without changing his attitude and speaking slowly, with pauses, as if + dropping his words on the floor. “As it is—what’s the use? You know + where the gun is; you may take it or leave it. Gun. Deer. Bosh! Hunt deer! + Pah! It’s a . . . gazelle you are after, my honoured guest. You want gold + anklets and silk sarongs for that game—my mighty hunter. And you + won’t get those for the asking, I promise you. All day amongst the + natives. A fine help you are to me.” + </p> + <p> + “You shouldn’t drink so much, Almayer,” said Willems, disguising his fury + under an affected drawl. “You have no head. Never had, as far as I can + remember, in the old days in Macassar. You drink too much.” + </p> + <p> + “I drink my own,” retorted Almayer, lifting his head quickly and darting + an angry glance at Willems. + </p> + <p> + Those two specimens of the superior race glared at each other savagely for + a minute, then turned away their heads at the same moment as if by + previous arrangement, and both got up. Almayer kicked off his slippers and + scrambled into his hammock, which hung between two wooden columns of the + verandah so as to catch every rare breeze of the dry season, and Willems, + after standing irresolutely by the table for a short time, walked without + a word down the steps of the house and over the courtyard towards the + little wooden jetty, where several small canoes and a couple of big white + whale-boats were made fast, tugging at their short painters and bumping + together in the swift current of the river. He jumped into the smallest + canoe, balancing himself clumsily, slipped the rattan painter, and gave an + unnecessary and violent shove, which nearly sent him headlong overboard. + By the time he regained his balance the canoe had drifted some fifty yards + down the river. He knelt in the bottom of his little craft and fought the + current with long sweeps of the paddle. Almayer sat up in his hammock, + grasping his feet and peering over the river with parted lips till he made + out the shadowy form of man and canoe as they struggled past the jetty + again. + </p> + <p> + “I thought you would go,” he shouted. “Won’t you take the gun? Hey?” he + yelled, straining his voice. Then he fell back in his hammock and laughed + to himself feebly till he fell asleep. On the river, Willems, his eyes + fixed intently ahead, swept his paddle right and left, unheeding the words + that reached him faintly. + </p> + <p> + It was now three months since Lingard had landed Willems in Sambir and had + departed hurriedly, leaving him in Almayer’s care. + </p> + <p> + The two white men did not get on well together. Almayer, remembering the + time when they both served Hudig, and when the superior Willems treated + him with offensive condescension, felt a great dislike towards his guest. + He was also jealous of Lingard’s favour. Almayer had married a Malay girl + whom the old seaman had adopted in one of his accesses of unreasoning + benevolence, and as the marriage was not a happy one from a domestic point + of view, he looked to Lingard’s fortune for compensation in his + matrimonial unhappiness. The appearance of that man, who seemed to have a + claim of some sort upon Lingard, filled him with considerable uneasiness, + the more so because the old seaman did not choose to acquaint the husband + of his adopted daughter with Willems’ history, or to confide to him his + intentions as to that individual’s future fate. Suspicious from the first, + Almayer discouraged Willems’ attempts to help him in his trading, and then + when Willems drew back, he made, with characteristic perverseness, a + grievance of his unconcern. From cold civility in their relations, the two + men drifted into silent hostility, then into outspoken enmity, and both + wished ardently for Lingard’s return and the end of a situation that grew + more intolerable from day to day. The time dragged slowly. Willems watched + the succeeding sunrises wondering dismally whether before the evening some + change would occur in the deadly dullness of his life. He missed the + commercial activity of that existence which seemed to him far off, + irreparably lost, buried out of sight under the ruins of his past success—now + gone from him beyond the possibility of redemption. He mooned + disconsolately about Almayer’s courtyard, watching from afar, with + uninterested eyes, the up-country canoes discharging guttah or rattans, + and loading rice or European goods on the little wharf of Lingard & + Co. Big as was the extent of ground owned by Almayer, Willems yet felt + that there was not enough room for him inside those neat fences. The man + who, during long years, became accustomed to think of himself as + indispensable to others, felt a bitter and savage rage at the cruel + consciousness of his superfluity, of his uselessness; at the cold + hostility visible in every look of the only white man in this barbarous + corner of the world. He gnashed his teeth when he thought of the wasted + days, of the life thrown away in the unwilling company of that peevish and + suspicious fool. He heard the reproach of his idleness in the murmurs of + the river, in the unceasing whisper of the great forests. Round him + everything stirred, moved, swept by in a rush; the earth under his feet + and the heavens above his head. The very savages around him strove, + struggled, fought, worked—if only to prolong a miserable existence; + but they lived, they lived! And it was only himself that seemed to be left + outside the scheme of creation in a hopeless immobility filled with + tormenting anger and with ever-stinging regret. + </p> + <p> + He took to wandering about the settlement. The afterwards flourishing + Sambir was born in a swamp and passed its youth in malodorous mud. The + houses crowded the bank, and, as if to get away from the unhealthy shore, + stepped boldly into the river, shooting over it in a close row of bamboo + platforms elevated on high piles, amongst which the current below spoke in + a soft and unceasing plaint of murmuring eddies. There was only one path + in the whole town and it ran at the back of the houses along the + succession of blackened circular patches that marked the place of the + household fires. On the other side the virgin forest bordered the path, + coming close to it, as if to provoke impudently any passer-by to the + solution of the gloomy problem of its depths. Nobody would accept the + deceptive challenge. There were only a few feeble attempts at a clearing + here and there, but the ground was low and the river, retiring after its + yearly floods, left on each a gradually diminishing mudhole, where the + imported buffaloes of the Bugis settlers wallowed happily during the heat + of the day. When Willems walked on the path, the indolent men stretched on + the shady side of the houses looked at him with calm curiosity, the women + busy round the cooking fires would send after him wondering and timid + glances, while the children would only look once, and then run away + yelling with fright at the horrible appearance of the man with a red and + white face. These manifestations of childish disgust and fear stung + Willems with a sense of absurd humiliation; he sought in his walks the + comparative solitude of the rudimentary clearings, but the very buffaloes + snorted with alarm at his sight, scrambled lumberingly out of the cool mud + and stared wildly in a compact herd at him as he tried to slink + unperceived along the edge of the forest. One day, at some unguarded and + sudden movement of his, the whole herd stampeded down the path, scattered + the fires, sent the women flying with shrill cries, and left behind a + track of smashed pots, trampled rice, overturned children, and a crowd of + angry men brandishing sticks in loud-voiced pursuit. The innocent cause of + that disturbance ran shamefacedly the gauntlet of black looks and + unfriendly remarks, and hastily sought refuge in Almayer’s campong. After + that he left the settlement alone. + </p> + <p> + Later, when the enforced confinement grew irksome, Willems took one of + Almayer’s many canoes and crossed the main branch of the Pantai in search + of some solitary spot where he could hide his discouragement and his + weariness. He skirted in his little craft the wall of tangled verdure, + keeping in the dead water close to the bank where the spreading nipa palms + nodded their broad leaves over his head as if in contemptuous pity of the + wandering outcast. Here and there he could see the beginnings of + chopped-out pathways, and, with the fixed idea of getting out of sight of + the busy river, he would land and follow the narrow and winding path, only + to find that it led nowhere, ending abruptly in the discouragement of + thorny thickets. He would go back slowly, with a bitter sense of + unreasonable disappointment and sadness; oppressed by the hot smell of + earth, dampness, and decay in that forest which seemed to push him + mercilessly back into the glittering sunshine of the river. And he would + recommence paddling with tired arms to seek another opening, to find + another deception. + </p> + <p> + As he paddled up to the point where the Rajah’s stockade came down to the + river, the nipas were left behind rattling their leaves over the brown + water, and the big trees would appear on the bank, tall, strong, + indifferent in the immense solidity of their life, which endures for ages, + to that short and fleeting life in the heart of the man who crept + painfully amongst their shadows in search of a refuge from the unceasing + reproach of his thoughts. Amongst their smooth trunks a clear brook + meandered for a time in twining lacets before it made up its mind to take + a leap into the hurrying river, over the edge of the steep bank. There was + also a pathway there and it seemed frequented. Willems landed, and + following the capricious promise of the track soon found himself in a + comparatively clear space, where the confused tracery of sunlight fell + through the branches and the foliage overhead, and lay on the stream that + shone in an easy curve like a bright sword-blade dropped amongst the long + and feathery grass. + </p> + <p> + Further on, the path continued, narrowed again in the thick undergrowth. + At the end of the first turning Willems saw a flash of white and colour, a + gleam of gold like a sun-ray lost in shadow, and a vision of blackness + darker than the deepest shade of the forest. He stopped, surprised, and + fancied he had heard light footsteps—growing lighter—ceasing. + He looked around. The grass on the bank of the stream trembled and a + tremulous path of its shivering, silver-grey tops ran from the water to + the beginning of the thicket. And yet there was not a breath of wind. + Somebody kind passed there. He looked pensive while the tremor died out in + a quick tremble under his eyes; and the grass stood high, unstirring, with + drooping heads in the warm and motionless air. + </p> + <p> + He hurried on, driven by a suddenly awakened curiosity, and entered the + narrow way between the bushes. At the next turn of the path he caught + again the glimpse of coloured stuff and of a woman’s black hair before + him. He hastened his pace and came in full view of the object of his + pursuit. The woman, who was carrying two bamboo vessels full of water, + heard his footsteps, stopped, and putting the bamboos down half turned to + look back. Willems also stood still for a minute, then walked steadily on + with a firm tread, while the woman moved aside to let him pass. He kept + his eyes fixed straight before him, yet almost unconsciously he took in + every detail of the tall and graceful figure. As he approached her the + woman tossed her head slightly back, and with a free gesture of her + strong, round arm, caught up the mass of loose black hair and brought it + over her shoulder and across the lower part of her face. The next moment + he was passing her close, walking rigidly, like a man in a trance. He + heard her rapid breathing and he felt the touch of a look darted at him + from half-open eyes. It touched his brain and his heart together. It + seemed to him to be something loud and stirring like a shout, silent and + penetrating like an inspiration. The momentum of his motion carried him + past her, but an invisible force made up of surprise and curiosity and + desire spun him round as soon as he had passed. + </p> + <p> + She had taken up her burden already, with the intention of pursuing her + path. His sudden movement arrested her at the first step, and again she + stood straight, slim, expectant, with a readiness to dart away suggested + in the light immobility of her pose. High above, the branches of the trees + met in a transparent shimmer of waving green mist, through which the rain + of yellow rays descended upon her head, streamed in glints down her black + tresses, shone with the changing glow of liquid metal on her face, and + lost itself in vanishing sparks in the sombre depths of her eyes that, + wide open now, with enlarged pupils, looked steadily at the man in her + path. And Willems stared at her, charmed with a charm that carries with it + a sense of irreparable loss, tingling with that feeling which begins like + a caress and ends in a blow, in that sudden hurt of a new emotion making + its way into a human heart, with the brusque stirring of sleeping + sensations awakening suddenly to the rush of new hopes, new fears, new + desires—and to the flight of one’s old self. + </p> + <p> + She moved a step forward and again halted. A breath of wind that came + through the trees, but in Willems’ fancy seemed to be driven by her moving + figure, rippled in a hot wave round his body and scorched his face in a + burning touch. He drew it in with a long breath, the last long breath of a + soldier before the rush of battle, of a lover before he takes in his arms + the adored woman; the breath that gives courage to confront the menace of + death or the storm of passion. + </p> + <p> + Who was she? Where did she come from? Wonderingly he took his eyes off her + face to look round at the serried trees of the forest that stood big and + still and straight, as if watching him and her breathlessly. He had been + baffled, repelled, almost frightened by the intensity of that tropical + life which wants the sunshine but works in gloom; which seems to be all + grace of colour and form, all brilliance, all smiles, but is only the + blossoming of the dead; whose mystery holds the promise of joy and beauty, + yet contains nothing but poison and decay. He had been frightened by the + vague perception of danger before, but now, as he looked at that life + again, his eyes seemed able to pierce the fantastic veil of creepers and + leaves, to look past the solid trunks, to see through the forbidding gloom—and + the mystery was disclosed—enchanting, subduing, beautiful. He looked + at the woman. Through the checkered light between them she appeared to him + with the impalpable distinctness of a dream. The very spirit of that land + of mysterious forests, standing before him like an apparition behind a + transparent veil—a veil woven of sunbeams and shadows. + </p> + <p> + She had approached him still nearer. He felt a strange impatience within + him at her advance. Confused thoughts rushed through his head, disordered, + shapeless, stunning. Then he heard his own voice asking— + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am the daughter of the blind Omar,” she answered, in a low but steady + tone. “And you,” she went on, a little louder, “you are the white trader—the + great man of this place.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Willems, holding her eyes with his in a sense of extreme + effort, “Yes, I am white.” Then he added, feeling as if he spoke about + some other man, “But I am the outcast of my people.” + </p> + <p> + She listened to him gravely. Through the mesh of scattered hair her face + looked like the face of a golden statue with living eyes. The heavy + eyelids dropped slightly, and from between the long eyelashes she sent out + a sidelong look: hard, keen, and narrow, like the gleam of sharp steel. + Her lips were firm and composed in a graceful curve, but the distended + nostrils, the upward poise of the half-averted head, gave to her whole + person the expression of a wild and resentful defiance. + </p> + <p> + A shadow passed over Willems’ face. He put his hand over his lips as if to + keep back the words that wanted to come out in a surge of impulsive + necessity, the outcome of dominant thought that rushes from the heart to + the brain and must be spoken in the face of doubt, of danger, of fear, of + destruction itself. + </p> + <p> + “You are beautiful,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + She looked at him again with a glance that running in one quick flash of + her eyes over his sunburnt features, his broad shoulders, his straight, + tall, motionless figure, rested at last on the ground at his feet. Then + she smiled. In the sombre beauty of her face that smile was like the first + ray of light on a stormy daybreak that darts evanescent and pale through + the gloomy clouds: the forerunner of sunrise and of thunder. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER SEVEN + </h2> + <p> + There are in our lives short periods which hold no place in memory but + only as the recollection of a feeling. There is no remembrance of gesture, + of action, of any outward manifestation of life; those are lost in the + unearthly brilliance or in the unearthly gloom of such moments. We are + absorbed in the contemplation of that something, within our bodies, which + rejoices or suffers while the body goes on breathing, instinctively runs + away or, not less instinctively, fights—perhaps dies. But death in + such a moment is the privilege of the fortunate, it is a high and rare + favour, a supreme grace. + </p> + <p> + Willems never remembered how and when he parted from Aissa. He caught + himself drinking the muddy water out of the hollow of his hand, while his + canoe was drifting in mid-stream past the last houses of Sambir. With his + returning wits came the fear of something unknown that had taken + possession of his heart, of something inarticulate and masterful which + could not speak and would be obeyed. His first impulse was that of revolt. + He would never go back there. Never! He looked round slowly at the + brilliance of things in the deadly sunshine and took up his paddle! How + changed everything seemed! The river was broader, the sky was higher. How + fast the canoe flew under the strokes of his paddle! Since when had he + acquired the strength of two men or more? He looked up and down the reach + at the forests of the bank with a confused notion that with one sweep of + his hand he could tumble all these trees into the stream. His face felt + burning. He drank again, and shuddered with a depraved sense of pleasure + at the after-taste of slime in the water. + </p> + <p> + It was late when he reached Almayer’s house, but he crossed the dark and + uneven courtyard, walking lightly in the radiance of some light of his + own, invisible to other eyes. His host’s sulky greeting jarred him like a + sudden fall down a great height. He took his place at the table opposite + Almayer and tried to speak cheerfully to his gloomy companion, but when + the meal was ended and they sat smoking in silence he felt an abrupt + discouragement, a lassitude in all his limbs, a sense of immense sadness + as after some great and irreparable loss. The darkness of the night + entered his heart, bringing with it doubt and hesitation and dull anger + with himself and all the world. He had an impulse to shout horrible + curses, to quarrel with Almayer, to do something violent. Quite without + any immediate provocation he thought he would like to assault the + wretched, sulky beast. He glanced at him ferociously from under his + eyebrows. The unconscious Almayer smoked thoughtfully, planning + to-morrow’s work probably. The man’s composure seemed to Willems an + unpardonable insult. Why didn’t that idiot talk to-night when he wanted + him to? . . . on other nights he was ready enough to chatter. And such + dull nonsense too! And Willems, trying hard to repress his own senseless + rage, looked fixedly through the thick tobacco-smoke at the stained + tablecloth. + </p> + <p> + They retired early, as usual, but in the middle of the night Willems + leaped out of his hammock with a stifled execration and ran down the steps + into the courtyard. The two night watchmen, who sat by a little fire + talking together in a monotonous undertone, lifted their heads to look + wonderingly at the discomposed features of the white man as he crossed the + circle of light thrown out by their fire. He disappeared in the darkness + and then came back again, passing them close, but with no sign of + consciousness of their presence on his face. Backwards and forwards he + paced, muttering to himself, and the two Malays, after a short + consultation in whispers left the fire quietly, not thinking it safe to + remain in the vicinity of a white man who behaved in such a strange + manner. They retired round the corner of the godown and watched Willems + curiously through the night, till the short daybreak was followed by the + sudden blaze of the rising sun, and Almayer’s establishment woke up to + life and work. + </p> + <p> + As soon as he could get away unnoticed in the bustle of the busy + riverside, Willems crossed the river on his way to the place where he had + met Aissa. He threw himself down in the grass by the side of the brook and + listened for the sound of her footsteps. The brilliant light of day fell + through the irregular opening in the high branches of the trees and + streamed down, softened, amongst the shadows of big trunks. Here and there + a narrow sunbeam touched the rugged bark of a tree with a golden splash, + sparkled on the leaping water of the brook, or rested on a leaf that stood + out, shimmering and distinct, on the monotonous background of sombre green + tints. The clear gap of blue above his head was crossed by the quick + flight of white rice-birds whose wings flashed in the sunlight, while + through it the heat poured down from the sky, clung about the steaming + earth, rolled among the trees, and wrapped up Willems in the soft and + odorous folds of air heavy with the faint scent of blossoms and with the + acrid smell of decaying life. And in that atmosphere of Nature’s workshop + Willems felt soothed and lulled into forgetfulness of his past, into + indifference as to his future. The recollections of his triumphs, of his + wrongs and of his ambition vanished in that warmth, which seemed to melt + all regrets, all hope, all anger, all strength out of his heart. And he + lay there, dreamily contented, in the tepid and perfumed shelter, thinking + of Aissa’s eyes; recalling the sound of her voice, the quiver of her lips—her + frowns and her smile. + </p> + <p> + She came, of course. To her he was something new, unknown and strange. He + was bigger, stronger than any man she had seen before, and altogether + different from all those she knew. He was of the victorious race. With a + vivid remembrance of the great catastrophe of her life he appeared to her + with all the fascination of a great and dangerous thing; of a terror + vanquished, surmounted, made a plaything of. They spoke with just such a + deep voice—those victorious men; they looked with just such hard + blue eyes at their enemies. And she made that voice speak softly to her, + those eyes look tenderly at her face! He was indeed a man. She could not + understand all he told her of his life, but the fragments she understood + she made up for herself into a story of a man great amongst his own + people, valorous and unfortunate; an undaunted fugitive dreaming of + vengeance against his enemies. He had all the attractiveness of the vague + and the unknown—of the unforeseen and of the sudden; of a being + strong, dangerous, alive, and human, ready to be enslaved. + </p> + <p> + She felt that he was ready. She felt it with the unerring intuition of a + primitive woman confronted by a simple impulse. Day after day, when they + met and she stood a little way off, listening to his words, holding him + with her look, the undefined terror of the new conquest became faint and + blurred like the memory of a dream, and the certitude grew distinct, and + convincing, and visible to the eyes like some material thing in full + sunlight. It was a deep joy, a great pride, a tangible sweetness that + seemed to leave the taste of honey on her lips. He lay stretched at her + feet without moving, for he knew from experience how a slight movement of + his could frighten her away in those first days of their intercourse. He + lay very quiet, with all the ardour of his desire ringing in his voice and + shining in his eyes, whilst his body was still, like death itself. And he + looked at her, standing above him, her head lost in the shadow of broad + and graceful leaves that touched her cheek; while the slender spikes of + pale green orchids streamed down from amongst the boughs and mingled with + the black hair that framed her face, as if all those plants claimed her + for their own—the animated and brilliant flower of all that + exuberant life which, born in gloom, struggles for ever towards the + sunshine. + </p> + <p> + Every day she came a little nearer. He watched her slow progress—the + gradual taming of that woman by the words of his love. It was the + monotonous song of praise and desire that, commencing at creation, wraps + up the world like an atmosphere and shall end only in the end of all + things—when there are no lips to sing and no ears to hear. He told + her that she was beautiful and desirable, and he repeated it again and + again; for when he told her that, he had said all there was within him—he + had expressed his only thought, his only feeling. And he watched the + startled look of wonder and mistrust vanish from her face with the passing + days, her eyes soften, the smile dwell longer and longer on her lips; a + smile as of one charmed by a delightful dream; with the slight exaltation + of intoxicating triumph lurking in its dawning tenderness. + </p> + <p> + And while she was near there was nothing in the whole world—for that + idle man—but her look and her smile. Nothing in the past, nothing in + the future; and in the present only the luminous fact of her existence. + But in the sudden darkness of her going he would be left weak and + helpless, as though despoiled violently of all that was himself. He who + had lived all his life with no preoccupation but that of his own career, + contemptuously indifferent to all feminine influence, full of scorn for + men that would submit to it, if ever so little; he, so strong, so superior + even in his errors, realized at last that his very individuality was + snatched from within himself by the hand of a woman. Where was the + assurance and pride of his cleverness; the belief in success, the anger of + failure, the wish to retrieve his fortune, the certitude of his ability to + accomplish it yet? Gone. All gone. All that had been a man within him was + gone, and there remained only the trouble of his heart—that heart + which had become a contemptible thing; which could be fluttered by a look + or a smile, tormented by a word, soothed by a promise. + </p> + <p> + When the longed-for day came at last, when she sank on the grass by his + side and with a quick gesture took his hand in hers, he sat up suddenly + with the movement and look of a man awakened by the crash of his own + falling house. All his blood, all his sensation, all his life seemed to + rush into that hand leaving him without strength, in a cold shiver, in the + sudden clamminess and collapse as of a deadly gun-shot wound. He flung her + hand away brutally, like something burning, and sat motionless, his head + fallen forward, staring on the ground and catching his breath in painful + gasps. His impulse of fear and apparent horror did not dismay her in the + least. Her face was grave and her eyes looked seriously at him. Her + fingers touched the hair of his temple, ran in a light caress down his + cheek, twisted gently the end of his long moustache: and while he sat in + the tremor of that contact she ran off with startling fleetness and + disappeared in a peal of clear laughter, in the stir of grass, in the nod + of young twigs growing over the path; leaving behind only a vanishing + trail of motion and sound. + </p> + <p> + He scrambled to his feet slowly and painfully, like a man with a burden on + his shoulders, and walked towards the riverside. He hugged to his breast + the recollection of his fear and of his delight, but told himself + seriously over and over again that this must be the end of that adventure. + After shoving off his canoe into the stream he lifted his eyes to the bank + and gazed at it long and steadily, as if taking his last look at a place + of charming memories. He marched up to Almayer’s house with the + concentrated expression and the determined step of a man who had just + taken a momentous resolution. His face was set and rigid, his gestures and + movements were guarded and slow. He was keeping a tight hand on himself. A + very tight hand. He had a vivid illusion—as vivid as reality almost—of + being in charge of a slippery prisoner. He sat opposite Almayer during + that dinner—which was their last meal together—with a + perfectly calm face and within him a growing terror of escape from his own + self. + </p> + <p> + Now and then he would grasp the edge of the table and set his teeth hard + in a sudden wave of acute despair, like one who, falling down a smooth and + rapid declivity that ends in a precipice, digs his finger nails into the + yielding surface and feels himself slipping helplessly to inevitable + destruction. + </p> + <p> + Then, abruptly, came a relaxation of his muscles, the giving way of his + will. Something seemed to snap in his head, and that wish, that idea kept + back during all those hours, darted into his brain with the heat and noise + of a conflagration. He must see her! See her at once! Go now! To-night! He + had the raging regret of the lost hour, of every passing moment. There was + no thought of resistance now. Yet with the instinctive fear of the + irrevocable, with the innate falseness of the human heart, he wanted to + keep open the way of retreat. He had never absented himself during the + night. What did Almayer know? What would Almayer think? Better ask him for + the gun. A moonlight night. . . . Look for deer. . . . A colourable + pretext. He would lie to Almayer. What did it matter! He lied to himself + every minute of his life. And for what? For a woman. And such. . . . + </p> + <p> + Almayer’s answer showed him that deception was useless. Everything gets to + be known, even in this place. Well, he did not care. Cared for nothing but + for the lost seconds. What if he should suddenly die. Die before he saw + her. Before he could . . . + </p> + <p> + As, with the sound of Almayer’s laughter in his ears, he urged his canoe + in a slanting course across the rapid current, he tried to tell himself + that he could return at any moment. He would just go and look at the place + where they used to meet, at the tree under which he lay when she took his + hand, at the spot where she sat by his side. Just go there and then return—nothing + more; but when his little skiff touched the bank he leaped out, forgetting + the painter, and the canoe hung for a moment amongst the bushes and then + swung out of sight before he had time to dash into the water and secure + it. He was thunderstruck at first. Now he could not go back unless he + called up the Rajah’s people to get a boat and rowers—and the way to + Patalolo’s campong led past Aissa’s house! + </p> + <p> + He went up the path with the eager eyes and reluctant steps of a man + pursuing a phantom, and when he found himself at a place where a narrow + track branched off to the left towards Omar’s clearing he stood still, + with a look of strained attention on his face as if listening to a far-off + voice—the voice of his fate. It was a sound inarticulate but full of + meaning; and following it there came a rending and tearing within his + breast. He twisted his fingers together, and the joints of his hands and + arms cracked. On his forehead the perspiration stood out in small pearly + drops. He looked round wildly. Above the shapeless darkness of the forest + undergrowth rose the treetops with their high boughs and leaves standing + out black on the pale sky—like fragments of night floating on + moonbeams. Under his feet warm steam rose from the heated earth. Round him + there was a great silence. + </p> + <p> + He was looking round for help. This silence, this immobility of his + surroundings seemed to him a cold rebuke, a stern refusal, a cruel + unconcern. There was no safety outside of himself—and in himself + there was no refuge; there was only the image of that woman. He had a + sudden moment of lucidity—of that cruel lucidity that comes once in + life to the most benighted. He seemed to see what went on within him, and + was horrified at the strange sight. He, a white man whose worst fault till + then had been a little want of judgment and too much confidence in the + rectitude of his kind! That woman was a complete savage, and . . . He + tried to tell himself that the thing was of no consequence. It was a vain + effort. The novelty of the sensations he had never experienced before in + the slightest degree, yet had despised on hearsay from his safe position + of a civilized man, destroyed his courage. He was disappointed with + himself. He seemed to be surrendering to a wild creature the unstained + purity of his life, of his race, of his civilization. He had a notion of + being lost amongst shapeless things that were dangerous and ghastly. He + struggled with the sense of certain defeat—lost his footing—fell + back into the darkness. With a faint cry and an upward throw of his arms + he gave up as a tired swimmer gives up: because the swamped craft is gone + from under his feet; because the night is dark and the shore is far—because + death is better than strife. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER ONE + </h2> + <p> + The light and heat fell upon the settlement, the clearings, and the river + as if flung down by an angry hand. The land lay silent, still, and + brilliant under the avalanche of burning rays that had destroyed all sound + and all motion, had buried all shadows, had choked every breath. No living + thing dared to affront the serenity of this cloudless sky, dared to revolt + against the oppression of this glorious and cruel sunshine. Strength and + resolution, body and mind alike were helpless, and tried to hide before + the rush of the fire from heaven. Only the frail butterflies, the fearless + children of the sun, the capricious tyrants of the flowers, fluttered + audaciously in the open, and their minute shadows hovered in swarms over + the drooping blossoms, ran lightly on the withering grass, or glided on + the dry and cracked earth. No voice was heard in this hot noontide but the + faint murmur of the river that hurried on in swirls and eddies, its + sparkling wavelets chasing each other in their joyous course to the + sheltering depths, to the cool refuge of the sea. + </p> + <p> + Almayer had dismissed his workmen for the midday rest, and, his little + daughter on his shoulder, ran quickly across the courtyard, making for the + shade of the verandah of his house. He laid the sleepy child on the seat + of the big rocking-chair, on a pillow which he took out of his own + hammock, and stood for a while looking down at her with tender and pensive + eyes. The child, tired and hot, moved uneasily, sighed, and looked up at + him with the veiled look of sleepy fatigue. He picked up from the floor a + broken palm-leaf fan, and began fanning gently the flushed little face. + Her eyelids fluttered and Almayer smiled. A responsive smile brightened + for a second her heavy eyes, broke with a dimple the soft outline of her + cheek; then the eyelids dropped suddenly, she drew a long breath through + the parted lips—and was in a deep sleep before the fleeting smile + could vanish from her face. + </p> + <p> + Almayer moved lightly off, took one of the wooden armchairs, and placing + it close to the balustrade of the verandah sat down with a sigh of relief. + He spread his elbows on the top rail and resting his chin on his clasped + hands looked absently at the river, at the dance of sunlight on the + flowing water. Gradually the forest of the further bank became smaller, as + if sinking below the level of the river. The outlines wavered, grew thin, + dissolved in the air. Before his eyes there was now only a space of + undulating blue—one big, empty sky growing dark at times. . . . + Where was the sunshine? . . . He felt soothed and happy, as if some gentle + and invisible hand had removed from his soul the burden of his body. In + another second he seemed to float out into a cool brightness where there + was no such thing as memory or pain. Delicious. His eyes closed—opened—closed + again. + </p> + <p> + “Almayer!” + </p> + <p> + With a sudden jerk of his whole body he sat up, grasping the front rail + with both his hands, and blinked stupidly. + </p> + <p> + “What? What’s that?” he muttered, looking round vaguely. + </p> + <p> + “Here! Down here, Almayer.” + </p> + <p> + Half rising in his chair, Almayer looked over the rail at the foot of the + verandah, and fell back with a low whistle of astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “A ghost, by heavens!” he exclaimed softly to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Will you listen to me?” went on the husky voice from the courtyard. “May + I come up, Almayer?” + </p> + <p> + Almayer stood up and leaned over the rail. “Don’t you dare,” he said, in a + voice subdued but distinct. “Don’t you dare! The child sleeps here. And I + don’t want to hear you—or speak to you either.” + </p> + <p> + “You must listen to me! It’s something important.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to me, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! To you. Very important.” + </p> + <p> + “You were always a humbug,” said Almayer, after a short silence, in an + indulgent tone. “Always! I remember the old days. Some fellows used to say + there was no one like you for smartness—but you never took me in. + Not quite. I never quite believed in you, Mr. Willems.” + </p> + <p> + “I admit your superior intelligence,” retorted Willems, with scornful + impatience, from below. “Listening to me would be a further proof of it. + You will be sorry if you don’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you funny fellow!” said Almayer, banteringly. “Well, come up. Don’t + make a noise, but come up. You’ll catch a sunstroke down there and die on + my doorstep perhaps. I don’t want any tragedy here. Come on!” + </p> + <p> + Before he finished speaking Willems’ head appeared above the level of the + floor, then his shoulders rose gradually and he stood at last before + Almayer—a masquerading spectre of the once so very confidential + clerk of the richest merchant in the islands. His jacket was soiled and + torn; below the waist he was clothed in a worn-out and faded sarong. He + flung off his hat, uncovering his long, tangled hair that stuck in wisps + on his perspiring forehead and straggled over his eyes, which glittered + deep down in the sockets like the last sparks amongst the black embers of + a burnt-out fire. An unclean beard grew out of the caverns of his sunburnt + cheeks. The hand he put out towards Almayer was very unsteady. The once + firm mouth had the tell-tale droop of mental suffering and physical + exhaustion. He was barefooted. Almayer surveyed him with leisurely + composure. + </p> + <p> + “Well!” he said at last, without taking the extended hand which dropped + slowly along Willems’ body. + </p> + <p> + “I am come,” began Willems. + </p> + <p> + “So I see,” interrupted Almayer. “You might have spared me this treat + without making me unhappy. You have been away five weeks, if I am not + mistaken. I got on very well without you—and now you are here you + are not pretty to look at.” + </p> + <p> + “Let me speak, will you!” exclaimed Willems. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t shout like this. Do you think yourself in the forest with your . . + . your friends? This is a civilized man’s house. A white man’s. + Understand?” + </p> + <p> + “I am come,” began Willems again; “I am come for your good and mine.” + </p> + <p> + “You look as if you had come for a good feed,” chimed in the irrepressible + Almayer, while Willems waved his hand in a discouraged gesture. “Don’t + they give you enough to eat,” went on Almayer, in a tone of easy banter, + “those—what am I to call them—those new relations of yours? + That old blind scoundrel must be delighted with your company. You know, he + was the greatest thief and murderer of those seas. Say! do you exchange + confidences? Tell me, Willems, did you kill somebody in Macassar or did + you only steal something?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not true!” exclaimed Willems, hotly. “I only borrowed. . . . They + all lied! I . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Sh-sh!” hissed Almayer, warningly, with a look at the sleeping child. “So + you did steal,” he went on, with repressed exultation. “I thought there + was something of the kind. And now, here, you steal again.” + </p> + <p> + For the first time Willems raised his eyes to Almayer’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I don’t mean from me. I haven’t missed anything,” said Almayer, with + mocking haste. “But that girl. Hey! You stole her. You did not pay the old + fellow. She is no good to him now, is she?” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that. Almayer!” + </p> + <p> + Something in Willems’ tone caused Almayer to pause. He looked narrowly at + the man before him, and could not help being shocked at his appearance. + </p> + <p> + “Almayer,” went on Willems, “listen to me. If you are a human being you + will. I suffer horribly—and for your sake.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed! How? But you are raving,” he added, + negligently. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! You don’t know,” whispered Willems. “She is gone. Gone,” he repeated, + with tears in his voice, “gone two days ago.” + </p> + <p> + “No!” exclaimed the surprised Almayer. “Gone! I haven’t heard that news + yet.” He burst into a subdued laugh. “How funny! Had enough of you + already? You know it’s not flattering for you, my superior countryman.” + </p> + <p> + Willems—as if not hearing him—leaned against one of the + columns of the roof and looked over the river. “At first,” he whispered, + dreamily, “my life was like a vision of heaven—or hell; I didn’t + know which. Since she went I know what perdition means; what darkness is. + I know what it is to be torn to pieces alive. That’s how I feel.” + </p> + <p> + “You may come and live with me again,” said Almayer, coldly. “After all, + Lingard—whom I call my father and respect as such—left you + under my care. You pleased yourself by going away. Very good. Now you want + to come back. Be it so. I am no friend of yours. I act for Captain + Lingard.” + </p> + <p> + “Come back?” repeated Willems, passionately. “Come back to you and abandon + her? Do you think I am mad? Without her! Man! what are you made of? To + think that she moves, lives, breathes out of my sight. I am jealous of the + wind that fans her, of the air she breathes, of the earth that receives + the caress of her foot, of the sun that looks at her now while I . . . I + haven’t seen her for two days—two days.” + </p> + <p> + The intensity of Willems’ feeling moved Almayer somewhat, but he affected + to yawn elaborately, “You do bore me,” he muttered. “Why don’t you go + after her instead of coming here?” + </p> + <p> + “Why indeed?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you know where she is? She can’t be very far. No native craft has + left this river for the last fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + “No! not very far—and I will tell you where she is. She is in + Lakamba’s campong.” And Willems fixed his eyes steadily on Almayer’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Phew! Patalolo never sent to let me know. Strange,” said Almayer, + thoughtfully. “Are you afraid of that lot?” he added, after a short pause. + </p> + <p> + “I—afraid!” + </p> + <p> + “Then is it the care of your dignity which prevents you from following her + there, my high-minded friend?” asked Almayer, with mock solicitude. “How + noble of you!” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence; then Willems said, quietly, “You are a fool. I + should like to kick you.” + </p> + <p> + “No fear,” answered Almayer, carelessly; “you are too weak for that. You + look starved.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I have eaten anything for the last two days; perhaps more—I + don’t remember. It does not matter. I am full of live embers,” said + Willems, gloomily. “Look!” and he bared an arm covered with fresh scars. + “I have been biting myself to forget in that pain the fire that hurts me + there!” He struck his breast violently with his fist, reeled under his own + blow, fell into a chair that stood near and closed his eyes slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Disgusting exhibition,” said Almayer, loftily. “What could father ever + see in you? You are as estimable as a heap of garbage.” + </p> + <p> + “You talk like that! You, who sold your soul for a few guilders,” muttered + Willems, wearily, without opening his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Not so few,” said Almayer, with instinctive readiness, and stopped + confused for a moment. He recovered himself quickly, however, and went on: + “But you—you have thrown yours away for nothing; flung it under the + feet of a damned savage woman who has made you already the thing you are, + and will kill you very soon, one way or another, with her love or with her + hate. You spoke just now about guilders. You meant Lingard’s money, I + suppose. Well, whatever I have sold, and for whatever price, I never meant + you—you of all people—to spoil my bargain. I feel pretty safe + though. Even father, even Captain Lingard, would not touch you now with a + pair of tongs; not with a ten-foot pole. . . .” + </p> + <p> + He spoke excitedly, all in one breath, and, ceasing suddenly, glared at + Willems and breathed hard through his nose in sulky resentment. Willems + looked at him steadily for a moment, then got up. + </p> + <p> + “Almayer,” he said resolutely, “I want to become a trader in this place.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. And you shall set me up. I want a house and trade goods—perhaps + a little money. I ask you for it.” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else you want? Perhaps this coat?” and here Almayer unbuttoned + his jacket—“or my house—or my boots?” + </p> + <p> + “After all it’s natural,” went on Willems, without paying any attention to + Almayer—“it’s natural that she should expect the advantages which . + . . and then I could shut up that old wretch and then . . .” + </p> + <p> + He paused, his face brightened with the soft light of dreamy enthusiasm, + and he turned his eyes upwards. With his gaunt figure and dilapidated + appearance he looked like some ascetic dweller in a wilderness, finding + the reward of a self-denying life in a vision of dazzling glory. He went + on in an impassioned murmur— + </p> + <p> + “And then I would have her all to myself away from her people—all to + myself—under my own influence—to fashion—to mould—to + adore—to soften—to . . . Oh! Delight! And then—then go + away to some distant place where, far from all she knew, I would be all + the world to her! All the world to her!” + </p> + <p> + His face changed suddenly. His eyes wandered for awhile and then became + steady all at once. + </p> + <p> + “I would repay every cent, of course,” he said, in a business-like tone, + with something of his old assurance, of his old belief in himself, in it. + “Every cent. I need not interfere with your business. I shall cut out the + small native traders. I have ideas—but never mind that now. And + Captain Lingard would approve, I feel sure. After all it’s a loan, and I + shall be at hand. Safe thing for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Captain Lingard would approve! He would app . . .” Almayer choked. + The notion of Lingard doing something for Willems enraged him. His face + was purple. He spluttered insulting words. Willems looked at him coolly. + </p> + <p> + “I assure you, Almayer,” he said, gently, “that I have good grounds for my + demand.” + </p> + <p> + “Your cursed impudence!” + </p> + <p> + “Believe me, Almayer, your position here is not so safe as you may think. + An unscrupulous rival here would destroy your trade in a year. It would be + ruin. Now Lingard’s long absence gives courage to certain individuals. You + know?—I have heard much lately. They made proposals to me . . . You + are very much alone here. Even Patalolo . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Damn Patalolo! I am master in this place.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Almayer, don’t you see . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I see. I see a mysterious ass,” interrupted Almayer, violently. + “What is the meaning of your veiled threats? Don’t you think I know + something also? They have been intriguing for years—and nothing has + happened. The Arabs have been hanging about outside this river for years—and + I am still the only trader here; the master here. Do you bring me a + declaration of war? Then it’s from yourself only. I know all my other + enemies. I ought to knock you on the head. You are not worth powder and + shot though. You ought to be destroyed with a stick—like a snake.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer’s voice woke up the little girl, who sat up on the pillow with a + sharp cry. He rushed over to the chair, caught up the child in his arms, + walked back blindly, stumbled against Willems’ hat which lay on the floor, + and kicked it furiously down the steps. + </p> + <p> + “Clear out of this! Clear out!” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + Willems made an attempt to speak, but Almayer howled him down. + </p> + <p> + “Take yourself off! Don’t you see you frighten the child—you + scarecrow! No, no! dear,” he went on to his little daughter, soothingly, + while Willems walked down the steps slowly. “No. Don’t cry. See! Bad man + going away. Look! He is afraid of your papa. Nasty, bad man. Never come + back again. He shall live in the woods and never come near my little girl. + If he comes papa will kill him—so!” He struck his fist on the rail + of the balustrade to show how he would kill Willems, and, perching the + consoled child on his shoulder held her with one hand, while he pointed + toward the retreating figure of his visitor. + </p> + <p> + “Look how he runs away, dearest,” he said, coaxingly. “Isn’t he funny. + Call ‘pig’ after him, dearest. Call after him.” + </p> + <p> + The seriousness of her face vanished into dimples. Under the long + eyelashes, glistening with recent tears, her big eyes sparkled and danced + with fun. She took firm hold of Almayer’s hair with one hand, while she + waved the other joyously and called out with all her might, in a clear + note, soft and distinct like the pipe of a bird:— + </p> + <p> + “Pig! Pig! Pig!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER TWO + </h2> + <p> + A sigh under the flaming blue, a shiver of the sleeping sea, a cool breath + as if a door had been swung upon the frozen spaces of the universe, and + with a stir of leaves, with the nod of boughs, with the tremble of slender + branches the sea breeze struck the coast, rushed up the river, swept round + the broad reaches, and travelled on in a soft ripple of darkening water, + in the whisper of branches, in the rustle of leaves of the awakened + forests. It fanned in Lakamba’s campong the dull red of expiring embers + into a pale brilliance; and, under its touch, the slender, upright spirals + of smoke that rose from every glowing heap swayed, wavered, and eddying + down filled the twilight of clustered shade trees with the aromatic scent + of the burning wood. The men who had been dozing in the shade during the + hot hours of the afternoon woke up, and the silence of the big courtyard + was broken by the hesitating murmur of yet sleepy voices, by coughs and + yawns, with now and then a burst of laughter, a loud hail, a name or a + joke sent out in a soft drawl. Small groups squatted round the little + fires, and the monotonous undertone of talk filled the enclosure; the talk + of barbarians, persistent, steady, repeating itself in the soft syllables, + in musical tones of the never-ending discourses of those men of the + forests and the sea, who can talk most of the day and all the night; who + never exhaust a subject, never seem able to thresh a matter out; to whom + that talk is poetry and painting and music, all art, all history; their + only accomplishment, their only superiority, their only amusement. The + talk of camp fires, which speaks of bravery and cunning, of strange events + and of far countries, of the news of yesterday and the news of to-morrow. + The talk about the dead and the living—about those who fought and + those who loved. + </p> + <p> + Lakamba came out on the platform before his own house and sat down—perspiring, + half asleep, and sulky—in a wooden armchair under the shade of the + overhanging eaves. Through the darkness of the doorway he could hear the + soft warbling of his womenkind, busy round the looms where they were + weaving the checkered pattern of his gala sarongs. Right and left of him + on the flexible bamboo floor those of his followers to whom their + distinguished birth, long devotion, or faithful service had given the + privilege of using the chief’s house, were sleeping on mats or just sat up + rubbing their eyes: while the more wakeful had mustered enough energy to + draw a chessboard with red clay on a fine mat and were now meditating + silently over their moves. Above the prostrate forms of the players, who + lay face downward supported on elbow, the soles of their feet waving + irresolutely about, in the absorbed meditation of the game, there towered + here and there the straight figure of an attentive spectator looking down + with dispassionate but profound interest. On the edge of the platform a + row of high-heeled leather sandals stood ranged carefully in a level line, + and against the rough wooden rail leaned the slender shafts of the spears + belonging to these gentlemen, the broad blades of dulled steel looking + very black in the reddening light of approaching sunset. + </p> + <p> + A boy of about twelve—the personal attendant of Lakamba—squatted + at his master’s feet and held up towards him a silver siri box. Slowly + Lakamba took the box, opened it, and tearing off a piece of green leaf + deposited in it a pinch of lime, a morsel of gambier, a small bit of areca + nut, and wrapped up the whole with a dexterous twist. He paused, morsel in + hand, seemed to miss something, turned his head from side to side, slowly, + like a man with a stiff neck, and ejaculated in an ill-humoured bass— + </p> + <p> + “Babalatchi!” + </p> + <p> + The players glanced up quickly, and looked down again directly. Those men + who were standing stirred uneasily as if prodded by the sound of the + chief’s voice. The one nearest to Lakamba repeated the call, after a + while, over the rail into the courtyard. There was a movement of upturned + faces below by the fires, and the cry trailed over the enclosure in + sing-song tones. The thumping of wooden pestles husking the evening rice + stopped for a moment and Babalatchi’s name rang afresh shrilly on women’s + lips in various keys. A voice far off shouted something—another, + nearer, repeated it; there was a short hubbub which died out with extreme + suddenness. The first crier turned to Lakamba, saying indolently— + </p> + <p> + “He is with the blind Omar.” + </p> + <p> + Lakamba’s lips moved inaudibly. The man who had just spoken was again + deeply absorbed in the game going on at his feet; and the chief—as + if he had forgotten all about it already—sat with a stolid face + amongst his silent followers, leaning back squarely in his chair, his + hands on the arms of his seat, his knees apart, his big blood-shot eyes + blinking solemnly, as if dazzled by the noble vacuity of his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi had gone to see old Omar late in the afternoon. The delicate + manipulation of the ancient pirate’s susceptibilities, the skilful + management of Aissa’s violent impulses engrossed him to the exclusion of + every other business—interfered with his regular attendance upon his + chief and protector—even disturbed his sleep for the last three + nights. That day when he left his own bamboo hut—which stood amongst + others in Lakamba’s campong—his heart was heavy with anxiety and + with doubt as to the success of his intrigue. He walked slowly, with his + usual air of detachment from his surroundings, as if unaware that many + sleepy eyes watched from all parts of the courtyard his progress towards a + small gate at its upper end. That gate gave access to a separate enclosure + in which a rather large house, built of planks, had been prepared by + Lakamba’s orders for the reception of Omar and Aissa. It was a superior + kind of habitation which Lakamba intended for the dwelling of his chief + adviser—whose abilities were worth that honour, he thought. But + after the consultation in the deserted clearing—when Babalatchi had + disclosed his plan—they both had agreed that the new house should be + used at first to shelter Omar and Aissa after they had been persuaded to + leave the Rajah’s place, or had been kidnapped from there—as the + case might be. Babalatchi did not mind in the least the putting off of his + own occupation of the house of honour, because it had many advantages for + the quiet working out of his plans. It had a certain seclusion, having an + enclosure of its own, and that enclosure communicated also with Lakamba’s + private courtyard at the back of his residence—a place set apart for + the female household of the chief. The only communication with the river + was through the great front courtyard always full of armed men and + watchful eyes. Behind the whole group of buildings there stretched the + level ground of rice-clearings, which in their turn were closed in by the + wall of untouched forests with undergrowth so thick and tangled that + nothing but a bullet—and that fired at pretty close range—could + penetrate any distance there. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi slipped quietly through the little gate and, closing it, tied + up carefully the rattan fastenings. Before the house there was a square + space of ground, beaten hard into the level smoothness of asphalte. A big + buttressed tree, a giant left there on purpose during the process of + clearing the land, roofed in the clear space with a high canopy of gnarled + boughs and thick, sombre leaves. To the right—and some small + distance away from the large house—a little hut of reeds, covered + with mats, had been put up for the special convenience of Omar, who, being + blind and infirm, had some difficulty in ascending the steep plankway that + led to the more substantial dwelling, which was built on low posts and had + an uncovered verandah. Close by the trunk of the tree, and facing the + doorway of the hut, the household fire glowed in a small handful of embers + in the midst of a large circle of white ashes. An old woman—some + humble relation of one of Lakamba’s wives, who had been ordered to attend + on Aissa—was squatting over the fire and lifted up her bleared eyes + to gaze at Babalatchi in an uninterested manner, as he advanced rapidly + across the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi took in the courtyard with a keen glance of his solitary eye, + and without looking down at the old woman muttered a question. Silently, + the woman stretched a tremulous and emaciated arm towards the hut. + Babalatchi made a few steps towards the doorway, but stopped outside in + the sunlight. + </p> + <p> + “O! Tuan Omar, Omar besar! It is I—Babalatchi!” + </p> + <p> + Within the hut there was a feeble groan, a fit of coughing and an + indistinct murmur in the broken tones of a vague plaint. Encouraged + evidently by those signs of dismal life within, Babalatchi entered the + hut, and after some time came out leading with rigid carefulness the blind + Omar, who followed with both his hands on his guide’s shoulders. There was + a rude seat under the tree, and there Babalatchi led his old chief, who + sat down with a sigh of relief and leaned wearily against the rugged + trunk. The rays of the setting sun, darting under the spreading branches, + rested on the white-robed figure sitting with head thrown back in stiff + dignity, on the thin hands moving uneasily, and on the stolid face with + its eyelids dropped over the destroyed eyeballs; a face set into the + immobility of a plaster cast yellowed by age. + </p> + <p> + “Is the sun near its setting?” asked Omar, in a dull voice. + </p> + <p> + “Very near,” answered Babalatchi. + </p> + <p> + “Where am I? Why have I been taken away from the place which I knew—where + I, blind, could move without fear? It is like black night to those who + see. And the sun is near its setting—and I have not heard the sound + of her footsteps since the morning! Twice a strange hand has given me my + food to-day. Why? Why? Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “She is near,” said Babalatchi. + </p> + <p> + “And he?” went on Omar, with sudden eagerness, and a drop in his voice. + “Where is he? Not here. Not here!” he repeated, turning his head from side + to side as if in deliberate attempt to see. + </p> + <p> + “No! He is not here now,” said Babalatchi, soothingly. Then, after a + pause, he added very low, “But he shall soon return.” + </p> + <p> + “Return! O crafty one! Will he return? I have cursed him three times,” + exclaimed Omar, with weak violence. + </p> + <p> + “He is—no doubt—accursed,” assented Babalatchi, in a + conciliating manner—“and yet he will be here before very long—I + know!” + </p> + <p> + “You are crafty and faithless. I have made you great. You were dirt under + my feet—less than dirt,” said Omar, with tremulous energy. + </p> + <p> + “I have fought by your side many times,” said Babalatchi, calmly. + </p> + <p> + “Why did he come?” went on Omar. “Did you send him? Why did he come to + defile the air I breathe—to mock at my fate—to poison her mind + and steal her body? She has grown hard of heart to me. Hard and merciless + and stealthy like rocks that tear a ship’s life out under the smooth sea.” + He drew a long breath, struggled with his anger, then broke down suddenly. + “I have been hungry,” he continued, in a whimpering tone—“often I + have been very hungry—and cold—and neglected—and nobody + near me. She has often forgotten me—and my sons are dead, and that + man is an infidel and a dog. Why did he come? Did you show him the way?” + </p> + <p> + “He found the way himself, O Leader of the brave,” said Babalatchi, sadly. + “I only saw a way for their destruction and our own greatness. And if I + saw aright, then you shall never suffer from hunger any more. There shall + be peace for us, and glory and riches.” + </p> + <p> + “And I shall die to-morrow,” murmured Omar, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Who knows? Those things have been written since the beginning of the + world,” whispered Babalatchi, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Do not let him come back,” exclaimed Omar. + </p> + <p> + “Neither can he escape his fate,” went on Babalatchi. “He shall come back, + and the power of men we always hated, you and I, shall crumble into dust + in our hand.” Then he added with enthusiasm, “They shall fight amongst + themselves and perish both.” + </p> + <p> + “And you shall see all this, while, I . . .” + </p> + <p> + “True!” murmured Babalatchi, regretfully. “To you life is darkness.” + </p> + <p> + “No! Flame!” exclaimed the old Arab, half rising, then falling back in his + seat. “The flame of that last day! I see it yet—the last thing I + saw! And I hear the noise of the rent earth—when they all died. And + I live to be the plaything of a crafty one,” he added, with + inconsequential peevishness. + </p> + <p> + “You are my master still,” said Babalatchi, humbly. “You are very wise—and + in your wisdom you shall speak to Syed Abdulla when he comes here—you + shall speak to him as I advised, I, your servant, the man who fought at + your right hand for many years. I have heard by a messenger that the Syed + Abdulla is coming to-night, perhaps late; for those things must be done + secretly, lest the white man, the trader up the river, should know of + them. But he will be here. There has been a surat delivered to Lakamba. In + it, Syed Abdulla says he will leave his ship, which is anchored outside + the river, at the hour of noon to-day. He will be here before daylight if + Allah wills.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke with his eye fixed on the ground, and did not become aware of + Aissa’s presence till he lifted his head when he ceased speaking. She had + approached so quietly that even Omar did not hear her footsteps, and she + stood now looking at them with troubled eyes and parted lips, as if she + was going to speak; but at Babalatchi’s entreating gesture she remained + silent. Omar sat absorbed in thought. + </p> + <p> + “Ay wa! Even so!” he said at last, in a weak voice. “I am to speak your + wisdom, O Babalatchi! Tell him to trust the white man! I do not + understand. I am old and blind and weak. I do not understand. I am very + cold,” he continued, in a lower tone, moving his shoulders uneasily. He + ceased, then went on rambling in a faint whisper. “They are the sons of + witches, and their father is Satan the stoned. Sons of witches. Sons of + witches.” After a short silence he asked suddenly, in a firmer voice—“How + many white men are there here, O crafty one?” + </p> + <p> + “There are two here. Two white men to fight one another,” answered + Babalatchi, with alacrity. + </p> + <p> + “And how many will be left then? How many? Tell me, you who are wise.” + </p> + <p> + “The downfall of an enemy is the consolation of the unfortunate,” said + Babalatchi, sententiously. “They are on every sea; only the wisdom of the + Most High knows their number—but you shall know that some of them + suffer.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell me, Babalatchi, will they die? Will they both die?” asked Omar, in + sudden agitation. + </p> + <p> + Aissa made a movement. Babalatchi held up a warning hand. + </p> + <p> + “They shall, surely, die,” he said steadily, looking at the girl with + unflinching eye. + </p> + <p> + “Ay wa! But die soon! So that I can pass my hand over their faces when + Allah has made them stiff.” + </p> + <p> + “If such is their fate and yours,” answered Babalatchi, without + hesitation. “God is great!” + </p> + <p> + A violent fit of coughing doubled Omar up, and he rocked himself to and + fro, wheezing and moaning in turns, while Babalatchi and the girl looked + at him in silence. Then he leaned back against the tree, exhausted. + </p> + <p> + “I am alone, I am alone,” he wailed feebly, groping vaguely about with his + trembling hands. “Is there anybody near me? Is there anybody? I am afraid + of this strange place.” + </p> + <p> + “I am by your side, O Leader of the brave,” said Babalatchi, touching his + shoulder lightly. “Always by your side as in the days when we both were + young: as in the time when we both went with arms in our hands.” + </p> + <p> + “Has there been such a time, Babalatchi?” said Omar, wildly; “I have + forgotten. And now when I die there will be no man, no fearless man to + speak of his father’s bravery. There was a woman! A woman! And she has + forsaken me for an infidel dog. The hand of the Compassionate is heavy on + my head! Oh, my calamity! Oh, my shame!” + </p> + <p> + He calmed down after a while, and asked quietly— + </p> + <p> + “Is the sun set, Babalatchi?” + </p> + <p> + “It is now as low as the highest tree I can see from here,” answered + Babalatchi. + </p> + <p> + “It is the time of prayer,” said Omar, attempting to get up. + </p> + <p> + Dutifully Babalatchi helped his old chief to rise, and they walked slowly + towards the hut. Omar waited outside, while Babalatchi went in and came + out directly, dragging after him the old Arab’s praying carpet. Out of a + brass vessel he poured the water of ablution on Omar’s outstretched hands, + and eased him carefully down into a kneeling posture, for the venerable + robber was far too infirm to be able to stand. Then as Omar droned out the + first words and made his first bow towards the Holy City, Babalatchi + stepped noiselessly towards Aissa, who did not move all the time. + </p> + <p> + Aissa looked steadily at the one-eyed sage, who was approaching her slowly + and with a great show of deference. For a moment they stood facing each + other in silence. Babalatchi appeared embarrassed. With a sudden and quick + gesture she caught hold of his arm, and with the other hand pointed + towards the sinking red disc that glowed, rayless, through the floating + mists of the evening. + </p> + <p> + “The third sunset! The last! And he is not here,” she whispered; “what + have you done, man without faith? What have you done?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed I have kept my word,” murmured Babalatchi, earnestly. “This + morning Bulangi went with a canoe to look for him. He is a strange man, + but our friend, and shall keep close to him and watch him without + ostentation. And at the third hour of the day I have sent another canoe + with four rowers. Indeed, the man you long for, O daughter of Omar! may + come when he likes.” + </p> + <p> + “But he is not here! I waited for him yesterday. To-day! To-morrow I shall + go.” + </p> + <p> + “Not alive!” muttered Babalatchi to himself. “And do you doubt your + power,” he went on in a louder tone—“you that to him are more + beautiful than an houri of the seventh Heaven? He is your slave.” + </p> + <p> + “A slave does run away sometimes,” she said, gloomily, “and then the + master must go and seek him out.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you want to live and die a beggar?” asked Babalatchi, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I care not,” she exclaimed, wringing her hands; and the black pupils of + her wide-open eyes darted wildly here and there like petrels before the + storm. + </p> + <p> + “Sh! Sh!” hissed Babalatchi, with a glance towards Omar. “Do you think, O + girl! that he himself would live like a beggar, even with you?” + </p> + <p> + “He is great,” she said, ardently. “He despises you all! He despises you + all! He is indeed a man!” + </p> + <p> + “You know that best,” muttered Babalatchi, with a fugitive smile—“but + remember, woman with the strong heart, that to hold him now you must be to + him like the great sea to thirsty men—a never-ceasing torment, and a + madness.” + </p> + <p> + He ceased and they stood in silence, both looking on the ground, and for a + time nothing was heard above the crackling of the fire but the intoning of + Omar glorifying the God—his God, and the Faith—his faith. Then + Babalatchi cocked his head on one side and appeared to listen intently to + the hum of voices in the big courtyard. The dull noise swelled into + distinct shouts, then into a great tumult of voices, dying away, + recommencing, growing louder, to cease again abruptly; and in those short + pauses the shrill vociferations of women rushed up, as if released, + towards the quiet heaven. Aissa and Babalatchi started, but the latter + gripped in his turn the girl’s arm and restrained her with a strong grasp. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + The little door in the heavy stockade which separated Lakamba’s private + ground from Omar’s enclosure swung back quickly, and the noble exile + appeared with disturbed mien and a naked short sword in his hand. His + turban was half unrolled, and the end trailed on the ground behind him. + His jacket was open. He breathed thickly for a moment before he spoke. + </p> + <p> + “He came in Bulangi’s boat,” he said, “and walked quietly till he was in + my presence, when the senseless fury of white men caused him to rush upon + me. I have been in great danger,” went on the ambitious nobleman in an + aggrieved tone. “Do you hear that, Babalatchi? That eater of swine aimed a + blow at my face with his unclean fist. He tried to rush amongst my + household. Six men are holding him now.” + </p> + <p> + A fresh outburst of yells stopped Lakamba’s discourse. Angry voices + shouted: “Hold him. Beat him down. Strike at his head.” + </p> + <p> + Then the clamour ceased with sudden completeness, as if strangled by a + mighty hand, and after a second of surprising silence the voice of Willems + was heard alone, howling maledictions in Malay, in Dutch, and in English. + </p> + <p> + “Listen,” said Lakamba, speaking with unsteady lips, “he blasphemes his + God. His speech is like the raving of a mad dog. Can we hold him for ever? + He must be killed!” + </p> + <p> + “Fool!” muttered Babalatchi, looking up at Aissa, who stood with set + teeth, with gleaming eyes and distended nostrils, yet obedient to the + touch of his restraining hand. “It is the third day, and I have kept my + promise,” he said to her, speaking very low. “Remember,” he added + warningly—“like the sea to the thirsty! And now,” he said aloud, + releasing her and stepping back, “go, fearless daughter, go!” + </p> + <p> + Like an arrow, rapid and silent she flew down the enclosure, and + disappeared through the gate of the courtyard. Lakamba and Babalatchi + looked after her. They heard the renewed tumult, the girl’s clear voice + calling out, “Let him go!” Then after a pause in the din no longer than + half the human breath the name of Aissa rang in a shout loud, discordant, + and piercing, which sent through them an involuntary shudder. Old Omar + collapsed on his carpet and moaned feebly; Lakamba stared with gloomy + contempt in the direction of the inhuman sound; but Babalatchi, forcing a + smile, pushed his distinguished protector through the narrow gate in the + stockade, followed him, and closed it quickly. + </p> + <p> + The old woman, who had been most of the time kneeling by the fire, now + rose, glanced round fearfully and crouched hiding behind the tree. The + gate of the great courtyard flew open with a great clatter before a + frantic kick, and Willems darted in carrying Aissa in his arms. He rushed + up the enclosure like a tornado, pressing the girl to his breast, her arms + round his neck, her head hanging back over his arm, her eyes closed and + her long hair nearly touching the ground. They appeared for a second in + the glare of the fire, then, with immense strides, he dashed up the planks + and disappeared with his burden in the doorway of the big house. + </p> + <p> + Inside and outside the enclosure there was silence. Omar lay supporting + himself on his elbow, his terrified face with its closed eyes giving him + the appearance of a man tormented by a nightmare. + </p> + <p> + “What is it? Help! Help me to rise!” he called out faintly. + </p> + <p> + The old hag, still crouching in the shadow, stared with bleared eyes at + the doorway of the big house, and took no notice of his call. He listened + for a while, then his arm gave way, and, with a deep sigh of + discouragement, he let himself fall on the carpet. + </p> + <p> + The boughs of the tree nodded and trembled in the unsteady currents of the + light wind. A leaf fluttered down slowly from some high branch and rested + on the ground, immobile, as if resting for ever, in the glow of the fire; + but soon it stirred, then soared suddenly, and flew, spinning and turning + before the breath of the perfumed breeze, driven helplessly into the dark + night that had closed over the land. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THREE + </h2> + <p> + For upwards of forty years Abdulla had walked in the way of his Lord. Son + of the rich Syed Selim bin Sali, the great Mohammedan trader of the + Straits, he went forth at the age of seventeen on his first commercial + expedition, as his father’s representative on board a pilgrim ship + chartered by the wealthy Arab to convey a crowd of pious Malays to the + Holy Shrine. That was in the days when steam was not in those seas—or, + at least, not so much as now. The voyage was long, and the young man’s + eyes were opened to the wonders of many lands. Allah had made it his fate + to become a pilgrim very early in life. This was a great favour of Heaven, + and it could not have been bestowed upon a man who prized it more, or who + made himself more worthy of it by the unswerving piety of his heart and by + the religious solemnity of his demeanour. Later on it became clear that + the book of his destiny contained the programme of a wandering life. He + visited Bombay and Calcutta, looked in at the Persian Gulf, beheld in due + course the high and barren coasts of the Gulf of Suez, and this was the + limit of his wanderings westward. He was then twenty-seven, and the + writing on his forehead decreed that the time had come for him to return + to the Straits and take from his dying father’s hands the many threads of + a business that was spread over all the Archipelago: from Sumatra to New + Guinea, from Batavia to Palawan. + </p> + <p> + Very soon his ability, his will—strong to obstinacy—his wisdom + beyond his years, caused him to be recognized as the head of a family + whose members and connections were found in every part of those seas. An + uncle here—a brother there; a father-in-law in Batavia, another in + Palembang; husbands of numerous sisters; cousins innumerable scattered + north, south, east, and west—in every place where there was trade: + the great family lay like a network over the islands. They lent money to + princes, influenced the council-rooms, faced—if need be—with + peaceful intrepidity the white rulers who held the land and the sea under + the edge of sharp swords; and they all paid great deference to Abdulla, + listened to his advice, entered into his plans—because he was wise, + pious, and fortunate. + </p> + <p> + He bore himself with the humility becoming a Believer, who never forgets, + even for one moment of his waking life, that he is the servant of the Most + High. He was largely charitable because the charitable man is the friend + of Allah, and when he walked out of his house—built of stone, just + outside the town of Penang—on his way to his godowns in the port, he + had often to snatch his hand away sharply from under the lips of men of + his race and creed; and often he had to murmur deprecating words, or even + to rebuke with severity those who attempted to touch his knees with their + finger-tips in gratitude or supplication. He was very handsome, and + carried his small head high with meek gravity. His lofty brow, straight + nose, narrow, dark face with its chiselled delicacy of feature, gave him + an aristocratic appearance which proclaimed his pure descent. His beard + was trimmed close and to a rounded point. His large brown eyes looked out + steadily with a sweetness that was belied by the expression of his + thin-lipped mouth. His aspect was serene. He had a belief in his own + prosperity which nothing could shake. + </p> + <p> + Restless, like all his people, he very seldom dwelt for many days together + in his splendid house in Penang. Owner of ships, he was often on board one + or another of them, traversing in all directions the field of his + operations. In every port he had a household—his own or that of a + relation—to hail his advent with demonstrative joy. In every port + there were rich and influential men eager to see him, there was business + to talk over, there were important letters to read: an immense + correspondence, enclosed in silk envelopes—a correspondence which + had nothing to do with the infidels of colonial post-offices, but came + into his hands by devious, yet safe, ways. It was left for him by taciturn + nakhodas of native trading craft, or was delivered with profound salaams + by travel-stained and weary men who would withdraw from his presence + calling upon Allah to bless the generous giver of splendid rewards. And + the news was always good, and all his attempts always succeeded, and in + his ears there rang always a chorus of admiration, of gratitude, of humble + entreaties. + </p> + <p> + A fortunate man. And his felicity was so complete that the good genii, who + ordered the stars at his birth, had not neglected—by a refinement of + benevolence strange in such primitive beings—to provide him with a + desire difficult to attain, and with an enemy hard to overcome. The envy + of Lingard’s political and commercial successes, and the wish to get the + best of him in every way, became Abdulla’s mania, the paramount interest + of his life, the salt of his existence. + </p> + <p> + For the last few months he had been receiving mysterious messages from + Sambir urging him to decisive action. He had found the river a couple of + years ago, and had been anchored more than once off that estuary where + the, till then, rapid Pantai, spreading slowly over the lowlands, seems to + hesitate, before it flows gently through twenty outlets; over a maze of + mudflats, sandbanks and reefs, into the expectant sea. He had never + attempted the entrance, however, because men of his race, although brave + and adventurous travellers, lack the true seamanlike instincts, and he was + afraid of getting wrecked. He could not bear the idea of the Rajah Laut + being able to boast that Abdulla bin Selim, like other and lesser men, had + also come to grief when trying to wrest his secret from him. Meantime he + returned encouraging answers to his unknown friends in Sambir, and waited + for his opportunity in the calm certitude of ultimate triumph. + </p> + <p> + Such was the man whom Lakamba and Babalatchi expected to see for the first + time on the night of Willems’ return to Aissa. Babalatchi, who had been + tormented for three days by the fear of having over-reached himself in his + little plot, now, feeling sure of his white man, felt lighthearted and + happy as he superintended the preparations in the courtyard for Abdulla’s + reception. Half-way between Lakamba’s house and the river a pile of dry + wood was made ready for the torch that would set fire to it at the moment + of Abdulla’s landing. Between this and the house again there was, ranged + in a semicircle, a set of low bamboo frames, and on those were piled all + the carpets and cushions of Lakamba’s household. It had been decided that + the reception was to take place in the open air, and that it should be + made impressive by the great number of Lakamba’s retainers, who, clad in + clean white, with their red sarongs gathered round their waists, chopper + at side and lance in hand, were moving about the compound or, gathering + into small knots, discussed eagerly the coming ceremony. + </p> + <p> + Two little fires burned brightly on the water’s edge on each side of the + landing place. A small heap of damar-gum torches lay by each, and between + them Babalatchi strolled backwards and forwards, stopping often with his + face to the river and his head on one side, listening to the sounds that + came from the darkness over the water. There was no moon and the night was + very clear overhead, but, after the afternoon breeze had expired in fitful + puffs, the vapours hung thickening over the glancing surface of the Pantai + and clung to the shore, hiding from view the middle of the stream. + </p> + <p> + A cry in the mist—then another—and, before Babalatchi could + answer, two little canoes dashed up to the landing-place, and two of the + principal citizens of Sambir, Daoud Sahamin and Hamet Bahassoen, who had + been confidentially invited to meet Abdulla, landed quickly and after + greeting Babalatchi walked up the dark courtyard towards the house. The + little stir caused by their arrival soon subsided, and another silent hour + dragged its slow length while Babalatchi tramped up and down between the + fires, his face growing more anxious with every passing moment. + </p> + <p> + At last there was heard a loud hail from down the river. At a call from + Babalatchi men ran down to the riverside and, snatching the torches, + thrust them into the fires, then waved them above their heads till they + burst into a flame. The smoke ascended in thick, wispy streams, and hung + in a ruddy cloud above the glare that lit up the courtyard and flashed + over the water, showing three long canoes manned by many paddlers lying a + little off; the men in them lifting their paddles on high and dipping them + down together, in an easy stroke that kept the small flotilla motionless + in the strong current, exactly abreast of the landing-place. A man stood + up in the largest craft and called out— + </p> + <p> + “Syed Abdulla bin Selim is here!” + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi answered aloud in a formal tone— + </p> + <p> + “Allah gladdens our hearts! Come to the land!” + </p> + <p> + Abdulla landed first, steadying himself by the help of Babalatchi’s + extended hand. In the short moment of his passing from the boat to the + shore they exchanged sharp glances and a few rapid words. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Babalatchi. The friend of Omar. The protected of Lakamba.” + </p> + <p> + “You wrote?” + </p> + <p> + “My words were written, O Giver of alms!” + </p> + <p> + And then Abdulla walked with composed face between the two lines of men + holding torches, and met Lakamba in front of the big fire that was + crackling itself up into a great blaze. For a moment they stood with + clasped hands invoking peace upon each other’s head, then Lakamba, still + holding his honoured guest by the hand, led him round the fire to the + prepared seats. Babalatchi followed close behind his protector. Abdulla + was accompanied by two Arabs. He, like his companions, was dressed in a + white robe of starched muslin, which fell in stiff folds straight from the + neck. It was buttoned from the throat halfway down with a close row of + very small gold buttons; round the tight sleeves there was a narrow braid + of gold lace. On his shaven head he wore a small skull-cap of plaited + grass. He was shod in patent leather slippers over his naked feet. A + rosary of heavy wooden beads hung by a round turn from his right wrist. He + sat down slowly in the place of honour, and, dropping his slippers, tucked + up his legs under him decorously. + </p> + <p> + The improvised divan was arranged in a wide semi-circle, of which the + point most distant from the fire—some ten yards—was also the + nearest to Lakamba’s dwelling. As soon as the principal personages were + seated, the verandah of the house was filled silently by the muffled-up + forms of Lakamba’s female belongings. They crowded close to the rail and + looked down, whispering faintly. Below, the formal exchange of compliments + went on for some time between Lakamba and Abdulla, who sat side by side. + Babalatchi squatted humbly at his protector’s feet, with nothing but a + thin mat between himself and the hard ground. + </p> + <p> + Then there was a pause. Abdulla glanced round in an expectant manner, and + after a while Babalatchi, who had been sitting very still in a pensive + attitude, seemed to rouse himself with an effort, and began to speak in + gentle and persuasive tones. He described in flowing sentences the first + beginnings of Sambir, the dispute of the present ruler, Patalolo, with the + Sultan of Koti, the consequent troubles ending with the rising of Bugis + settlers under the leadership of Lakamba. At different points of the + narrative he would turn for confirmation to Sahamin and Bahassoen, who sat + listening eagerly and assented together with a “Betul! Betul! Right! + Right!” ejaculated in a fervent undertone. + </p> + <p> + Warming up with his subject as the narrative proceeded, Babalatchi went on + to relate the facts connected with Lingard’s action at the critical period + of those internal dissensions. He spoke in a restrained voice still, but + with a growing energy of indignation. What was he, that man of fierce + aspect, to keep all the world away from them? Was he a government? Who + made him ruler? He took possession of Patalolo’s mind and made his heart + hard; he put severe words into his mouth and caused his hand to strike + right and left. That unbeliever kept the Faithful panting under the weight + of his senseless oppression. They had to trade with him—accept such + goods as he would give—such credit as he would accord. And he + exacted payment every year . . . + </p> + <p> + “Very true!” exclaimed Sahamin and Bahassoen together. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi glanced at them approvingly and turned to Abdulla. + </p> + <p> + “Listen to those men, O Protector of the oppressed!” he exclaimed. “What + could we do? A man must trade. There was nobody else.” + </p> + <p> + Sahamin got up, staff in hand, and spoke to Abdulla with ponderous + courtesy, emphasizing his words by the solemn flourishes of his right arm. + </p> + <p> + “It is so. We are weary of paying our debts to that white man here, who is + the son of the Rajah Laut. That white man—may the grave of his + mother be defiled!—is not content to hold us all in his hand with a + cruel grasp. He seeks to cause our very death. He trades with the Dyaks of + the forest, who are no better than monkeys. He buys from them guttah and + rattans—while we starve. Only two days ago I went to him and said, + ‘Tuan Almayer’—even so; we must speak politely to that friend of + Satan—‘Tuan Almayer, I have such and such goods to sell. Will you + buy?’ And he spoke thus—because those white men have no + understanding of any courtesy—he spoke to me as if I was a slave: + ‘Daoud, you are a lucky man’—remark, O First amongst the Believers! + that by those words he could have brought misfortune on my head—‘you + are a lucky man to have anything in these hard times. Bring your goods + quickly, and I shall receive them in payment of what you owe me from last + year.’ And he laughed, and struck me on the shoulder with his open hand. + May Jehannum be his lot!” + </p> + <p> + “We will fight him,” said young Bahassoen, crisply. “We shall fight if + there is help and a leader. Tuan Abdulla, will you come among us?” + </p> + <p> + Abdulla did not answer at once. His lips moved in an inaudible whisper and + the beads passed through his fingers with a dry click. All waited in + respectful silence. “I shall come if my ship can enter this river,” said + Abdulla at last, in a solemn tone. + </p> + <p> + “It can, Tuan,” exclaimed Babalatchi. “There is a white man here who . . + .” + </p> + <p> + “I want to see Omar el Badavi and that white man you wrote about,” + interrupted Abdulla. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi got on his feet quickly, and there was a general move. + </p> + <p> + The women on the verandah hurried indoors, and from the crowd that had + kept discreetly in distant parts of the courtyard a couple of men ran with + armfuls of dry fuel, which they cast upon the fire. One of them, at a sign + from Babalatchi, approached and, after getting his orders, went towards + the little gate and entered Omar’s enclosure. While waiting for his + return, Lakamba, Abdulla, and Babalatchi talked together in low tones. + Sahamin sat by himself chewing betel-nut sleepily with a slight and + indolent motion of his heavy jaw. Bahassoen, his hand on the hilt of his + short sword, strutted backwards and forwards in the full light of the + fire, looking very warlike and reckless; the envy and admiration of + Lakamba’s retainers, who stood in groups or flitted about noiselessly in + the shadows of the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + The messenger who had been sent to Omar came back and stood at a distance, + waiting till somebody noticed him. Babalatchi beckoned him close. + </p> + <p> + “What are his words?” asked Babalatchi. + </p> + <p> + “He says that Syed Abdulla is welcome now,” answered the man. + </p> + <p> + Lakamba was speaking low to Abdulla, who listened to him with deep + interest. + </p> + <p> + “. . . We could have eighty men if there was need,” he was saying—“eighty + men in fourteen canoes. The only thing we want is gunpowder . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Hai! there will be no fighting,” broke in Babalatchi. “The fear of your + name will be enough and the terror of your coming.” + </p> + <p> + “There may be powder too,” muttered Abdulla with great nonchalance, “if + only the ship enters the river safely.” + </p> + <p> + “If the heart is stout the ship will be safe,” said Babalatchi. “We will + go now and see Omar el Badavi and the white man I have here.” + </p> + <p> + Lakamba’s dull eyes became animated suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Tuan Abdulla,” he said, “take care. The behaviour of that + unclean white madman is furious in the extreme. He offered to strike . . + .” + </p> + <p> + “On my head, you are safe, O Giver of alms!” interrupted Babalatchi. + </p> + <p> + Abdulla looked from one to the other, and the faintest flicker of a + passing smile disturbed for a moment his grave composure. He turned to + Babalatchi, and said with decision— + </p> + <p> + “Let us go.” + </p> + <p> + “This way, O Uplifter of our hearts!” rattled on Babalatchi, with fussy + deference. “Only a very few paces and you shall behold Omar the brave, and + a white man of great strength and cunning. This way.” + </p> + <p> + He made a sign for Lakamba to remain behind, and with respectful touches + on the elbow steered Abdulla towards the gate at the upper end of the + court-yard. As they walked on slowly, followed by the two Arabs, he kept + on talking in a rapid undertone to the great man, who never looked at him + once, although appearing to listen with flattering attention. When near + the gate Babalatchi moved forward and stopped, facing Abdulla, with his + hand on the fastenings. + </p> + <p> + “You shall see them both,” he said. “All my words about them are true. + When I saw him enslaved by the one of whom I spoke, I knew he would be + soft in my hand like the mud of the river. At first he answered my talk + with bad words of his own language, after the manner of white men. + Afterwards, when listening to the voice he loved, he hesitated. He + hesitated for many days—too many. I, knowing him well, made Omar + withdraw here with his . . . household. Then this red-faced man raged for + three days like a black panther that is hungry. And this evening, this + very evening, he came. I have him here. He is in the grasp of one with a + merciless heart. I have him here,” ended Babalatchi, exultingly tapping + the upright of the gate with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “That is good,” murmured Abdulla. + </p> + <p> + “And he shall guide your ship and lead in the fight—if fight there + be,” went on Babalatchi. “If there is any killing—let him be the + slayer. You should give him arms—a short gun that fires many times.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, by Allah!” assented Abdulla, with slow thoughtfulness. + </p> + <p> + “And you will have to open your hand, O First amongst the generous!” + continued Babalatchi. “You will have to satisfy the rapacity of a white + man, and also of one who is not a man, and therefore greedy of ornaments.” + </p> + <p> + “They shall be satisfied,” said Abdulla; “but . . .” He hesitated, looking + down on the ground and stroking his beard, while Babalatchi waited, + anxious, with parted lips. After a short time he spoke again jerkily in an + indistinct whisper, so that Babalatchi had to turn his head to catch the + words. “Yes. But Omar is the son of my father’s uncle . . . and all + belonging to him are of the Faith . . . while that man is an unbeliever. + It is most unseemly . . . very unseemly. He cannot live under my shadow. + Not that dog. Penitence! I take refuge with my God,” he mumbled rapidly. + “How can he live under my eyes with that woman, who is of the Faith? + Scandal! O abomination!” + </p> + <p> + He finished with a rush and drew a long breath, then added dubiously— + </p> + <p> + “And when that man has done all we want, what is to be done with him?” + </p> + <p> + They stood close together, meditative and silent, their eyes roaming idly + over the courtyard. The big bonfire burned brightly, and a wavering splash + of light lay on the dark earth at their feet, while the lazy smoke + wreathed itself slowly in gleaming coils amongst the black boughs of the + trees. They could see Lakamba, who had returned to his place, sitting + hunched up spiritlessly on the cushions, and Sahamin, who had got on his + feet again and appeared to be talking to him with dignified animation. Men + in twos or threes came out of the shadows into the light, strolling + slowly, and passed again into the shadows, their faces turned to each + other, their arms moving in restrained gestures. Bahassoen, his head + proudly thrown back, his ornaments, embroideries, and sword-hilt flashing + in the light, circled steadily round the fire like a planet round the sun. + A cool whiff of damp air came from the darkness of the riverside; it made + Abdulla and Babalatchi shiver, and woke them up from their abstraction. + </p> + <p> + “Open the gate and go first,” said Abdulla; “there is no danger?” + </p> + <p> + “On my life, no!” answered Babalatchi, lifting the rattan ring. “He is all + peace and content, like a thirsty man who has drunk water after many + days.” + </p> + <p> + He swung the gate wide, made a few paces into the gloom of the enclosure, + and retraced his steps suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “He may be made useful in many ways,” he whispered to Abdulla, who had + stopped short, seeing him come back. + </p> + <p> + “O Sin! O Temptation!” sighed out Abdulla, faintly. “Our refuge is with + the Most High. Can I feed this infidel for ever and for ever?” he added, + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “No,” breathed out Babalatchi. “No! Not for ever. Only while he serves + your designs, O Dispenser of Allah’s gifts! When the time comes—and + your order . . .” + </p> + <p> + He sidled close to Abdulla, and brushed with a delicate touch the hand + that hung down listlessly, holding the prayer-beads. + </p> + <p> + “I am your slave and your offering,” he murmured, in a distinct and polite + tone, into Abdulla’s ear. “When your wisdom speaks, there may be found a + little poison that will not lie. Who knows?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FOUR + </h2> + <p> + Babalatchi saw Abdulla pass through the low and narrow entrance into the + darkness of Omar’s hut; heard them exchange the usual greetings and the + distinguished visitor’s grave voice asking: “There is no misfortune—please + God—but the sight?” and then, becoming aware of the disapproving + looks of the two Arabs who had accompanied Abdulla, he followed their + example and fell back out of earshot. He did it unwillingly, although he + did not ignore that what was going to happen in there was now absolutely + beyond his control. He roamed irresolutely about for awhile, and at last + wandered with careless steps towards the fire, which had been moved, from + under the tree, close to the hut and a little to windward of its entrance. + He squatted on his heels and began playing pensively with live embers, as + was his habit when engrossed in thought, withdrawing his hand sharply and + shaking it above his head when he burnt his fingers in a fit of deeper + abstraction. Sitting there he could hear the murmur of the talk inside the + hut, and he could distinguish the voices but not the words. Abdulla spoke + in deep tones, and now and then this flowing monotone was interrupted by a + querulous exclamation, a weak moan or a plaintive quaver of the old man. + Yes. It was annoying not to be able to make out what they were saying, + thought Babalatchi, as he sat gazing fixedly at the unsteady glow of the + fire. But it will be right. All will be right. Abdulla inspired him with + confidence. He came up fully to his expectation. From the very first + moment when he set his eye on him he felt sure that this man—whom he + had known by reputation only—was very resolute. Perhaps too + resolute. Perhaps he would want to grasp too much later on. A shadow + flitted over Babalatchi’s face. On the eve of the accomplishment of his + desires he felt the bitter taste of that drop of doubt which is mixed with + the sweetness of every success. + </p> + <p> + When, hearing footsteps on the verandah of the big house, he lifted his + head, the shadow had passed away and on his face there was an expression + of watchful alertness. Willems was coming down the plankway, into the + courtyard. The light within trickled through the cracks of the badly + joined walls of the house, and in the illuminated doorway appeared the + moving form of Aissa. She also passed into the night outside and + disappeared from view. Babalatchi wondered where she had got to, and for + the moment forgot the approach of Willems. The voice of the white man + speaking roughly above his head made him jump to his feet as if impelled + upwards by a powerful spring. + </p> + <p> + “Where’s Abdulla?” + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi waved his hand towards the hut and stood listening intently. + The voices within had ceased, then recommenced again. He shot an oblique + glance at Willems, whose indistinct form towered above the glow of dying + embers. + </p> + <p> + “Make up this fire,” said Willems, abruptly. “I want to see your face.” + </p> + <p> + With obliging alacrity Babalatchi put some dry brushwood on the coals from + a handy pile, keeping all the time a watchful eye on Willems. When he + straightened himself up his hand wandered almost involuntarily towards his + left side to feel the handle of a kriss amongst the folds of his sarong, + but he tried to look unconcerned under the angry stare. + </p> + <p> + “You are in good health, please God?” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” answered Willems, with an unexpected loudness that caused + Babalatchi to start nervously. “Yes! . . . Health! . . . You . . .” + </p> + <p> + He made a long stride and dropped both his hands on the Malay’s shoulders. + In the powerful grip Babalatchi swayed to and fro limply, but his face was + as peaceful as when he sat—a little while ago—dreaming by the + fire. With a final vicious jerk Willems let go suddenly, and turning away + on his heel stretched his hands over the fire. Babalatchi stumbled + backwards, recovered himself, and wriggled his shoulders laboriously. + </p> + <p> + “Tse! Tse! Tse!” he clicked, deprecatingly. After a short silence he went + on with accentuated admiration: “What a man it is! What a strong man! A + man like that”—he concluded, in a tone of meditative wonder—“a + man like that could upset mountains—mountains!” + </p> + <p> + He gazed hopefully for a while at Willems’ broad shoulders, and continued, + addressing the inimical back, in a low and persuasive voice— + </p> + <p> + “But why be angry with me? With me who think only of your good? Did I not + give her refuge, in my own house? Yes, Tuan! This is my own house. I will + let you have it without any recompense because she must have a shelter. + Therefore you and she shall live here. Who can know a woman’s mind? And + such a woman! If she wanted to go away from that other place, who am I—to + say no! I am Omar’s servant. I said: ‘Gladden my heart by taking my + house.’ Did I say right?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll tell you something,” said Willems, without changing his position; + “if she takes a fancy to go away from this place it is you who shall + suffer. I will wring your neck.” + </p> + <p> + “When the heart is full of love there is no room in it for justice,” + recommenced Babalatchi, with unmoved and persistent softness. “Why slay + me? You know, Tuan, what she wants. A splendid destiny is her desire—as + of all women. You have been wronged and cast out by your people. She knows + that. But you are brave, you are strong—you are a man; and, Tuan—I + am older than you—you are in her hand. Such is the fate of strong + men. And she is of noble birth and cannot live like a slave. You know her—and + you are in her hand. You are like a snared bird, because of your strength. + And—remember I am a man that has seen much—submit, Tuan! + Submit! . . . Or else . . .” + </p> + <p> + He drawled out the last words in a hesitating manner and broke off his + sentence. Still stretching his hands in turns towards the blaze and + without moving his head, Willems gave a short, lugubrious laugh, and asked— + </p> + <p> + “Or else what?” + </p> + <p> + “She may go away again. Who knows?” finished Babalatchi, in a gentle and + insinuating tone. + </p> + <p> + This time Willems spun round sharply. Babalatchi stepped back. + </p> + <p> + “If she does it will be the worse for you,” said Willems, in a menacing + voice. “It will be your doing, and I . . .” + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi spoke, from beyond the circle of light, with calm disdain. + </p> + <p> + “Hai—ya! I have heard before. If she goes—then I die. Good! + Will that bring her back do you think—Tuan? If it is my doing it + shall be well done, O white man! and—who knows—you will have + to live without her.” + </p> + <p> + Willems gasped and started back like a confident wayfarer who, pursuing a + path he thinks safe, should see just in time a bottomless chasm under his + feet. Babalatchi came into the light and approached Willems sideways, with + his head thrown back and a little on one side so as to bring his only eye + to bear full on the countenance of the tall white man. + </p> + <p> + “You threaten me,” said Willems, indistinctly. + </p> + <p> + “I, Tuan!” exclaimed Babalatchi, with a slight suspicion of irony in the + affected surprise of his tone. “I, Tuan? Who spoke of death? Was it I? No! + I spoke of life only. Only of life. Of a long life for a lonely man!” + </p> + <p> + They stood with the fire between them, both silent, both aware, each in + his own way, of the importance of the passing minutes. Babalatchi’s + fatalism gave him only an insignificant relief in his suspense, because no + fatalism can kill the thought of the future, the desire of success, the + pain of waiting for the disclosure of the immutable decrees of Heaven. + Fatalism is born of the fear of failure, for we all believe that we carry + success in our own hands, and we suspect that our hands are weak. + Babalatchi looked at Willems and congratulated himself upon his ability to + manage that white man. There was a pilot for Abdulla—a victim to + appease Lingard’s anger in case of any mishap. He would take good care to + put him forward in everything. In any case let the white men fight it out + amongst themselves. They were fools. He hated them—the strong fools—and + knew that for his righteous wisdom was reserved the safe triumph. + </p> + <p> + Willems measured dismally the depth of his degradation. He—a white + man, the admired of white men, was held by those miserable savages whose + tool he was about to become. He felt for them all the hate of his race, of + his morality, of his intelligence. He looked upon himself with dismay and + pity. She had him. He had heard of such things. He had heard of women who + . . . He would never believe such stories. . . . Yet they were true. But + his own captivity seemed more complete, terrible, and final—without + the hope of any redemption. He wondered at the wickedness of Providence + that had made him what he was; that, worse still, permitted such a + creature as Almayer to live. He had done his duty by going to him. Why did + he not understand? All men were fools. He gave him his chance. The fellow + did not see it. It was hard, very hard on himself—Willems. He wanted + to take her from amongst her own people. That’s why he had condescended to + go to Almayer. He examined himself. With a sinking heart he thought that + really he could not—somehow—live without her. It was terrible + and sweet. He remembered the first days. Her appearance, her face, her + smile, her eyes, her words. A savage woman! Yet he perceived that he could + think of nothing else but of the three days of their separation, of the + few hours since their reunion. Very well. If he could not take her away, + then he would go to her. . . . He had, for a moment, a wicked pleasure in + the thought that what he had done could not be undone. He had given + himself up. He felt proud of it. He was ready to face anything, do + anything. He cared for nothing, for nobody. He thought himself very + fearless, but as a matter of fact he was only drunk; drunk with the poison + of passionate memories. + </p> + <p> + He stretched his hands over the fire, looked round and called out— + </p> + <p> + “Aissa!” + </p> + <p> + She must have been near, for she appeared at once within the light of the + fire. The upper part of her body was wrapped up in the thick folds of a + head covering which was pulled down over her brow, and one end of it + thrown across from shoulder to shoulder hid the lower part of her face. + Only her eyes were visible—sombre and gleaming like a starry night. + </p> + <p> + Willems, looking at this strange, muffled figure, felt exasperated, amazed + and helpless. The ex-confidential clerk of the rich Hudig would hug to his + breast settled conceptions of respectable conduct. He sought refuge within + his ideas of propriety from the dismal mangroves, from the darkness of the + forests and of the heathen souls of the savages that were his masters. She + looked like an animated package of cheap cotton goods! It made him + furious. She had disguised herself so because a man of her race was near! + He told her not to do it, and she did not obey. Would his ideas ever + change so as to agree with her own notions of what was becoming, proper + and respectable? He was really afraid they would, in time. It seemed to + him awful. She would never change! This manifestation of her sense of + proprieties was another sign of their hopeless diversity; something like + another step downwards for him. She was too different from him. He was so + civilized! It struck him suddenly that they had nothing in common—not + a thought, not a feeling; he could not make clear to her the simplest + motive of any act of his . . . and he could not live without her. + </p> + <p> + The courageous man who stood facing Babalatchi gasped unexpectedly with a + gasp that was half a groan. This little matter of her veiling herself + against his wish acted upon him like a disclosure of some great disaster. + It increased his contempt for himself as the slave of a passion he had + always derided, as the man unable to assert his will. This will, all his + sensations, his personality—all this seemed to be lost in the + abominable desire, in the priceless promise of that woman. He was not, of + course, able to discern clearly the causes of his misery; but there are + none so ignorant as not to know suffering, none so simple as not to feel + and suffer from the shock of warring impulses. The ignorant must feel and + suffer from their complexity as well as the wisest; but to them the pain + of struggle and defeat appears strange, mysterious, remediable and unjust. + He stood watching her, watching himself. He tingled with rage from head to + foot, as if he had been struck in the face. Suddenly he laughed; but his + laugh was like a distorted echo of some insincere mirth very far away. + </p> + <p> + From the other side of the fire Babalatchi spoke hurriedly— + </p> + <p> + “Here is Tuan Abdulla.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FIVE + </h2> + <p> + Directly on stepping outside Omar’s hut Abdulla caught sight of Willems. + He expected, of course, to see a white man, but not that white man, whom + he knew so well. Everybody who traded in the islands, and who had any + dealings with Hudig, knew Willems. For the last two years of his stay in + Macassar the confidential clerk had been managing all the local trade of + the house under a very slight supervision only on the part of the master. + So everybody knew Willems, Abdulla amongst others—but he was + ignorant of Willems’ disgrace. As a matter of fact the thing had been kept + very quiet—so quiet that a good many people in Macassar were + expecting Willems’ return there, supposing him to be absent on some + confidential mission. Abdulla, in his surprise, hesitated on the + threshold. He had prepared himself to see some seaman—some old + officer of Lingard’s; a common man—perhaps difficult to deal with, + but still no match for him. Instead, he saw himself confronted by an + individual whose reputation for sagacity in business was well known to + him. How did he get here, and why? Abdulla, recovering from his surprise, + advanced in a dignified manner towards the fire, keeping his eyes fixed + steadily on Willems. When within two paces from Willems he stopped and + lifted his right hand in grave salutation. Willems nodded slightly and + spoke after a while. + </p> + <p> + “We know each other, Tuan Abdulla,” he said, with an assumption of easy + indifference. + </p> + <p> + “We have traded together,” answered Abdulla, solemnly, “but it was far + from here.” + </p> + <p> + “And we may trade here also,” said Willems. + </p> + <p> + “The place does not matter. It is the open mind and the true heart that + are required in business.” + </p> + <p> + “Very true. My heart is as open as my mind. I will tell you why I am + here.” + </p> + <p> + “What need is there? In leaving home one learns life. You travel. + Travelling is victory! You shall return with much wisdom.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never return,” interrupted Willems. “I have done with my people. + I am a man without brothers. Injustice destroys fidelity.” + </p> + <p> + Abdulla expressed his surprise by elevating his eyebrows. At the same time + he made a vague gesture with his arm that could be taken as an equivalent + of an approving and conciliating “just so!” + </p> + <p> + Till then the Arab had not taken any notice of Aissa, who stood by the + fire, but now she spoke in the interval of silence following Willems’ + declaration. In a voice that was much deadened by her wrappings she + addressed Abdulla in a few words of greeting, calling him a kinsman. + Abdulla glanced at her swiftly for a second, and then, with perfect good + breeding, fixed his eyes on the ground. She put out towards him her hand, + covered with a corner of her face-veil, and he took it, pressed it twice, + and dropping it turned towards Willems. She looked at the two men + searchingly, then backed away and seemed to melt suddenly into the night. + </p> + <p> + “I know what you came for, Tuan Abdulla,” said Willems; “I have been told + by that man there.” He nodded towards Babalatchi, then went on slowly, “It + will be a difficult thing.” + </p> + <p> + “Allah makes everything easy,” interjected Babalatchi, piously, from a + distance. + </p> + <p> + The two men turned quickly and stood looking at him thoughtfully, as if in + deep consideration of the truth of that proposition. Under their sustained + gaze Babalatchi experienced an unwonted feeling of shyness, and dared not + approach nearer. At last Willems moved slightly, Abdulla followed readily, + and they both walked down the courtyard, their voices dying away in the + darkness. Soon they were heard returning, and the voices grew distinct as + their forms came out of the gloom. By the fire they wheeled again, and + Babalatchi caught a few words. Willems was saying— + </p> + <p> + “I have been at sea with him many years when young. I have used my + knowledge to observe the way into the river when coming in, this time.” + </p> + <p> + Abdulla assented in general terms. + </p> + <p> + “In the variety of knowledge there is safety,” he said; and then they + passed out of earshot. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi ran to the tree and took up his position in the solid blackness + under its branches, leaning against the trunk. There he was about midway + between the fire and the other limit of the two men’s walk. They passed + him close. Abdulla slim, very straight, his head high, and his hands + hanging before him and twisting mechanically the string of beads; Willems + tall, broad, looking bigger and stronger in contrast to the slight white + figure by the side of which he strolled carelessly, taking one step to the + other’s two; his big arms in constant motion as he gesticulated + vehemently, bending forward to look Abdulla in the face. + </p> + <p> + They passed and repassed close to Babalatchi some half a dozen times, and, + whenever they were between him and the fire, he could see them plain + enough. Sometimes they would stop short, Willems speaking emphatically, + Abdulla listening with rigid attention, then, when the other had ceased, + bending his head slightly as if consenting to some demand, or admitting + some statement. Now and then Babalatchi caught a word here and there, a + fragment of a sentence, a loud exclamation. Impelled by curiosity he crept + to the very edge of the black shadow under the tree. They were nearing + him, and he heard Willems say— + </p> + <p> + “You will pay that money as soon as I come on board. That I must have.” + </p> + <p> + He could not catch Abdulla’s reply. When they went past again, Willems was + saying— + </p> + <p> + “My life is in your hand anyway. The boat that brings me on board your + ship shall take the money to Omar. You must have it ready in a sealed + bag.” + </p> + <p> + Again they were out of hearing, but instead of coming back they stopped by + the fire facing each other. Willems moved his arm, shook his hand on high + talking all the time, then brought it down jerkily—stamped his foot. + A short period of immobility ensued. Babalatchi, gazing intently, saw + Abdulla’s lips move almost imperceptibly. Suddenly Willems seized the + Arab’s passive hand and shook it. Babalatchi drew the long breath of + relieved suspense. The conference was over. All well, apparently. + </p> + <p> + He ventured now to approach the two men, who saw him and waited in + silence. Willems had retired within himself already, and wore a look of + grim indifference. Abdulla moved away a step or two. Babalatchi looked at + him inquisitively. + </p> + <p> + “I go now,” said Abdulla, “and shall wait for you outside the river, Tuan + Willems, till the second sunset. You have only one word, I know.” + </p> + <p> + “Only one word,” repeated Willems. + </p> + <p> + Abdulla and Babalatchi walked together down the enclosure, leaving the + white man alone by the fire. The two Arabs who had come with Abdulla + preceded them and passed at once through the little gate into the light + and the murmur of voices of the principal courtyard, but Babalatchi and + Abdulla stopped on this side of it. Abdulla said— + </p> + <p> + “It is well. We have spoken of many things. He consents.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” asked Babalatchi, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “On the second day from this. I have promised every thing. I mean to keep + much.” + </p> + <p> + “Your hand is always open, O Most Generous amongst Believers! You will not + forget your servant who called you here. Have I not spoken the truth? She + has made roast meat of his heart.” + </p> + <p> + With a horizontal sweep of his arm Abdulla seemed to push away that last + statement, and said slowly, with much meaning— + </p> + <p> + “He must be perfectly safe; do you understand? Perfectly safe—as if + he was amongst his own people—till . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Till when?” whispered Babalatchi. + </p> + <p> + “Till I speak,” said Abdulla. “As to Omar.” He hesitated for a moment, + then went on very low: “He is very old.” + </p> + <p> + “Hai-ya! Old and sick,” murmured Babalatchi, with sudden melancholy. + </p> + <p> + “He wanted me to kill that white man. He begged me to have him killed at + once,” said Abdulla, contemptuously, moving again towards the gate. + </p> + <p> + “He is impatient, like those who feel death near them,” exclaimed + Babalatchi, apologetically. + </p> + <p> + “Omar shall dwell with me,” went on Abdulla, “when . . . But no matter. + Remember! The white man must be safe.” + </p> + <p> + “He lives in your shadow,” answered Babalatchi, solemnly. “It is enough!” + He touched his forehead and fell back to let Abdulla go first. + </p> + <p> + And now they are back in the courtyard wherefrom, at their appearance, + listlessness vanishes, and all the faces become alert and interested once + more. Lakamba approaches his guest, but looks at Babalatchi, who reassures + him by a confident nod. Lakamba clumsily attempts a smile, and looking, + with natural and ineradicable sulkiness, from under his eyebrows at the + man whom he wants to honour, asks whether he would condescend to visit the + place of sitting down and take food. Or perhaps he would prefer to give + himself up to repose? The house is his, and what is in it, and those many + men that stand afar watching the interview are his. Syed Abdulla presses + his host’s hand to his breast, and informs him in a confidential murmur + that his habits are ascetic and his temperament inclines to melancholy. No + rest; no food; no use whatever for those many men who are his. Syed + Abdulla is impatient to be gone. Lakamba is sorrowful but polite, in his + hesitating, gloomy way. Tuan Abdulla must have fresh boatmen, and many, to + shorten the dark and fatiguing road. Hai-ya! There! Boats! + </p> + <p> + By the riverside indistinct forms leap into a noisy and disorderly + activity. There are cries, orders, banter, abuse. Torches blaze sending + out much more smoke than light, and in their red glare Babalatchi comes up + to say that the boats are ready. + </p> + <p> + Through that lurid glare Syed Abdulla, in his long white gown, seems to + glide fantastically, like a dignified apparition attended by two inferior + shades, and stands for a moment at the landing-place to take leave of his + host and ally—whom he loves. Syed Abdulla says so distinctly before + embarking, and takes his seat in the middle of the canoe under a small + canopy of blue calico stretched on four sticks. Before and behind Syed + Abdulla, the men squatting by the gunwales hold high the blades of their + paddles in readiness for a dip, all together. Ready? Not yet. Hold on all! + Syed Abdulla speaks again, while Lakamba and Babalatchi stand close on the + bank to hear his words. His words are encouraging. Before the sun rises + for the second time they shall meet, and Syed Abdulla’s ship shall float + on the waters of this river—at last! Lakamba and Babalatchi have no + doubt—if Allah wills. They are in the hands of the Compassionate. No + doubt. And so is Syed Abdulla, the great trader who does not know what the + word failure means; and so is the white man—the smartest business + man in the islands—who is lying now by Omar’s fire with his head on + Aissa’s lap, while Syed Abdulla flies down the muddy river with current + and paddles between the sombre walls of the sleeping forest; on his way to + the clear and open sea where the Lord of the Isles (formerly of Greenock, + but condemned, sold, and registered now as of Penang) waits for its owner, + and swings erratically at anchor in the currents of the capricious tide, + under the crumbling red cliffs of Tanjong Mirrah. + </p> + <p> + For some time Lakamba, Sahamin, and Bahassoen looked silently into the + humid darkness which had swallowed the big canoe that carried Abdulla and + his unvarying good fortune. Then the two guests broke into a talk + expressive of their joyful anticipations. The venerable Sahamin, as became + his advanced age, found his delight in speculation as to the activities of + a rather remote future. He would buy praus, he would send expeditions up + the river, he would enlarge his trade, and, backed by Abdulla’s capital, + he would grow rich in a very few years. Very few. Meantime it would be a + good thing to interview Almayer to-morrow and, profiting by the last day + of the hated man’s prosperity, obtain some goods from him on credit. + Sahamin thought it could be done by skilful wheedling. After all, that son + of Satan was a fool, and the thing was worth doing, because the coming + revolution would wipe all debts out. Sahamin did not mind imparting that + idea to his companions, with much senile chuckling, while they strolled + together from the riverside towards the residence. The bull-necked + Lakamba, listening with pouted lips without the sign of a smile, without a + gleam in his dull, bloodshot eyes, shuffled slowly across the courtyard + between his two guests. But suddenly Bahassoen broke in upon the old man’s + prattle with the generous enthusiasm of his youth. . . . Trading was very + good. But was the change that would make them happy effected yet? The + white man should be despoiled with a strong hand! . . . He grew excited, + spoke very loud, and his further discourse, delivered with his hand on the + hilt of his sword, dealt incoherently with the honourable topics of + throat-cutting, fire-raising, and with the far-famed valour of his + ancestors. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi remained behind, alone with the greatness of his conceptions. + The sagacious statesman of Sambir sent a scornful glance after his noble + protector and his noble protector’s friends, and then stood meditating + about that future which to the others seemed so assured. Not so to + Babalatchi, who paid the penalty of his wisdom by a vague sense of + insecurity that kept sleep at arm’s length from his tired body. When he + thought at last of leaving the waterside, it was only to strike a path for + himself and to creep along the fences, avoiding the middle of the + courtyard where small fires glimmered and winked as though the sinister + darkness there had reflected the stars of the serene heaven. He slunk past + the wicket-gate of Omar’s enclosure, and crept on patiently along the + light bamboo palisade till he was stopped by the angle where it joined the + heavy stockade of Lakamba’s private ground. Standing there, he could look + over the fence and see Omar’s hut and the fire before its door. He could + also see the shadow of two human beings sitting between him and the red + glow. A man and a woman. The sight seemed to inspire the careworn sage + with a frivolous desire to sing. It could hardly be called a song; it was + more in the nature of a recitative without any rhythm, delivered rapidly + but distinctly in a croaking and unsteady voice; and if Babalatchi + considered it a song, then it was a song with a purpose and, perhaps for + that reason, artistically defective. It had all the imperfections of + unskilful improvisation and its subject was gruesome. It told a tale of + shipwreck and of thirst, and of one brother killing another for the sake + of a gourd of water. A repulsive story which might have had a purpose but + possessed no moral whatever. Yet it must have pleased Babalatchi for he + repeated it twice, the second time even in louder tones than at first, + causing a disturbance amongst the white rice-birds and the wild + fruit-pigeons which roosted on the boughs of the big tree growing in + Omar’s compound. There was in the thick foliage above the singer’s head a + confused beating of wings, sleepy remarks in bird-language, a sharp stir + of leaves. The forms by the fire moved; the shadow of the woman altered + its shape, and Babalatchi’s song was cut short abruptly by a fit of soft + and persistent coughing. He did not try to resume his efforts after that + interruption, but went away stealthily to seek—if not sleep—then, + at least, repose. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER SIX + </h2> + <p> + As soon as Abdulla and his companions had left the enclosure, Aissa + approached Willems and stood by his side. He took no notice of her + expectant attitude till she touched him gently, when he turned furiously + upon her and, tearing off her face-veil, trampled upon it as though it had + been a mortal enemy. She looked at him with the faint smile of patient + curiosity, with the puzzled interest of ignorance watching the running of + a complicated piece of machinery. After he had exhausted his rage, he + stood again severe and unbending looking down at the fire, but the touch + of her fingers at the nape of his neck effaced instantly the hard lines + round his mouth; his eyes wavered uneasily; his lips trembled slightly. + Starting with the unresisting rapidity of a particle of iron—which, + quiescent one moment, leaps in the next to a powerful magnet—he + moved forward, caught her in his arms and pressed her violently to his + breast. He released her as suddenly, and she stumbled a little, stepped + back, breathed quickly through her parted lips, and said in a tone of + pleased reproof— + </p> + <p> + “O Fool-man! And if you had killed me in your strong arms what would you + have done?” + </p> + <p> + “You want to live . . . and to run away from me again,” he said gently. + “Tell me—do you?” + </p> + <p> + She moved towards him with very short steps, her head a little on one + side, hands on hips, with a slight balancing of her body: an approach more + tantalizing than an escape. He looked on, eager—charmed. She spoke + jestingly. + </p> + <p> + “What am I to say to a man who has been away three days from me? Three!” + she repeated, holding up playfully three fingers before Willems’ eyes. He + snatched at the hand, but she was on her guard and whisked it behind her + back. + </p> + <p> + “No!” she said. “I cannot be caught. But I will come. I am coming myself + because I like. Do not move. Do not touch me with your mighty hands, O + child!” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she made a step nearer, then another. Willems did not stir. + Pressing against him she stood on tiptoe to look into his eyes, and her + own seemed to grow bigger, glistening and tender, appealing and promising. + With that look she drew the man’s soul away from him through his immobile + pupils, and from Willems’ features the spark of reason vanished under her + gaze and was replaced by an appearance of physical well-being, an ecstasy + of the senses which had taken possession of his rigid body; an ecstasy + that drove out regrets, hesitation and doubt, and proclaimed its terrible + work by an appalling aspect of idiotic beatitude. He never stirred a limb, + hardly breathed, but stood in stiff immobility, absorbing the delight of + her close contact by every pore. + </p> + <p> + “Closer! Closer!” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + Slowly she raised her arms, put them over his shoulders, and clasping her + hands at the back of his neck, swung off the full length of her arms. Her + head fell back, the eyelids dropped slightly, and her thick hair hung + straight down: a mass of ebony touched by the red gleams of the fire. He + stood unyielding under the strain, as solid and motionless as one of the + big trees of the surrounding forests; and his eyes looked at the modelling + of her chin, at the outline of her neck, at the swelling lines of her + bosom, with the famished and concentrated expression of a starving man + looking at food. She drew herself up to him and rubbed her head against + his cheek slowly and gently. He sighed. She, with her hands still on his + shoulders, glanced up at the placid stars and said— + </p> + <p> + “The night is half gone. We shall finish it by this fire. By this fire you + shall tell me all: your words and Syed Abdulla’s words; and listening to + you I shall forget the three days—because I am good. Tell me—am + I good?” + </p> + <p> + He said “Yes” dreamily, and she ran off towards the big house. + </p> + <p> + When she came back, balancing a roll of fine mats on her head, he had + replenished the fire and was ready to help her in arranging a couch on the + side of it nearest to the hut. She sank down with a quick but gracefully + controlled movement, and he threw himself full length with impatient + haste, as if he wished to forestall somebody. She took his head on her + knees, and when he felt her hands touching his face, her fingers playing + with his hair, he had an expression of being taken possession of; he + experienced a sense of peace, of rest, of happiness, and of soothing + delight. His hands strayed upwards about her neck, and he drew her down so + as to have her face above his. Then he whispered—“I wish I could die + like this—now!” She looked at him with her big sombre eyes, in which + there was no responsive light. His thought was so remote from her + understanding that she let the words pass by unnoticed, like the breath of + the wind, like the flight of a cloud. Woman though she was, she could not + comprehend, in her simplicity, the tremendous compliment of that speech, + that whisper of deadly happiness, so sincere, so spontaneous, coming so + straight from the heart—like every corruption. It was the voice of + madness, of a delirious peace, of happiness that is infamous, cowardly, + and so exquisite that the debased mind refuses to contemplate its + termination: for to the victims of such happiness the moment of its + ceasing is the beginning afresh of that torture which is its price. + </p> + <p> + With her brows slightly knitted in the determined preoccupation of her own + desires, she said— + </p> + <p> + “Now tell me all. All the words spoken between you and Syed Abdulla.” + </p> + <p> + Tell what? What words? Her voice recalled back the consciousness that had + departed under her touch, and he became aware of the passing minutes every + one of which was like a reproach; of those minutes that falling, slow, + reluctant, irresistible into the past, marked his footsteps on the way to + perdition. Not that he had any conviction about it, any notion of the + possible ending on that painful road. It was an indistinct feeling, a + threat of suffering like the confused warning of coming disease, an + inarticulate monition of evil made up of fear and pleasure, of resignation + and of revolt. He was ashamed of his state of mind. After all, what was he + afraid of? Were those scruples? Why that hesitation to think, to speak of + what he intended doing? Scruples were for imbeciles. His clear duty was to + make himself happy. Did he ever take an oath of fidelity to Lingard? No. + Well then—he would not let any interest of that old fool stand + between Willems and Willems’ happiness. Happiness? Was he not, perchance, + on a false track? Happiness meant money. Much money. At least he had + always thought so till he had experienced those new sensations which . . . + </p> + <p> + Aissa’s question, repeated impatiently, interrupted his musings, and + looking up at her face shining above him in the dim light of the fire he + stretched his limbs luxuriously and obedient to her desire, he spoke + slowly and hardly above his breath. She, with her head close to his lips, + listened absorbed, interested, in attentive immobility. The many noises of + the great courtyard were hushed up gradually by the sleep that stilled all + voices and closed all eyes. Then somebody droned out a song with a nasal + drawl at the end of every verse. He stirred. She put her hand suddenly on + his lips and sat upright. There was a feeble coughing, a rustle of leaves, + and then a complete silence took possession of the land; a silence cold, + mournful, profound; more like death than peace; more hard to bear than the + fiercest tumult. As soon as she removed her hand he hastened to speak, so + insupportable to him was that stillness perfect and absolute in which his + thoughts seemed to ring with the loudness of shouts. + </p> + <p> + “Who was there making that noise?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know. He is gone now,” she answered, hastily. “Tell me, you will + not return to your people; not without me. Not with me. Do you promise?” + </p> + <p> + “I have promised already. I have no people of my own. Have I not told you, + that you are everybody to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah, yes,” she said, slowly, “but I like to hear you say that again—every + day, and every night, whenever I ask; and never to be angry because I ask. + I am afraid of white women who are shameless and have fierce eyes.” She + scanned his features close for a moment and added: + </p> + <p> + “Are they very beautiful? They must be.” + </p> + <p> + “I do not know,” he whispered, thoughtfully. “And if I ever did know, + looking at you I have forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgotten! And for three days and two nights you have forgotten me also! + Why? Why were you angry with me when I spoke at first of Tuan Abdulla, in + the days when we lived beside the brook? You remembered somebody then. + Somebody in the land whence you come. Your tongue is false. You are white + indeed, and your heart is full of deception. I know it. And yet I cannot + help believing you when you talk of your love for me. But I am afraid!” + </p> + <p> + He felt flattered and annoyed by her vehemence, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am with you now. I did come back. And it was you that went away.” + </p> + <p> + “When you have helped Abdulla against the Rajah Laut, who is the first of + white men, I shall not be afraid any more,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “You must believe what I say when I tell you that there never was another + woman; that there is nothing for me to regret, and nothing but my enemies + to remember.” + </p> + <p> + “Where do you come from?” she said, impulsive and inconsequent, in a + passionate whisper. “What is that land beyond the great sea from which you + come? A land of lies and of evil from which nothing but misfortune ever + comes to us—who are not white. Did you not at first ask me to go + there with you? That is why I went away.” + </p> + <p> + “I shall never ask you again.” + </p> + <p> + “And there is no woman waiting for you there?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Willems, firmly. + </p> + <p> + She bent over him. Her lips hovered above his face and her long hair + brushed his cheeks. + </p> + <p> + “You taught me the love of your people which is of the Devil,” she + murmured, and bending still lower, she said faintly, “Like this?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, like this!” he answered very low, in a voice that trembled slightly + with eagerness; and she pressed suddenly her lips to his while he closed + his eyes in an ecstasy of delight. + </p> + <p> + There was a long interval of silence. She stroked his head with gentle + touches, and he lay dreamily, perfectly happy but for the annoyance of an + indistinct vision of a well-known figure; a man going away from him and + diminishing in a long perspective of fantastic trees, whose every leaf was + an eye looking after that man, who walked away growing smaller, but never + getting out of sight for all his steady progress. He felt a desire to see + him vanish, a hurried impatience of his disappearance, and he watched for + it with a careful and irksome effort. There was something familiar about + that figure. Why! Himself! He gave a sudden start and opened his eyes, + quivering with the emotion of that quick return from so far, of finding + himself back by the fire with the rapidity of a flash of lightning. It had + been half a dream; he had slumbered in her arms for a few seconds. Only + the beginning of a dream—nothing more. But it was some time before + he recovered from the shock of seeing himself go away so deliberately, so + definitely, so unguardedly; and going away—where? Now, if he had not + woke up in time he would never have come back again from there; from + whatever place he was going to. He felt indignant. It was like an evasion, + like a prisoner breaking his parole—that thing slinking off + stealthily while he slept. He was very indignant, and was also astonished + at the absurdity of his own emotions. + </p> + <p> + She felt him tremble, and murmuring tender words, pressed his head to her + breast. Again he felt very peaceful with a peace that was as complete as + the silence round them. He muttered— + </p> + <p> + “You are tired, Aissa.” + </p> + <p> + She answered so low that it was like a sigh shaped into faint words. + </p> + <p> + “I shall watch your sleep, O child!” + </p> + <p> + He lay very quiet, and listened to the beating of her heart. That sound, + light, rapid, persistent, and steady; her very life beating against his + cheek, gave him a clear perception of secure ownership, strengthened his + belief in his possession of that human being, was like an assurance of the + vague felicity of the future. There were no regrets, no doubts, no + hesitation now. Had there ever been? All that seemed far away, ages ago—as + unreal and pale as the fading memory of some delirium. All the anguish, + suffering, strife of the past days; the humiliation and anger of his + downfall; all that was an infamous nightmare, a thing born in sleep to be + forgotten and leave no trace—and true life was this: this dreamy + immobility with his head against her heart that beat so steadily. + </p> + <p> + He was broad awake now, with that tingling wakefulness of the tired body + which succeeds to the few refreshing seconds of irresistible sleep, and + his wide-open eyes looked absently at the doorway of Omar’s hut. The reed + walls glistened in the light of the fire, the smoke of which, thin and + blue, drifted slanting in a succession of rings and spirals across the + doorway, whose empty blackness seemed to him impenetrable and enigmatical + like a curtain hiding vast spaces full of unexpected surprises. This was + only his fancy, but it was absorbing enough to make him accept the sudden + appearance of a head, coming out of the gloom, as part of his idle fantasy + or as the beginning of another short dream, of another vagary of his + overtired brain. A face with drooping eyelids, old, thin, and yellow, + above the scattered white of a long beard that touched the earth. A head + without a body, only a foot above the ground, turning slightly from side + to side on the edge of the circle of light as if to catch the radiating + heat of the fire on either cheek in succession. He watched it in passive + amazement, growing distinct, as if coming nearer to him, and the confused + outlines of a body crawling on all fours came out, creeping inch by inch + towards the fire, with a silent and all but imperceptible movement. He was + astounded at the appearance of that blind head dragging that crippled body + behind, without a sound, without a change in the composure of the + sightless face, which was plain one second, blurred the next in the play + of the light that drew it to itself steadily. A mute face with a kriss + between its lips. This was no dream. Omar’s face. But why? What was he + after? + </p> + <p> + He was too indolent in the happy languor of the moment to answer the + question. It darted through his brain and passed out, leaving him free to + listen again to the beating of her heart; to that precious and delicate + sound which filled the quiet immensity of the night. Glancing upwards he + saw the motionless head of the woman looking down at him in a tender gleam + of liquid white between the long eyelashes, whose shadow rested on the + soft curve of her cheek; and under the caress of that look, the uneasy + wonder and the obscure fear of that apparition, crouching and creeping in + turns towards the fire that was its guide, were lost—were drowned in + the quietude of all his senses, as pain is drowned in the flood of drowsy + serenity that follows upon a dose of opium. + </p> + <p> + He altered the position of his head by ever so little, and now could see + easily that apparition which he had seen a minute before and had nearly + forgotten already. It had moved closer, gliding and noiseless like the + shadow of some nightmare, and now it was there, very near, motionless and + still as if listening; one hand and one knee advanced; the neck stretched + out and the head turned full towards the fire. He could see the emaciated + face, the skin shiny over the prominent bones, the black shadows of the + hollow temples and sunken cheeks, and the two patches of blackness over + the eyes, over those eyes that were dead and could not see. What was the + impulse which drove out this blind cripple into the night to creep and + crawl towards that fire? He looked at him, fascinated, but the face, with + its shifting lights and shadows, let out nothing, closed and impenetrable + like a walled door. + </p> + <p> + Omar raised himself to a kneeling posture and sank on his heels, with his + hands hanging down before him. Willems, looking out of his dreamy + numbness, could see plainly the kriss between the thin lips, a bar across + the face; the handle on one side where the polished wood caught a red + gleam from the fire and the thin line of the blade running to a dull black + point on the other. He felt an inward shock, which left his body passive + in Aissa’s embrace, but filled his breast with a tumult of powerless fear; + and he perceived suddenly that it was his own death that was groping + towards him; that it was the hate of himself and the hate of her love for + him which drove this helpless wreck of a once brilliant and resolute + pirate, to attempt a desperate deed that would be the glorious and supreme + consolation of an unhappy old age. And while he looked, paralyzed with + dread, at the father who had resumed his cautious advance—blind like + fate, persistent like destiny—he listened with greedy eagerness to + the heart of the daughter beating light, rapid, and steady against his + head. + </p> + <p> + He was in the grip of horrible fear; of a fear whose cold hand robs its + victim of all will and of all power; of all wish to escape, to resist, or + to move; which destroys hope and despair alike, and holds the empty and + useless carcass as if in a vise under the coming stroke. It was not the + fear of death—he had faced danger before—it was not even the + fear of that particular form of death. It was not the fear of the end, for + he knew that the end would not come then. A movement, a leap, a shout + would save him from the feeble hand of the blind old man, from that hand + that even now was, with cautious sweeps along the ground, feeling for his + body in the darkness. It was the unreasoning fear of this glimpse into the + unknown things, into those motives, impulses, desires he had ignored, but + that had lived in the breasts of despised men, close by his side, and were + revealed to him for a second, to be hidden again behind the black mists of + doubt and deception. It was not death that frightened him: it was the + horror of bewildered life where he could understand nothing and nobody + round him; where he could guide, control, comprehend nothing and no one—not + even himself. + </p> + <p> + He felt a touch on his side. That contact, lighter than the caress of a + mother’s hand on the cheek of a sleeping child, had for him the force of a + crushing blow. Omar had crept close, and now, kneeling above him, held the + kriss in one hand while the other skimmed over his jacket up towards his + breast in gentle touches; but the blind face, still turned to the heat of + the fire, was set and immovable in its aspect of stony indifference to + things it could not hope to see. With an effort Willems took his eyes off + the deathlike mask and turned them up to Aissa’s head. She sat motionless + as if she had been part of the sleeping earth, then suddenly he saw her + big sombre eyes open out wide in a piercing stare and felt the convulsive + pressure of her hands pinning his arms along his body. A second dragged + itself out, slow and bitter, like a day of mourning; a second full of + regret and grief for that faith in her which took its flight from the + shattered ruins of his trust. She was holding him! She too! He felt her + heart give a great leap, his head slipped down on her knees, he closed his + eyes and there was nothing. Nothing! It was as if she had died; as though + her heart had leaped out into the night, abandoning him, defenceless and + alone, in an empty world. + </p> + <p> + His head struck the ground heavily as she flung him aside in her sudden + rush. He lay as if stunned, face up and, daring not move, did not see the + struggle, but heard the piercing shriek of mad fear, her low angry words; + another shriek dying out in a moan. When he got up at last he looked at + Aissa kneeling over her father, he saw her bent back in the effort of + holding him down, Omar’s contorted limbs, a hand thrown up above her head + and her quick movement grasping the wrist. He made an impulsive step + forward, but she turned a wild face to him and called out over her + shoulder— + </p> + <p> + “Keep back! Do not come near! Do not. . . .” + </p> + <p> + And he stopped short, his arms hanging lifelessly by his side, as if those + words had changed him into stone. She was afraid of his possible violence, + but in the unsettling of all his convictions he was struck with the + frightful thought that she preferred to kill her father all by herself; + and the last stage of their struggle, at which he looked as though a red + fog had filled his eyes, loomed up with an unnatural ferocity, with a + sinister meaning; like something monstrous and depraved, forcing its + complicity upon him under the cover of that awful night. He was horrified + and grateful; drawn irresistibly to her—and ready to run away. He + could not move at first—then he did not want to stir. He wanted to + see what would happen. He saw her lift, with a tremendous effort, the + apparently lifeless body into the hut, and remained standing, after they + disappeared, with the vivid image in his eyes of that head swaying on her + shoulder, the lower jaw hanging down, collapsed, passive, meaningless, + like the head of a corpse. + </p> + <p> + Then after a while he heard her voice speaking inside, harshly, with an + agitated abruptness of tone; and in answer there were groans and broken + murmurs of exhaustion. She spoke louder. He heard her saying violently—“No! + No! Never!” + </p> + <p> + And again a plaintive murmur of entreaty as of some one begging for a + supreme favour, with a last breath. Then she said— + </p> + <p> + “Never! I would sooner strike it into my own heart.” + </p> + <p> + She came out, stood panting for a short moment in the doorway, and then + stepped into the firelight. Behind her, through the darkness came the + sound of words calling the vengeance of heaven on her head, rising higher, + shrill, strained, repeating the curse over and over again—till the + voice cracked in a passionate shriek that died out into hoarse muttering + ending with a deep and prolonged sigh. She stood facing Willems, one hand + behind her back, the other raised in a gesture compelling attention, and + she listened in that attitude till all was still inside the hut. Then she + made another step forward and her hand dropped slowly. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but misfortune,” she whispered, absently, to herself. “Nothing + but misfortune to us who are not white.” The anger and excitement died out + of her face, and she looked straight at Willems with an intense and + mournful gaze. + </p> + <p> + He recovered his senses and his power of speech with a sudden start. + </p> + <p> + “Aissa,” he exclaimed, and the words broke out through his lips with + hurried nervousness. “Aissa! How can I live here? Trust me. Believe in me. + Let us go away from here. Go very far away! Very far; you and I!” + </p> + <p> + He did not stop to ask himself whether he could escape, and how, and + where. He was carried away by the flood of hate, disgust, and contempt of + a white man for that blood which is not his blood, for that race which is + not his race; for the brown skins; for the hearts false like the sea, + blacker than night. This feeling of repulsion overmastered his reason in a + clear conviction of the impossibility for him to live with her people. He + urged her passionately to fly with him because out of all that abhorred + crowd he wanted this one woman, but wanted her away from them, away from + that race of slaves and cut-throats from which she sprang. He wanted her + for himself—far from everybody, in some safe and dumb solitude. And + as he spoke his anger and contempt rose, his hate became almost fear; and + his desire of her grew immense, burning, illogical and merciless; crying + to him through all his senses; louder than his hate, stronger than his + fear, deeper than his contempt—irresistible and certain like death + itself. + </p> + <p> + Standing at a little distance, just within the light—but on the + threshold of that darkness from which she had come—she listened, one + hand still behind her back, the other arm stretched out with the hand half + open as if to catch the fleeting words that rang around her, passionate, + menacing, imploring, but all tinged with the anguish of his suffering, all + hurried by the impatience that gnawed his breast. And while she listened + she felt a slowing down of her heart-beats as the meaning of his appeal + grew clearer before her indignant eyes, as she saw with rage and pain the + edifice of her love, her own work, crumble slowly to pieces, destroyed by + that man’s fears, by that man’s falseness. Her memory recalled the days by + the brook when she had listened to other words—to other thoughts—to + promises and to pleadings for other things, which came from that man’s + lips at the bidding of her look or her smile, at the nod of her head, at + the whisper of her lips. Was there then in his heart something else than + her image, other desires than the desires of her love, other fears than + the fear of losing her? How could that be? Had she grown ugly or old in a + moment? She was appalled, surprised and angry with the anger of unexpected + humiliation; and her eyes looked fixedly, sombre and steady, at that man + born in the land of violence and of evil wherefrom nothing but misfortune + comes to those who are not white. Instead of thinking of her caresses, + instead of forgetting all the world in her embrace, he was thinking yet of + his people; of that people that steals every land, masters every sea, that + knows no mercy and no truth—knows nothing but its own strength. O + man of strong arm and of false heart! Go with him to a far country, be + lost in the throng of cold eyes and false hearts—lose him there! + Never! He was mad—mad with fear; but he should not escape her! She + would keep him here a slave and a master; here where he was alone with + her; where he must live for her—or die. She had a right to his love + which was of her making, to the love that was in him now, while he spoke + those words without sense. She must put between him and other white men a + barrier of hate. He must not only stay, but he must also keep his promise + to Abdulla, the fulfilment of which would make her safe. + </p> + <p> + “Aissa, let us go! With you by my side I would attack them with my naked + hands. Or no! Tomorrow we shall be outside, on board Abdulla’s ship. You + shall come with me and then I could . . . If the ship went ashore by some + chance, then we could steal a canoe and escape in the confusion. . . . You + are not afraid of the sea . . . of the sea that would give me freedom . . + .” + </p> + <p> + He was approaching her gradually with extended arms, while he pleaded + ardently in incoherent words that ran over and tripped each other in the + extreme eagerness of his speech. She stepped back, keeping her distance, + her eyes on his face, watching on it the play of his doubts and of his + hopes with a piercing gaze, that seemed to search out the innermost + recesses of his thought; and it was as if she had drawn slowly the + darkness round her, wrapping herself in its undulating folds that made her + indistinct and vague. He followed her step by step till at last they both + stopped, facing each other under the big tree of the enclosure. The + solitary exile of the forests, great, motionless and solemn in his + abandonment, left alone by the life of ages that had been pushed away from + him by those pigmies that crept at his foot, towered high and straight + above their heads. He seemed to look on, dispassionate and imposing, in + his lonely greatness, spreading his branches wide in a gesture of lofty + protection, as if to hide them in the sombre shelter of innumerable + leaves; as if moved by the disdainful compassion of the strong, by the + scornful pity of an aged giant, to screen this struggle of two human + hearts from the cold scrutiny of glittering stars. + </p> + <p> + The last cry of his appeal to her mercy rose loud, vibrated under the + sombre canopy, darted among the boughs startling the white birds that + slept wing to wing—and died without an echo, strangled in the dense + mass of unstirring leaves. He could not see her face, but he heard her + sighs and the distracted murmur of indistinct words. Then, as he listened + holding his breath, she exclaimed suddenly— + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard him? He has cursed me because I love you. You brought me + suffering and strife—and his curse. And now you want to take me far + away where I would lose you, lose my life; because your love is my life + now. What else is there? Do not move,” she cried violently, as he stirred + a little—“do not speak! Take this! Sleep in peace!” + </p> + <p> + He saw a shadowy movement of her arm. Something whizzed past and struck + the ground behind him, close to the fire. Instinctively he turned round to + look at it. A kriss without its sheath lay by the embers; a sinuous dark + object, looking like something that had been alive and was now crushed, + dead and very inoffensive; a black wavy outline very distinct and still in + the dull red glow. Without thinking he moved to pick it up, stooping with + the sad and humble movement of a beggar gathering the alms flung into the + dust of the roadside. Was this the answer to his pleading, to the hot and + living words that came from his heart? Was this the answer thrown at him + like an insult, that thing made of wood and iron, insignificant and + venomous, fragile and deadly? He held it by the blade and looked at the + handle stupidly for a moment before he let it fall again at his feet; and + when he turned round he faced only the night:—the night immense, + profound and quiet; a sea of darkness in which she had disappeared without + leaving a trace. + </p> + <p> + He moved forward with uncertain steps, putting out both his hands before + him with the anguish of a man blinded suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Aissa!” he cried—“come to me at once.” + </p> + <p> + He peered and listened, but saw nothing, heard nothing. After a while the + solid blackness seemed to wave before his eyes like a curtain disclosing + movements but hiding forms, and he heard light and hurried footsteps, then + the short clatter of the gate leading to Lakamba’s private enclosure. He + sprang forward and brought up against the rough timber in time to hear the + words, “Quick! Quick!” and the sound of the wooden bar dropped on the + other side, securing the gate. With his arms thrown up, the palms against + the paling, he slid down in a heap on the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Aissa,” he said, pleadingly, pressing his lips to a chink between the + stakes. “Aissa, do you hear me? Come back! I will do what you want, give + you all you desire—if I have to set the whole Sambir on fire and put + that fire out with blood. Only come back. Now! At once! Are you there? Do + you hear me? Aissa!” + </p> + <p> + On the other side there were startled whispers of feminine voices; a + frightened little laugh suddenly interrupted; some woman’s admiring murmur—“This + is brave talk!” Then after a short silence Aissa cried— + </p> + <p> + “Sleep in peace—for the time of your going is near. Now I am afraid + of you. Afraid of your fear. When you return with Tuan Abdulla you shall + be great. You will find me here. And there will be nothing but love. + Nothing else!—Always!—Till we die!” + </p> + <p> + He listened to the shuffle of footsteps going away, and staggered to his + feet, mute with the excess of his passionate anger against that being so + savage and so charming; loathing her, himself, everybody he had ever + known; the earth, the sky, the very air he drew into his oppressed chest; + loathing it because it made him live, loathing her because she made him + suffer. But he could not leave that gate through which she had passed. He + wandered a little way off, then swerved round, came back and fell down + again by the stockade only to rise suddenly in another attempt to break + away from the spell that held him, that brought him back there, dumb, + obedient and furious. And under the immobilized gesture of lofty + protection in the branches outspread wide above his head, under the high + branches where white birds slept wing to wing in the shelter of countless + leaves, he tossed like a grain of dust in a whirlwind—sinking and + rising—round and round—always near that gate. All through the + languid stillness of that night he fought with the impalpable; he fought + with the shadows, with the darkness, with the silence. He fought without a + sound, striking futile blows, dashing from side to side; obstinate, + hopeless, and always beaten back; like a man bewitched within the + invisible sweep of a magic circle. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER ONE + </h2> + <p> + “Yes! Cat, dog, anything that can scratch or bite; as long as it is + harmful enough and mangy enough. A sick tiger would make you happy—of + all things. A half-dead tiger that you could weep over and palm upon some + poor devil in your power, to tend and nurse for you. Never mind the + consequences—to the poor devil. Let him be mangled or eaten up, of + course! You haven’t any pity to spare for the victims of your infernal + charity. Not you! Your tender heart bleeds only for what is poisonous and + deadly. I curse the day when you set your benevolent eyes on him. I curse + it . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Now then! Now then!” growled Lingard in his moustache. Almayer, who had + talked himself up to the choking point, drew a long breath and went on— + </p> + <p> + “Yes! It has been always so. Always. As far back as I can remember. Don’t + you recollect? What about that half-starved dog you brought on board in + Bankok in your arms. In your arms by . . . ! It went mad next day and bit + the serang. You don’t mean to say you have forgotten? The best serang you + ever had! You said so yourself while you were helping us to lash him down + to the chain-cable, just before he died in his fits. Now, didn’t you? Two + wives and ever so many children the man left. That was your doing. . . . + And when you went out of your way and risked your ship to rescue some + Chinamen from a water-logged junk in Formosa Straits, that was also a + clever piece of business. Wasn’t it? Those damned Chinamen rose on you + before forty-eight hours. They were cut-throats, those poor fishermen. You + knew they were cut-throats before you made up your mind to run down on a + lee shore in a gale of wind to save them. A mad trick! If they hadn’t been + scoundrels—hopeless scoundrels—you would not have put your + ship in jeopardy for them, I know. You would not have risked the lives of + your crew—that crew you loved so—and your own life. Wasn’t + that foolish! And, besides, you were not honest. Suppose you had been + drowned? I would have been in a pretty mess then, left alone here with + that adopted daughter of yours. Your duty was to myself first. I married + that girl because you promised to make my fortune. You know you did! And + then three months afterwards you go and do that mad trick—for a lot + of Chinamen too. Chinamen! You have no morality. I might have been ruined + for the sake of those murderous scoundrels that, after all, had to be + driven overboard after killing ever so many of your crew—of your + beloved crew! Do you call that honest?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well!” muttered Lingard, chewing nervously the stump of his cheroot + that had gone out and looking at Almayer—who stamped wildly about + the verandah—much as a shepherd might look at a pet sheep in his + obedient flock turning unexpectedly upon him in enraged revolt. He seemed + disconcerted, contemptuously angry yet somewhat amused; and also a little + hurt as if at some bitter jest at his own expense. Almayer stopped + suddenly, and crossing his arms on his breast, bent his body forward and + went on speaking. + </p> + <p> + “I might have been left then in an awkward hole—all on account of + your absurd disregard for your safety—yet I bore no grudge. I knew + your weaknesses. But now—when I think of it! Now we are ruined. + Ruined! Ruined! My poor little Nina. Ruined!” + </p> + <p> + He slapped his thighs smartly, walked with small steps this way and that, + seized a chair, planted it with a bang before Lingard, and sat down + staring at the old seaman with haggard eyes. Lingard, returning his stare + steadily, dived slowly into various pockets, fished out at last a box of + matches and proceeded to light his cheroot carefully, rolling it round and + round between his lips, without taking his gaze for a moment off the + distressed Almayer. Then from behind a cloud of tobacco smoke he said + calmly— + </p> + <p> + “If you had been in trouble as often as I have, my boy, you wouldn’t carry + on so. I have been ruined more than once. Well, here I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, here you are,” interrupted Almayer. “Much good it is to me. Had you + been here a month ago it would have been of some use. But now! . . You + might as well be a thousand miles off.” + </p> + <p> + “You scold like a drunken fish-wife,” said Lingard, serenely. He got up + and moved slowly to the front rail of the verandah. The floor shook and + the whole house vibrated under his heavy step. For a moment he stood with + his back to Almayer, looking out on the river and forest of the east bank, + then turned round and gazed mildly down upon him. + </p> + <p> + “It’s very lonely this morning here. Hey?” he said. + </p> + <p> + Almayer lifted up his head. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you notice it—don’t you? I should think it is lonely! Yes, + Captain Lingard, your day is over in Sambir. Only a month ago this + verandah would have been full of people coming to greet you. Fellows would + be coming up those steps grinning and salaaming—to you and to me. + But our day is over. And not by my fault either. You can’t say that. It’s + all the doing of that pet rascal of yours. Ah! He is a beauty! You should + have seen him leading that hellish crowd. You would have been proud of + your old favourite.” + </p> + <p> + “Smart fellow that,” muttered Lingard, thoughtfully. Almayer jumped up + with a shriek. + </p> + <p> + “And that’s all you have to say! Smart fellow! O Lord!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t make a show of yourself. Sit down. Let’s talk quietly. I want to + know all about it. So he led?” + </p> + <p> + “He was the soul of the whole thing. He piloted Abdulla’s ship in. He + ordered everything and everybody,” said Almayer, who sat down again, with + a resigned air. + </p> + <p> + “When did it happen—exactly?” + </p> + <p> + “On the sixteenth I heard the first rumours of Abdulla’s ship being in the + river; a thing I refused to believe at first. Next day I could not doubt + any more. There was a great council held openly in Lakamba’s place where + almost everybody in Sambir attended. On the eighteenth the Lord of the + Isles was anchored in Sambir reach, abreast of my house. Let’s see. Six + weeks to-day, exactly.” + </p> + <p> + “And all that happened like this? All of a sudden. You never heard + anything—no warning. Nothing. Never had an idea that something was + up? Come, Almayer!” + </p> + <p> + “Heard! Yes, I used to hear something every day. Mostly lies. Is there + anything else in Sambir?” + </p> + <p> + “You might not have believed them,” observed Lingard. “In fact you ought + not to have believed everything that was told to you, as if you had been a + green hand on his first voyage.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer moved in his chair uneasily. + </p> + <p> + “That scoundrel came here one day,” he said. “He had been away from the + house for a couple of months living with that woman. I only heard about + him now and then from Patalolo’s people when they came over. Well one day, + about noon, he appeared in this courtyard, as if he had been jerked up + from hell-where he belongs.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard took his cheroot out, and, with his mouth full of white smoke that + oozed out through his parted lips, listened, attentive. After a short + pause Almayer went on, looking at the floor moodily— + </p> + <p> + “I must say he looked awful. Had a bad bout of the ague probably. The left + shore is very unhealthy. Strange that only the breadth of the river . . .” + </p> + <p> + He dropped off into deep thoughtfulness as if he had forgotten his + grievances in a bitter meditation upon the unsanitary condition of the + virgin forests on the left bank. Lingard took this opportunity to expel + the smoke in a mighty expiration and threw the stump of his cheroot over + his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” he said, after a while. “He came to see you . . .” + </p> + <p> + “But it wasn’t unhealthy enough to finish him, worse luck!” went on + Almayer, rousing himself, “and, as I said, he turned up here with his + brazen impudence. He bullied me, he threatened vaguely. He wanted to scare + me, to blackmail me. Me! And, by heaven—he said you would approve. + You! Can you conceive such impudence? I couldn’t exactly make out what he + was driving at. Had I known, I would have approved him. Yes! With a bang + on the head. But how could I guess that he knew enough to pilot a ship + through the entrance you always said was so difficult. And, after all, + that was the only danger. I could deal with anybody here—but when + Abdulla came. . . . That barque of his is armed. He carries twelve brass + six-pounders, and about thirty men. Desperate beggars. Sumatra men, from + Deli and Acheen. Fight all day and ask for more in the evening. That + kind.” + </p> + <p> + “I know, I know,” said Lingard, impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, then, they were cheeky as much as you please after he anchored + abreast of our jetty. Willems brought her up himself in the best berth. I + could see him from this verandah standing forward, together with the + half-caste master. And that woman was there too. Close to him. I heard + they took her on board off Lakamba’s place. Willems said he would not go + higher without her. Stormed and raged. Frightened them, I believe. Abdulla + had to interfere. She came off alone in a canoe, and no sooner on deck + than she fell at his feet before all hands, embraced his knees, wept, + raved, begged his pardon. Why? I wonder. Everybody in Sambir is talking of + it. They never heard tell or saw anything like it. I have all this from + Ali, who goes about in the settlement and brings me the news. I had better + know what is going on—hadn’t I? From what I can make out, they—he + and that woman—are looked upon as something mysterious—beyond + comprehension. Some think them mad. They live alone with an old woman in a + house outside Lakamba’s campong and are greatly respected—or feared, + I should say rather. At least, he is. He is very violent. She knows + nobody, sees nobody, will speak to nobody but him. Never leaves him for a + moment. It’s the talk of the place. There are other rumours. From what I + hear I suspect that Lakamba and Abdulla are tired of him. There’s also + talk of him going away in the Lord of the Isles—when she leaves here + for the southward—as a kind of Abdulla’s agent. At any rate, he must + take the ship out. The half-caste is not equal to it as yet.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard, who had listened absorbed till then, began now to walk with + measured steps. Almayer ceased talking and followed him with his eyes as + he paced up and down with a quarter-deck swing, tormenting and twisting + his long white beard, his face perplexed and thoughtful. + </p> + <p> + “So he came to you first of all, did he?” asked Lingard, without stopping. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I told you so. He did come. Came to extort money, goods—I + don’t know what else. Wanted to set up as a trader—the swine! I + kicked his hat into the courtyard, and he went after it, and that was the + last of him till he showed up with Abdulla. How could I know that he could + do harm in that way? Or in any way at that! Any local rising I could put + down easy with my own men and with Patalolo’s help.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! yes. Patalolo. No good. Eh? Did you try him at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Didn’t I!” exclaimed Almayer. “I went to see him myself on the twelfth. + That was four days before Abdulla entered the river. In fact, same day + Willems tried to get at me. I did feel a little uneasy then. Patalolo + assured me that there was no human being that did not love me in Sambir. + Looked as wise as an owl. Told me not to listen to the lies of wicked + people from down the river. He was alluding to that man Bulangi, who lives + up the sea reach, and who had sent me word that a strange ship was + anchored outside—which, of course, I repeated to Patalolo. He would + not believe. Kept on mumbling ‘No! No! No!’ like an old parrot, his head + all of a tremble, all beslobbered with betel-nut juice. I thought there + was something queer about him. Seemed so restless, and as if in a hurry to + get rid of me. Well. Next day that one-eyed malefactor who lives with + Lakamba—what’s his name—Babalatchi, put in an appearance here! + Came about mid-day, casually like, and stood there on this verandah + chatting about one thing and another. Asking when I expected you, and so + on. Then, incidentally, he mentioned that they—his master and + himself—were very much bothered by a ferocious white man—my + friend—who was hanging about that woman—Omar’s daughter. Asked + my advice. Very deferential and proper. I told him the white man was not + my friend, and that they had better kick him out. Whereupon he went away + salaaming, and protesting his friendship and his master’s goodwill. Of + course I know now the infernal nigger came to spy and to talk over some of + my men. Anyway, eight were missing at the evening muster. Then I took + alarm. Did not dare to leave my house unguarded. You know what my wife is, + don’t you? And I did not care to take the child with me—it being + late—so I sent a message to Patalolo to say that we ought to + consult; that there were rumours and uneasiness in the settlement. Do you + know what answer I got?” + </p> + <p> + Lingard stopped short in his walk before Almayer, who went on, after an + impressive pause, with growing animation. + </p> + <p> + “All brought it: ‘The Rajah sends a friend’s greeting, and does not + understand the message.’ That was all. Not a word more could Ali get out + of him. I could see that Ali was pretty well scared. He hung about, + arranging my hammock—one thing and another. Then just before going + away he mentioned that the water-gate of the Rajah’s place was heavily + barred, but that he could see only very few men about the courtyard. + Finally he said, ‘There is darkness in our Rajah’s house, but no sleep. + Only darkness and fear and the wailing of women.’ Cheerful, wasn’t it? It + made me feel cold down my back somehow. After Ali slipped away I stood + here—by this table, and listened to the shouting and drumming in the + settlement. Racket enough for twenty weddings. It was a little past + midnight then.” + </p> + <p> + Again Almayer stopped in his narrative with an abrupt shutting of lips, as + if he had said all that there was to tell, and Lingard stood staring at + him, pensive and silent. A big bluebottle fly flew in recklessly into the + cool verandah, and darted with loud buzzing between the two men. Lingard + struck at it with his hat. The fly swerved, and Almayer dodged his head + out of the way. Then Lingard aimed another ineffectual blow; Almayer + jumped up and waved his arms about. The fly buzzed desperately, and the + vibration of minute wings sounded in the peace of the early morning like a + far-off string orchestra accompanying the hollow, determined stamping of + the two men, who, with heads thrown back and arms gyrating on high, or + again bending low with infuriated lunges, were intent upon killing the + intruder. But suddenly the buzz died out in a thin thrill away in the open + space of the courtyard, leaving Lingard and Almayer standing face to face + in the fresh silence of the young day, looking very puzzled and idle, + their arms hanging uselessly by their sides—like men disheartened by + some portentous failure. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that!” muttered Lingard. “Got away after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Nuisance,” said Almayer in the same tone. “Riverside is overrun with + them. This house is badly placed . . . mosquitos . . . and these big flies + . . . . last week stung Nina . . . been ill four days . . . poor child. . + . . I wonder what such damned things are made for!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER TWO + </h2> + <p> + After a long silence, during which Almayer had moved towards the table and + sat down, his head between his hands, staring straight before him, + Lingard, who had recommenced walking, cleared his throat and said— + </p> + <p> + “What was it you were saying?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Yes! You should have seen this settlement that night. I don’t think + anybody went to bed. I walked down to the point, and could see them. They + had a big bonfire in the palm grove, and the talk went on there till the + morning. When I came back here and sat in the dark verandah in this quiet + house I felt so frightfully lonely that I stole in and took the child out + of her cot and brought her here into my hammock. If it hadn’t been for her + I am sure I would have gone mad; I felt so utterly alone and helpless. + Remember, I hadn’t heard from you for four months. Didn’t know whether you + were alive or dead. Patalolo would have nothing to do with me. My own men + were deserting me like rats do a sinking hulk. That was a black night for + me, Captain Lingard. A black night as I sat here not knowing what would + happen next. They were so excited and rowdy that I really feared they + would come and burn the house over my head. I went and brought my + revolver. Laid it loaded on the table. There were such awful yells now and + then. Luckily the child slept through it, and seeing her so pretty and + peaceful steadied me somehow. Couldn’t believe there was any violence in + this world, looking at her lying so quiet and so unconscious of what went + on. But it was very hard. Everything was at an end. You must understand + that on that night there was no government in Sambir. Nothing to restrain + those fellows. Patalolo had collapsed. I was abandoned by my own people, + and all that lot could vent their spite on me if they wanted. They know no + gratitude. How many times haven’t I saved this settlement from starvation? + Absolute starvation. Only three months ago I distributed again a lot of + rice on credit. There was nothing to eat in this infernal place. They came + begging on their knees. There isn’t a man in Sambir, big or little, who is + not in debt to Lingard & Co. Not one. You ought to be satisfied. You + always said that was the right policy for us. Well, I carried it out. Ah! + Captain Lingard, a policy like that should be backed by loaded rifles . . + .” + </p> + <p> + “You had them!” exclaimed Lingard in the midst of his promenade, that went + on more rapid as Almayer talked: the headlong tramp of a man hurrying on + to do something violent. The verandah was full of dust, oppressive and + choking, which rose under the old seaman’s feet, and made Almayer cough + again and again. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I had! Twenty. And not a finger to pull a trigger. It’s easy to + talk,” he spluttered, his face very red. + </p> + <p> + Lingard dropped into a chair, and leaned back with one hand stretched out + at length upon the table, the other thrown over the back of his seat. The + dust settled, and the sun surging above the forest flooded the verandah + with a clear light. Almayer got up and busied himself in lowering the + split rattan screens that hung between the columns of the verandah. + </p> + <p> + “Phew!” said Lingard, “it will be a hot day. That’s right, my boy. Keep + the sun out. We don’t want to be roasted alive here.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer came back, sat down, and spoke very calmly— + </p> + <p> + “In the morning I went across to see Patalolo. I took the child with me, + of course. I found the water-gate barred, and had to walk round through + the bushes. Patalolo received me lying on the floor, in the dark, all the + shutters closed. I could get nothing out of him but lamentations and + groans. He said you must be dead. That Lakamba was coming now with + Abdulla’s guns to kill everybody. Said he did not mind being killed, as he + was an old man, but that the wish of his heart was to make a pilgrimage. + He was tired of men’s ingratitude—he had no heirs—he wanted to + go to Mecca and die there. He would ask Abdulla to let him go. Then he + abused Lakamba—between sobs—and you, a little. You prevented + him from asking for a flag that would have been respected—he was + right there—and now when his enemies were strong he was weak, and + you were not there to help him. When I tried to put some heart into him, + telling him he had four big guns—you know the brass six-pounders you + left here last year—and that I would get powder, and that, perhaps, + together we could make head against Lakamba, he simply howled at me. No + matter which way he turned—he shrieked—the white men would be + the death of him, while he wanted only to be a pilgrim and be at peace. My + belief is,” added Almayer, after a short pause, and fixing a dull stare + upon Lingard, “that the old fool saw this thing coming for a long time, + and was not only too frightened to do anything himself, but actually too + scared to let you or me know of his suspicions. Another of your particular + pets! Well! You have a lucky hand, I must say!” + </p> + <p> + Lingard struck a sudden blow on the table with his clenched hand. There + was a sharp crack of splitting wood. Almayer started up violently, then + fell back in his chair and looked at the table. + </p> + <p> + “There!” he said, moodily, “you don’t know your own strength. This table + is completely ruined. The only table I had been able to save from my wife. + By and by I will have to eat squatting on the floor like a native.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard laughed heartily. “Well then, don’t nag at me like a woman at a + drunken husband!” He became very serious after awhile, and added, “If it + hadn’t been for the loss of the Flash I would have been here three months + ago, and all would have been well. No use crying over that. Don’t you be + uneasy, Kaspar. We will have everything ship-shape here in a very short + time.” + </p> + <p> + “What? You don’t mean to expel Abdulla out of here by force! I tell you, + you can’t.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I!” exclaimed Lingard. “That’s all over, I am afraid. Great pity. + They will suffer for it. He will squeeze them. Great pity. Damn it! I feel + so sorry for them if I had the Flash here I would try force. Eh! Why not? + However, the poor Flash is gone, and there is an end of it. Poor old + hooker. Hey, Almayer? You made a voyage or two with me. Wasn’t she a sweet + craft? Could make her do anything but talk. She was better than a wife to + me. Never scolded. Hey? . . . And to think that it should come to this. + That I should leave her poor old bones sticking on a reef as though I had + been a damned fool of a southern-going man who must have half a mile of + water under his keel to be safe! Well! well! It’s only those who do + nothing that make no mistakes, I suppose. But it’s hard. Hard.” + </p> + <p> + He nodded sadly, with his eyes on the ground. Almayer looked at him with + growing indignation. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word, you are heartless,” he burst out; “perfectly heartless—and + selfish. It does not seem to strike you—in all that—that in + losing your ship—by your recklessness, I am sure—you ruin me—us, + and my little Nina. What’s going to become of me and of her? That’s what I + want to know. You brought me here, made me your partner, and now, when + everything is gone to the devil—through your fault, mind you—you + talk about your ship . . . ship! You can get another. But here. This + trade. That’s gone now, thanks to Willems. . . . Your dear Willems!” + </p> + <p> + “Never you mind about Willems. I will look after him,” said Lingard, + severely. “And as to the trade . . . I will make your fortune yet, my boy. + Never fear. Have you got any cargo for the schooner that brought me here?” + </p> + <p> + “The shed is full of rattans,” answered Almayer, “and I have about eighty + tons of guttah in the well. The last lot I ever will have, no doubt,” he + added, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “So, after all, there was no robbery. You’ve lost nothing actually. Well, + then, you must . . . Hallo! What’s the matter! . . . Here! . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Robbery! No!” screamed Almayer, throwing up his hands. + </p> + <p> + He fell back in the chair and his face became purple. A little white foam + appeared on his lips and trickled down his chin, while he lay back, + showing the whites of his upturned eyes. When he came to himself he saw + Lingard standing over him, with an empty water-chatty in his hand. + </p> + <p> + “You had a fit of some kind,” said the old seaman with much concern. “What + is it? You did give me a fright. So very sudden.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer, his hair all wet and stuck to his head, as if he had been diving, + sat up and gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Outrage! A fiendish outrage. I . . .” + </p> + <p> + Lingard put the chatty on the table and looked at him in attentive + silence. Almayer passed his hand over his forehead and went on in an + unsteady tone: + </p> + <p> + “When I remember that, I lose all control,” he said. “I told you he + anchored Abdulla’s ship abreast our jetty, but over to the other shore, + near the Rajah’s place. The ship was surrounded with boats. From here it + looked as if she had been landed on a raft. Every dugout in Sambir was + there. Through my glass I could distinguish the faces of people on the + poop—Abdulla, Willems, Lakamba—everybody. That old cringing + scoundrel Sahamin was there. I could see quite plain. There seemed to be + much talk and discussion. Finally I saw a ship’s boat lowered. Some Arab + got into her, and the boat went towards Patalolo’s landing-place. It seems + they had been refused admittance—so they say. I think myself that + the water-gate was not unbarred quick enough to please the exalted + messenger. At any rate I saw the boat come back almost directly. I was + looking on, rather interested, when I saw Willems and some more go forward—very + busy about something there. That woman was also amongst them. Ah, that + woman . . .” + </p> + <p> + Almayer choked, and seemed on the point of having a relapse, but by a + violent effort regained a comparative composure. + </p> + <p> + “All of a sudden,” he continued—“bang! They fired a shot into + Patalolo’s gate, and before I had time to catch my breath—I was + startled, you may believe—they sent another and burst the gate open. + Whereupon, I suppose, they thought they had done enough for a while, and + probably felt hungry, for a feast began aft. Abdulla sat amongst them like + an idol, cross-legged, his hands on his lap. He’s too great altogether to + eat when others do, but he presided, you see. Willems kept on dodging + about forward, aloof from the crowd, and looking at my house through the + ship’s long glass. I could not resist it. I shook my fist at him.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” said Lingard, gravely. “That was the thing to do, of course. If + you can’t fight a man the best thing is to exasperate him.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer waved his hand in a superior manner, and continued, unmoved: “You + may say what you like. You can’t realize my feelings. He saw me, and, with + his eye still at the small end of the glass, lifted his arm as if + answering a hail. I thought my turn to be shot at would come next after + Patalolo, so I ran up the Union Jack to the flagstaff in the yard. I had + no other protection. There were only three men besides Ali that stuck to + me—three cripples, for that matter, too sick to get away. I would + have fought singlehanded, I think, I was that angry, but there was the + child. What to do with her? Couldn’t send her up the river with the + mother. You know I can’t trust my wife. I decided to keep very quiet, but + to let nobody land on our shore. Private property, that; under a deed from + Patalolo. I was within my right—wasn’t I? The morning was very + quiet. After they had a feed on board the barque with Abdulla most of them + went home; only the big people remained. Towards three o’clock Sahamin + crossed alone in a small canoe. I went down on our wharf with my gun to + speak to him, but didn’t let him land. The old hypocrite said Abdulla sent + greetings and wished to talk with me on business; would I come on board? I + said no; I would not. Told him that Abdulla may write and I would answer, + but no interview, neither on board his ship nor on shore. I also said that + if anybody attempted to land within my fences I would shoot—no + matter whom. On that he lifted his hands to heaven, scandalized, and then + paddled away pretty smartly—to report, I suppose. An hour or so + afterwards I saw Willems land a boat party at the Rajah’s. It was very + quiet. Not a shot was fired, and there was hardly any shouting. They + tumbled those brass guns you presented to Patalolo last year down the bank + into the river. It’s deep there close to. The channel runs that way, you + know. About five, Willems went back on board, and I saw him join Abdulla + by the wheel aft. He talked a lot, swinging his arms about—seemed to + explain things—pointed at my house, then down the reach. Finally, + just before sunset, they hove upon the cable and dredged the ship down + nearly half a mile to the junction of the two branches of the river—where + she is now, as you might have seen.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard nodded. + </p> + <p> + “That evening, after dark—I was informed—Abdulla landed for + the first time in Sambir. He was entertained in Sahamin’s house. I sent + Ali to the settlement for news. He returned about nine, and reported that + Patalolo was sitting on Abdulla’s left hand before Sahamin’s fire. There + was a great council. Ali seemed to think that Patalolo was a prisoner, but + he was wrong there. They did the trick very neatly. Before midnight + everything was arranged as I can make out. Patalolo went back to his + demolished stockade, escorted by a dozen boats with torches. It appears he + begged Abdulla to let him have a passage in the Lord of the Isles to + Penang. From there he would go to Mecca. The firing business was alluded + to as a mistake. No doubt it was in a sense. Patalolo never meant + resisting. So he is going as soon as the ship is ready for sea. He went on + board next day with three women and half a dozen fellows as old as + himself. By Abdulla’s orders he was received with a salute of seven guns, + and he has been living on board ever since—five weeks. I doubt + whether he will leave the river alive. At any rate he won’t live to reach + Penang. Lakamba took over all his goods, and gave him a draft on Abdulla’s + house payable in Penang. He is bound to die before he gets there. Don’t + you see?” + </p> + <p> + He sat silent for a while in dejected meditation, then went on: + </p> + <p> + “Of course there were several rows during the night. Various fellows took + the opportunity of the unsettled state of affairs to pay off old scores + and settle old grudges. I passed the night in that chair there, dozing + uneasily. Now and then there would be a great tumult and yelling which + would make me sit up, revolver in hand. However, nobody was killed. A few + broken heads—that’s all. Early in the morning Willems caused them to + make a fresh move which I must say surprised me not a little. As soon as + there was daylight they busied themselves in setting up a flag-pole on the + space at the other end of the settlement, where Abdulla is having his + houses built now. Shortly after sunrise there was a great gathering at the + flag-pole. All went there. Willems was standing leaning against the mast, + one arm over that woman’s shoulders. They had brought an armchair for + Patalolo, and Lakamba stood on the right hand of the old man, who made a + speech. Everybody in Sambir was there: women, slaves, children—everybody! + Then Patalolo spoke. He said that by the mercy of the Most High he was + going on a pilgrimage. The dearest wish of his heart was to be + accomplished. Then, turning to Lakamba, he begged him to rule justly + during his—Patalolo’s—absence There was a bit of play-acting + there. Lakamba said he was unworthy of the honourable burden, and Patalolo + insisted. Poor old fool! It must have been bitter to him. They made him + actually entreat that scoundrel. Fancy a man compelled to beg of a robber + to despoil him! But the old Rajah was so frightened. Anyway, he did it, + and Lakamba accepted at last. Then Willems made a speech to the crowd. + Said that on his way to the west the Rajah—he meant Patalolo—would + see the Great White Ruler in Batavia and obtain his protection for Sambir. + Meantime, he went on, I, an Orang Blanda and your friend, hoist the flag + under the shadow of which there is safety. With that he ran up a Dutch + flag to the mast-head. It was made hurriedly, during the night, of cotton + stuffs, and, being heavy, hung down the mast, while the crowd stared. Ali + told me there was a great sigh of surprise, but not a word was spoken till + Lakamba advanced and proclaimed in a loud voice that during all that day + every one passing by the flagstaff must uncover his head and salaam before + the emblem.” + </p> + <p> + “But, hang it all!” exclaimed Lingard—“Abdulla is British!” + </p> + <p> + “Abdulla wasn’t there at all—did not go on shore that day. Yet Ali, + who has his wits about him, noticed that the space where the crowd stood + was under the guns of the Lord of the Isles. They had put a coir warp + ashore, and gave the barque a cant in the current, so as to bring the + broadside to bear on the flagstaff. Clever! Eh? But nobody dreamt of + resistance. When they recovered from the surprise there was a little quiet + jeering; and Bahassoen abused Lakamba violently till one of Lakamba’s men + hit him on the head with a staff. Frightful crack, I am told. Then they + left off jeering. Meantime Patalolo went away, and Lakamba sat in the + chair at the foot of the flagstaff, while the crowd surged around, as if + they could not make up their minds to go. Suddenly there was a great noise + behind Lakamba’s chair. It was that woman, who went for Willems. Ali says + she was like a wild beast, but he twisted her wrist and made her grovel in + the dust. Nobody knows exactly what it was about. Some say it was about + that flag. He carried her off, flung her into a canoe, and went on board + Abdulla’s ship. After that Sahamin was the first to salaam to the flag. + Others followed suit. Before noon everything was quiet in the settlement, + and Ali came back and told me all this.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer drew a long breath. Lingard stretched out his legs. + </p> + <p> + “Go on!” he said. + </p> + <p> + Almayer seemed to struggle with himself. At last he spluttered out: + </p> + <p> + “The hardest is to tell yet. The most unheard-of thing! An outrage! A + fiendish outrage!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THREE + </h2> + <p> + “Well! Let’s know all about it. I can’t imagine . . .” began Lingard, + after waiting for some time in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Can’t imagine! I should think you couldn’t,” interrupted Almayer. “Why! . + . . You just listen. When Ali came back I felt a little easier in my mind. + There was then some semblance of order in Sambir. I had the Jack up since + the morning and began to feel safer. Some of my men turned up in the + afternoon. I did not ask any questions; set them to work as if nothing had + happened. Towards the evening—it might have been five or half-past—I + was on our jetty with the child when I heard shouts at the far-off end of + the settlement. At first I didn’t take much notice. By and by Ali came to + me and says, ‘Master, give me the child, there is much trouble in the + settlement.’ So I gave him Nina and went in, took my revolver, and passed + through the house into the back courtyard. As I came down the steps I saw + all the serving girls clear out from the cooking shed, and I heard a big + crowd howling on the other side of the dry ditch which is the limit of our + ground. Could not see them on account of the fringe of bushes along the + ditch, but I knew that crowd was angry and after somebody. As I stood + wondering, that Jim-Eng—you know the Chinaman who settled here a + couple of years ago?” + </p> + <p> + “He was my passenger; I brought him here,” exclaimed Lingard. “A + first-class Chinaman that.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you? I had forgotten. Well, that Jim-Eng, he burst through the bush + and fell into my arms, so to speak. He told me, panting, that they were + after him because he wouldn’t take off his hat to the flag. He was not so + much scared, but he was very angry and indignant. Of course he had to run + for it; there were some fifty men after him—Lakamba’s friends—but + he was full of fight. Said he was an Englishman, and would not take off + his hat to any flag but English. I tried to soothe him while the crowd was + shouting on the other side of the ditch. I told him he must take one of my + canoes and cross the river. Stop on the other side for a couple of days. + He wouldn’t. Not he. He was English, and he would fight the whole lot. + Says he: ‘They are only black fellows. We white men,’ meaning me and + himself, ‘can fight everybody in Sambir.’ He was mad with passion. The + crowd quieted a little, and I thought I could shelter Jim-Eng without much + risk, when all of a sudden I heard Willems’ voice. He shouted to me in + English: ‘Let four men enter your compound to get that Chinaman!’ I said + nothing. Told Jim-Eng to keep quiet too. Then after a while Willems shouts + again: ‘Don’t resist, Almayer. I give you good advice. I am keeping this + crowd back. Don’t resist them!’ That beggar’s voice enraged me; I could + not help it. I cried to him: ‘You are a liar!’ and just then Jim-Eng, who + had flung off his jacket and had tucked up his trousers ready for a fight; + just then that fellow he snatches the revolver out of my hand and lets fly + at them through the bush. There was a sharp cry—he must have hit + somebody—and a great yell, and before I could wink twice they were + over the ditch and through the bush and on top of us! Simply rolled over + us! There wasn’t the slightest chance to resist. I was trampled under + foot, Jim-Eng got a dozen gashes about his body, and we were carried + halfway up the yard in the first rush. My eyes and mouth were full of + dust; I was on my back with three or four fellows sitting on me. I could + hear Jim-Eng trying to shout not very far from me. Now and then they would + throttle him and he would gurgle. I could hardly breathe myself with two + heavy fellows on my chest. Willems came up running and ordered them to + raise me up, but to keep good hold. They led me into the verandah. I + looked round, but did not see either Ali or the child. Felt easier. + Struggled a little. . . . Oh, my God!” + </p> + <p> + Almayer’s face was distorted with a passing spasm of rage. Lingard moved + in his chair slightly. Almayer went on after a short pause: + </p> + <p> + “They held me, shouting threats in my face. Willems took down my hammock + and threw it to them. He pulled out the drawer of this table, and found + there a palm and needle and some sail-twine. We were making awnings for + your brig, as you had asked me last voyage before you left. He knew, of + course, where to look for what he wanted. By his orders they laid me out + on the floor, wrapped me in my hammock, and he started to stitch me in, as + if I had been a corpse, beginning at the feet. While he worked he laughed + wickedly. I called him all the names I could think of. He told them to put + their dirty paws over my mouth and nose. I was nearly choked. Whenever I + moved they punched me in the ribs. He went on taking fresh needlefuls as + he wanted them, and working steadily. Sewed me up to my throat. Then he + rose, saying, ‘That will do; let go.’ That woman had been standing by; + they must have been reconciled. She clapped her hands. I lay on the floor + like a bale of goods while he stared at me, and the woman shrieked with + delight. Like a bale of goods! There was a grin on every face, and the + verandah was full of them. I wished myself dead—‘pon my word, + Captain Lingard, I did! I do now whenever I think of it!” + </p> + <p> + Lingard’s face expressed sympathetic indignation. Almayer dropped his head + upon his arms on the table, and spoke in that position in an indistinct + and muffled voice, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “Finally, by his directions, they flung me into the big rocking-chair. I + was sewed in so tight that I was stiff like a piece of wood. He was giving + orders in a very loud voice, and that man Babalatchi saw that they were + executed. They obeyed him implicitly. Meantime I lay there in the chair + like a log, and that woman capered before me and made faces; snapped her + fingers before my nose. Women are bad!—ain’t they? I never saw her + before, as far as I know. Never done anything to her. Yet she was + perfectly fiendish. Can you understand it? Now and then she would leave me + alone to hang round his neck for awhile, and then she would return before + my chair and begin her exercises again. He looked on, indulgent. The + perspiration ran down my face, got into my eyes—my arms were sewn + in. I was blinded half the time; at times I could see better. She drags + him before my chair. ‘I am like white women,’ she says, her arms round his + neck. You should have seen the faces of the fellows in the verandah! They + were scandalized and ashamed of themselves to see her behaviour. Suddenly + she asks him, alluding to me: ‘When are you going to kill him?’ Imagine + how I felt. I must have swooned; I don’t remember exactly. I fancy there + was a row; he was angry. When I got my wits again he was sitting close to + me, and she was gone. I understood he sent her to my wife, who was hiding + in the back room and never came out during this affair. Willems says to me—I + fancy I can hear his voice, hoarse and dull—he says to me: ‘Not a + hair of your head shall be touched.’ I made no sound. Then he goes on: + ‘Please remark that the flag you have hoisted—which, by the by, is + not yours—has been respected. Tell Captain Lingard so when you do + see him. But,’ he says, ‘you first fired at the crowd.’ ‘You are a liar, + you blackguard!’ I shouted. He winced, I am sure. It hurt him to see I was + not frightened. ‘Anyways,’ he says, ‘a shot had been fired out of your + compound and a man was hit. Still, all your property shall be respected on + account of the Union Jack. Moreover, I have no quarrel with Captain + Lingard, who is the senior partner in this business. As to you,’ he + continued, ‘you will not forget this day—not if you live to be a + hundred years old—or I don’t know your nature. You will keep the + bitter taste of this humiliation to the last day of your life, and so your + kindness to me shall be repaid. I shall remove all the powder you have. + This coast is under the protection of the Netherlands, and you have no + right to have any powder. There are the Governor’s Orders in Council to + that effect, and you know it. Tell me where the key of the small + storehouse is?’ I said not a word, and he waited a little, then rose, + saying: ‘It’s your own fault if there is any damage done.’ He ordered + Babalatchi to have the lock of the office-room forced, and went in—rummaged + amongst my drawers—could not find the key. Then that woman Aissa + asked my wife, and she gave them the key. After awhile they tumbled every + barrel into the river. Eighty-three hundredweight! He superintended + himself, and saw every barrel roll into the water. There were mutterings. + Babalatchi was angry and tried to expostulate, but he gave him a good + shaking. I must say he was perfectly fearless with those fellows. Then he + came back to the verandah, sat down by me again, and says: ‘We found your + man Ali with your little daughter hiding in the bushes up the river. We + brought them in. They are perfectly safe, of course. Let me congratulate + you, Almayer, upon the cleverness of your child. She recognized me at + once, and cried “pig” as naturally as you would yourself. Circumstances + alter feelings. You should have seen how frightened your man Ali was. + Clapped his hands over her mouth. I think you spoil her, Almayer. But I am + not angry. Really, you look so ridiculous in this chair that I can’t feel + angry.’ I made a frantic effort to burst out of my hammock to get at that + scoundrel’s throat, but I only fell off and upset the chair over myself. + He laughed and said only: ‘I leave you half of your revolver cartridges + and take half myself; they will fit mine. We are both white men, and + should back each other up. I may want them.’ I shouted at him from under + the chair: ‘You are a thief,’ but he never looked, and went away, one hand + round that woman’s waist, the other on Babalatchi’s shoulder, to whom he + was talking—laying down the law about something or other. In less + than five minutes there was nobody inside our fences. After awhile Ali + came to look for me and cut me free. I haven’t seen Willems since—nor + anybody else for that matter. I have been left alone. I offered sixty + dollars to the man who had been wounded, which were accepted. They + released Jim-Eng the next day, when the flag had been hauled down. He sent + six cases of opium to me for safe keeping but has not left his house. I + think he is safe enough now. Everything is very quiet.” + </p> + <p> + Towards the end of his narrative Almayer lifted his head off the table, + and now sat back in his chair and stared at the bamboo rafters of the roof + above him. Lingard lolled in his seat with his legs stretched out. In the + peaceful gloom of the verandah, with its lowered screens, they heard faint + noises from the world outside in the blazing sunshine: a hail on the + river, the answer from the shore, the creak of a pulley; sounds short, + interrupted, as if lost suddenly in the brilliance of noonday. Lingard got + up slowly, walked to the front rail, and holding one of the screens aside, + looked out in silence. Over the water and the empty courtyard came a + distinct voice from a small schooner anchored abreast of the Lingard + jetty. + </p> + <p> + “Serang! Take a pull at the main peak halyards. This gaff is down on the + boom.” + </p> + <p> + There was a shrill pipe dying in long-drawn cadence, the song of the men + swinging on the rope. The voice said sharply: “That will do!” Another + voice—the serang’s probably—shouted: “Ikat!” and as Lingard + dropped the blind and turned away all was silent again, as if there had + been nothing on the other side of the swaying screen; nothing but the + light, brilliant, crude, heavy, lying on a dead land like a pall of fire. + Lingard sat down again, facing Almayer, his elbow on the table, in a + thoughtful attitude. + </p> + <p> + “Nice little schooner,” muttered Almayer, wearily. “Did you buy her?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” answered Lingard. “After I lost the Flash we got to Palembang in our + boats. I chartered her there, for six months. From young Ford, you know. + Belongs to him. He wanted a spell ashore, so I took charge myself. Of + course all Ford’s people on board. Strangers to me. I had to go to + Singapore about the insurance; then I went to Macassar, of course. Had + long passages. No wind. It was like a curse on me. I had lots of trouble + with old Hudig. That delayed me much.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! Hudig! Why with Hudig?” asked Almayer, in a perfunctory manner. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! about a . . . a woman,” mumbled Lingard. + </p> + <p> + Almayer looked at him with languid surprise. The old seaman had twisted + his white beard into a point, and now was busy giving his moustaches a + fierce curl. His little red eyes—those eyes that had smarted under + the salt sprays of every sea, that had looked unwinking to windward in the + gales of all latitudes—now glared at Almayer from behind the lowered + eyebrows like a pair of frightened wild beasts crouching in a bush. + </p> + <p> + “Extraordinary! So like you! What can you have to do with Hudig’s women? + The old sinner!” said Almayer, negligently. + </p> + <p> + “What are you talking about! Wife of a friend of . . . I mean of a man I + know . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Still, I don’t see . . .” interjected Almayer carelessly. + </p> + <p> + “Of a man you know too. Well. Very well.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew so many men before you made me bury myself in this hole!” growled + Almayer, unamiably. “If she had anything to do with Hudig—that wife—then + she can’t be up to much. I would be sorry for the man,” added Almayer, + brightening up with the recollection of the scandalous tittle-tattle of + the past, when he was a young man in the second capital of the Islands—and + so well informed, so well informed. He laughed. Lingard’s frown deepened. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t talk foolish! It’s Willems’ wife.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer grasped the sides of his seat, his eyes and mouth opened wide. + </p> + <p> + “What? Why!” he exclaimed, bewildered. + </p> + <p> + “Willems’—wife,” repeated Lingard distinctly. “You ain’t deaf, are + you? The wife of Willems. Just so. As to why! There was a promise. And I + did not know what had happened here.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it. You’ve been giving her money, I bet,” cried Almayer. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no!” said Lingard, deliberately. “Although I suppose I shall have + to . . .” + </p> + <p> + Almayer groaned. + </p> + <p> + “The fact is,” went on Lingard, speaking slowly and steadily, “the fact is + that I have . . . I have brought her here. Here. To Sambir.” + </p> + <p> + “In heaven’s name! why?” shouted Almayer, jumping up. The chair tilted and + fell slowly over. He raised his clasped hands above his head and brought + them down jerkily, separating his fingers with an effort, as if tearing + them apart. Lingard nodded, quickly, several times. + </p> + <p> + “I have. Awkward. Hey?” he said, with a puzzled look upwards. + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word,” said Almayer, tearfully. “I can’t understand you at all. + What will you do next! Willems’ wife!” + </p> + <p> + “Wife and child. Small boy, you know. They are on board the schooner.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer looked at Lingard with sudden suspicion, then turning away busied + himself in picking up the chair, sat down in it turning his back upon the + old seaman, and tried to whistle, but gave it up directly. Lingard went on— + </p> + <p> + “Fact is, the fellow got into trouble with Hudig. Worked upon my feelings. + I promised to arrange matters. I did. With much trouble. Hudig was angry + with her for wishing to join her husband. Unprincipled old fellow. You + know she is his daughter. Well, I said I would see her through it all + right; help Willems to a fresh start and so on. I spoke to Craig in + Palembang. He is getting on in years, and wanted a manager or partner. I + promised to guarantee Willems’ good behaviour. We settled all that. Craig + is an old crony of mine. Been shipmates in the forties. He’s waiting for + him now. A pretty mess! What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + Almayer shrugged his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + “That woman broke with Hudig on my assurance that all would be well,” went + on Lingard, with growing dismay. “She did. Proper thing, of course. Wife, + husband . . . together . . . as it should be . . . Smart fellow . . . + Impossible scoundrel . . . Jolly old go! Oh! damn!” + </p> + <p> + Almayer laughed spitefully. + </p> + <p> + “How delighted he will be,” he said, softly. “You will make two people + happy. Two at least!” He laughed again, while Lingard looked at his + shaking shoulders in consternation. + </p> + <p> + “I am jammed on a lee shore this time, if ever I was,” muttered Lingard. + </p> + <p> + “Send her back quick,” suggested Almayer, stifling another laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What are you sniggering at?” growled Lingard, angrily. “I’ll work it out + all clear yet. Meantime you must receive her into this house.” + </p> + <p> + “My house!” cried Almayer, turning round. + </p> + <p> + “It’s mine too—a little isn’t it?” said Lingard. “Don’t argue,” he + shouted, as Almayer opened his mouth. “Obey orders and hold your tongue!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! If you take it in that tone!” mumbled Almayer, sulkily, with a + gesture of assent. + </p> + <p> + “You are so aggravating too, my boy,” said the old seaman, with unexpected + placidity. “You must give me time to turn round. I can’t keep her on board + all the time. I must tell her something. Say, for instance, that he is + gone up the river. Expected back every day. That’s it. D’ye hear? You must + put her on that tack and dodge her along easy, while I take the kinks out + of the situation. By God!” he exclaimed, mournfully, after a short pause, + “life is foul! Foul like a lee forebrace on a dirty night. And yet. And + yet. One must see it clear for running before going below—for good. + Now you attend to what I said,” he added, sharply, “if you don’t want to + quarrel with me, my boy.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to quarrel with you,” murmured Almayer with unwilling + deference. “Only I wish I could understand you. I know you are my best + friend, Captain Lingard; only, upon my word, I can’t make you out + sometimes! I wish I could . . .” + </p> + <p> + Lingard burst into a loud laugh which ended shortly in a deep sigh. He + closed his eyes, tilting his head over the back of his armchair; and on + his face, baked by the unclouded suns of many hard years, there appeared + for a moment a weariness and a look of age which startled Almayer, like an + unexpected disclosure of evil. + </p> + <p> + “I am done up,” said Lingard, gently. “Perfectly done up. All night on + deck getting that schooner up the river. Then talking with you. Seems to + me I could go to sleep on a clothes-line. I should like to eat something + though. Just see about that, Kaspar.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer clapped his hands, and receiving no response was going to call, + when in the central passage of the house, behind the red curtain of the + doorway opening upon the verandah, they heard a child’s imperious voice + speaking shrilly. + </p> + <p> + “Take me up at once. I want to be carried into the verandah. I shall be + very angry. Take me up.” + </p> + <p> + A man’s voice answered, subdued, in humble remonstrance. The faces of + Almayer and Lingard brightened at once. The old seaman called out— + </p> + <p> + “Bring the child. Lekas!” + </p> + <p> + “You will see how she has grown,” exclaimed Almayer, in a jubilant tone. + </p> + <p> + Through the curtained doorway Ali appeared with little Nina Almayer in his + arms. The child had one arm round his neck, and with the other she hugged + a ripe pumelo nearly as big as her own head. Her little pink, sleeveless + robe had half slipped off her shoulders, but the long black hair, that + framed her olive face, in which the big black eyes looked out in childish + solemnity, fell in luxuriant profusion over her shoulders, all round her + and over Ali’s arms, like a close-meshed and delicate net of silken + threads. Lingard got up to meet Ali, and as soon as she caught sight of + the old seaman she dropped the fruit and put out both her hands with a cry + of delight. He took her from the Malay, and she laid hold of his + moustaches with an affectionate goodwill that brought unaccustomed tears + into his little red eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Not so hard, little one, not so hard,” he murmured, pressing with an + enormous hand, that covered it entirely, the child’s head to his face. + </p> + <p> + “Pick up my pumelo, O Rajah of the sea!” she said, speaking in a + high-pitched, clear voice with great volubility. “There, under the table. + I want it quick! Quick! You have been away fighting with many men. Ali + says so. You are a mighty fighter. Ali says so. On the great sea far away, + away, away.” + </p> + <p> + She waved her hand, staring with dreamy vacancy, while Lingard looked at + her, and squatting down groped under the table after the pumelo. + </p> + <p> + “Where does she get those notions?” said Lingard, getting up cautiously, + to Almayer, who had been giving orders to Ali. + </p> + <p> + “She is always with the men. Many a time I’ve found her with her fingers + in their rice dish, of an evening. She does not care for her mother though—I + am glad to say. How pretty she is—and so sharp. My very image!” + </p> + <p> + Lingard had put the child on the table, and both men stood looking at her + with radiant faces. + </p> + <p> + “A perfect little woman,” whispered Lingard. “Yes, my dear boy, we shall + make her somebody. You’ll see!” + </p> + <p> + “Very little chance of that now,” remarked Almayer, sadly. + </p> + <p> + “You do not know!” exclaimed Lingard, taking up the child again, and + beginning to walk up and down the verandah. “I have my plans. I have—listen.” + </p> + <p> + And he began to explain to the interested Almayer his plans for the + future. He would interview Abdulla and Lakamba. There must be some + understanding with those fellows now they had the upper hand. Here he + interrupted himself to swear freely, while the child, who had been + diligently fumbling about his neck, had found his whistle and blew a loud + blast now and then close to his ear—which made him wince and laugh + as he put her hands down, scolding her lovingly. Yes—that would be + easily settled. He was a man to be reckoned with yet. Nobody knew that + better than Almayer. Very well. Then he must patiently try and keep some + little trade together. It would be all right. But the great thing—and + here Lingard spoke lower, bringing himself to a sudden standstill before + the entranced Almayer—the great thing would be the gold hunt up the + river. He—Lingard—would devote himself to it. He had been in + the interior before. There were immense deposits of alluvial gold there. + Fabulous. He felt sure. Had seen places. Dangerous work? Of course! But + what a reward! He would explore—and find. Not a shadow of doubt. + Hang the danger! They would first get as much as they could for + themselves. Keep the thing quiet. Then after a time form a Company. In + Batavia or in England. Yes, in England. Much better. Splendid! Why, of + course. And that baby would be the richest woman in the world. He—Lingard—would + not, perhaps, see it—although he felt good for many years yet—but + Almayer would. Here was something to live for yet! Hey? + </p> + <p> + But the richest woman in the world had been for the last five minutes + shouting shrilly—“Rajah Laut! Rajah Laut! Hai! Give ear!” while the + old seaman had been speaking louder, unconsciously, to make his deep bass + heard above the impatient clamour. He stopped now and said tenderly— + </p> + <p> + “What is it, little woman?” + </p> + <p> + “I am not a little woman. I am a white child. Anak Putih. A white child; + and the white men are my brothers. Father says so. And Ali says so too. + Ali knows as much as father. Everything.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer almost danced with paternal delight. + </p> + <p> + “I taught her. I taught her,” he repeated, laughing with tears in his + eyes. “Isn’t she sharp?” + </p> + <p> + “I am the slave of the white child,” said Lingard, with playful solemnity. + “What is the order?” + </p> + <p> + “I want a house,” she warbled, with great eagerness. “I want a house, and + another house on the roof, and another on the roof—high. High! Like + the places where they dwell—my brothers—in the land where the + sun sleeps.” + </p> + <p> + “To the westward,” explained Almayer, under his breath. “She remembers + everything. She wants you to build a house of cards. You did, last time + you were here.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard sat down with the child on his knees, and Almayer pulled out + violently one drawer after another, looking for the cards, as if the fate + of the world depended upon his haste. He produced a dirty double pack + which was only used during Lingard’s visit to Sambir, when he would + sometimes play—of an evening—with Almayer, a game which he + called Chinese bezique. It bored Almayer, but the old seaman delighted in + it, considering it a remarkable product of Chinese genius—a race for + which he had an unaccountable liking and admiration. + </p> + <p> + “Now we will get on, my little pearl,” he said, putting together with + extreme precaution two cards that looked absurdly flimsy between his big + fingers. Little Nina watched him with intense seriousness as he went on + erecting the ground floor, while he continued to speak to Almayer with his + head over his shoulder so as not to endanger the structure with his + breath. + </p> + <p> + “I know what I am talking about. . . . Been in California in forty-nine. . + . . Not that I made much . . . then in Victoria in the early days . . . . + I know all about it. Trust me. Moreover a blind man could . . . Be quiet, + little sister, or you will knock this affair down. . . . My hand pretty + steady yet! Hey, Kaspar? . . . Now, delight of my heart, we shall put a + third house on the top of these two . . . keep very quiet. . . . As I was + saying, you got only to stoop and gather handfuls of gold . . . dust . . . + there. Now here we are. Three houses on top of one another. Grand!” + </p> + <p> + He leaned back in his chair, one hand on the child’s head, which he + smoothed mechanically, and gesticulated with the other, speaking to + Almayer. + </p> + <p> + “Once on the spot, there would be only the trouble to pick up the stuff. + Then we shall all go to Europe. The child must be educated. We shall be + rich. Rich is no name for it. Down in Devonshire where I belong, there was + a fellow who built a house near Teignmouth which had as many windows as a + three-decker has ports. Made all his money somewhere out here in the good + old days. People around said he had been a pirate. We boys—I was a + boy in a Brixham trawler then—certainly believed that. He went about + in a bath-chair in his grounds. Had a glass eye . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Higher, Higher!” called out Nina, pulling the old seaman’s beard. + </p> + <p> + “You do worry me—don’t you?” said Lingard, gently, giving her a + tender kiss. “What? One more house on top of all these? Well! I will try.” + </p> + <p> + The child watched him breathlessly. When the difficult feat was + accomplished she clapped her hands, looked on steadily, and after a while + gave a great sigh of content. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Look out!” shouted Almayer. + </p> + <p> + The structure collapsed suddenly before the child’s light breath. Lingard + looked discomposed for a moment. Almayer laughed, but the little girl + began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “Take her,” said the old seaman, abruptly. Then, after Almayer went away + with the crying child, he remained sitting by the table, looking gloomily + at the heap of cards. + </p> + <p> + “Damn this Willems,” he muttered to himself. “But I will do it yet!” + </p> + <p> + He got up, and with an angry push of his hand swept the cards off the + table. Then he fell back in his chair. + </p> + <p> + “Tired as a dog,” he sighed out, closing his eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FOUR + </h2> + <p> + Consciously or unconsciously, men are proud of their firmness, + steadfastness of purpose, directness of aim. They go straight towards + their desire, to the accomplishment of virtue—sometimes of crime—in + an uplifting persuasion of their firmness. They walk the road of life, the + road fenced in by their tastes, prejudices, disdains or enthusiasms, + generally honest, invariably stupid, and are proud of never losing their + way. If they do stop, it is to look for a moment over the hedges that make + them safe, to look at the misty valleys, at the distant peaks, at cliffs + and morasses, at the dark forests and the hazy plains where other human + beings grope their days painfully away, stumbling over the bones of the + wise, over the unburied remains of their predecessors who died alone, in + gloom or in sunshine, halfway from anywhere. The man of purpose does not + understand, and goes on, full of contempt. He never loses his way. He + knows where he is going and what he wants. Travelling on, he achieves + great length without any breadth, and battered, besmirched, and weary, he + touches the goal at last; he grasps the reward of his perseverance, of his + virtue, of his healthy optimism: an untruthful tombstone over a dark and + soon forgotten grave. + </p> + <p> + Lingard had never hesitated in his life. Why should he? He had been a most + successful trader, and a man lucky in his fights, skilful in navigation, + undeniably first in seamanship in those seas. He knew it. Had he not heard + the voice of common consent? + </p> + <p> + The voice of the world that respected him so much; the whole world to him—for + to us the limits of the universe are strictly defined by those we know. + There is nothing for us outside the babble of praise and blame on familiar + lips, and beyond our last acquaintance there lies only a vast chaos; a + chaos of laughter and tears which concerns us not; laughter and tears + unpleasant, wicked, morbid, contemptible—because heard imperfectly + by ears rebellious to strange sounds. To Lingard—simple himself—all + things were simple. He seldom read. Books were not much in his way, and he + had to work hard navigating, trading, and also, in obedience to his + benevolent instincts, shaping stray lives he found here and there under + his busy hand. He remembered the Sunday-school teachings of his native + village and the discourses of the black-coated gentleman connected with + the Mission to Fishermen and Seamen, whose yawl-rigged boat darting + through rain-squalls amongst the coasters wind-bound in Falmouth Bay, was + part of those precious pictures of his youthful days that lingered in his + memory. “As clever a sky-pilot as you could wish to see,” he would say + with conviction, “and the best man to handle a boat in any weather I ever + did meet!” Such were the agencies that had roughly shaped his young soul + before he went away to see the world in a southern-going ship—before + he went, ignorant and happy, heavy of hand, pure in heart, profane in + speech, to give himself up to the great sea that took his life and gave + him his fortune. When thinking of his rise in the world—commander of + ships, then shipowner, then a man of much capital, respected wherever he + went, Lingard in a word, the Rajah Laut—he was amazed and awed by + his fate, that seemed to his ill-informed mind the most wondrous known in + the annals of men. His experience appeared to him immense and conclusive, + teaching him the lesson of the simplicity of life. In life—as in + seamanship—there were only two ways of doing a thing: the right way + and the wrong way. Common sense and experience taught a man the way that + was right. The other was for lubbers and fools, and led, in seamanship, to + loss of spars and sails or shipwreck; in life, to loss of money and + consideration, or to an unlucky knock on the head. He did not consider it + his duty to be angry with rascals. He was only angry with things he could + not understand, but for the weaknesses of humanity he could find a + contemptuous tolerance. It being manifest that he was wise and lucky—otherwise + how could he have been as successful in life as he had been?—he had + an inclination to set right the lives of other people, just as he could + hardly refrain—in defiance of nautical etiquette—from + interfering with his chief officer when the crew was sending up a new + topmast, or generally when busy about, what he called, “a heavy job.” He + was meddlesome with perfect modesty; if he knew a thing or two there was + no merit in it. “Hard knocks taught me wisdom, my boy,” he used to say, + “and you had better take the advice of a man who has been a fool in his + time. Have another.” And “my boy” as a rule took the cool drink, the + advice, and the consequent help which Lingard felt himself bound in honour + to give, so as to back up his opinion like an honest man. Captain Tom went + sailing from island to island, appearing unexpectedly in various + localities, beaming, noisy, anecdotal, commendatory or comminatory, but + always welcome. + </p> + <p> + It was only since his return to Sambir that the old seaman had for the + first time known doubt and unhappiness, The loss of the Flash—planted + firmly and for ever on a ledge of rock at the north end of Gaspar Straits + in the uncertain light of a cloudy morning—shook him considerably; + and the amazing news which he heard on his arrival in Sambir were not made + to soothe his feelings. A good many years ago—prompted by his love + of adventure—he, with infinite trouble, had found out and surveyed—for + his own benefit only—the entrances to that river, where, he had + heard through native report, a new settlement of Malays was forming. No + doubt he thought at the time mostly of personal gain; but, received with + hearty friendliness by Patalolo, he soon came to like the ruler and the + people, offered his counsel and his help, and—knowing nothing of + Arcadia—he dreamed of Arcadian happiness for that little corner of + the world which he loved to think all his own. His deep-seated and + immovable conviction that only he—he, Lingard—knew what was + good for them was characteristic of him and, after all, not so very far + wrong. He would make them happy whether or no, he said, and he meant it. + His trade brought prosperity to the young state, and the fear of his heavy + hand secured its internal peace for many years. + </p> + <p> + He looked proudly upon his work. With every passing year he loved more the + land, the people, the muddy river that, if he could help it, would carry + no other craft but the Flash on its unclean and friendly surface. As he + slowly warped his vessel up-stream he would scan with knowing looks the + riverside clearings, and pronounce solemn judgment upon the prospects of + the season’s rice-crop. He knew every settler on the banks between the sea + and Sambir; he knew their wives, their children; he knew every individual + of the multi-coloured groups that, standing on the flimsy platforms of + tiny reed dwellings built over the water, waved their hands and shouted + shrilly: “O! Kapal layer! Hai!” while the Flash swept slowly through the + populated reach, to enter the lonely stretches of sparkling brown water + bordered by the dense and silent forest, whose big trees nodded their + outspread boughs gently in the faint, warm breeze—as if in sign of + tender but melancholy welcome. He loved it all: the landscape of brown + golds and brilliant emeralds under the dome of hot sapphire; the + whispering big trees; the loquacious nipa-palms that rattled their leaves + volubly in the night breeze, as if in haste to tell him all the secrets of + the great forest behind them. He loved the heavy scents of blossoms and + black earth, that breath of life and of death which lingered over his brig + in the damp air of tepid and peaceful nights. He loved the narrow and + sombre creeks, strangers to sunshine: black, smooth, tortuous—like + byways of despair. He liked even the troops of sorrowful-faced monkeys + that profaned the quiet spots with capricious gambols and insane gestures + of inhuman madness. He loved everything there, animated or inanimated; the + very mud of the riverside; the very alligators, enormous and stolid, + basking on it with impertinent unconcern. Their size was a source of pride + to him. “Immense fellows! Make two of them Palembang reptiles! I tell you, + old man!” he would shout, poking some crony of his playfully in the ribs: + “I tell you, big as you are, they could swallow you in one gulp, hat, + boots and all! Magnificent beggars! Wouldn’t you like to see them? + Wouldn’t you! Ha! ha! ha!” His thunderous laughter filled the verandah, + rolled over the hotel garden, overflowed into the street, paralyzing for a + short moment the noiseless traffic of bare brown feet; and its loud + reverberations would even startle the landlord’s tame bird—a + shameless mynah—into a momentary propriety of behaviour under the + nearest chair. In the big billiard-room perspiring men in thin cotton + singlets would stop the game, listen, cue in hand, for a while through the + open windows, then nod their moist faces at each other sagaciously and + whisper: “The old fellow is talking about his river.” + </p> + <p> + His river! The whispers of curious men, the mystery of the thing, were to + Lingard a source of never-ending delight. The common talk of ignorance + exaggerated the profits of his queer monopoly, and, although strictly + truthful in general, he liked, on that matter, to mislead speculation + still further by boasts full of cold raillery. His river! By it he was not + only rich—he was interesting. This secret of his which made him + different to the other traders of those seas gave intimate satisfaction to + that desire for singularity which he shared with the rest of mankind, + without being aware of its presence within his breast. It was the greater + part of his happiness, but he only knew it after its loss, so unforeseen, + so sudden and so cruel. + </p> + <p> + After his conversation with Almayer he went on board the schooner, sent + Joanna on shore, and shut himself up in his cabin, feeling very unwell. He + made the most of his indisposition to Almayer, who came to visit him twice + a day. It was an excuse for doing nothing just yet. He wanted to think. He + was very angry. Angry with himself, with Willems. Angry at what Willems + had done—and also angry at what he had left undone. The scoundrel + was not complete. The conception was perfect, but the execution, + unaccountably, fell short. Why? He ought to have cut Almayer’s throat and + burnt the place to ashes—then cleared out. Got out of his way; of + him, Lingard! Yet he didn’t. Was it impudence, contempt—or what? He + felt hurt at the implied disrespect of his power, and the incomplete + rascality of the proceeding disturbed him exceedingly. There was something + short, something wanting, something that would have given him a free hand + in the work of retribution. The obvious, the right thing to do, was to + shoot Willems. Yet how could he? Had the fellow resisted, showed fight, or + ran away; had he shown any consciousness of harm done, it would have been + more possible, more natural. But no! The fellow actually had sent him a + message. Wanted to see him. What for? The thing could not be explained. An + unexampled, cold-blooded treachery, awful, incomprehensible. Why did he do + it? Why? Why? The old seaman in the stuffy solitude of his little cabin on + board the schooner groaned out many times that question, striking with an + open palm his perplexed forehead. + </p> + <p> + During his four days of seclusion he had received two messages from the + outer world; from that world of Sambir which had, so suddenly and so + finally, slipped from his grasp. One, a few words from Willems written on + a torn-out page of a small notebook; the other, a communication from + Abdulla caligraphed carefully on a large sheet of flimsy paper and + delivered to him in a green silk wrapper. The first he could not + understand. It said: “Come and see me. I am not afraid. Are you? W.” He + tore it up angrily, but before the small bits of dirty paper had the time + to flutter down and settle on the floor, the anger was gone and was + replaced by a sentiment that induced him to go on his knees, pick up the + fragments of the torn message, piece it together on the top of his + chronometer box, and contemplate it long and thoughtfully, as if he had + hoped to read the answer of the horrible riddle in the very form of the + letters that went to make up that fresh insult. Abdulla’s letter he read + carefully and rammed it into his pocket, also with anger, but with anger + that ended in a half-resigned, half-amused smile. He would never give in + as long as there was a chance. “It’s generally the safest way to stick to + the ship as long as she will swim,” was one of his favourite sayings: “The + safest and the right way. To abandon a craft because it leaks is easy—but + poor work. Poor work!” Yet he was intelligent enough to know when he was + beaten, and to accept the situation like a man, without repining. When + Almayer came on board that afternoon he handed him the letter without + comment. + </p> + <p> + Almayer read it, returned it in silence, and leaning over the taffrail + (the two men were on deck) looked down for some time at the play of the + eddies round the schooner’s rudder. At last he said without looking up— + </p> + <p> + “That’s a decent enough letter. Abdulla gives him up to you. I told you + they were getting sick of him. What are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + Lingard cleared his throat, shuffled his feet, opened his mouth with great + determination, but said nothing for a while. At last he murmured— + </p> + <p> + “I’ll be hanged if I know—just yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would do something soon . . .” + </p> + <p> + “What’s the hurry?” interrupted Lingard. “He can’t get away. As it stands + he is at my mercy, as far as I can see.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Almayer, reflectively—“and very little mercy he deserves + too. Abdulla’s meaning—as I can make it out amongst all those + compliments—is: ‘Get rid for me of that white man—and we shall + live in peace and share the trade.”’ + </p> + <p> + “You believe that?” asked Lingard, contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Not altogether,” answered Almayer. “No doubt we will share the trade for + a time—till he can grab the lot. Well, what are you going to do?” + </p> + <p> + He looked up as he spoke and was surprised to see Lingard’s discomposed + face. + </p> + <p> + “You ain’t well. Pain anywhere?” he asked, with real solicitude. + </p> + <p> + “I have been queer—you know—these last few days, but no pain.” + He struck his broad chest several times, cleared his throat with a + powerful “Hem!” and repeated: “No. No pain. Good for a few years yet. But + I am bothered with all this, I can tell you!” + </p> + <p> + “You must take care of yourself,” said Almayer. Then after a pause he + added: “You will see Abdulla. Won’t you?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know. Not yet. There’s plenty of time,” said Lingard, + impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would do something,” urged Almayer, moodily. “You know, that + woman is a perfect nuisance to me. She and her brat! Yelps all day. And + the children don’t get on together. Yesterday the little devil wanted to + fight with my Nina. Scratched her face, too. A perfect savage! Like his + honourable papa. Yes, really. She worries about her husband, and whimpers + from morning to night. When she isn’t weeping she is furious with me. + Yesterday she tormented me to tell her when he would be back and cried + because he was engaged in such dangerous work. I said something about it + being all right—no necessity to make a fool of herself, when she + turned upon me like a wild cat. Called me a brute, selfish, heartless; + raved about her beloved Peter risking his life for my benefit, while I did + not care. Said I took advantage of his generous good-nature to get him to + do dangerous work—my work. That he was worth twenty of the likes of + me. That she would tell you—open your eyes as to the kind of man I + was, and so on. That’s what I’ve got to put up with for your sake. You + really might consider me a little. I haven’t robbed anybody,” went on + Almayer, with an attempt at bitter irony—“or sold my best friend, + but still you ought to have some pity on me. It’s like living in a hot + fever. She is out of her wits. You make my house a refuge for scoundrels + and lunatics. It isn’t fair. ‘Pon my word it isn’t! When she is in her + tantrums she is ridiculously ugly and screeches so—it sets my teeth + on edge. Thank God! my wife got a fit of the sulks and cleared out of the + house. Lives in a riverside hut since that affair—you know. But this + Willems’ wife by herself is almost more than I can bear. And I ask myself + why should I? You are exacting and no mistake. This morning I thought she + was going to claw me. Only think! She wanted to go prancing about the + settlement. She might have heard something there, so I told her she + mustn’t. It wasn’t safe outside our fences, I said. Thereupon she rushes + at me with her ten nails up to my eyes. ‘You miserable man,’ she yells, + ‘even this place is not safe, and you’ve sent him up this awful river + where he may lose his head. If he dies before forgiving me, Heaven will + punish you for your crime . . .’ My crime! I ask myself sometimes whether + I am dreaming! It will make me ill, all this. I’ve lost my appetite + already.” + </p> + <p> + He flung his hat on deck and laid hold of his hair despairingly. Lingard + looked at him with concern. + </p> + <p> + “What did she mean by it?” he muttered, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + “Mean! She is crazy, I tell you—and I will be, very soon, if this + lasts!” + </p> + <p> + “Just a little patience, Kaspar,” pleaded Lingard. “A day or so more.” + </p> + <p> + Relieved or tired by his violent outburst, Almayer calmed down, picked up + his hat and, leaning against the bulwark, commenced to fan himself with + it. + </p> + <p> + “Days do pass,” he said, resignedly—“but that kind of thing makes a + man old before his time. What is there to think about?—I can’t + imagine! Abdulla says plainly that if you undertake to pilot his ship out + and instruct the half-caste, he will drop Willems like a hot potato and be + your friend ever after. I believe him perfectly, as to Willems. It’s so + natural. As to being your friend it’s a lie of course, but we need not + bother about that just yet. You just say yes to Abdulla, and then whatever + happens to Willems will be nobody’s business.” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted himself and remained silent for a while, glaring about with + set teeth and dilated nostrils. + </p> + <p> + “You leave it to me. I’ll see to it that something happens to him,” he + said at last, with calm ferocity. Lingard smiled faintly. + </p> + <p> + “The fellow isn’t worth a shot. Not the trouble of it,” he whispered, as + if to himself. Almayer fired up suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “That’s what you think,” he cried. “You haven’t been sewn up in your + hammock to be made a laughing-stock of before a parcel of savages. Why! I + daren’t look anybody here in the face while that scoundrel is alive. I + will . . . I will settle him.” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think you will,” growled Lingard. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I am afraid of him?” + </p> + <p> + “Bless you! no!” said Lingard with alacrity. “Afraid! Not you. I know you. + I don’t doubt your courage. It’s your head, my boy, your head that I . . + .” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it,” said the aggrieved Almayer. “Go on. Why don’t you call me a + fool at once?” + </p> + <p> + “Because I don’t want to,” burst out Lingard, with nervous irritability. + “If I wanted to call you a fool, I would do so without asking your leave.” + He began to walk athwart the narrow quarter-deck, kicking ropes’ ends out + of his way and growling to himself: “Delicate gentleman . . . what next? . + . . I’ve done man’s work before you could toddle. Understand . . . say + what I like.” + </p> + <p> + “Well! well!” said Almayer, with affected resignation. “There’s no talking + to you these last few days.” He put on his hat, strolled to the gangway + and stopped, one foot on the little inside ladder, as if hesitating, came + back and planted himself in Lingard’s way, compelling him to stand still + and listen. + </p> + <p> + “Of course you will do what you like. You never take advice—I know + that; but let me tell you that it wouldn’t be honest to let that fellow + get away from here. If you do nothing, that scoundrel will leave in + Abdulla’s ship for sure. Abdulla will make use of him to hurt you and + others elsewhere. Willems knows too much about your affairs. He will cause + you lots of trouble. You mark my words. Lots of trouble. To you—and + to others perhaps. Think of that, Captain Lingard. That’s all I’ve got to + say. Now I must go back on shore. There’s lots of work. We will begin + loading this schooner to-morrow morning, first thing. All the bundles are + ready. If you should want me for anything, hoist some kind of flag on the + mainmast. At night two shots will fetch me.” Then he added, in a friendly + tone, “Won’t you come and dine in the house to-night? It can’t be good for + you to stew on board like that, day after day.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard did not answer. The image evoked by Almayer; the picture of + Willems ranging over the islands and disturbing the harmony of the + universe by robbery, treachery, and violence, held him silent, entranced—painfully + spellbound. Almayer, after waiting for a little while, moved reluctantly + towards the gangway, lingered there, then sighed and got over the side, + going down step by step. His head disappeared slowly below the rail. + Lingard, who had been staring at him absently, started suddenly, ran to + the side, and looking over, called out— + </p> + <p> + “Hey! Kaspar! Hold on a bit!” + </p> + <p> + Almayer signed to his boatmen to cease paddling, and turned his head + towards the schooner. The boat drifted back slowly abreast of Lingard, + nearly alongside. + </p> + <p> + “Look here,” said Lingard, looking down—“I want a good canoe with + four men to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you want it now?” asked Almayer. + </p> + <p> + “No! Catch this rope. Oh, you clumsy devil! . . . No, Kaspar,” went on + Lingard, after the bow-man had got hold of the end of the brace he had + thrown down into the canoe—“No, Kaspar. The sun is too much for me. + And it would be better to keep my affairs quiet, too. Send the canoe—four + good paddlers, mind, and your canvas chair for me to sit in. Send it about + sunset. D’ye hear?” + </p> + <p> + “All right, father,” said Almayer, cheerfully—“I will send Ali for a + steersman, and the best men I’ve got. Anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my lad. Only don’t let them be late.” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it’s no use asking you where you are going,” said Almayer, + tentatively. “Because if it is to see Abdulla, I . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I am not going to see Abdulla. Not to-day. Now be off with you.” + </p> + <p> + He watched the canoe dart away shorewards, waved his hand in response to + Almayer’s nod, and walked to the taffrail smoothing out Abdulla’s letter, + which he had pulled out of his pocket. He read it over carefully, crumpled + it up slowly, smiling the while and closing his fingers firmly over the + crackling paper as though he had hold there of Abdulla’s throat. Halfway + to his pocket he changed his mind, and flinging the ball overboard looked + at it thoughtfully as it spun round in the eddies for a moment, before the + current bore it away down-stream, towards the sea. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART IV + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER ONE + </h2> + <p> + The night was very dark. For the first time in many months the East Coast + slept unseen by the stars under a veil of motionless cloud that, driven + before the first breath of the rainy monsoon, had drifted slowly from the + eastward all the afternoon; pursuing the declining sun with its masses of + black and grey that seemed to chase the light with wicked intent, and with + an ominous and gloomy steadiness, as though conscious of the message of + violence and turmoil they carried. At the sun’s disappearance below the + western horizon, the immense cloud, in quickened motion, grappled with the + glow of retreating light, and rolling down to the clear and jagged outline + of the distant mountains, hung arrested above the steaming forests; + hanging low, silent and menacing over the unstirring tree-tops; + withholding the blessing of rain, nursing the wrath of its thunder; + undecided—as if brooding over its own power for good or for evil. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi, coming out of the red and smoky light of his little bamboo + house, glanced upwards, drew in a long breath of the warm and stagnant + air, and stood for a moment with his good eye closed tightly, as if + intimidated by the unwonted and deep silence of Lakamba’s courtyard. When + he opened his eye he had recovered his sight so far, that he could + distinguish the various degrees of formless blackness which marked the + places of trees, of abandoned houses, of riverside bushes, on the dark + background of the night. + </p> + <p> + The careworn sage walked cautiously down the deserted courtyard to the + waterside, and stood on the bank listening to the voice of the invisible + river that flowed at his feet; listening to the soft whispers, to the deep + murmurs, to the sudden gurgles and the short hisses of the swift current + racing along the bank through the hot darkness. + </p> + <p> + He stood with his face turned to the river, and it seemed to him that he + could breathe easier with the knowledge of the clear vast space before + him; then, after a while he leaned heavily forward on his staff, his chin + fell on his breast, and a deep sigh was his answer to the selfish + discourse of the river that hurried on unceasing and fast, regardless of + joy or sorrow, of suffering and of strife, of failures and triumphs that + lived on its banks. The brown water was there, ready to carry friends or + enemies, to nurse love or hate on its submissive and heartless bosom, to + help or to hinder, to save life or give death; the great and rapid river: + a deliverance, a prison, a refuge or a grave. + </p> + <p> + Perchance such thoughts as these caused Babalatchi to send another + mournful sigh into the trailing mists of the unconcerned Pantai. The + barbarous politician had forgotten the recent success of his plottings in + the melancholy contemplation of a sorrow that made the night blacker, the + clammy heat more oppressive, the still air more heavy, the dumb solitude + more significant of torment than of peace. He had spent the night before + by the side of the dying Omar, and now, after twenty-four hours, his + memory persisted in returning to that low and sombre reed hut from which + the fierce spirit of the incomparably accomplished pirate took its flight, + to learn too late, in a worse world, the error of its earthly ways. The + mind of the savage statesman, chastened by bereavement, felt for a moment + the weight of his loneliness with keen perception worthy even of a + sensibility exasperated by all the refinements of tender sentiment that a + glorious civilization brings in its train, among other blessings and + virtues, into this excellent world. For the space of about thirty seconds, + a half-naked, betel-chewing pessimist stood upon the bank of the tropical + river, on the edge of the still and immense forests; a man angry, + powerless, empty-handed, with a cry of bitter discontent ready on his + lips; a cry that, had it come out, would have rung through the virgin + solitudes of the woods, as true, as great, as profound, as any + philosophical shriek that ever came from the depths of an easy-chair to + disturb the impure wilderness of chimneys and roofs. + </p> + <p> + For half a minute and no more did Babalatchi face the gods in the sublime + privilege of his revolt, and then the one-eyed puller of wires became + himself again, full of care and wisdom and far-reaching plans, and a + victim to the tormenting superstitions of his race. The night, no matter + how quiet, is never perfectly silent to attentive ears, and now Babalatchi + fancied he could detect in it other noises than those caused by the + ripples and eddies of the river. He turned his head sharply to the right + and to the left in succession, and then spun round quickly in a startled + and watchful manner, as if he had expected to see the blind ghost of his + departed leader wandering in the obscurity of the empty courtyard behind + his back. Nothing there. Yet he had heard a noise; a strange noise! No + doubt a ghostly voice of a complaining and angry spirit. He listened. Not + a sound. Reassured, Babalatchi made a few paces towards his house, when a + very human noise, that of hoarse coughing, reached him from the river. He + stopped, listened attentively, but now without any sign of emotion, and + moving briskly back to the waterside stood expectant with parted lips, + trying to pierce with his eye the wavering curtain of mist that hung low + over the water. He could see nothing, yet some people in a canoe must have + been very near, for he heard words spoken in an ordinary tone. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think this is the place, Ali? I can see nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “It must be near here, Tuan,” answered another voice. “Shall we try the + bank?” + </p> + <p> + “No! . . . Let drift a little. If you go poking into the bank in the dark + you might stove the canoe on some log. We must be careful. . . . Let + drift! Let drift! . . . This does seem to be a clearing of some sort. We + may see a light by and by from some house or other. In Lakamba’s campong + there are many houses? Hey?” + </p> + <p> + “A great number, Tuan . . . I do not see any light.” + </p> + <p> + “Nor I,” grumbled the first voice again, this time nearly abreast of the + silent Babalatchi who looked uneasily towards his own house, the doorway + of which glowed with the dim light of a torch burning within. The house + stood end on to the river, and its doorway faced down-stream, so + Babalatchi reasoned rapidly that the strangers on the river could not see + the light from the position their boat was in at the moment. He could not + make up his mind to call out to them, and while he hesitated he heard the + voices again, but now some way below the landing-place where he stood. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. This cannot be it. Let them give way, Ali! Dayong there!” + </p> + <p> + That order was followed by the splash of paddles, then a sudden cry— + </p> + <p> + “I see a light. I see it! Now I know where to land, Tuan.” + </p> + <p> + There was more splashing as the canoe was paddled sharply round and came + back up-stream close to the bank. + </p> + <p> + “Call out,” said very near a deep voice, which Babalatchi felt sure must + belong to a white man. “Call out—and somebody may come with a torch. + I can’t see anything.” + </p> + <p> + The loud hail that succeeded these words was emitted nearly under the + silent listener’s nose. Babalatchi, to preserve appearances, ran with long + but noiseless strides halfway up the courtyard, and only then shouted in + answer and kept on shouting as he walked slowly back again towards the + river bank. He saw there an indistinct shape of a boat, not quite + alongside the landing-place. + </p> + <p> + “Who speaks on the river?” asked Babalatchi, throwing a tone of surprise + into his question. + </p> + <p> + “A white man,” answered Lingard from the canoe. “Is there not one torch in + rich Lakamba’s campong to light a guest on his landing?” + </p> + <p> + “There are no torches and no men. I am alone here,” said Babalatchi, with + some hesitation. + </p> + <p> + “Alone!” exclaimed Lingard. “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + “Only a servant of Lakamba. But land, Tuan Putih, and see my face. Here is + my hand. No! Here! . . . By your mercy. . . . Ada! . . . Now you are + safe.” + </p> + <p> + “And you are alone here?” said Lingard, moving with precaution a few steps + into the courtyard. “How dark it is,” he muttered to himself—“one + would think the world had been painted black.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Alone. What more did you say, Tuan? I did not understand your talk.” + </p> + <p> + “It is nothing. I expected to find here . . . But where are they all?” + </p> + <p> + “What matters where they are?” said Babalatchi, gloomily. “Have you come + to see my people? The last departed on a long journey—and I am + alone. Tomorrow I go too.” + </p> + <p> + “I came to see a white man,” said Lingard, walking on slowly. “He is not + gone, is he?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” answered Babalatchi, at his elbow. “A man with a red skin and hard + eyes,” he went on, musingly, “whose hand is strong, and whose heart is + foolish and weak. A white man indeed . . . But still a man.” + </p> + <p> + They were now at the foot of the short ladder which led to the + split-bamboo platform surrounding Babalatchi’s habitation. The faint light + from the doorway fell down upon the two men’s faces as they stood looking + at each other curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Is he there?” asked Lingard, in a low voice, with a wave of his hand + upwards. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi, staring hard at his long-expected visitor, did not answer at + once. “No, not there,” he said at last, placing his foot on the lowest + rung and looking back. “Not there, Tuan—yet not very far. Will you + sit down in my dwelling? There may be rice and fish and clear water—not + from the river, but from a spring . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I am not hungry,” interrupted Lingard, curtly, “and I did not come here + to sit in your dwelling. Lead me to the white man who expects me. I have + no time to lose.” + </p> + <p> + “The night is long, Tuan,” went on Babalatchi, softly, “and there are + other nights and other days. Long. Very long . . . How much time it takes + for a man to die! O Rajah Laut!” + </p> + <p> + Lingard started. + </p> + <p> + “You know me!” he exclaimed. + </p> + <p> + “Ay—wa! I have seen your face and felt your hand before—many + years ago,” said Babalatchi, holding on halfway up the ladder, and bending + down from above to peer into Lingard’s upturned face. “You do not remember—but + I have not forgotten. There are many men like me: there is only one Rajah + Laut.” + </p> + <p> + He climbed with sudden agility the last few steps, and stood on the + platform waving his hand invitingly to Lingard, who followed after a short + moment of indecision. + </p> + <p> + The elastic bamboo floor of the hut bent under the heavy weight of the old + seaman, who, standing within the threshold, tried to look into the smoky + gloom of the low dwelling. Under the torch, thrust into the cleft of a + stick, fastened at a right angle to the middle stay of the ridge pole, lay + a red patch of light, showing a few shabby mats and a corner of a big + wooden chest the rest of which was lost in shadow. In the obscurity of the + more remote parts of the house a lance-head, a brass tray hung on the + wall, the long barrel of a gun leaning against the chest, caught the stray + rays of the smoky illumination in trembling gleams that wavered, + disappeared, reappeared, went out, came back—as if engaged in a + doubtful struggle with the darkness that, lying in wait in distant + corners, seemed to dart out viciously towards its feeble enemy. The vast + space under the high pitch of the roof was filled with a thick cloud of + smoke, whose under-side—level like a ceiling—reflected the + light of the swaying dull flame, while at the top it oozed out through the + imperfect thatch of dried palm leaves. An indescribable and complicated + smell, made up of the exhalation of damp earth below, of the taint of + dried fish and of the effluvia of rotting vegetable matter, pervaded the + place and caused Lingard to sniff strongly as he strode over, sat on the + chest, and, leaning his elbows on his knees, took his head between his + hands and stared at the doorway thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi moved about in the shadows, whispering to an indistinct form or + two that flitted about at the far end of the hut. Without stirring Lingard + glanced sideways, and caught sight of muffled-up human shapes that hovered + for a moment near the edge of light and retreated suddenly back into the + darkness. Babalatchi approached, and sat at Lingard’s feet on a rolled-up + bundle of mats. + </p> + <p> + “Will you eat rice and drink sagueir?” he said. “I have waked up my + household.” + </p> + <p> + “My friend,” said Lingard, without looking at him, “when I come to see + Lakamba, or any of Lakamba’s servants, I am never hungry and never + thirsty. Tau! Savee! Never! Do you think I am devoid of reason? That there + is nothing there?” + </p> + <p> + He sat up, and, fixing abruptly his eyes on Babalatchi, tapped his own + forehead significantly. + </p> + <p> + “Tse! Tse! Tse! How can you talk like that, Tuan!” exclaimed Babalatchi, + in a horrified tone. + </p> + <p> + “I talk as I think. I have lived many years,” said Lingard, stretching his + arm negligently to take up the gun, which he began to examine knowingly, + cocking it, and easing down the hammer several times. “This is good. + Mataram make. Old, too,” he went on. + </p> + <p> + “Hai!” broke in Babalatchi, eagerly. “I got it when I was young. He was an + Aru trader, a man with a big stomach and a loud voice, and brave—very + brave. When we came up with his prau in the grey morning, he stood aft + shouting to his men and fired this gun at us once. Only once!” . . . He + paused, laughed softly, and went on in a low, dreamy voice. “In the grey + morning we came up: forty silent men in a swift Sulu prau; and when the + sun was so high”—here he held up his hands about three feet apart—“when + the sun was only so high, Tuan, our work was done—and there was a + feast ready for the fishes of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye! aye!” muttered Lingard, nodding his head slowly. “I see. You should + not let it get rusty like this,” he added. + </p> + <p> + He let the gun fall between his knees, and moving back on his seat, leaned + his head against the wall of the hut, crossing his arms on his breast. + </p> + <p> + “A good gun,” went on Babalatchi. “Carry far and true. Better than this—there.” + </p> + <p> + With the tips of his fingers he touched gently the butt of a revolver + peeping out of the right pocket of Lingard’s white jacket. + </p> + <p> + “Take your hand off that,” said Lingard sharply, but in a good-humoured + tone and without making the slightest movement. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi smiled and hitched his seat a little further off. + </p> + <p> + For some time they sat in silence. Lingard, with his head tilted back, + looked downwards with lowered eyelids at Babalatchi, who was tracing + invisible lines with his finger on the mat between his feet. Outside, they + could hear Ali and the other boatmen chattering and laughing round the + fire they had lighted in the big and deserted courtyard. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what about that white man?” said Lingard, quietly. + </p> + <p> + It seemed as if Babalatchi had not heard the question. He went on tracing + elaborate patterns on the floor for a good while. Lingard waited + motionless. At last the Malay lifted his head. + </p> + <p> + “Hai! The white man. I know!” he murmured absently. “This white man or + another. . . . Tuan,” he said aloud with unexpected animation, “you are a + man of the sea?” + </p> + <p> + “You know me. Why ask?” said Lingard, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. A man of the sea—even as we are. A true Orang Laut,” went on + Babalatchi, thoughtfully, “not like the rest of the white men.” + </p> + <p> + “I am like other whites, and do not wish to speak many words when the + truth is short. I came here to see the white man that helped Lakamba + against Patalolo, who is my friend. Show me where that white man lives; I + want him to hear my talk.” + </p> + <p> + “Talk only? Tuan! Why hurry? The night is long and death is swift—as + you ought to know; you who have dealt it to so many of my people. Many + years ago I have faced you, arms in hand. Do you not remember? It was in + Carimata—far from here.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot remember every vagabond that came in my way,” protested Lingard, + seriously. + </p> + <p> + “Hai! Hai!” continued Babalatchi, unmoved and dreamy. “Many years ago. + Then all this”—and looking up suddenly at Lingard’s beard, he + flourished his fingers below his own beardless chin—“then all this + was like gold in sunlight, now it is like the foam of an angry sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe, maybe,” said Lingard, patiently, paying the involuntary tribute of + a faint sigh to the memories of the past evoked by Babalatchi’s words. + </p> + <p> + He had been living with Malays so long and so close that the extreme + deliberation and deviousness of their mental proceedings had ceased to + irritate him much. To-night, perhaps, he was less prone to impatience than + ever. He was disposed, if not to listen to Babalatchi, then to let him + talk. It was evident to him that the man had something to say, and he + hoped that from the talk a ray of light would shoot through the thick + blackness of inexplicable treachery, to show him clearly—if only for + a second—the man upon whom he would have to execute the verdict of + justice. Justice only! Nothing was further from his thoughts than such an + useless thing as revenge. Justice only. It was his duty that justice + should be done—and by his own hand. He did not like to think how. To + him, as to Babalatchi, it seemed that the night would be long enough for + the work he had to do. But he did not define to himself the nature of the + work, and he sat very still, and willingly dilatory, under the fearsome + oppression of his call. What was the good to think about it? It was + inevitable, and its time was near. Yet he could not command his memories + that came crowding round him in that evil-smelling hut, while Babalatchi + talked on in a flowing monotone, nothing of him moving but the lips, in + the artificially inanimated face. Lingard, like an anchored ship that had + broken her sheer, darted about here and there on the rapid tide of his + recollections. The subdued sound of soft words rang around him, but his + thoughts were lost, now in the contemplation of the past sweetness and + strife of Carimata days, now in the uneasy wonder at the failure of his + judgment; at the fatal blindness of accident that had caused him, many + years ago, to rescue a half-starved runaway from a Dutch ship in Samarang + roads. How he had liked the man: his assurance, his push, his desire to + get on, his conceited good-humour and his selfish eloquence. He had liked + his very faults—those faults that had so many, to him, sympathetic + sides. + </p> + <p> + And he had always dealt fairly by him from the very beginning; and he + would deal fairly by him now—to the very end. This last thought + darkened Lingard’s features with a responsive and menacing frown. The doer + of justice sat with compressed lips and a heavy heart, while in the calm + darkness outside the silent world seemed to be waiting breathlessly for + that justice he held in his hand—in his strong hand:—ready to + strike—reluctant to move. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0019" id="link2HCH0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER TWO + </h2> + <p> + Babalatchi ceased speaking. Lingard shifted his feet a little, uncrossed + his arms, and shook his head slowly. The narrative of the events in + Sambir, related from the point of view of the astute statesman, the sense + of which had been caught here and there by his inattentive ears, had been + yet like a thread to guide him out of the sombre labyrinth of his + thoughts; and now he had come to the end of it, out of the tangled past + into the pressing necessities of the present. With the palms of his hands + on his knees, his elbows squared out, he looked down on Babalatchi who sat + in a stiff attitude, inexpressive and mute as a talking doll the mechanism + of which had at length run down. + </p> + <p> + “You people did all this,” said Lingard at last, “and you will be sorry + for it before the dry wind begins to blow again. Abdulla’s voice will + bring the Dutch rule here.” + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi waved his hand towards the dark doorway. + </p> + <p> + “There are forests there. Lakamba rules the land now. Tell me, Tuan, do + you think the big trees know the name of the ruler? No. They are born, + they grow, they live and they die—yet know not, feel not. It is + their land.” + </p> + <p> + “Even a big tree may be killed by a small axe,” said Lingard, drily. “And, + remember, my one-eyed friend, that axes are made by white hands. You will + soon find that out, since you have hoisted the flag of the Dutch.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay—wa!” said Babalatchi, slowly. “It is written that the earth + belongs to those who have fair skins and hard but foolish hearts. The + farther away is the master, the easier it is for the slave, Tuan! You were + too near. Your voice rang in our ears always. Now it is not going to be + so. The great Rajah in Batavia is strong, but he may be deceived. He must + speak very loud to be heard here. But if we have need to shout, then he + must hear the many voices that call for protection. He is but a white + man.” + </p> + <p> + “If I ever spoke to Patalolo, like an elder brother, it was for your good—for + the good of all,” said Lingard with great earnestness. + </p> + <p> + “This is a white man’s talk,” exclaimed Babalatchi, with bitter + exultation. “I know you. That is how you all talk while you load your guns + and sharpen your swords; and when you are ready, then to those who are + weak you say: ‘Obey me and be happy, or die! You are strange, you white + men. You think it is only your wisdom and your virtue and your happiness + that are true. You are stronger than the wild beasts, but not so wise. A + black tiger knows when he is not hungry—you do not. He knows the + difference between himself and those that can speak; you do not understand + the difference between yourselves and us—who are men. You are wise + and great—and you shall always be fools.” + </p> + <p> + He threw up both his hands, stirring the sleeping cloud of smoke that hung + above his head, and brought the open palms on the flimsy floor on each + side of his outstretched legs. The whole hut shook. Lingard looked at the + excited statesman curiously. + </p> + <p> + “Apa! Apa! What’s the matter?” he murmured, soothingly. “Whom did I kill + here? Where are my guns? What have I done? What have I eaten up?” + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi calmed down, and spoke with studied courtesy. + </p> + <p> + “You, Tuan, are of the sea, and more like what we are. Therefore I speak + to you all the words that are in my heart. . . . Only once has the sea + been stronger than the Rajah of the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “You know it; do you?” said Lingard, with pained sharpness. + </p> + <p> + “Hai! We have heard about your ship—and some rejoiced. Not I. + Amongst the whites, who are devils, you are a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Trima kassi! I give you thanks,” said Lingard, gravely. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi looked down with a bashful smile, but his face became saddened + directly, and when he spoke again it was in a mournful tone. + </p> + <p> + “Had you come a day sooner, Tuan, you would have seen an enemy die. You + would have seen him die poor, blind, unhappy—with no son to dig his + grave and speak of his wisdom and courage. Yes; you would have seen the + man that fought you in Carimata many years ago, die alone—but for + one friend. A great sight to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Not to me,” answered Lingard. “I did not even remember him till you spoke + his name just now. You do not understand us. We fight, we vanquish—and + we forget.” + </p> + <p> + “True, true,” said Babalatchi, with polite irony; “you whites are so great + that you disdain to remember your enemies. No! No!” he went on, in the + same tone, “you have so much mercy for us, that there is no room for any + remembrance. Oh, you are great and good! But it is in my mind that amongst + yourselves you know how to remember. Is it not so, Tuan?” + </p> + <p> + Lingard said nothing. His shoulders moved imperceptibly. He laid his gun + across his knees and stared at the flint lock absently. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” went on Babalatchi, falling again into a mournful mood, “yes, he + died in darkness. I sat by his side and held his hand, but he could not + see the face of him who watched the faint breath on his lips. She, whom he + had cursed because of the white man, was there too, and wept with covered + face. The white man walked about the courtyard making many noises. Now and + then he would come to the doorway and glare at us who mourned. He stared + with wicked eyes, and then I was glad that he who was dying was blind. + This is true talk. I was glad; for a white man’s eyes are not good to see + when the devil that lives within is looking out through them.” + </p> + <p> + “Devil! Hey?” said Lingard, half aloud to himself, as if struck with the + obviousness of some novel idea. Babalatchi went on: + </p> + <p> + “At the first hour of the morning he sat up—he so weak—and + said plainly some words that were not meant for human ears. I held his + hand tightly, but it was time for the leader of brave men to go amongst + the Faithful who are happy. They of my household brought a white sheet, + and I began to dig a grave in the hut in which he died. She mourned aloud. + The white man came to the doorway and shouted. He was angry. Angry with + her because she beat her breast, and tore her hair, and mourned with + shrill cries as a woman should. Do you understand what I say, Tuan? That + white man came inside the hut with great fury, and took her by the + shoulder, and dragged her out. Yes, Tuan. I saw Omar dead, and I saw her + at the feet of that white dog who has deceived me. I saw his face grey, + like the cold mist of the morning; I saw his pale eyes looking down at + Omar’s daughter beating her head on the ground at his feet. At the feet of + him who is Abdulla’s slave. Yes, he lives by Abdulla’s will. That is why I + held my hand while I saw all this. I held my hand because we are now under + the flag of the Orang Blanda, and Abdulla can speak into the ears of the + great. We must not have any trouble with white men. Abdulla has spoken—and + I must obey.” + </p> + <p> + “That’s it, is it?” growled Lingard in his moustache. Then in Malay, “It + seems that you are angry, O Babalatchi!” + </p> + <p> + “No; I am not angry, Tuan,” answered Babalatchi, descending from the + insecure heights of his indignation into the insincere depths of safe + humility. “I am not angry. What am I to be angry? I am only an Orang Laut, + and I have fled before your people many times. Servant of this one—protected + of another; I have given my counsel here and there for a handful of rice. + What am I, to be angry with a white man? What is anger without the power + to strike? But you whites have taken all: the land, the sea, and the power + to strike! And there is nothing left for us in the islands but your white + men’s justice; your great justice that knows not anger.” + </p> + <p> + He got up and stood for a moment in the doorway, sniffing the hot air of + the courtyard, then turned back and leaned against the stay of the ridge + pole, facing Lingard who kept his seat on the chest. The torch, consumed + nearly to the end, burned noisily. Small explosions took place in the + heart of the flame, driving through its smoky blaze strings of hard, round + puffs of white smoke, no bigger than peas, which rolled out of doors in + the faint draught that came from invisible cracks of the bamboo walls. The + pungent taint of unclean things below and about the hut grew heavier, + weighing down Lingard’s resolution and his thoughts in an irresistible + numbness of the brain. He thought drowsily of himself and of that man who + wanted to see him—who waited to see him. Who waited! Night and day. + Waited. . . . A spiteful but vaporous idea floated through his brain that + such waiting could not be very pleasant to the fellow. Well, let him wait. + He would see him soon enough. And for how long? Five seconds—five + minutes—say nothing—say something. What? No! Just give him + time to take one good look, and then . . . + </p> + <p> + Suddenly Babalatchi began to speak in a soft voice. Lingard blinked, + cleared his throat—sat up straight. + </p> + <p> + “You know all now, Tuan. Lakamba dwells in the stockaded house of + Patalolo; Abdulla has begun to build godowns of plank and stone; and now + that Omar is dead, I myself shall depart from this place and live with + Lakamba and speak in his ear. I have served many. The best of them all + sleeps in the ground in a white sheet, with nothing to mark his grave but + the ashes of the hut in which he died. Yes, Tuan! the white man destroyed + it himself. With a blazing brand in his hand he strode around, shouting to + me to come out—shouting to me, who was throwing earth on the body of + a great leader. Yes; swearing to me by the name of your God and ours that + he would burn me and her in there if we did not make haste. . . . Hai! The + white men are very masterful and wise. I dragged her out quickly!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, damn it!” exclaimed Lingard—then went on in Malay, speaking + earnestly. “Listen. That man is not like other white men. You know he is + not. He is not a man at all. He is . . . I don’t know.” + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi lifted his hand deprecatingly. His eye twinkled, and his + red-stained big lips, parted by an expressionless grin, uncovered a stumpy + row of black teeth filed evenly to the gums. + </p> + <p> + “Hai! Hai! Not like you. Not like you,” he said, increasing the softness + of his tones as he neared the object uppermost in his mind during that + much-desired interview. “Not like you, Tuan, who are like ourselves, only + wiser and stronger. Yet he, also, is full of great cunning, and speaks of + you without any respect, after the manner of white men when they talk of + one another.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard leaped in his seat as if he had been prodded. + </p> + <p> + “He speaks! What does he say?” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + “Nay, Tuan,” protested the composed Babalatchi; “what matters his talk if + he is not a man? I am nothing before you—why should I repeat words + of one white man about another? He did boast to Abdulla of having learned + much from your wisdom in years past. Other words I have forgotten. Indeed, + Tuan, I have . . .” + </p> + <p> + Lingard cut short Babalatchi’s protestations by a contemptuous wave of the + hand and reseated himself with dignity. + </p> + <p> + “I shall go,” said Babalatchi, “and the white man will remain here, alone + with the spirit of the dead and with her who has been the delight of his + heart. He, being white, cannot hear the voice of those that died. . . . + Tell me, Tuan,” he went on, looking at Lingard with curiosity—“tell + me, Tuan, do you white people ever hear the voices of the invisible ones?” + </p> + <p> + “We do not,” answered Lingard, “because those that we cannot see do not + speak.” + </p> + <p> + “Never speak! And never complain with sounds that are not words?” + exclaimed Babalatchi, doubtingly. “It may be so—or your ears are + dull. We Malays hear many sounds near the places where men are buried. + To-night I heard . . . Yes, even I have heard. . . . I do not want to hear + any more,” he added, nervously. “Perhaps I was wrong when I . . . There + are things I regret. The trouble was heavy in his heart when he died. + Sometimes I think I was wrong . . . but I do not want to hear the + complaint of invisible lips. Therefore I go, Tuan. Let the unquiet spirit + speak to his enemy the white man who knows not fear, or love, or mercy—knows + nothing but contempt and violence. I have been wrong! I have! Hai! Hai!” + </p> + <p> + He stood for awhile with his elbow in the palm of his left hand, the + fingers of the other over his lips as if to stifle the expression of + inconvenient remorse; then, after glancing at the torch, burnt out nearly + to its end, he moved towards the wall by the chest, fumbled about there + and suddenly flung open a large shutter of attaps woven in a light + framework of sticks. Lingard swung his legs quickly round the corner of + his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” he said, surprised. + </p> + <p> + The cloud of smoke stirred, and a slow wisp curled out through the new + opening. The torch flickered, hissed, and went out, the glowing end + falling on the mat, whence Babalatchi snatched it up and tossed it outside + through the open square. It described a vanishing curve of red light, and + lay below, shining feebly in the vast darkness. Babalatchi remained with + his arm stretched out into the empty night. + </p> + <p> + “There,” he said, “you can see the white man’s courtyard, Tuan, and his + house.” + </p> + <p> + “I can see nothing,” answered Lingard, putting his head through the + shutter-hole. “It’s too dark.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait, Tuan,” urged Babalatchi. “You have been looking long at the burning + torch. You will soon see. Mind the gun, Tuan. It is loaded.” + </p> + <p> + “There is no flint in it. You could not find a fire-stone for a hundred + miles round this spot,” said Lingard, testily. “Foolish thing to load that + gun.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a stone. I had it from a man wise and pious that lives in Menang + Kabau. A very pious man—very good fire. He spoke words over that + stone that make its sparks good. And the gun is good—carries + straight and far. Would carry from here to the door of the white man’s + house, I believe, Tuan.” + </p> + <p> + “Tida apa. Never mind your gun,” muttered Lingard, peering into the + formless darkness. “Is that the house—that black thing over there?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Babalatchi; “that is his house. He lives there by the will + of Abdulla, and shall live there till . . . From where you stand, Tuan, + you can look over the fence and across the courtyard straight at the door—at + the door from which he comes out every morning, looking like a man that + had seen Jehannum in his sleep.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard drew his head in. Babalatchi touched his shoulder with a groping + hand. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little, Tuan. Sit still. The morning is not far off now—a + morning without sun after a night without stars. But there will be light + enough to see the man who said not many days ago that he alone has made + you less than a child in Sambir.” + </p> + <p> + He felt a slight tremor under his hand, but took it off directly and began + feeling all over the lid of the chest, behind Lingard’s back, for the gun. + </p> + <p> + “What are you at?” said Lingard, impatiently. “You do worry about that + rotten gun. You had better get a light.” + </p> + <p> + “A light! I tell you, Tuan, that the light of heaven is very near,” said + Babalatchi, who had now obtained possession of the object of his + solicitude, and grasping it strongly by its long barrel, grounded the + stock at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it is near,” said Lingard, leaning both his elbows on the lower + cross-piece of the primitive window and looking out. “It is very black + outside yet,” he remarked carelessly. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi fidgeted about. + </p> + <p> + “It is not good for you to sit where you may be seen,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” asked Lingard. + </p> + <p> + “The white man sleeps, it is true,” explained Babalatchi, softly; “yet he + may come out early, and he has arms.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! he has arms?” said Lingard. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; a short gun that fires many times—like yours here. Abdulla had + to give it to him.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard heard Babalatchi’s words, but made no movement. To the old + adventurer the idea that fire arms could be dangerous in other hands than + his own did not occur readily, and certainly not in connection with + Willems. He was so busy with the thoughts about what he considered his own + sacred duty, that he could not give any consideration to the probable + actions of the man of whom he thought—as one may think of an + executed criminal—with wondering indignation tempered by scornful + pity. While he sat staring into the darkness, that every minute grew + thinner before his pensive eyes, like a dispersing mist, Willems appeared + to him as a figure belonging already wholly to the past—a figure + that could come in no way into his life again. He had made up his mind, + and the thing was as well as done. In his weary thoughts he had closed + this fatal, inexplicable, and horrible episode in his life. The worst had + happened. The coming days would see the retribution. + </p> + <p> + He had removed an enemy once or twice before, out of his path; he had paid + off some very heavy scores a good many times. Captain Tom had been a good + friend to many: but it was generally understood, from Honolulu round about + to Diego Suarez, that Captain Tom’s enmity was rather more than any man + single-handed could easily manage. He would not, as he said often, hurt a + fly as long as the fly left him alone; yet a man does not live for years + beyond the pale of civilized laws without evolving for himself some queer + notions of justice. Nobody of those he knew had ever cared to point out to + him the errors of his conceptions. + </p> + <p> + It was not worth anybody’s while to run counter to Lingard’s ideas of the + fitness of things—that fact was acquired to the floating wisdom of + the South Seas, of the Eastern Archipelago, and was nowhere better + understood than in out-of-the-way nooks of the world; in those nooks which + he filled, unresisted and masterful, with the echoes of his noisy + presence. There is not much use in arguing with a man who boasts of never + having regretted a single action of his life, whose answer to a mild + criticism is a good-natured shout—“You know nothing about it. I + would do it again. Yes, sir!” His associates and his acquaintances + accepted him, his opinions, his actions like things preordained and + unchangeable; looked upon his many-sided manifestations with passive + wonder not unmixed with that admiration which is only the rightful due of + a successful man. But nobody had ever seen him in the mood he was in now. + Nobody had seen Lingard doubtful and giving way to doubt, unable to make + up his mind and unwilling to act; Lingard timid and hesitating one minute, + angry yet inactive the next; Lingard puzzled in a word, because confronted + with a situation that discomposed him by its unprovoked malevolence, by + its ghastly injustice, that to his rough but unsophisticated palate tasted + distinctly of sulphurous fumes from the deepest hell. + </p> + <p> + The smooth darkness filling the shutter-hole grew paler and became blotchy + with ill-defined shapes, as if a new universe was being evolved out of + sombre chaos. Then outlines came out, defining forms without any details, + indicating here a tree, there a bush; a black belt of forest far off; the + straight lines of a house, the ridge of a high roof near by. Inside the + hut, Babalatchi, who lately had been only a persuasive voice, became a + human shape leaning its chin imprudently on the muzzle of a gun and + rolling an uneasy eye over the reappearing world. The day came rapidly, + dismal and oppressed by the fog of the river and by the heavy vapours of + the sky—a day without colour and without sunshine: incomplete, + disappointing, and sad. + </p> + <p> + Babalatchi twitched gently Lingard’s sleeve, and when the old seaman had + lifted up his head interrogatively, he stretched out an arm and a pointing + forefinger towards Willems’ house, now plainly visible to the right and + beyond the big tree of the courtyard. + </p> + <p> + “Look, Tuan!” he said. “He lives there. That is the door—his door. + Through it he will appear soon, with his hair in disorder and his mouth + full of curses. That is so. He is a white man, and never satisfied. It is + in my mind he is angry even in his sleep. A dangerous man. As Tuan may + observe,” he went on, obsequiously, “his door faces this opening, where + you condescend to sit, which is concealed from all eyes. Faces it—straight—and + not far. Observe, Tuan, not at all far.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes; I can see. I shall see him when he wakes.” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt, Tuan. When he wakes. . . . If you remain here he can not see + you. I shall withdraw quickly and prepare my canoe myself. I am only a + poor man, and must go to Sambir to greet Lakamba when he opens his eyes. I + must bow before Abdulla who has strength—even more strength than + you. Now if you remain here, you shall easily behold the man who boasted + to Abdulla that he had been your friend, even while he prepared to fight + those who called you protector. Yes, he plotted with Abdulla for that + cursed flag. Lakamba was blind then, and I was deceived. But you, Tuan! + Remember, he deceived you more. Of that he boasted before all men.” + </p> + <p> + He leaned the gun quietly against the wall close to the window, and said + softly: “Shall I go now, Tuan? Be careful of the gun. I have put the + fire-stone in. The fire-stone of the wise man, which never fails.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard’s eyes were fastened on the distant doorway. Across his line of + sight, in the grey emptiness of the courtyard, a big fruit-pigeon flapped + languidly towards the forests with a loud booming cry, like the note of a + deep gong: a brilliant bird looking in the gloom of threatening day as + black as a crow. A serried flock of white rice birds rose above the trees + with a faint scream, and hovered, swaying in a disordered mass that + suddenly scattered in all directions, as if burst asunder by a silent + explosion. Behind his back Lingard heard a shuffle of feet—women + leaving the hut. In the other courtyard a voice was heard complaining of + cold, and coming very feeble, but exceedingly distinct, out of the vast + silence of the abandoned houses and clearings. Babalatchi coughed + discreetly. From under the house the thumping of wooden pestles husking + the rice started with unexpected abruptness. The weak but clear voice in + the yard again urged, “Blow up the embers, O brother!” Another voice + answered, drawling in modulated, thin sing-song, “Do it yourself, O + shivering pig!” and the drawl of the last words stopped short, as if the + man had fallen into a deep hole. Babalatchi coughed again a little + impatiently, and said in a confidential tone— + </p> + <p> + “Do you think it is time for me to go, Tuan? Will you take care of my gun, + Tuan? I am a man that knows how to obey; even obey Abdulla, who has + deceived me. Nevertheless this gun carries far and true—if you would + want to know, Tuan. And I have put in a double measure of powder, and + three slugs. Yes, Tuan. Now—perhaps—I go.” + </p> + <p> + When Babalatchi commenced speaking, Lingard turned slowly round and gazed + upon him with the dull and unwilling look of a sick man waking to another + day of suffering. As the astute statesman proceeded, Lingard’s eyebrows + came close, his eyes became animated, and a big vein stood out on his + forehead, accentuating a lowering frown. When speaking his last words + Babalatchi faltered, then stopped, confused, before the steady gaze of the + old seaman. + </p> + <p> + Lingard rose. His face cleared, and he looked down at the anxious + Babalatchi with sudden benevolence. + </p> + <p> + “So! That’s what you were after,” he said, laying a heavy hand on + Babalatchi’s yielding shoulder. “You thought I came here to murder him. + Hey? Speak! You faithful dog of an Arab trader!” + </p> + <p> + “And what else, Tuan?” shrieked Babalatchi, exasperated into sincerity. + “What else, Tuan! Remember what he has done; he poisoned our ears with his + talk about you. You are a man. If you did not come to kill, Tuan, then + either I am a fool or . . .” + </p> + <p> + He paused, struck his naked breast with his open palm, and finished in a + discouraged whisper—“or, Tuan, you are.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard looked down at him with scornful serenity. After his long and + painful gropings amongst the obscure abominations of Willems’ conduct, the + logical if tortuous evolutions of Babalatchi’s diplomatic mind were to him + welcome as daylight. There was something at last he could understand—the + clear effect of a simple cause. He felt indulgent towards the disappointed + sage. + </p> + <p> + “So you are angry with your friend, O one-eyed one!” he said slowly, + nodding his fierce countenance close to Babalatchi’s discomfited face. “It + seems to me that you must have had much to do with what happened in Sambir + lately. Hey? You son of a burnt father.” + </p> + <p> + “May I perish under your hand, O Rajah of the sea, if my words are not + true!” said Babalatchi, with reckless excitement. “You are here in the + midst of your enemies. He the greatest. Abdulla would do nothing without + him, and I could do nothing without Abdulla. Strike me—so that you + strike all!” + </p> + <p> + “Who are you,” exclaimed Lingard contemptuously—“who are you to dare + call yourself my enemy! Dirt! Nothing! Go out first,” he went on severely. + “Lakas! quick. March out!” + </p> + <p> + He pushed Babalatchi through the doorway and followed him down the short + ladder into the courtyard. The boatmen squatting over the fire turned + their slow eyes with apparent difficulty towards the two men; then, + unconcerned, huddled close together again, stretching forlornly their + hands over the embers. The women stopped in their work and with uplifted + pestles flashed quick and curious glances from the gloom under the house. + </p> + <p> + “Is that the way?” asked Lingard with a nod towards the little wicket-gate + of Willems’ enclosure. + </p> + <p> + “If you seek death, that is surely the way,” answered Babalatchi in a + dispassionate voice, as if he had exhausted all the emotions. “He lives + there: he who destroyed your friends; who hastened Omar’s death; who + plotted with Abdulla first against you, then against me. I have been like + a child. O shame! . . . But go, Tuan. Go there.” + </p> + <p> + “I go where I like,” said Lingard, emphatically, “and you may go to the + devil; I do not want you any more. The islands of these seas shall sink + before I, Rajah Laut, serve the will of any of your people. Tau? But I + tell you this: I do not care what you do with him after to-day. And I say + that because I am merciful.” + </p> + <p> + “Tida! I do nothing,” said Babalatchi, shaking his head with bitter + apathy. “I am in Abdulla’s hand and care not, even as you do. No! no!” he + added, turning away, “I have learned much wisdom this morning. There are + no men anywhere. You whites are cruel to your friends and merciful to your + enemies—which is the work of fools.” + </p> + <p> + He went away towards the riverside, and, without once looking back, + disappeared in the low bank of mist that lay over the water and the shore. + Lingard followed him with his eyes thoughtfully. After awhile he roused + himself and called out to his boatmen— + </p> + <p> + “Hai—ya there! After you have eaten rice, wait for me with your + paddles in your hands. You hear?” + </p> + <p> + “Ada, Tuan!” answered Ali through the smoke of the morning fire that was + spreading itself, low and gentle, over the courtyard—“we hear!” + </p> + <p> + Lingard opened slowly the little wicket-gate, made a few steps into the + empty enclosure, and stopped. He had felt about his head the short breath + of a puff of wind that passed him, made every leaf of the big tree shiver—and + died out in a hardly perceptible tremor of branches and twigs. + Instinctively he glanced upwards with a seaman’s impulse. Above him, under + the grey motionless waste of a stormy sky, drifted low black vapours, in + stretching bars, in shapeless patches, in sinuous wisps and tormented + spirals. Over the courtyard and the house floated a round, sombre, and + lingering cloud, dragging behind a tail of tangled and filmy streamers—like + the dishevelled hair of a mourning woman. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0020" id="link2HCH0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THREE + </h2> + <p> + “Beware!” + </p> + <p> + The tremulous effort and the broken, inadequate tone of the faint cry, + surprised Lingard more than the unexpected suddenness of the warning + conveyed, he did not know by whom and to whom. Besides himself there was + no one in the courtyard as far as he could see. + </p> + <p> + The cry was not renewed, and his watchful eyes, scanning warily the misty + solitude of Willems’ enclosure, were met everywhere only by the stolid + impassiveness of inanimate things: the big sombre-looking tree, the + shut-up, sightless house, the glistening bamboo fences, the damp and + drooping bushes further off—all these things, that condemned to look + for ever at the incomprehensible afflictions or joys of mankind, assert in + their aspect of cold unconcern the high dignity of lifeless matter that + surrounds, incurious and unmoved, the restless mysteries of the + ever-changing, of the never-ending life. + </p> + <p> + Lingard, stepping aside, put the trunk of the tree between himself and the + house, then, moving cautiously round one of the projecting buttresses, had + to tread short in order to avoid scattering a small heap of black embers + upon which he came unexpectedly on the other side. A thin, wizened, little + old woman, who, standing behind the tree, had been looking at the house, + turned towards him with a start, gazed with faded, expressionless eyes at + the intruder, then made a limping attempt to get away. She seemed, + however, to realize directly the hopelessness or the difficulty of the + undertaking, stopped, hesitated, tottered back slowly; then, after + blinking dully, fell suddenly on her knees amongst the white ashes, and, + bending over the heap of smouldering coals, distended her sunken cheeks in + a steady effort to blow up the hidden sparks into a useful blaze. Lingard + looked down on her, but she seemed to have made up her mind that there was + not enough life left in her lean body for anything else than the discharge + of the simple domestic duty, and, apparently, she begrudged him the least + moment of attention. + </p> + <p> + After waiting for awhile, Lingard asked— + </p> + <p> + “Why did you call, O daughter?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw you enter,” she croaked feebly, still grovelling with her face near + the ashes and without looking up, “and I called—the cry of warning. + It was her order. Her order,” she repeated, with a moaning sigh. + </p> + <p> + “And did she hear?” pursued Lingard, with gentle composure. + </p> + <p> + Her projecting shoulder-blades moved uneasily under the thin stuff of the + tight body jacket. She scrambled up with difficulty to her feet, and + hobbled away, muttering peevishly to herself, towards a pile of dry + brushwood heaped up against the fence. + </p> + <p> + Lingard, looking idly after her, heard the rattle of loose planks that led + from the ground to the door of the house. He moved his head beyond the + shelter of the tree and saw Aissa coming down the inclined way into the + courtyard. After making a few hurried paces towards the tree, she stopped + with one foot advanced in an appearance of sudden terror, and her eyes + glanced wildly right and left. Her head was uncovered. A blue cloth + wrapped her from her head to foot in close slanting folds, with one end + thrown over her shoulder. A tress of her black hair strayed across her + bosom. Her bare arms pressed down close to her body, with hands open and + outstretched fingers; her slightly elevated shoulders and the backward + inclination of her torso gave her the aspect of one defiant yet shrinking + from a coming blow. She had closed the door of the house behind her; and + as she stood solitary in the unnatural and threatening twilight of the + murky day, with everything unchanged around her, she appeared to Lingard + as if she had been made there, on the spot, out of the black vapours of + the sky and of the sinister gleams of feeble sunshine that struggled, + through the thickening clouds, into the colourless desolation of the + world. + </p> + <p> + After a short but attentive glance towards the shut-up house, Lingard + stepped out from behind the tree and advanced slowly towards her. The + sudden fixity of her—till then—restless eyes and a slight + twitch of her hands were the only signs she gave at first of having seen + him. She made a long stride forward, and putting herself right in his + path, stretched her arms across; her black eyes opened wide, her lips + parted as if in an uncertain attempt to speak—but no sound came out + to break the significant silence of their meeting. Lingard stopped and + looked at her with stern curiosity. After a while he said composedly— + </p> + <p> + “Let me pass. I came here to talk to a man. Does he hide? Has he sent + you?” + </p> + <p> + She made a step nearer, her arms fell by her side, then she put them + straight out nearly touching Lingard’s breast. + </p> + <p> + “He knows not fear,” she said, speaking low, with a forward throw of her + head, in a voice trembling but distinct. “It is my own fear that has sent + me here. He sleeps.” + </p> + <p> + “He has slept long enough,” said Lingard, in measured tones. “I am come—and + now is the time of his waking. Go and tell him this—or else my own + voice will call him up. A voice he knows well.” + </p> + <p> + He put her hands down firmly and again made as if to pass by her. + </p> + <p> + “Do not!” she exclaimed, and fell at his feet as if she had been cut down + by a scythe. The unexpected suddenness of her movement startled Lingard, + who stepped back. + </p> + <p> + “What’s this?” he exclaimed in a wondering whisper—then added in a + tone of sharp command: “Stand up!” + </p> + <p> + She rose at once and stood looking at him, timorous and fearless; yet with + a fire of recklessness burning in her eyes that made clear her resolve to + pursue her purpose even to the death. Lingard went on in a severe voice— + </p> + <p> + “Go out of my path. You are Omar’s daughter, and you ought to know that + when men meet in daylight women must be silent and abide their fate.” + </p> + <p> + “Women!” she retorted, with subdued vehemence. “Yes, I am a woman! Your + eyes see that, O Rajah Laut, but can you see my life? I also have heard—O + man of many fights—I also have heard the voice of fire-arms; I also + have felt the rain of young twigs and of leaves cut up by bullets fall + down about my head; I also know how to look in silence at angry faces and + at strong hands raised high grasping sharp steel. I also saw men fall dead + around me without a cry of fear and of mourning; and I have watched the + sleep of weary fugitives, and looked at night shadows full of menace and + death with eyes that knew nothing but watchfulness. And,” she went on, + with a mournful drop in her voice, “I have faced the heartless sea, held + on my lap the heads of those who died raving from thirst, and from their + cold hands took the paddle and worked so that those with me did not know + that one man more was dead. I did all this. What more have you done? That + was my life. What has been yours?” + </p> + <p> + The matter and the manner of her speech held Lingard motionless, attentive + and approving against his will. She ceased speaking, and from her staring + black eyes with a narrow border of white above and below, a double ray of + her very soul streamed out in a fierce desire to light up the most obscure + designs of his heart. After a long silence, which served to emphasize the + meaning of her words, she added in the whisper of bitter regret— + </p> + <p> + “And I have knelt at your feet! And I am afraid!” + </p> + <p> + “You,” said Lingard deliberately, and returning her look with an + interested gaze, “you are a woman whose heart, I believe, is great enough + to fill a man’s breast: but still you are a woman, and to you, I, Rajah + Laut, have nothing to say.” + </p> + <p> + She listened bending her head in a movement of forced attention; and his + voice sounded to her unexpected, far off, with the distant and unearthly + ring of voices that we hear in dreams, saying faintly things startling, + cruel or absurd, to which there is no possible reply. To her he had + nothing to say! She wrung her hands, glanced over the courtyard with that + eager and distracted look that sees nothing, then looked up at the + hopeless sky of livid grey and drifting black; at the unquiet mourning of + the hot and brilliant heaven that had seen the beginning of her love, that + had heard his entreaties and her answers, that had seen his desire and her + fear; that had seen her joy, her surrender—and his defeat. Lingard + moved a little, and this slight stir near her precipitated her disordered + and shapeless thoughts into hurried words. + </p> + <p> + “Wait!” she exclaimed in a stifled voice, and went on disconnectedly and + rapidly—“Stay. I have heard. Men often spoke by the fires . . . men + of my people. And they said of you—the first on the sea—they + said that to men’s cries you were deaf in battle, but after . . . No! even + while you fought, your ears were open to the voice of children and women. + They said . . . that. Now I, a woman, I . . .” + </p> + <p> + She broke off suddenly and stood before him with dropped eyelids and + parted lips, so still now that she seemed to have been changed into a + breathless, an unhearing, an unseeing figure, without knowledge of fear or + hope, of anger or despair. In the astounding repose that came on her face, + nothing moved but the delicate nostrils that expanded and collapsed + quickly, flutteringly, in interrupted beats, like the wings of a snared + bird. + </p> + <p> + “I am white,” said Lingard, proudly, looking at her with a steady gaze + where simple curiosity was giving way to a pitying annoyance, “and men you + have heard, spoke only what is true over the evening fires. My ears are + open to your prayer. But listen to me before you speak. For yourself you + need not be afraid. You can come even now with me and you shall find + refuge in the household of Syed Abdulla—who is of your own faith. + And this also you must know: nothing that you may say will change my + purpose towards the man who is sleeping—or hiding—in that + house.” + </p> + <p> + Again she gave him the look that was like a stab, not of anger but of + desire; of the intense, over-powering desire to see in, to see through, to + understand everything: every thought, emotion, purpose; every impulse, + every hesitation inside that man; inside that white-clad foreign being who + looked at her, who spoke to her, who breathed before her like any other + man, but bigger, red-faced, white-haired and mysterious. It was the future + clothed in flesh; the to-morrow; the day after; all the days, all the + years of her life standing there before her alive and secret, with all + their good or evil shut up within the breast of that man; of that man who + could be persuaded, cajoled, entreated, perhaps touched, worried; + frightened—who knows?—if only first he could be understood! + She had seen a long time ago whither events were tending. She had noted + the contemptuous yet menacing coldness of Abdulla; she had heard—alarmed + yet unbelieving—Babalatchi’s gloomy hints, covert allusions and + veiled suggestions to abandon the useless white man whose fate would be + the price of the peace secured by the wise and good who had no need of him + any more. And he—himself! She clung to him. There was nobody else. + Nothing else. She would try to cling to him always—all the life! And + yet he was far from her. Further every day. Every day he seemed more + distant, and she followed him patiently, hopefully, blindly, but steadily, + through all the devious wanderings of his mind. She followed as well as + she could. Yet at times—very often lately—she had felt lost + like one strayed in the thickets of tangled undergrowth of a great forest. + To her the ex-clerk of old Hudig appeared as remote, as brilliant, as + terrible, as necessary, as the sun that gives life to these lands: the sun + of unclouded skies that dazzles and withers; the sun beneficent and wicked—the + giver of light, perfume, and pestilence. She had watched him—watched + him close; fascinated by love, fascinated by danger. He was alone now—but + for her; and she saw—she thought she saw—that he was like a + man afraid of something. Was it possible? He afraid? Of what? Was it of + that old white man who was coming—who had come? Possibly. She had + heard of that man ever since she could remember. The bravest were afraid + of him! And now what was in the mind of this old, old man who looked so + strong? What was he going to do with the light of her life? Put it out? + Take it away? Take it away for ever!—for ever!—and leave her + in darkness:—not in the stirring, whispering, expectant night in + which the hushed world awaits the return of sunshine; but in the night + without end, the night of the grave, where nothing breathes, nothing + moves, nothing thinks—the last darkness of cold and silence without + hope of another sunrise. + </p> + <p> + She cried—“Your purpose! You know nothing. I must . . .” + </p> + <p> + He interrupted—unreasonably excited, as if she had, by her look, + inoculated him with some of her own distress. + </p> + <p> + “I know enough.” + </p> + <p> + She approached, and stood facing him at arm’s length, with both her hands + on his shoulders; and he, surprised by that audacity, closed and opened + his eyes two or three times, aware of some emotion arising within him, + from her words, her tone, her contact; an emotion unknown, singular, + penetrating and sad—at the close sight of that strange woman, of + that being savage and tender, strong and delicate, fearful and resolute, + that had got entangled so fatally between their two lives—his own + and that other white man’s, the abominable scoundrel. + </p> + <p> + “How can you know?” she went on, in a persuasive tone that seemed to flow + out of her very heart—“how can you know? I live with him all the + days. All the nights. I look at him; I see his every breath, every glance + of his eye, every movement of his lips. I see nothing else! What else is + there? And even I do not understand. I do not understand him!—Him!—My + life! Him who to me is so great that his presence hides the earth and the + water from my sight!” + </p> + <p> + Lingard stood straight, with his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket. + His eyes winked quickly, because she spoke very close to his face. She + disturbed him and he had a sense of the efforts he was making to get hold + of her meaning, while all the time he could not help telling himself that + all this was of no use. + </p> + <p> + She added after a pause—“There has been a time when I could + understand him. When I knew what was in his mind better than he knew it + himself. When I felt him. When I held him. . . . And now he has escaped.” + </p> + <p> + “Escaped? What? Gone away!” shouted Lingard. + </p> + <p> + “Escaped from me,” she said; “left me alone. Alone. And I am ever near + him. Yet alone.” + </p> + <p> + Her hands slipped slowly off Lingard’s shoulders and her arms fell by her + side, listless, discouraged, as if to her—to her, the savage, + violent, and ignorant creature—had been revealed clearly in that + moment the tremendous fact of our isolation, of the loneliness + impenetrable and transparent, elusive and everlasting; of the + indestructible loneliness that surrounds, envelopes, clothes every human + soul from the cradle to the grave, and, perhaps, beyond. + </p> + <p> + “Aye! Very well! I understand. His face is turned away from you,” said + Lingard. “Now, what do you want?” + </p> + <p> + “I want . . . I have looked—for help . . . everywhere . . . against + men. . . . All men . . . I do not know. First they came, the invisible + whites, and dealt death from afar . . . then he came. He came to me who + was alone and sad. He came; angry with his brothers; great amongst his own + people; angry with those I have not seen: with the people where men have + no mercy and women have no shame. He was of them, and great amongst them. + For he was great?” + </p> + <p> + Lingard shook his head slightly. She frowned at him, and went on in + disordered haste— + </p> + <p> + “Listen. I saw him. I have lived by the side of brave men . . . of chiefs. + When he came I was the daughter of a beggar—of a blind man without + strength and hope. He spoke to me as if I had been brighter than the + sunshine—more delightful than the cool water of the brook by which + we met—more . . .” Her anxious eyes saw some shade of expression + pass on her listener’s face that made her hold her breath for a second, + and then explode into pained fury so violent that it drove Lingard back a + pace, like an unexpected blast of wind. He lifted both his hands, + incongruously paternal in his venerable aspect, bewildered and soothing, + while she stretched her neck forward and shouted at him. + </p> + <p> + “I tell you I was all that to him. I know it! I saw it! . . . There are + times when even you white men speak the truth. I saw his eyes. I felt his + eyes, I tell you! I saw him tremble when I came near—when I spoke—when + I touched him. Look at me! You have been young. Look at me. Look, Rajah + Laut!” + </p> + <p> + She stared at Lingard with provoking fixity, then, turning her head + quickly, she sent over her shoulder a glance, full of humble fear, at the + house that stood high behind her back—dark, closed, rickety and + silent on its crooked posts. + </p> + <p> + Lingard’s eyes followed her look, and remained gazing expectantly at the + house. After a minute or so he muttered, glancing at her suspiciously— + </p> + <p> + “If he has not heard your voice now, then he must be far away—or + dead.” + </p> + <p> + “He is there,” she whispered, a little calmed but still anxious—“he + is there. For three days he waited. Waited for you night and day. And I + waited with him. I waited, watching his face, his eyes, his lips; + listening to his words.—To the words I could not understand.—To + the words he spoke in daylight; to the words he spoke at night in his + short sleep. I listened. He spoke to himself walking up and down here—by + the river; by the bushes. And I followed. I wanted to know—and I + could not! He was tormented by things that made him speak in the words of + his own people. Speak to himself—not to me. Not to me! What was he + saying? What was he going to do? Was he afraid of you?—Of death? + What was in his heart? . . . Fear? . . . Or anger? . . . what desire? . . + . what sadness? He spoke; spoke; many words. All the time! And I could not + know! I wanted to speak to him. He was deaf to me. I followed him + everywhere, watching for some word I could understand; but his mind was in + the land of his people—away from me. When I touched him he was angry—so!” + </p> + <p> + She imitated the movement of some one shaking off roughly an importunate + hand, and looked at Lingard with tearful and unsteady eyes. + </p> + <p> + After a short interval of laboured panting, as if she had been out of + breath with running or fighting, she looked down and went on— + </p> + <p> + “Day after day, night after night, I lived watching him—seeing + nothing. And my heart was heavy—heavy with the presence of death + that dwelt amongst us. I could not believe. I thought he was afraid. + Afraid of you! Then I, myself, knew fear. . . . Tell me, Rajah Laut, do + you know the fear without voice—the fear of silence—the fear + that comes when there is no one near—when there is no battle, no + cries, no angry faces or armed hands anywhere? . . . The fear from which + there is no escape!” + </p> + <p> + She paused, fastened her eyes again on the puzzled Lingard, and hurried on + in a tone of despair— + </p> + <p> + “And I knew then he would not fight you! Before—many days ago—I + went away twice to make him obey my desire; to make him strike at his own + people so that he could be mine—mine! O calamity! His hand was false + as your white hearts. It struck forward, pushed by my desire—by his + desire of me. . . . It struck that strong hand, and—O shame!—it + killed nobody! Its fierce and lying blow woke up hate without any fear. + Round me all was lies. His strength was a lie. My own people lied to me + and to him. And to meet you—you, the great!—he had no one but + me? But me with my rage, my pain, my weakness. Only me! And to me he would + not even speak. The fool!” + </p> + <p> + She came up close to Lingard, with the wild and stealthy aspect of a + lunatic longing to whisper out an insane secret—one of those + misshapen, heart-rending, and ludicrous secrets; one of those thoughts + that, like monsters—cruel, fantastic, and mournful, wander about + terrible and unceasing in the night of madness. Lingard looked at her, + astounded but unflinching. She spoke in his face, very low. + </p> + <p> + “He is all! Everything. He is my breath, my light, my heart. . . . Go + away. . . . Forget him. . . . He has no courage and no wisdom any more . . + . and I have lost my power. . . . Go away and forget. There are other + enemies. . . . Leave him to me. He had been a man once. . . . You are too + great. Nobody can withstand you. . . . I tried. . . . I know now . . . . I + cry for mercy. Leave him to me and go away.” + </p> + <p> + The fragments of her supplicating sentences were as if tossed on the crest + of her sobs. Lingard, outwardly impassive, with his eyes fixed on the + house, experienced that feeling of condemnation, deep-seated, persuasive, + and masterful; that illogical impulse of disapproval which is half + disgust, half vague fear, and that wakes up in our hearts in the presence + of anything new or unusual, of anything that is not run into the mould of + our own conscience; the accursed feeling made up of disdain, of anger, and + of the sense of superior virtue that leaves us deaf, blind, contemptuous + and stupid before anything which is not like ourselves. + </p> + <p> + He answered, not looking at her at first, but speaking towards the house + that fascinated him— + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> go away! He wanted me to come—he himself did! . . . <i>You</i> + must go away. You do not know what you are asking for. Listen. Go to your + own people. Leave him. He is . . .” + </p> + <p> + He paused, looked down at her with his steady eyes; hesitated, as if + seeking an adequate expression; then snapped his fingers, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Finish.” + </p> + <p> + She stepped back, her eyes on the ground, and pressed her temples with + both her hands, which she raised to her head in a slow and ample movement + full of unconscious tragedy. The tone of her words was gentle and + vibrating, like a loud meditation. She said— + </p> + <p> + “Tell the brook not to run to the river; tell the river not to run to the + sea. Speak loud. Speak angrily. Maybe they will obey you. But it is in my + mind that the brook will not care. The brook that springs out of the + hillside and runs to the great river. He would not care for your words: he + that cares not for the very mountain that gave him life; he that tears the + earth from which he springs. Tears it, eats it, destroys it—to hurry + faster to the river—to the river in which he is lost for ever. . . . + O Rajah Laut! I do not care.” + </p> + <p> + She drew close again to Lingard, approaching slowly, reluctantly, as if + pushed by an invisible hand, and added in words that seemed to be torn out + of her— + </p> + <p> + “I cared not for my own father. For him that died. I would have rather . . + . You do not know what I have done . . . I . . .” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have his life,” said Lingard, hastily. + </p> + <p> + They stood together, crossing their glances; she suddenly appeased, and + Lingard thoughtful and uneasy under a vague sense of defeat. And yet there + was no defeat. He never intended to kill the fellow—not after the + first moment of anger, a long time ago. The days of bitter wonder had + killed anger; had left only a bitter indignation and a bitter wish for + complete justice. He felt discontented and surprised. Unexpectedly he had + come upon a human being—a woman at that—who had made him + disclose his will before its time. She should have his life. But she must + be told, she must know, that for such men as Willems there was no favour + and no grace. + </p> + <p> + “Understand,” he said slowly, “that I leave him his life not in mercy but + in punishment.” + </p> + <p> + She started, watched every word on his lips, and after he finished + speaking she remained still and mute in astonished immobility. A single + big drop of rain, a drop enormous, pellucid and heavy—like a + super-human tear coming straight and rapid from above, tearing its way + through the sombre sky—struck loudly the dry ground between them in + a starred splash. She wrung her hands in the bewilderment of the new and + incomprehensible fear. The anguish of her whisper was more piercing than + the shrillest cry. + </p> + <p> + “What punishment! Will you take him away then? Away from me? Listen to + what I have done. . . . It is I who . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” exclaimed Lingard, who had been looking at the house. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you believe her, Captain Lingard,” shouted Willems from the + doorway, where he appeared with swollen eyelids and bared breast. He stood + for a while, his hands grasping the lintels on each side of the door, and + writhed about, glaring wildly, as if he had been crucified there. Then he + made a sudden rush head foremost down the plankway that responded with + hollow, short noises to every footstep. + </p> + <p> + She heard him. A slight thrill passed on her face and the words that were + on her lips fell back unspoken into her benighted heart; fell back amongst + the mud, the stones—and the flowers, that are at the bottom of every + heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0021" id="link2HCH0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FOUR + </h2> + <p> + When he felt the solid ground of the courtyard under his feet, Willems + pulled himself up in his headlong rush and moved forward with a moderate + gait. He paced stiffly, looking with extreme exactitude at Lingard’s face; + looking neither to the right nor to the left but at the face only, as if + there was nothing in the world but those features familiar and dreaded; + that white-haired, rough and severe head upon which he gazed in a fixed + effort of his eyes, like a man trying to read small print at the full + range of human vision. As soon as Willems’ feet had left the planks, the + silence which had been lifted up by the jerky rattle of his footsteps fell + down again upon the courtyard; the silence of the cloudy sky and of the + windless air, the sullen silence of the earth oppressed by the aspect of + coming turmoil, the silence of the world collecting its faculties to + withstand the storm. Through this silence Willems pushed his way, and + stopped about six feet from Lingard. He stopped simply because he could go + no further. He had started from the door with the reckless purpose of + clapping the old fellow on the shoulder. He had no idea that the man would + turn out to be so tall, so big and so unapproachable. It seemed to him + that he had never, never in his life, seen Lingard. + </p> + <p> + He tried to say— + </p> + <p> + “Do not believe . . .” + </p> + <p> + A fit of coughing checked his sentence in a faint splutter. Directly + afterwards he swallowed—as it were—a couple of pebbles, + throwing his chin up in the act; and Lingard, who looked at him narrowly, + saw a bone, sharp and triangular like the head of a snake, dart up and + down twice under the skin of his throat. Then that, too, did not move. + Nothing moved. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Lingard, and with that word he came unexpectedly to the end + of his speech. His hand in his pocket closed firmly round the butt of his + revolver bulging his jacket on the hip, and he thought how soon and how + quickly he could terminate his quarrel with that man who had been so + anxious to deliver himself into his hands—and how inadequate would + be that ending! He could not bear the idea of that man escaping from him + by going out of life; escaping from fear, from doubt, from remorse into + the peaceful certitude of death. He held him now. And he was not going to + let him go—to let him disappear for ever in the faint blue smoke of + a pistol shot. His anger grew within him. He felt a touch as of a burning + hand on his heart. Not on the flesh of his breast, but a touch on his + heart itself, on the palpitating and untiring particle of matter that + responds to every emotion of the soul; that leaps with joy, with terror, + or with anger. + </p> + <p> + He drew a long breath. He could see before him the bare chest of the man + expanding and collapsing under the wide-open jacket. He glanced aside, and + saw the bosom of the woman near him rise and fall in quick respirations + that moved slightly up and down her hand, which was pressed to her breast + with all the fingers spread out and a little curved, as if grasping + something too big for its span. And nearly a minute passed. One of those + minutes when the voice is silenced, while the thoughts flutter in the + head, like captive birds inside a cage, in rushes desperate, exhausting + and vain. + </p> + <p> + During that minute of silence Lingard’s anger kept rising, immense and + towering, such as a crested wave running over the troubled shallows of the + sands. Its roar filled his cars; a roar so powerful and distracting that, + it seemed to him, his head must burst directly with the expanding volume + of that sound. He looked at that man. That infamous figure upright on its + feet, still, rigid, with stony eyes, as if its rotten soul had departed + that moment and the carcass hadn’t had the time yet to topple over. For + the fraction of a second he had the illusion and the fear of the scoundrel + having died there before the enraged glance of his eyes. Willems’ eyelids + fluttered, and the unconscious and passing tremor in that stiffly erect + body exasperated Lingard like a fresh outrage. The fellow dared to stir! + Dared to wink, to breathe, to exist; here, right before his eyes! His grip + on the revolver relaxed gradually. As the transport of his rage increased, + so also his contempt for the instruments that pierce or stab, that + interpose themselves between the hand and the object of hate. He wanted + another kind of satisfaction. Naked hands, by heaven! No firearms. Hands + that could take him by the throat, beat down his defence, batter his face + into shapeless flesh; hands that could feel all the desperation of his + resistance and overpower it in the violent delight of a contact lingering + and furious, intimate and brutal. + </p> + <p> + He let go the revolver altogether, stood hesitating, then throwing his + hands out, strode forward—and everything passed from his sight. He + could not see the man, the woman, the earth, the sky—saw nothing, as + if in that one stride he had left the visible world behind to step into a + black and deserted space. He heard screams round him in that obscurity, + screams like the melancholy and pitiful cries of sea-birds that dwell on + the lonely reefs of great oceans. Then suddenly a face appeared within a + few inches of his own. His face. He felt something in his left hand. His + throat . . . Ah! the thing like a snake’s head that darts up and down . . + . He squeezed hard. He was back in the world. He could see the quick + beating of eyelids over a pair of eyes that were all whites, the grin of a + drawn-up lip, a row of teeth gleaming through the drooping hair of a + moustache . . . Strong white teeth. Knock them down his lying throat . . . + He drew back his right hand, the fist up to the shoulder, knuckles out. + From under his feet rose the screams of sea-birds. Thousands of them. + Something held his legs . . . What the devil . . . He delivered his blow + straight from the shoulder, felt the jar right up his arm, and realized + suddenly that he was striking something passive and unresisting. His heart + sank within him with disappointment, with rage, with mortification. He + pushed with his left arm, opening the hand with haste, as if he had just + perceived that he got hold by accident of something repulsive—and he + watched with stupefied eyes Willems tottering backwards in groping + strides, the white sleeve of his jacket across his face. He watched his + distance from that man increase, while he remained motionless, without + being able to account to himself for the fact that so much empty space had + come in between them. It should have been the other way. They ought to + have been very close, and . . . Ah! He wouldn’t fight, he wouldn’t resist, + he wouldn’t defend himself! A cur! Evidently a cur! . . . He was amazed + and aggrieved—profoundly, bitterly—with the immense and blank + desolation of a small child robbed of a toy. He shouted—unbelieving: + </p> + <p> + “Will you be a cheat to the end?” + </p> + <p> + He waited for some answer. He waited anxiously with an impatience that + seemed to lift him off his feet. He waited for some word, some sign; for + some threatening stir. Nothing! Only two unwinking eyes glittered intently + at him above the white sleeve. He saw the raised arm detach itself from + the face and sink along the body. A white clad arm, with a big stain on + the white sleeve. A red stain. There was a cut on the cheek. It bled. The + nose bled too. The blood ran down, made one moustache look like a dark rag + stuck over the lip, and went on in a wet streak down the clipped beard on + one side of the chin. A drop of blood hung on the end of some hairs that + were glued together; it hung for a while and took a leap down on the + ground. Many more followed, leaping one after another in close file. One + alighted on the breast and glided down instantly with devious vivacity, + like a small insect running away; it left a narrow dark track on the white + skin. He looked at it, looked at the tiny and active drops, looked at what + he had done, with obscure satisfaction, with anger, with regret. This + wasn’t much like an act of justice. He had a desire to go up nearer to the + man, to hear him speak, to hear him say something atrocious and wicked + that would justify the violence of the blow. He made an attempt to move, + and became aware of a close embrace round both his legs, just above the + ankles. Instinctively, he kicked out with his foot, broke through the + close bond and felt at once the clasp transferred to his other leg; the + clasp warm, desperate and soft, of human arms. He looked down bewildered. + He saw the body of the woman stretched at length, flattened on the ground + like a dark blue rag. She trailed face downwards, clinging to his leg with + both arms in a tenacious hug. He saw the top of her head, the long black + hair streaming over his foot, all over the beaten earth, around his boot. + He couldn’t see his foot for it. He heard the short and repeated moaning + of her breath. He imagined the invisible face close to his heel. With one + kick into that face he could free himself. He dared not stir, and shouted + down— + </p> + <p> + “Let go! Let go! Let go!” + </p> + <p> + The only result of his shouting was a tightening of the pressure of her + arms. With a tremendous effort he tried to bring his right foot up to his + left, and succeeded partly. He heard distinctly the rub of her body on the + ground as he jerked her along. He tried to disengage himself by drawing up + his foot. He stamped. He heard a voice saying sharply— + </p> + <p> + “Steady, Captain Lingard, steady!” + </p> + <p> + His eyes flew back to Willems at the sound of that voice, and, in the + quick awakening of sleeping memories, Lingard stood suddenly still, + appeased by the clear ring of familiar words. Appeased as in days of old, + when they were trading together, when Willems was his trusted and helpful + companion in out-of-the-way and dangerous places; when that fellow, who + could keep his temper so much better than he could himself, had spared him + many a difficulty, had saved him from many an act of hasty violence by the + timely and good-humoured warning, whispered or shouted, “Steady, Captain + Lingard, steady.” A smart fellow. He had brought him up. The smartest + fellow in the islands. If he had only stayed with him, then all this . . . + He called out to Willems— + </p> + <p> + “Tell her to let me go or . . .” + </p> + <p> + He heard Willems shouting something, waited for awhile, then glanced + vaguely down and saw the woman still stretched out perfectly mute and + unstirring, with her head at his feet. He felt a nervous impatience that, + somehow, resembled fear. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her to let go, to go away, Willems, I tell you. I’ve had enough of + this,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Captain Lingard,” answered the calm voice of Willems, “she has + let go. Take your foot off her hair; she can’t get up.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard leaped aside, clean away, and spun round quickly. He saw her sit + up and cover her face with both hands, then he turned slowly on his heel + and looked at the man. Willems held himself very straight, but was + unsteady on his feet, and moved about nearly on the same spot, like a + tipsy man attempting to preserve his balance. After gazing at him for a + while, Lingard called, rancorous and irritable— + </p> + <p> + “What have you got to say for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Willems began to walk towards him. He walked slowly, reeling a little + before he took each step, and Lingard saw him put his hand to his face, + then look at it holding it up to his eyes, as if he had there, concealed + in the hollow of the palm, some small object which he wanted to examine + secretly. Suddenly he drew it, with a brusque movement, down the front of + his jacket and left a long smudge. + </p> + <p> + “That’s a fine thing to do,” said Willems. + </p> + <p> + He stood in front of Lingard, one of his eyes sunk deep in the increasing + swelling of his cheek, still repeating mechanically the movement of + feeling his damaged face; and every time he did this he pressed the palm + to some clean spot on his jacket, covering the white cotton with bloody + imprints as of some deformed and monstrous hand. Lingard said nothing, + looking on. At last Willems left off staunching the blood and stood, his + arms hanging by his side, with his face stiff and distorted under the + patches of coagulated blood; and he seemed as though he had been set up + there for a warning: an incomprehensible figure marked all over with some + awful and symbolic signs of deadly import. Speaking with difficulty, he + repeated in a reproachful tone— + </p> + <p> + “That was a fine thing to do.” + </p> + <p> + “After all,” answered Lingard, bitterly, “I had too good an opinion of + you.” + </p> + <p> + “And I of you. Don’t you see that I could have had that fool over there + killed and the whole thing burnt to the ground, swept off the face of the + earth. You wouldn’t have found as much as a heap of ashes had I liked. I + could have done all that. And I wouldn’t.” + </p> + <p> + “You—could—not. You dared not. You scoundrel!” cried Lingard. + </p> + <p> + “What’s the use of calling me names?” + </p> + <p> + “True,” retorted Lingard—“there’s no name bad enough for you.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short interval of silence. At the sound of their rapidly + exchanged words, Aissa had got up from the ground where she had been + sitting, in a sorrowful and dejected pose, and approached the two men. She + stood on one side and looked on eagerly, in a desperate effort of her + brain, with the quick and distracted eyes of a person trying for her life + to penetrate the meaning of sentences uttered in a foreign tongue: the + meaning portentous and fateful that lurks in the sounds of mysterious + words; in the sounds surprising, unknown and strange. + </p> + <p> + Willems let the last speech of Lingard pass by; seemed by a slight + movement of his hand to help it on its way to join the other shadows of + the past. Then he said— + </p> + <p> + “You have struck me; you have insulted me . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Insulted you!” interrupted Lingard, passionately. “Who—what can + insult you . . . you . . .” + </p> + <p> + He choked, advanced a step. + </p> + <p> + “Steady! steady!” said Willems calmly. “I tell you I sha’n’t fight. Is it + clear enough to you that I sha’n’t? I—shall—not—lift—a—finger.” + </p> + <p> + As he spoke, slowly punctuating each word with a slight jerk of his head, + he stared at Lingard, his right eye open and big, the left small and + nearly closed by the swelling of one half of his face, that appeared all + drawn out on one side like faces seen in a concave glass. And they stood + exactly opposite each other: one tall, slight and disfigured; the other + tall, heavy and severe. + </p> + <p> + Willems went on— + </p> + <p> + “If I had wanted to hurt you—if I had wanted to destroy you, it was + easy. I stood in the doorway long enough to pull a trigger—and you + know I shoot straight.” + </p> + <p> + “You would have missed,” said Lingard, with assurance. “There is, under + heaven, such a thing as justice.” + </p> + <p> + The sound of that word on his own lips made him pause, confused, like an + unexpected and unanswerable rebuke. The anger of his outraged pride, the + anger of his outraged heart, had gone out in the blow; and there remained + nothing but the sense of some immense infamy—of something vague, + disgusting and terrible, which seemed to surround him on all sides, hover + about him with shadowy and stealthy movements, like a band of assassins in + the darkness of vast and unsafe places. Was there, under heaven, such a + thing as justice? He looked at the man before him with such an intensity + of prolonged glance that he seemed to see right through him, that at last + he saw but a floating and unsteady mist in human shape. Would it blow away + before the first breath of the breeze and leave nothing behind? + </p> + <p> + The sound of Willems’ voice made him start violently. Willems was saying— + </p> + <p> + “I have always led a virtuous life; you know I have. You always praised me + for my steadiness; you know you have. You know also I never stole—if + that’s what you’re thinking of. I borrowed. You know how much I repaid. It + was an error of judgment. But then consider my position there. I had been + a little unlucky in my private affairs, and had debts. Could I let myself + go under before the eyes of all those men who envied me? But that’s all + over. It was an error of judgment. I’ve paid for it. An error of + judgment.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard, astounded into perfect stillness, looked down. He looked down at + Willems’ bare feet. Then, as the other had paused, he repeated in a blank + tone— + </p> + <p> + “An error of judgment . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” drawled out Willems, thoughtfully, and went on with increasing + animation: “As I said, I have always led a virtuous life. More so than + Hudig—than you. Yes, than you. I drank a little, I played cards a + little. Who doesn’t? But I had principles from a boy. Yes, principles. + Business is business, and I never was an ass. I never respected fools. + They had to suffer for their folly when they dealt with me. The evil was + in them, not in me. But as to principles, it’s another matter. I kept + clear of women. It’s forbidden—I had no time—and I despised + them. Now I hate them!” + </p> + <p> + He put his tongue out a little; a tongue whose pink and moist end ran here + and there, like something independently alive, under his swollen and + blackened lip; he touched with the tips of his fingers the cut on his + cheek, felt all round it with precaution: and the unharmed side of his + face appeared for a moment to be preoccupied and uneasy about the state of + that other side which was so very sore and stiff. + </p> + <p> + He recommenced speaking, and his voice vibrated as though with repressed + emotion of some kind. + </p> + <p> + “You ask my wife, when you see her in Macassar, whether I have no reason + to hate her. She was nobody, and I made her Mrs. Willems. A half-caste + girl! You ask her how she showed her gratitude to me. You ask . . . Never + mind that. Well, you came and dumped me here like a load of rubbish; + dumped me here and left me with nothing to do—nothing good to + remember—and damn little to hope for. You left me here at the mercy + of that fool, Almayer, who suspected me of something. Of what? Devil only + knows. But he suspected and hated me from the first; I suppose because you + befriended me. Oh! I could read him like a book. He isn’t very deep, your + Sambir partner, Captain Lingard, but he knows how to be disagreeable. + Months passed. I thought I would die of sheer weariness, of my thoughts, + of my regrets And then . . .” + </p> + <p> + He made a quick step nearer to Lingard, and as if moved by the same + thought, by the same instinct, by the impulse of his will, Aissa also + stepped nearer to them. They stood in a close group, and the two men could + feel the calm air between their faces stirred by the light breath of the + anxious woman who enveloped them both in the uncomprehending, in the + despairing and wondering glances of her wild and mournful eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0022" id="link2HCH0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FIVE + </h2> + <p> + Willems turned a little from her and spoke lower. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that,” he said, with an almost imperceptible movement of his head + towards the woman to whom he was presenting his shoulder. “Look at that! + Don’t believe her! What has she been saying to you? What? I have been + asleep. Had to sleep at last. I’ve been waiting for you three days and + nights. I had to sleep some time. Hadn’t I? I told her to remain awake and + watch for you, and call me at once. She did watch. You can’t believe her. + You can’t believe any woman. Who can tell what’s inside their heads? No + one. You can know nothing. The only thing you can know is that it isn’t + anything like what comes through their lips. They live by the side of you. + They seem to hate you, or they seem to love you; they caress or torment + you; they throw you over or stick to you closer than your skin for some + inscrutable and awful reason of their own—which you can never know! + Look at her—and look at me. At me!—her infernal work. What has + she been saying?” + </p> + <p> + His voice had sunk to a whisper. Lingard listened with great attention, + holding his chin in his hand, which grasped a great handful of his white + beard. His elbow was in the palm of his other hand, and his eyes were + still fixed on the ground. He murmured, without looking up— + </p> + <p> + “She begged me for your life—if you want to know—as if the + thing were worth giving or taking!” + </p> + <p> + “And for three days she begged me to take yours,” said Willems quickly. + “For three days she wouldn’t give me any peace. She was never still. She + planned ambushes. She has been looking for places all over here where I + could hide and drop you with a safe shot as you walked up. It’s true. I + give you my word.” + </p> + <p> + “Your word,” muttered Lingard, contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + Willems took no notice. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! She is a ferocious creature,” he went on. “You don’t know . . . I + wanted to pass the time—to do something—to have something to + think about—to forget my troubles till you came back. And . . . look + at her . . . she took me as if I did not belong to myself. She did. I did + not know there was something in me she could get hold of. She, a savage. + I, a civilized European, and clever! She that knew no more than a wild + animal! Well, she found out something in me. She found it out, and I was + lost. I knew it. She tormented me. I was ready to do anything. I resisted—but + I was ready. I knew that too. That frightened me more than anything; more + than my own sufferings; and that was frightful enough, I assure you.” + </p> + <p> + Lingard listened, fascinated and amazed like a child listening to a fairy + tale, and, when Willems stopped for breath, he shuffled his feet a little. + </p> + <p> + “What does he say?” cried out Aissa, suddenly. + </p> + <p> + The two men looked at her quickly, and then looked at one another. + </p> + <p> + Willems began again, speaking hurriedly— + </p> + <p> + “I tried to do something. Take her away from those people. I went to + Almayer; the biggest blind fool that you ever . . . Then Abdulla came—and + she went away. She took away with her something of me which I had to get + back. I had to do it. As far as you are concerned, the change here had to + happen sooner or later; you couldn’t be master here for ever. It isn’t + what I have done that torments me. It is the why. It’s the madness that + drove me to it. It’s that thing that came over me. That may come again, + some day.” + </p> + <p> + “It will do no harm to anybody then, I promise you,” said Lingard, + significantly. + </p> + <p> + Willems looked at him for a second with a blank stare, then went on— + </p> + <p> + “I fought against her. She goaded me to violence and to murder. Nobody + knows why. She pushed me to it persistently, desperately, all the time. + Fortunately Abdulla had sense. I don’t know what I wouldn’t have done. She + held me then. Held me like a nightmare that is terrible and sweet. By and + by it was another life. I woke up. I found myself beside an animal as full + of harm as a wild cat. You don’t know through what I have passed. Her + father tried to kill me—and she very nearly killed him. I believe + she would have stuck at nothing. I don’t know which was more terrible! She + would have stuck at nothing to defend her own. And when I think that it + was me—me—Willems . . . I hate her. To-morrow she may want my + life. How can I know what’s in her? She may want to kill me next!” + </p> + <p> + He paused in great trepidation, then added in a scared tone— + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to die here.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t you?” said Lingard, thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + Willems turned towards Aissa and pointed at her with a bony forefinger. + </p> + <p> + “Look at her! Always there. Always near. Always watching, watching . . . + for something. Look at her eyes. Ain’t they big? Don’t they stare? You + wouldn’t think she can shut them like human beings do. I don’t believe she + ever does. I go to sleep, if I can, under their stare, and when I wake up + I see them fixed on me and moving no more than the eyes of a corpse. While + I am still they are still. By God—she can’t move them till I stir, + and then they follow me like a pair of jailers. They watch me; when I stop + they seem to wait patient and glistening till I am off my guard—for + to do something. To do something horrible. Look at them! You can see + nothing in them. They are big, menacing—and empty. The eyes of a + savage; of a damned mongrel, half-Arab, half-Malay. They hurt me! I am + white! I swear to you I can’t stand this! Take me away. I am white! All + white!” + </p> + <p> + He shouted towards the sombre heaven, proclaiming desperately under the + frown of thickening clouds the fact of his pure and superior descent. He + shouted, his head thrown up, his arms swinging about wildly; lean, ragged, + disfigured; a tall madman making a great disturbance about something + invisible; a being absurd, repulsive, pathetic, and droll. Lingard, who + was looking down as if absorbed in deep thought, gave him a quick glance + from under his eyebrows: Aissa stood with clasped hands. At the other end + of the courtyard the old woman, like a vague and decrepit apparition, rose + noiselessly to look, then sank down again with a stealthy movement and + crouched low over the small glow of the fire. Willems’ voice filled the + enclosure, rising louder with every word, and then, suddenly, at its very + loudest, stopped short—like water stops running from an over-turned + vessel. As soon as it had ceased the thunder seemed to take up the burden + in a low growl coming from the inland hills. The noise approached in + confused mutterings which kept on increasing, swelling into a roar that + came nearer, rushed down the river, passed close in a tearing crash—and + instantly sounded faint, dying away in monotonous and dull repetitions + amongst the endless sinuosities of the lower reaches. Over the great + forests, over all the innumerable people of unstirring trees—over + all that living people immense, motionless, and mute—the silence, + that had rushed in on the track of the passing tumult, remained suspended + as deep and complete as if it had never been disturbed from the beginning + of remote ages. Then, through it, after a time, came to Lingard’s ears the + voice of the running river: a voice low, discreet, and sad, like the + persistent and gentle voices that speak of the past in the silence of + dreams. + </p> + <p> + He felt a great emptiness in his heart. It seemed to him that there was + within his breast a great space without any light, where his thoughts + wandered forlornly, unable to escape, unable to rest, unable to die, to + vanish—and to relieve him from the fearful oppression of their + existence. Speech, action, anger, forgiveness, all appeared to him alike + useless and vain, appeared to him unsatisfactory, not worth the effort of + hand or brain that was needed to give them effect. He could not see why he + should not remain standing there, without ever doing anything, to the end + of time. He felt something, something like a heavy chain, that held him + there. This wouldn’t do. He backed away a little from Willems and Aissa, + leaving them close together, then stopped and looked at both. The man and + the woman appeared to him much further than they really were. He had made + only about three steps backward, but he believed for a moment that another + step would take him out of earshot for ever. They appeared to him slightly + under life size, and with a great cleanness of outlines, like figures + carved with great precision of detail and highly finished by a skilful + hand. He pulled himself together. The strong consciousness of his own + personality came back to him. He had a notion of surveying them from a + great and inaccessible height. + </p> + <p> + He said slowly: “You have been possessed of a devil.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” answered Willems gloomily, and looking at Aissa. “Isn’t it pretty?” + </p> + <p> + “I’ve heard this kind of talk before,” said Lingard, in a scornful tone; + then paused, and went on steadily after a while: “I regret nothing. I + picked you up by the waterside, like a starving cat—by God. I regret + nothing; nothing that I have done. Abdulla—twenty others—no + doubt Hudig himself, were after me. That’s business—for them. But + that you should . . . Money belongs to him who picks it up and is strong + enough to keep it—but this thing was different. It was part of my + life. . . . I am an old fool.” + </p> + <p> + He was. The breath of his words, of the very words he spoke, fanned the + spark of divine folly in his breast, the spark that made him—the + hard-headed, heavy-handed adventurer—stand out from the crowd, from + the sordid, from the joyous, unscrupulous, and noisy crowd of men that + were so much like himself. + </p> + <p> + Willems said hurriedly: “It wasn’t me. The evil was not in me, Captain + Lingard.” + </p> + <p> + “And where else confound you! Where else?” interrupted Lingard, raising + his voice. “Did you ever see me cheat and lie and steal? Tell me that. Did + you? Hey? I wonder where in perdition you came from when I found you under + my feet. . . . No matter. You will do no more harm.” + </p> + <p> + Willems moved nearer, gazing upon him anxiously. Lingard went on with + distinct deliberation— + </p> + <p> + “What did you expect when you asked me to see you? What? You know me. I am + Lingard. You lived with me. You’ve heard men speak. You knew what you had + done. Well! What did you expect?” + </p> + <p> + “How can I know?” groaned Willems, wringing his hands; “I was alone in + that infernal savage crowd. I was delivered into their hands. After the + thing was done, I felt so lost and weak that I would have called the devil + himself to my aid if it had been any good—if he hadn’t put in all + his work already. In the whole world there was only one man that had ever + cared for me. Only one white man. You! Hate is better than being alone! + Death is better! I expected . . . anything. Something to expect. Something + to take me out of this. Out of her sight!” + </p> + <p> + He laughed. His laugh seemed to be torn out from him against his will, + seemed to be brought violently on the surface from under his bitterness, + his self-contempt, from under his despairing wonder at his own nature. + </p> + <p> + “When I think that when I first knew her it seemed to me that my whole + life wouldn’t be enough to . . . And now when I look at her! She did it + all. I must have been mad. I was mad. Every time I look at her I remember + my madness. It frightens me. . . . And when I think that of all my life, + of all my past, of all my future, of my intelligence, of my work, there is + nothing left but she, the cause of my ruin, and you whom I have mortally + offended . . .” + </p> + <p> + He hid his face for a moment in his hands, and when he took them away he + had lost the appearance of comparative calm and gave way to a wild + distress. + </p> + <p> + “Captain Lingard . . . anything . . . a deserted island . . . anywhere . . + . I promise . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Shut up!” shouted Lingard, roughly. + </p> + <p> + He became dumb, suddenly, completely. + </p> + <p> + The wan light of the clouded morning retired slowly from the courtyard, + from the clearings, from the river, as if it had gone unwillingly to hide + in the enigmatical solitudes of the gloomy and silent forests. The clouds + over their heads thickened into a low vault of uniform blackness. The air + was still and inexpressibly oppressive. Lingard unbuttoned his jacket, + flung it wide open and, inclining his body sideways a little, wiped his + forehead with his hand, which he jerked sharply afterwards. Then he looked + at Willems and said— + </p> + <p> + “No promise of yours is any good to me. I am going to take your conduct + into my own hands. Pay attention to what I am going to say. You are my + prisoner.” + </p> + <p> + Willems’ head moved imperceptibly; then he became rigid and still. He + seemed not to breathe. + </p> + <p> + “You shall stay here,” continued Lingard, with sombre deliberation. “You + are not fit to go amongst people. Who could suspect, who could guess, who + could imagine what’s in you? I couldn’t! You are my mistake. I shall hide + you here. If I let you out you would go amongst unsuspecting men, and lie, + and steal, and cheat for a little money or for some woman. I don’t care + about shooting you. It would be the safest way though. But I won’t. Do not + expect me to forgive you. To forgive one must have been angry and become + contemptuous, and there is nothing in me now—no anger, no contempt, + no disappointment. To me you are not Willems, the man I befriended and + helped through thick and thin, and thought much of . . . You are not a + human being that may be destroyed or forgiven. You are a bitter thought, a + something without a body and that must be hidden . . . You are my shame.” + </p> + <p> + He ceased and looked slowly round. How dark it was! It seemed to him that + the light was dying prematurely out of the world and that the air was + already dead. + </p> + <p> + “Of course,” he went on, “I shall see to it that you don’t starve.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean to say that I must live here, Captain Lingard?” said + Willems, in a kind of mechanical voice without any inflections. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever hear me say something I did not mean?” asked Lingard. “You + said you didn’t want to die here—well, you must live . . . Unless + you change your mind,” he added, as if in involuntary afterthought. + </p> + <p> + He looked at Willems narrowly, then shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “You are alone,” he went on. “Nothing can help you. Nobody will. You are + neither white nor brown. You have no colour as you have no heart. Your + accomplices have abandoned you to me because I am still somebody to be + reckoned with. You are alone but for that woman there. You say you did + this for her. Well, you have her.” + </p> + <p> + Willems mumbled something, and then suddenly caught his hair with both his + hands and remained standing so. Aissa, who had been looking at him, turned + to Lingard. + </p> + <p> + “What did you say, Rajah Laut?” she cried. + </p> + <p> + There was a slight stir amongst the filmy threads of her disordered hair, + the bushes by the river sides trembled, the big tree nodded precipitately + over them with an abrupt rustle, as if waking with a start from a troubled + sleep—and the breath of hot breeze passed, light, rapid, and + scorching, under the clouds that whirled round, unbroken but undulating, + like a restless phantom of a sombre sea. + </p> + <p> + Lingard looked at her pityingly before he said— + </p> + <p> + “I have told him that he must live here all his life . . . and with you.” + </p> + <p> + The sun seemed to have gone out at last like a flickering light away up + beyond the clouds, and in the stifling gloom of the courtyard the three + figures stood colourless and shadowy, as if surrounded by a black and + superheated mist. Aissa looked at Willems, who remained still, as though + he had been changed into stone in the very act of tearing his hair. Then + she turned her head towards Lingard and shouted— + </p> + <p> + “You lie! You lie! . . . White man. Like you all do. You . . . whom + Abdulla made small. You lie!” + </p> + <p> + Her words rang out shrill and venomous with her secret scorn, with her + overpowering desire to wound regardless of consequences; in her woman’s + reckless desire to cause suffering at any cost, to cause it by the sound + of her own voice—by her own voice, that would carry the poison of + her thought into the hated heart. + </p> + <p> + Willems let his hands fall, and began to mumble again. Lingard turned his + ear towards him instinctively, caught something that sounded like “Very + well”—then some more mumbling—then a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “As far as the rest of the world is concerned,” said Lingard, after + waiting for awhile in an attentive attitude, “your life is finished. + Nobody will be able to throw any of your villainies in my teeth; nobody + will be able to point at you and say, ‘Here goes a scoundrel of Lingard’s + up-bringing.’ You are buried here.” + </p> + <p> + “And you think that I will stay . . . that I will submit?” exclaimed + Willems, as if he had suddenly recovered the power of speech. + </p> + <p> + “You needn’t stay here—on this spot,” said Lingard, drily. “There + are the forests—and here is the river. You may swim. Fifteen miles + up, or forty down. At one end you will meet Almayer, at the other the sea. + Take your choice.” + </p> + <p> + He burst into a short, joyless laugh, then added with severe gravity— + </p> + <p> + “There is also another way.” + </p> + <p> + “If you want to drive my soul into damnation by trying to drive me to + suicide you will not succeed,” said Willems in wild excitement. “I will + live. I shall repent. I may escape. . . . Take that woman away—she + is sin.” + </p> + <p> + A hooked dart of fire tore in two the darkness of the distant horizon and + lit up the gloom of the earth with a dazzling and ghastly flame. Then the + thunder was heard far away, like an incredibly enormous voice muttering + menaces. + </p> + <p> + Lingard said— + </p> + <p> + “I don’t care what happens, but I may tell you that without that woman + your life is not worth much—not twopence. There is a fellow here who + . . . and Abdulla himself wouldn’t stand on any ceremony. Think of that! + And then she won’t go.” + </p> + <p> + He began, even while he spoke, to walk slowly down towards the little + gate. He didn’t look, but he felt as sure that Willems was following him + as if he had been leading him by a string. Directly he had passed through + the wicket-gate into the big courtyard he heard a voice, behind his back, + saying— + </p> + <p> + “I think she was right. I ought to have shot you. I couldn’t have been + worse off.” + </p> + <p> + “Time yet,” answered Lingard, without stopping or looking back. “But, you + see, you can’t. There is not even that in you.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t provoke me, Captain Lingard,” cried Willems. + </p> + <p> + Lingard turned round sharply. Willems and Aissa stopped. Another forked + flash of lightning split up the clouds overhead, and threw upon their + faces a sudden burst of light—a blaze violent, sinister and + fleeting; and in the same instant they were deafened by a near, single + crash of thunder, which was followed by a rushing noise, like a frightened + sigh of the startled earth. + </p> + <p> + “Provoke you!” said the old adventurer, as soon as he could make himself + heard. “Provoke you! Hey! What’s there in you to provoke? What do I care?” + </p> + <p> + “It is easy to speak like that when you know that in the whole world—in + the whole world—I have no friend,” said Willems. + </p> + <p> + “Whose fault?” said Lingard, sharply. + </p> + <p> + Their voices, after the deep and tremendous noise, sounded to them very + unsatisfactory—thin and frail, like the voices of pigmies—and + they became suddenly silent, as if on that account. From up the courtyard + Lingard’s boatmen came down and passed them, keeping step in a single + file, their paddles on shoulder, and holding their heads straight with + their eyes fixed on the river. Ali, who was walking last, stopped before + Lingard, very stiff and upright. He said— + </p> + <p> + “That one-eyed Babalatchi is gone, with all his women. He took everything. + All the pots and boxes. Big. Heavy. Three boxes.” + </p> + <p> + He grinned as if the thing had been amusing, then added with an appearance + of anxious concern, “Rain coming.” + </p> + <p> + “We return,” said Lingard. “Make ready.” + </p> + <p> + “Aye, aye, sir!” ejaculated Ali with precision, and moved on. He had been + quartermaster with Lingard before making up his mind to stay in Sambir as + Almayer’s head man. He strutted towards the landing-place thinking proudly + that he was not like those other ignorant boatmen, and knew how to answer + properly the very greatest of white captains. + </p> + <p> + “You have misunderstood me from the first, Captain Lingard,” said Willems. + </p> + <p> + “Have I? It’s all right, as long as there is no mistake about my meaning,” + answered Lingard, strolling slowly to the landing-place. Willems followed + him, and Aissa followed Willems. + </p> + <p> + Two hands were extended to help Lingard in embarking. He stepped + cautiously and heavily into the long and narrow canoe, and sat in the + canvas folding-chair that had been placed in the middle. He leaned back + and turned his head to the two figures that stood on the bank a little + above him. Aissa’s eyes were fastened on his face in a visible impatience + to see him gone. Willems’ look went straight above the canoe, straight at + the forest on the other side of the river. + </p> + <p> + “All right, Ali,” said Lingard, in a low voice. + </p> + <p> + A slight stir animated the faces, and a faint murmur ran along the line of + paddlers. The foremost man pushed with the point of his paddle, canted the + fore end out of the dead water into the current; and the canoe fell + rapidly off before the rush of brown water, the stern rubbing gently + against the low bank. + </p> + <p> + “We shall meet again, Captain Lingard!” cried Willems, in an unsteady + voice. + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Lingard, turning half round in his chair to look at Willems. + His fierce red eyes glittered remorselessly over the high back of his + seat. + </p> + <p> + “Must cross the river. Water less quick over there,” said Ali. + </p> + <p> + He pushed in his turn now with all his strength, throwing his body + recklessly right out over the stern. Then he recovered himself just in + time into the squatting attitude of a monkey perched on a high shelf, and + shouted: “Dayong!” + </p> + <p> + The paddles struck the water together. The canoe darted forward and went + on steadily crossing the river with a sideways motion made up of its own + speed and the downward drift of the current. + </p> + <p> + Lingard watched the shore astern. The woman shook her hand at him, and + then squatted at the feet of the man who stood motionless. After a while + she got up and stood beside him, reaching up to his head—and Lingard + saw then that she had wetted some part of her covering and was trying to + wash the dried blood off the man’s immovable face, which did not seem to + know anything about it. Lingard turned away and threw himself back in his + chair, stretching his legs out with a sigh of fatigue. His head fell + forward; and under his red face the white beard lay fan-like on his + breast, the ends of fine long hairs all astir in the faint draught made by + the rapid motion of the craft that carried him away from his prisoner—from + the only thing in his life he wished to hide. + </p> + <p> + In its course across the river the canoe came into the line of Willems’ + sight and his eyes caught the image, followed it eagerly as it glided, + small but distinct, on the dark background of the forest. He could see + plainly the figure of the man sitting in the middle. All his life he had + felt that man behind his back, a reassuring presence ready with help, with + commendation, with advice; friendly in reproof, enthusiastic in + approbation; a man inspiring confidence by his strength, by his + fearlessness, by the very weakness of his simple heart. And now that man + was going away. He must call him back. + </p> + <p> + He shouted, and his words, which he wanted to throw across the river, + seemed to fall helplessly at his feet. Aissa put her hand on his arm in a + restraining attempt, but he shook it off. He wanted to call back his very + life that was going away from him. He shouted again—and this time he + did not even hear himself. No use. He would never return. And he stood in + sullen silence looking at the white figure over there, lying back in the + chair in the middle of the boat; a figure that struck him suddenly as very + terrible, heartless and astonishing, with its unnatural appearance of + running over the water in an attitude of languid repose. + </p> + <p> + For a time nothing on earth stirred, seemingly, but the canoe, which + glided up-stream with a motion so even and smooth that it did not convey + any sense of movement. Overhead, the massed clouds appeared solid and + steady as if held there in a powerful grip, but on their uneven surface + there was a continuous and trembling glimmer, a faint reflection of the + distant lightning from the thunderstorm that had broken already on the + coast and was working its way up the river with low and angry growls. + Willems looked on, as motionless as everything round him and above him. + Only his eyes seemed to live, as they followed the canoe on its course + that carried it away from him, steadily, unhesitatingly, finally, as if it + were going, not up the great river into the momentous excitement of + Sambir, but straight into the past, into the past crowded yet empty, like + an old cemetery full of neglected graves, where lie dead hopes that never + return. + </p> + <p> + From time to time he felt on his face the passing, warm touch of an + immense breath coming from beyond the forest, like the short panting of an + oppressed world. Then the heavy air round him was pierced by a sharp gust + of wind, bringing with it the fresh, damp feel of the falling rain; and + all the innumerable tree-tops of the forests swayed to the left and sprang + back again in a tumultuous balancing of nodding branches and shuddering + leaves. A light frown ran over the river, the clouds stirred slowly, + changing their aspect but not their place, as if they had turned + ponderously over; and when the sudden movement had died out in a quickened + tremor of the slenderest twigs, there was a short period of formidable + immobility above and below, during which the voice of the thunder was + heard, speaking in a sustained, emphatic and vibrating roll, with violent + louder bursts of crashing sound, like a wrathful and threatening discourse + of an angry god. For a moment it died out, and then another gust of wind + passed, driving before it a white mist which filled the space with a cloud + of waterdust that hid suddenly from Willems the canoe, the forests, the + river itself; that woke him up from his numbness in a forlorn shiver, that + made him look round despairingly to see nothing but the whirling drift of + rain spray before the freshening breeze, while through it the heavy big + drops fell about him with sonorous and rapid beats upon the dry earth. He + made a few hurried steps up the courtyard and was arrested by an immense + sheet of water that fell all at once on him, fell sudden and overwhelming + from the clouds, cutting his respiration, streaming over his head, + clinging to him, running down his body, off his arms, off his legs. He + stood gasping while the water beat him in a vertical downpour, drove on + him slanting in squalls, and he felt the drops striking him from above, + from everywhere; drops thick, pressed and dashing at him as if flung from + all sides by a mob of infuriated hands. From under his feet a great vapour + of broken water floated up, he felt the ground become soft—melt + under him—and saw the water spring out from the dry earth to meet + the water that fell from the sombre heaven. An insane dread took + possession of him, the dread of all that water around him, of the water + that ran down the courtyard towards him, of the water that pressed him on + every side, of the slanting water that drove across his face in wavering + sheets which gleamed pale red with the flicker of lightning streaming + through them, as if fire and water were falling together, monstrously + mixed, upon the stunned earth. + </p> + <p> + He wanted to run away, but when he moved it was to slide about painfully + and slowly upon that earth which had become mud so suddenly under his + feet. He fought his way up the courtyard like a man pushing through a + crowd, his head down, one shoulder forward, stopping often, and sometimes + carried back a pace or two in the rush of water which his heart was not + stout enough to face. Aissa followed him step by step, stopping when he + stopped, recoiling with him, moving forward with him in his toilsome way + up the slippery declivity of the courtyard, of that courtyard, from which + everything seemed to have been swept away by the first rush of the mighty + downpour. They could see nothing. The tree, the bushes, the house, and the + fences—all had disappeared in the thickness of the falling rain. + Their hair stuck, streaming, to their heads; their clothing clung to them, + beaten close to their bodies; water ran off them, off their heads over + their shoulders. They moved, patient, upright, slow and dark, in the gleam + clear or fiery of the falling drops, under the roll of unceasing thunder, + like two wandering ghosts of the drowned that, condemned to haunt the + water for ever, had come up from the river to look at the world under a + deluge. + </p> + <p> + On the left the tree seemed to step out to meet them, appearing vaguely, + high, motionless and patient; with a rustling plaint of its innumerable + leaves through which every drop of water tore its separate way with cruel + haste. And then, to the right, the house surged up in the mist, very + black, and clamorous with the quick patter of rain on its high-pitched + roof above the steady splash of the water running off the eaves. Down the + plankway leading to the door flowed a thin and pellucid stream, and when + Willems began his ascent it broke over his foot as if he were going up a + steep ravine in the bed of a rapid and shallow torrent. Behind his heels + two streaming smudges of mud stained for an instant the purity of the + rushing water, and then he splashed his way up with a spurt and stood on + the bamboo platform before the open door under the shelter of the + overhanging eaves—under shelter at last! + </p> + <p> + A low moan ending in a broken and plaintive mutter arrested Willems on the + threshold. He peered round in the half-light under the roof and saw the + old woman crouching close to the wall in a shapeless heap, and while he + looked he felt a touch of two arms on his shoulders. Aissa! He had + forgotten her. He turned, and she clasped him round the neck instantly, + pressing close to him as if afraid of violence or escape. He stiffened + himself in repulsion, in horror, in the mysterious revolt of his heart; + while she clung to him—clung to him as if he were a refuge from + misery, from storm, from weariness, from fear, from despair; and it was on + the part of that being an embrace terrible, enraged and mournful, in which + all her strength went out to make him captive, to hold him for ever. + </p> + <p> + He said nothing. He looked into her eyes while he struggled with her + fingers about the nape of his neck, and suddenly he tore her hands apart, + holding her arms up in a strong grip of her wrists, and bending his + swollen face close over hers, he said— + </p> + <p> + “It is all your doing. You . . .” + </p> + <p> + She did not understand him—not a word. He spoke in the language of + his people—of his people that know no mercy and no shame. And he was + angry. Alas! he was always angry now, and always speaking words that she + could not understand. She stood in silence, looking at him through her + patient eyes, while he shook her arms a little and then flung them down. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t follow me!” he shouted. “I want to be alone—I mean to be left + alone!” + </p> + <p> + He went in, leaving the door open. + </p> + <p> + She did not move. What need to understand the words when they are spoken + in such a voice? In that voice which did not seem to be his voice—his + voice when he spoke by the brook, when he was never angry and always + smiling! Her eyes were fixed upon the dark doorway, but her hands strayed + mechanically upwards; she took up all her hair, and, inclining her head + slightly over her shoulder, wrung out the long black tresses, twisting + them persistently, while she stood, sad and absorbed, like one listening + to an inward voice—the voice of bitter, of unavailing regret. The + thunder had ceased, the wind had died out, and the rain fell perpendicular + and steady through a great pale clearness—the light of remote sun + coming victorious from amongst the dissolving blackness of the clouds. She + stood near the doorway. He was there—alone in the gloom of the + dwelling. He was there. He spoke not. What was in his mind now? What fear? + What desire? Not the desire of her as in the days when he used to smile . + . . How could she know? . . . + </p> + <p> + A sigh coming from the bottom of her heart, flew out into the world + through her parted lips. A sigh faint, profound, and broken; a sigh full + of pain and fear, like the sigh of those who are about to face the + unknown: to face it in loneliness, in doubt, and without hope. She let go + her hair, that fell scattered over her shoulders like a funeral veil, and + she sank down suddenly by the door. Her hands clasped her ankles; she + rested her head on her drawn-up knees, and remained still, very still, + under the streaming mourning of her hair. She was thinking of him; of the + days by the brook; she was thinking of all that had been their love—and + she sat in the abandoned posture of those who sit weeping by the dead, of + those who watch and mourn over a corpse. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART5" id="link2H_PART5"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART V + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0023" id="link2HCH0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER ONE + </h2> + <p> + Almayer propped, alone on the verandah of his house, with both his elbows + on the table, and holding his head between his hands, stared before him, + away over the stretch of sprouting young grass in his courtyard, and over + the short jetty with its cluster of small canoes, amongst which his big + whale-boat floated high, like a white mother of all that dark and aquatic + brood. He stared on the river, past the schooner anchored in mid-stream, + past the forests of the left bank; he stared through and past the illusion + of the material world. + </p> + <p> + The sun was sinking. Under the sky was stretched a network of white + threads, a network fine and close-meshed, where here and there were caught + thicker white vapours of globular shape; and to the eastward, above the + ragged barrier of the forests, surged the summits of a chain of great + clouds, growing bigger slowly, in imperceptible motion, as if careful not + to disturb the glowing stillness of the earth and of the sky. Abreast of + the house the river was empty but for the motionless schooner. Higher up, + a solitary log came out from the bend above and went on drifting slowly + down the straight reach: a dead and wandering tree going out to its grave + in the sea, between two ranks of trees motionless and living. + </p> + <p> + And Almayer sat, his face in his hands, looking on and hating all this: + the muddy river; the faded blue of the sky; the black log passing by on + its first and last voyage; the green sea of leaves—the sea that + glowed shimmered, and stirred above the uniform and impenetrable gloom of + the forests—the joyous sea of living green powdered with the + brilliant dust of oblique sunrays. + </p> + <p> + He hated all this; he begrudged every day—every minute—of his + life spent amongst all these things; he begrudged it bitterly, angrily, + with enraged and immense regret, like a miser compelled to give up some of + his treasure to a near relation. And yet all this was very precious to + him. It was the present sign of a splendid future. + </p> + <p> + He pushed the table away impatiently, got up, made a few steps aimlessly, + then stood by the balustrade and again looked at the river—at that + river which would have been the instrument for the making of his fortune + if . . . if . . . + </p> + <p> + “What an abominable brute!” he said. + </p> + <p> + He was alone, but he spoke aloud, as one is apt to do under the impulse of + a strong, of an overmastering thought. + </p> + <p> + “What a brute!” he muttered again. + </p> + <p> + The river was dark now, and the schooner lay on it, a black, a lonely, and + a graceful form, with the slender masts darting upwards from it in two + frail and raking lines. The shadows of the evening crept up the trees, + crept up from bough to bough, till at last the long sunbeams coursing from + the western horizon skimmed lightly over the topmost branches, then flew + upwards amongst the piled-up clouds, giving them a sombre and fiery aspect + in the last flush of light. And suddenly the light disappeared as if lost + in the immensity of the great, blue, and empty hollow overhead. The sun + had set: and the forests became a straight wall of formless blackness. + Above them, on the edge of lingering clouds, a single star glimmered + fitfully, obscured now and then by the rapid flight of high and invisible + vapours. + </p> + <p> + Almayer fought with the uneasiness within his breast. He heard Ali, who + moved behind him preparing his evening meal, and he listened with strange + attention to the sounds the man made—to the short, dry bang of the + plate put upon the table, to the clink of glass and the metallic rattle of + knife and fork. The man went away. Now he was coming back. He would speak + directly; and Almayer, notwithstanding the absorbing gravity of his + thoughts, listened for the sound of expected words. He heard them, spoken + in English with painstaking distinctness. + </p> + <p> + “Ready, sir!” + </p> + <p> + “All right,” said Almayer, curtly. He did not move. He remained pensive, + with his back to the table upon which stood the lighted lamp brought by + Ali. He was thinking: “Where was Lingard now? Halfway down the river + probably, in Abdulla’s ship. He would be back in about three days—perhaps + less. And then? Then the schooner would have to be got out of the river, + and when that craft was gone they—he and Lingard—would remain + here; alone with the constant thought of that other man, that other man + living near them! What an extraordinary idea to keep him there for ever. + For ever! What did that mean—for ever? Perhaps a year, perhaps ten + years. Preposterous! Keep him there ten years—or may be twenty! The + fellow was capable of living more than twenty years. And for all that time + he would have to be watched, fed, looked after. There was nobody but + Lingard to have such notions. Twenty years! Why, no! In less than ten + years their fortune would be made and they would leave this place, first + for Batavia—yes, Batavia—and then for Europe. England, no + doubt. Lingard would want to go to England. And would they leave that man + here? How would that fellow look in ten years? Very old probably. Well, + devil take him. Nina would be fifteen. She would be rich and very pretty + and he himself would not be so old then. . . .” + </p> + <p> + Almayer smiled into the night. + </p> + <p> + . . . Yes, rich! Why! Of course! Captain Lingard was a resourceful man, + and he had plenty of money even now. They were rich already; but not + enough. Decidedly not enough. Money brings money. That gold business was + good. Famous! Captain Lingard was a remarkable man. He said the gold was + there—and it was there. Lingard knew what he was talking about. But + he had queer ideas. For instance, about Willems. Now what did he want to + keep him alive for? Why? + </p> + <p> + “That scoundrel,” muttered Almayer again. + </p> + <p> + “Makan Tuan!” ejaculated Ali suddenly, very loud in a pressing tone. + </p> + <p> + Almayer walked to the table, sat down, and his anxious visage dropped from + above into the light thrown down by the lamp-shade. He helped himself + absently, and began to eat in great mouthfuls. + </p> + <p> + . . . Undoubtedly, Lingard was the man to stick to! The man undismayed, + masterful and ready. How quickly he had planned a new future when Willems’ + treachery destroyed their established position in Sambir! And the position + even now was not so bad. What an immense prestige that Lingard had with + all those people—Arabs, Malays and all. Ah, it was good to be able + to call a man like that father. Fine! Wonder how much money really the old + fellow had. People talked—they exaggerated surely, but if he had + only half of what they said . . . + </p> + <p> + He drank, throwing his head up, and fell to again. + </p> + <p> + . . . Now, if that Willems had known how to play his cards well, had he + stuck to the old fellow he would have been in his position, he would be + now married to Lingard’s adopted daughter with his future assured—splendid + . . . + </p> + <p> + “The beast!” growled Almayer, between two mouthfuls. + </p> + <p> + Ali stood rigidly straight with an uninterested face, his gaze lost in the + night which pressed round the small circle of light that shone on the + table, on the glass, on the bottle, and on Almayer’s head as he leaned + over his plate moving his jaws. + </p> + <p> + . . . A famous man Lingard—yet you never knew what he would do next. + It was notorious that he had shot a white man once for less than Willems + had done. For less? . . . Why, for nothing, so to speak! It was not even + his own quarrel. It was about some Malay returning from pilgrimage with + wife and children. Kidnapped, or robbed, or something. A stupid story—an + old story. And now he goes to see that Willems and—nothing. Comes + back talking big about his prisoner; but after all he said very little. + What did that Willems tell him? What passed between them? The old fellow + must have had something in his mind when he let that scoundrel off. And + Joanna! She would get round the old fellow. Sure. Then he would forgive + perhaps. Impossible. But at any rate he would waste a lot of money on + them. The old man was tenacious in his hates, but also in his affections. + He had known that beast Willems from a boy. They would make it up in a + year or so. Everything is possible: why did he not rush off at first and + kill the brute? That would have been more like Lingard. . . . + </p> + <p> + Almayer laid down his spoon suddenly, and pushing his plate away, threw + himself back in the chair. + </p> + <p> + . . . Unsafe. Decidedly unsafe. He had no mind to share Lingard’s money + with anybody. Lingard’s money was Nina’s money in a sense. And if Willems + managed to become friendly with the old man it would be dangerous for him—Almayer. + Such an unscrupulous scoundrel! He would oust him from his position. He + would lie and slander. Everything would be lost. Lost. Poor Nina. What + would become of her? Poor child. For her sake he must remove that Willems. + Must. But how? Lingard wanted to be obeyed. Impossible to kill Willems. + Lingard might be angry. Incredible, but so it was. He might . . . + </p> + <p> + A wave of heat passed through Almayer’s body, flushed his face, and broke + out of him in copious perspiration. He wriggled in his chair, and pressed + his hands together under the table. What an awful prospect! He fancied he + could see Lingard and Willems reconciled and going away arm-in-arm, + leaving him alone in this God-forsaken hole—in Sambir—in this + deadly swamp! And all his sacrifices, the sacrifice of his independence, + of his best years, his surrender to Lingard’s fancies and caprices, would + go for nothing! Horrible! Then he thought of his little daughter—his + daughter!—and the ghastliness of his supposition overpowered him. He + had a deep emotion, a sudden emotion that made him feel quite faint at the + idea of that young life spoiled before it had fairly begun. His dear + child’s life! Lying back in his chair he covered his face with both his + hands. + </p> + <p> + Ali glanced down at him and said, unconcernedly—“Master finish?” + </p> + <p> + Almayer was lost in the immensity of his commiseration for himself, for + his daughter, who was—perhaps—not going to be the richest + woman in the world—notwithstanding Lingard’s promises. He did not + understand the other’s question, and muttered through his fingers in a + doleful tone— + </p> + <p> + “What did you say? What? Finish what?” + </p> + <p> + “Clear up meza,” explained Ali. + </p> + <p> + “Clear up!” burst out Almayer, with incomprehensible exasperation. “Devil + take you and the table. Stupid! Chatterer! Chelakka! Get out!” + </p> + <p> + He leaned forward, glaring at his head man, then sank back in his seat + with his arms hanging straight down on each side of the chair. And he sat + motionless in a meditation so concentrated and so absorbing, with all his + power of thought so deep within himself, that all expression disappeared + from his face in an aspect of staring vacancy. + </p> + <p> + Ali was clearing the table. He dropped negligently the tumbler into the + greasy dish, flung there the spoon and fork, then slipped in the plate + with a push amongst the remnants of food. He took up the dish, tucked up + the bottle under his armpit, and went off. + </p> + <p> + “My hammock!” shouted Almayer after him. + </p> + <p> + “Ada! I come soon,” answered Ali from the doorway in an offended tone, + looking back over his shoulder. . . . How could he clear the table and + hang the hammock at the same time. Ya-wa! Those white men were all alike. + Wanted everything done at once. Like children . . . + </p> + <p> + The indistinct murmur of his criticism went away, faded and died out + together with the soft footfall of his bare feet in the dark passage. + </p> + <p> + For some time Almayer did not move. His thoughts were busy at work shaping + a momentous resolution, and in the perfect silence of the house he + believed that he could hear the noise of the operation as if the work had + been done with a hammer. He certainly felt a thumping of strokes, faint, + profound, and startling, somewhere low down in his breast; and he was + aware of a sound of dull knocking, abrupt and rapid, in his ears. Now and + then he held his breath, unconsciously, too long, and had to relieve + himself by a deep expiration that whistled dully through his pursed lips. + The lamp standing on the far side of the table threw a section of a + lighted circle on the floor, where his out-stretched legs stuck out from + under the table with feet rigid and turned up like the feet of a corpse; + and his set face with fixed eyes would have been also like the face of the + dead, but for its vacant yet conscious aspect; the hard, the stupid, the + stony aspect of one not dead, but only buried under the dust, ashes, and + corruption of personal thoughts, of base fears, of selfish desires. + </p> + <p> + “I will do it!” + </p> + <p> + Not till he heard his own voice did he know that he had spoken. It + startled him. He stood up. The knuckles of his hand, somewhat behind him, + were resting on the edge of the table as he remained still with one foot + advanced, his lips a little open, and thought: It would not do to fool + about with Lingard. But I must risk it. It’s the only way I can see. I + must tell her. She has some little sense. I wish they were a thousand + miles off already. A hundred thousand miles. I do. And if it fails. And + she blabs out then to Lingard? She seemed a fool. No; probably they will + get away. And if they did, would Lingard believe me? Yes. I never lied to + him. He would believe. I don’t know . . . Perhaps he won’t. . . . “I must + do it. Must!” he argued aloud to himself. + </p> + <p> + For a long time he stood still, looking before him with an intense gaze, a + gaze rapt and immobile, that seemed to watch the minute quivering of a + delicate balance, coming to a rest. + </p> + <p> + To the left of him, in the whitewashed wall of the house that formed the + back of the verandah, there was a closed door. Black letters were painted + on it proclaiming the fact that behind that door there was the office of + Lingard & Co. The interior had been furnished by Lingard when he had + built the house for his adopted daughter and her husband, and it had been + furnished with reckless prodigality. There was an office desk, a revolving + chair, bookshelves, a safe: all to humour the weakness of Almayer, who + thought all those paraphernalia necessary to successful trading. Lingard + had laughed, but had taken immense trouble to get the things. It pleased + him to make his protege, his adopted son-in-law, happy. It had been the + sensation of Sambir some five years ago. While the things were being + landed, the whole settlement literally lived on the river bank in front of + the Rajah Laut’s house, to look, to wonder, to admire. . . . What a big + meza, with many boxes fitted all over it and under it! What did the white + man do with such a table? And look, look, O Brothers! There is a green + square box, with a gold plate on it, a box so heavy that those twenty men + cannot drag it up the bank. Let us go, brothers, and help pull at the + ropes, and perchance we may see what’s inside. Treasure, no doubt. Gold is + heavy and hard to hold, O Brothers! Let us go and earn a recompense from + the fierce Rajah of the Sea who shouts over there, with a red face. See! + There is a man carrying a pile of books from the boat! What a number of + books. What were they for? . . . And an old invalided jurumudi, who had + travelled over many seas and had heard holy men speak in far-off + countries, explained to a small knot of unsophisticated citizens of Sambir + that those books were books of magic—of magic that guides the white + men’s ships over the seas, that gives them their wicked wisdom and their + strength; of magic that makes them great, powerful, and irresistible while + they live, and—praise be to Allah!—the victims of Satan, the + slaves of Jehannum when they die. + </p> + <p> + And when he saw the room furnished, Almayer had felt proud. In his + exultation of an empty-headed quill-driver, he thought himself, by the + virtue of that furniture, at the head of a serious business. He had sold + himself to Lingard for these things—married the Malay girl of his + adoption for the reward of these things and of the great wealth that must + necessarily follow upon conscientious book-keeping. He found out very soon + that trade in Sambir meant something entirely different. He could not + guide Patalolo, control the irrepressible old Sahamin, or restrain the + youthful vagaries of the fierce Bahassoen with pen, ink, and paper. He + found no successful magic in the blank pages of his ledgers; and gradually + he lost his old point of view in the saner appreciation of his situation. + The room known as the office became neglected then like a temple of an + exploded superstition. At first, when his wife reverted to her original + savagery, Almayer, now and again, had sought refuge from her there; but + after their child began to speak, to know him, he became braver, for he + found courage and consolation in his unreasoning and fierce affection for + his daughter—in the impenetrable mantle of selfishness he wrapped + round both their lives: round himself, and that young life that was also + his. + </p> + <p> + When Lingard ordered him to receive Joanna into his house, he had a + truckle bed put into the office—the only room he could spare. The + big office desk was pushed on one side, and Joanna came with her little + shabby trunk and with her child and took possession in her dreamy, slack, + half-asleep way; took possession of the dust, dirt, and squalor, where she + appeared naturally at home, where she dragged a melancholy and dull + existence; an existence made up of sad remorse and frightened hope, + amongst the hopeless disorder—the senseless and vain decay of all + these emblems of civilized commerce. Bits of white stuff; rags yellow, + pink, blue: rags limp, brilliant and soiled, trailed on the floor, lay on + the desk amongst the sombre covers of books soiled, grimy, but + stiff-backed, in virtue, perhaps, of their European origin. The biggest + set of bookshelves was partly hidden by a petticoat, the waistband of + which was caught upon the back of a slender book pulled a little out of + the row so as to make an improvised clothespeg. The folding canvas + bedstead stood nearly in the middle of the room, stood anyhow, parallel to + no wall, as if it had been, in the process of transportation to some + remote place, dropped casually there by tired bearers. And on the tumbled + blankets that lay in a disordered heap on its edge, Joanna sat almost all + day with her stockingless feet upon one of the bed pillows that were + somehow always kicking about the floor. She sat there, vaguely tormented + at times by the thought of her absent husband, but most of the time + thinking tearfully of nothing at all, looking with swimming eyes at her + little son—at the big-headed, pasty-faced, and sickly Louis Willems—who + rolled a glass inkstand, solid with dried ink, about the floor, and + tottered after it with the portentous gravity of demeanour and absolute + absorption by the business in hand that characterize the pursuits of early + childhood. Through the half-open shutter a ray of sunlight, a ray + merciless and crude, came into the room, beat in the early morning upon + the safe in the far-off corner, then, travelling against the sun, cut at + midday the big desk in two with its solid and clean-edged brilliance; with + its hot brilliance in which a swarm of flies hovered in dancing flight + over some dirty plate forgotten there amongst yellow papers for many a + day. And towards the evening the cynical ray seemed to cling to the ragged + petticoat, lingered on it with wicked enjoyment of that misery it had + exposed all day; lingered on the corner of the dusty bookshelf, in a red + glow intense and mocking, till it was suddenly snatched by the setting sun + out of the way of the coming night. And the night entered the room. The + night abrupt, impenetrable and all-filling with its flood of darkness; the + night cool and merciful; the blind night that saw nothing, but could hear + the fretful whimpering of the child, the creak of the bedstead, Joanna’s + deep sighs as she turned over, sleepless, in the confused conviction of + her wickedness, thinking of that man masterful, fair-headed, and strong—a + man hard perhaps, but her husband; her clever and handsome husband to whom + she had acted so cruelly on the advice of bad people, if her own people; + and of her poor, dear, deceived mother. + </p> + <p> + To Almayer, Joanna’s presence was a constant worry, a worry unobtrusive + yet intolerable; a constant, but mostly mute, warning of possible danger. + In view of the absurd softness of Lingard’s heart, every one in whom + Lingard manifested the slightest interest was to Almayer a natural enemy. + He was quite alive to that feeling, and in the intimacy of the secret + intercourse with his inner self had often congratulated himself upon his + own wide-awake comprehension of his position. In that way, and impelled by + that motive, Almayer had hated many and various persons at various times. + But he never had hated and feared anybody so much as he did hate and fear + Willems. Even after Willems’ treachery, which seemed to remove him beyond + the pale of all human sympathy, Almayer mistrusted the situation and + groaned in spirit every time he caught sight of Joanna. + </p> + <p> + He saw her very seldom in the daytime. But in the short and opal-tinted + twilights, or in the azure dusk of starry evenings, he often saw, before + he slept, the slender and tall figure trailing to and fro the ragged tail + of its white gown over the dried mud of the riverside in front of the + house. Once or twice when he sat late on the verandah, with his feet upon + the deal table on a level with the lamp, reading the seven months’ old + copy of the North China Herald, brought by Lingard, he heard the stairs + creak, and, looking round the paper, he saw her frail and meagre form rise + step by step and toil across the verandah, carrying with difficulty the + big, fat child, whose head, lying on the mother’s bony shoulder, seemed of + the same size as Joanna’s own. Several times she had assailed him with + tearful clamour or mad entreaties: asking about her husband, wanting to + know where he was, when he would be back; and ending every such outburst + with despairing and incoherent self-reproaches that were absolutely + incomprehensible to Almayer. On one or two occasions she had overwhelmed + her host with vituperative abuse, making him responsible for her husband’s + absence. Those scenes, begun without any warning, ended abruptly in a + sobbing flight and a bang of the door; stirred the house with a sudden, a + fierce, and an evanescent disturbance; like those inexplicable whirlwinds + that rise, run, and vanish without apparent cause upon the sun-scorched + dead level of arid and lamentable plains. + </p> + <p> + But to-night the house was quiet, deadly quiet, while Almayer stood still, + watching that delicate balance where he was weighing all his chances: + Joanna’s intelligence, Lingard’s credulity, Willems’ reckless audacity, + desire to escape, readiness to seize an unexpected opportunity. He + weighed, anxious and attentive, his fears and his desires against the + tremendous risk of a quarrel with Lingard. . . . Yes. Lingard would be + angry. Lingard might suspect him of some connivance in his prisoner’s + escape—but surely he would not quarrel with him—Almayer—about + those people once they were gone—gone to the devil in their own way. + And then he had hold of Lingard through the little girl. Good. What an + annoyance! A prisoner! As if one could keep him in there. He was bound to + get away some time or other. Of course. A situation like that can’t last. + Anybody could see that. Lingard’s eccentricity passed all bounds. You may + kill a man, but you mustn’t torture him. It was almost criminal. It caused + worry, trouble, and unpleasantness. . . . Almayer for a moment felt very + angry with Lingard. He made him responsible for the anguish he suffered + from, for the anguish of doubt and fear; for compelling him—the + practical and innocent Almayer—to such painful efforts of mind in + order to find out some issue for absurd situations created by the + unreasonable sentimentality of Lingard’s unpractical impulses. + </p> + <p> + “Now if the fellow were dead it would be all right,” said Almayer to the + verandah. + </p> + <p> + He stirred a little, and scratching his nose thoughtfully, revelled in a + short flight of fancy, showing him his own image crouching in a big boat, + that floated arrested—say fifty yards off—abreast of Willems’ + landing-place. In the bottom of the boat there was a gun. A loaded gun. + One of the boatmen would shout, and Willems would answer—from the + bushes. The rascal would be suspicious. Of course. Then the man would wave + a piece of paper urging Willems to come to the landing-place and receive + an important message. “From the Rajah Laut” the man would yell as the boat + edged in-shore, and that would fetch Willems out. Wouldn’t it? Rather! And + Almayer saw himself jumping up at the right moment, taking aim, pulling + the trigger—and Willems tumbling over, his head in the water—the + swine! + </p> + <p> + He seemed to hear the report of the shot. It made him thrill from head to + foot where he stood. . . . How simple! . . . Unfortunate . . . Lingard . . + . He sighed, shook his head. Pity. Couldn’t be done. And couldn’t leave + him there either! Suppose the Arabs were to get hold of him again—for + instance to lead an expedition up the river! Goodness only knows what harm + would come of it. . . . + </p> + <p> + The balance was at rest now and inclining to the side of immediate action. + Almayer walked to the door, walked up very close to it, knocked loudly, + and turned his head away, looking frightened for a moment at what he had + done. After waiting for a while he put his ear against the panel and + listened. Nothing. He composed his features into an agreeable expression + while he stood listening and thinking to himself: I hear her. Crying. Eh? + I believe she has lost the little wits she had and is crying night and day + since I began to prepare her for the news of her husband’s death—as + Lingard told me. I wonder what she thinks. It’s just like father to make + me invent all these stories for nothing at all. Out of kindness. Kindness! + Damn! . . . She isn’t deaf, surely. + </p> + <p> + He knocked again, then said in a friendly tone, grinning benevolently at + the closed door— + </p> + <p> + “It’s me, Mrs. Willems. I want to speak to you. I have . . . have . . . + important news. . . .” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “News,” repeated Almayer, distinctly. “News about your husband. Your + husband! . . . Damn him!” he added, under his breath. + </p> + <p> + He heard a stumbling rush inside. Things were overturned. Joanna’s + agitated voice cried— + </p> + <p> + “News! What? What? I am coming out.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” shouted Almayer. “Put on some clothes, Mrs. Willems, and let me in. + It’s . . . very confidential. You have a candle, haven’t you?” + </p> + <p> + She was knocking herself about blindly amongst the furniture in that room. + The candlestick was upset. Matches were struck ineffectually. The matchbox + fell. He heard her drop on her knees and grope over the floor while she + kept on moaning in maddened distraction. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my God! News! Yes . . . yes. . . . Ah! where . . . where . . . + candle. Oh, my God! . . . I can’t find . . . Don’t go away, for the love + of Heaven . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to go away,” said Almayer, impatiently, through the keyhole; + “but look sharp. It’s coni . . . it’s pressing.” + </p> + <p> + He stamped his foot lightly, waiting with his hand on the door-handle. He + thought anxiously: The woman’s a perfect idiot. Why should I go away? She + will be off her head. She will never catch my meaning. She’s too stupid. + </p> + <p> + She was moving now inside the room hurriedly and in silence. He waited. + There was a moment of perfect stillness in there, and then she spoke in an + exhausted voice, in words that were shaped out of an expiring sigh—out + of a sigh light and profound, like words breathed out by a woman before + going off into a dead faint— + </p> + <p> + “Come in.” + </p> + <p> + He pushed the door. Ali, coming through the passage with an armful of + pillows and blankets pressed to his breast high up under his chin, caught + sight of his master before the door closed behind him. He was so + astonished that he dropped his bundle and stood staring at the door for a + long time. He heard the voice of his master talking. Talking to that + Sirani woman! Who was she? He had never thought about that really. He + speculated for a while hazily upon things in general. She was a Sirani + woman—and ugly. He made a disdainful grimace, picked up the bedding, + and went about his work, slinging the hammock between two uprights of the + verandah. . . . Those things did not concern him. She was ugly, and + brought here by the Rajah Laut, and his master spoke to her in the night. + Very well. He, Ali, had his work to do. Sling the hammock—go round + and see that the watchmen were awake—take a look at the moorings of + the boats, at the padlock of the big storehouse—then go to sleep. To + sleep! He shivered pleasantly. He leaned with both arms over his master’s + hammock and fell into a light doze. + </p> + <p> + A scream, unexpected, piercing—a scream beginning at once in the + highest pitch of a woman’s voice and then cut short, so short that it + suggested the swift work of death—caused Ali to jump on one side + away from the hammock, and the silence that succeeded seemed to him as + startling as the awful shriek. He was thunderstruck with surprise. Almayer + came out of the office, leaving the door ajar, passed close to his servant + without taking any notice, and made straight for the water-chatty hung on + a nail in a draughty place. He took it down and came back, missing the + petrified Ali by an inch. He moved with long strides, yet, notwithstanding + his haste, stopped short before the door, and, throwing his head back, + poured a thin stream of water down his throat. While he came and went, + while he stopped to drink, while he did all this, there came steadily from + the dark room the sound of feeble and persistent crying, the crying of a + sleepy and frightened child. After he had drunk, Almayer went in, closing + the door carefully. + </p> + <p> + Ali did not budge. That Sirani woman shrieked! He felt an immense + curiosity very unusual to his stolid disposition. He could not take his + eyes off the door. Was she dead in there? How interesting and funny! He + stood with open mouth till he heard again the rattle of the door-handle. + Master coming out. He pivoted on his heels with great rapidity and made + believe to be absorbed in the contemplation of the night outside. He heard + Almayer moving about behind his back. Chairs were displaced. His master + sat down. + </p> + <p> + “Ali,” said Almayer. + </p> + <p> + His face was gloomy and thoughtful. He looked at his head man, who had + approached the table, then he pulled out his watch. It was going. Whenever + Lingard was in Sambir Almayer’s watch was going. He would set it by the + cabin clock, telling himself every time that he must really keep that + watch going for the future. And every time, when Lingard went away, he + would let it run down and would measure his weariness by sunrises and + sunsets in an apathetic indifference to mere hours; to hours only; to + hours that had no importance in Sambir life, in the tired stagnation of empty + days; when nothing mattered to him but the quality of guttah and the size + of rattans; where there were no small hopes to be watched for; where to + him there was nothing interesting, nothing supportable, nothing desirable + to expect; nothing bitter but the slowness of the passing days; nothing + sweet but the hope, the distant and glorious hope—the hope wearying, + aching and precious, of getting away. + </p> + <p> + He looked at the watch. Half-past eight. Ali waited stolidly. + </p> + <p> + “Go to the settlement,” said Almayer, “and tell Mahmat Banjer to come and + speak to me to-night.” + </p> + <p> + Ali went off muttering. He did not like his errand. Banjer and his two + brothers were Bajow vagabonds who had appeared lately in Sambir and had + been allowed to take possession of a tumbledown abandoned hut, on three + posts, belonging to Lingard & Co., and standing just outside their + fence. Ali disapproved of the favour shown to those strangers. Any kind of + dwelling was valuable in Sambir at that time, and if master did not want + that old rotten house he might have given it to him, Ali, who was his + servant, instead of bestowing it upon those bad men. Everybody knew they + were bad. It was well known that they had stolen a boat from Hinopari, who + was very aged and feeble and had no sons; and that afterwards, by the + truculent recklessness of their demeanour, they had frightened the poor + old man into holding his tongue about it. Yet everybody knew of it. It was + one of the tolerated scandals of Sambir, disapproved and accepted, a + manifestation of that base acquiescence in success, of that inexpressed + and cowardly toleration of strength, that exists, infamous and + irremediable, at the bottom of all hearts, in all societies; whenever men + congregate; in bigger and more virtuous places than Sambir, and in Sambir + also, where, as in other places, one man could steal a boat with impunity + while another would have no right to look at a paddle. + </p> + <p> + Almayer, leaning back in his chair, meditated. The more he thought, the + more he felt convinced that Banjer and his brothers were exactly the men + he wanted. Those fellows were sea gipsies, and could disappear without + attracting notice; and if they returned, nobody—and Lingard least of + all—would dream of seeking information from them. Moreover, they had + no personal interest of any kind in Sambir affairs—had taken no + sides—would know nothing anyway. + </p> + <p> + He called in a strong voice: “Mrs. Willems!” + </p> + <p> + She came out quickly, almost startling him, so much did she appear as + though she had surged up through the floor, on the other side of the + table. The lamp was between them, and Almayer moved it aside, looking up + at her from his chair. She was crying. She was crying gently, silently, in + a ceaseless welling up of tears that did not fall in drops, but seemed to + overflow in a clear sheet from under her eyelids—seemed to flow at + once all over her face, her cheeks, and over her chin that glistened with + moisture in the light. Her breast and her shoulders were shaken repeatedly + by a convulsive and noiseless catching in her breath, and after every + spasmodic sob her sorrowful little head, tied up in a red kerchief, + trembled on her long neck, round which her bony hand gathered and clasped + the disarranged dress. + </p> + <p> + “Compose yourself, Mrs. Willems,” said Almayer. + </p> + <p> + She emitted an inarticulate sound that seemed to be a faint, a very far + off, a hardly audible cry of mortal distress. Then the tears went on + flowing in profound stillness. + </p> + <p> + “You must understand that I have told you all this because I am your + friend—real friend,” said Almayer, after looking at her for some + time with visible dissatisfaction. “You, his wife, ought to know the + danger he is in. Captain Lingard is a terrible man, you know.” + </p> + <p> + She blubbered out, sniffing and sobbing together. + </p> + <p> + “Do you . . . you . . . speak . . . the . . . the truth now?” + </p> + <p> + “Upon my word of honour. On the head of my child,” protested Almayer. “I + had to deceive you till now because of Captain Lingard. But I couldn’t + bear it. Think only what a risk I run in telling you—if ever Lingard + was to know! Why should I do it? Pure friendship. Dear Peter was my + colleague in Macassar for years, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “What shall I do . . . what shall I do!” she exclaimed, faintly, looking + around on every side as if she could not make up her mind which way to + rush off. + </p> + <p> + “You must help him to clear out, now Lingard is away. He offended Lingard, + and that’s no joke. Lingard said he would kill him. He will do it, too,” + said Almayer, earnestly. + </p> + <p> + She wrung her hands. “Oh! the wicked man. The wicked, wicked man!” she + moaned, swaying her body from side to side. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Yes! He is terrible,” assented Almayer. “You must not lose any time. + I say! Do you understand me, Mrs. Willems? Think of your husband. Of your + poor husband. How happy he will be. You will bring him his life—actually + his life. Think of him.” + </p> + <p> + She ceased her swaying movement, and now, with her head sunk between her + shoulders, she hugged herself with both her arms; and she stared at + Almayer with wild eyes, while her teeth chattered, rattling violently and + uninterruptedly, with a very loud sound, in the deep peace of the house. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Mother of God!” she wailed. “I am a miserable woman. Will he forgive + me? The poor, innocent man. Will he forgive me? Oh, Mr. Almayer, he is so + severe. Oh! help me. . . . I dare not. . . . You don’t know what I’ve done + to him. . . . I daren’t! . . . I can’t! . . . God help me!” + </p> + <p> + The last words came in a despairing cry. Had she been flayed alive she + could not have sent to heaven a more terrible, a more heartrending and + anguished plaint. + </p> + <p> + “Sh! Sh!” hissed Almayer, jumping up. “You will wake up everybody with + your shouting.” + </p> + <p> + She kept on sobbing then without any noise, and Almayer stared at her in + boundless astonishment. The idea that, maybe, he had done wrong by + confiding in her, upset him so much that for a moment he could not find a + connected thought in his head. + </p> + <p> + At last he said: “I swear to you that your husband is in such a position + that he would welcome the devil . . . listen well to me . . . the devil + himself if the devil came to him in a canoe. Unless I am much mistaken,” + he added, under his breath. Then again, loudly: “If you have any little + difference to make up with him, I assure you—I swear to you—this + is your time!” + </p> + <p> + The ardently persuasive tone of his words—he thought—would + have carried irresistible conviction to a graven image. He noticed with + satisfaction that Joanna seemed to have got some inkling of his meaning. + He continued, speaking slowly— + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Mrs. Willems. I can’t do anything. Daren’t. But I will tell + you what I will do. There will come here in about ten minutes a Bugis man—you + know the language; you are from Macassar. He has a large canoe; he can + take you there. To the new Rajah’s clearing, tell him. They are three + brothers, ready for anything if you pay them . . . you have some money. + Haven’t you?” + </p> + <p> + She stood—perhaps listening—but giving no sign of + intelligence, and stared at the floor in sudden immobility, as if the + horror of the situation, the overwhelming sense of her own wickedness and + of her husband’s great danger, had stunned her brain, her heart, her will—had + left her no faculty but that of breathing and of keeping on her feet. + Almayer swore to himself with much mental profanity that he had never seen + a more useless, a more stupid being. + </p> + <p> + “D’ye hear me?” he said, raising his voice. “Do try to understand. Have + you any money? Money. Dollars. Guilders. Money! What’s the matter with + you?” + </p> + <p> + Without raising her eyes she said, in a voice that sounded weak and + undecided as if she had been making a desperate effort of memory— + </p> + <p> + “The house has been sold. Mr. Hudig was angry.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer gripped the edge of the table with all his strength. He resisted + manfully an almost uncontrollable impulse to fly at her and box her ears. + </p> + <p> + “It was sold for money, I suppose,” he said with studied and incisive + calmness. “Have you got it? Who has got it?” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him, raising her swollen eyelids with a great effort, in + a sorrowful expression of her drooping mouth, of her whole besmudged and + tear-stained face. She whispered resignedly— + </p> + <p> + “Leonard had some. He wanted to get married. And uncle Antonio; he sat at + the door and would not go away. And Aghostina—she is so poor . . . + and so many, many children—little children. And Luiz the engineer. + He never said a word against my husband. Also our cousin Maria. She came + and shouted, and my head was so bad, and my heart was worse. Then cousin + Salvator and old Daniel da Souza, who . . .” + </p> + <p> + Almayer had listened to her speechless with rage. He thought: I must give + money now to that idiot. Must! Must get her out of the way now before + Lingard is back. He made two attempts to speak before he managed to burst + out— + </p> + <p> + “I don’t want to know their blasted names! Tell me, did all those infernal + people leave you anything? To you! That’s what I want to know!” + </p> + <p> + “I have two hundred and fifteen dollars,” said Joanna, in a frightened + tone. + </p> + <p> + Almayer breathed freely. He spoke with great friendliness— + </p> + <p> + “That will do. It isn’t much, but it will do. Now when the man comes I + will be out of the way. You speak to him. Give him some money; only a + little, mind! And promise more. Then when you get there you will be guided + by your husband, of course. And don’t forget to tell him that Captain + Lingard is at the mouth of the river—the northern entrance. You will + remember. Won’t you? The northern branch. Lingard is—death.” + </p> + <p> + Joanna shivered. Almayer went on rapidly— + </p> + <p> + “I would have given you money if you had wanted it. ‘Pon my word! Tell + your husband I’ve sent you to him. And tell him not to lose any time. And + also say to him from me that we shall meet—some day. That I could + not die happy unless I met him once more. Only once. I love him, you know. + I prove it. Tremendous risk to me—this business is!” + </p> + <p> + Joanna snatched his hand and before he knew what she would be at, pressed + it to her lips. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Willems! Don’t. What are you . . .” cried the abashed Almayer, + tearing his hand away. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you are good!” she cried, with sudden exaltation, “You are noble . . + . I shall pray every day . . . to all the saints . . . I shall . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind . . . never mind!” stammered out Almayer, confusedly, without + knowing very well what he was saying. “Only look out for Lingard. . . . I + am happy to be able . . . in your sad situation . . . believe me. . . .” + </p> + <p> + They stood with the table between them, Joanna looking down, and her face, + in the half-light above the lamp, appeared like a soiled carving of old + ivory—a carving, with accentuated anxious hollows, of old, very old + ivory. Almayer looked at her, mistrustful, hopeful. He was saying to + himself: How frail she is! I could upset her by blowing at her. She seems + to have got some idea of what must be done, but will she have the strength + to carry it through? I must trust to luck now! + </p> + <p> + Somewhere far in the back courtyard Ali’s voice rang suddenly in angry + remonstrance— + </p> + <p> + “Why did you shut the gate, O father of all mischief? You a watchman! You + are only a wild man. Did I not tell you I was coming back? You . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I am off, Mrs. Willems,” exclaimed Almayer. “That man is here—with + my servant. Be calm. Try to . . .” + </p> + <p> + He heard the footsteps of the two men in the passage, and without + finishing his sentence ran rapidly down the steps towards the riverside. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0024" id="link2HCH0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER TWO + </h2> + <p> + For the next half-hour Almayer, who wanted to give Joanna plenty of time, + stumbled amongst the lumber in distant parts of his enclosure, sneaked + along the fences; or held his breath, flattened against grass walls behind + various outhouses: all this to escape Ali’s inconveniently zealous search + for his master. He heard him talk with the head watchman—sometimes + quite close to him in the darkness—then moving off, coming back, + wondering, and, as the time passed, growing uneasy. + </p> + <p> + “He did not fall into the river?—say, thou blind watcher!” Ali was + growling in a bullying tone, to the other man. “He told me to fetch + Mahmat, and when I came back swiftly I found him not in the house. There + is that Sirani woman there, so that Mahmat cannot steal anything, but it + is in my mind, the night will be half gone before I rest.” + </p> + <p> + He shouted— + </p> + <p> + “Master! O master! O mast . . .” + </p> + <p> + “What are you making that noise for?” said Almayer, with severity, + stepping out close to them. + </p> + <p> + The two Malays leaped away from each other in their surprise. + </p> + <p> + “You may go. I don’t want you any more tonight, Ali,” went on Almayer. “Is + Mahmat there?” + </p> + <p> + “Unless the ill-behaved savage got tired of waiting. Those men know not + politeness. They should not be spoken to by white men,” said Ali, + resentfully. + </p> + <p> + Almayer went towards the house, leaving his servants to wonder where he + had sprung from so unexpectedly. The watchman hinted obscurely at powers + of invisibility possessed by the master, who often at night . . . Ali + interrupted him with great scorn. Not every white man has the power. Now, + the Rajah Laut could make himself invisible. Also, he could be in two + places at once, as everybody knew; except he—the useless watchman—who + knew no more about white men than a wild pig! Ya-wa! + </p> + <p> + And Ali strolled towards his hut, yawning loudly. + </p> + <p> + As Almayer ascended the steps he heard the noise of a door flung to, and + when he entered the verandah he saw only Mahmat there, close to the + doorway of the passage. Mahmat seemed to be caught in the very act of + slinking away, and Almayer noticed that with satisfaction. Seeing the + white man, the Malay gave up his attempt and leaned against the wall. He + was a short, thick, broad-shouldered man with very dark skin and a wide, + stained, bright-red mouth that uncovered, when he spoke, a close row of + black and glistening teeth. His eyes were big, prominent, dreamy and + restless. He said sulkily, looking all over the place from under his + eyebrows— + </p> + <p> + “White Tuan, you are great and strong—and I a poor man. Tell me what + is your will, and let me go in the name of God. It is late.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer examined the man thoughtfully. How could he find out whether . . . + He had it! Lately he had employed that man and his two brothers as extra + boatmen to carry stores, provisions, and new axes to a camp of rattan + cutters some distance up the river. A three days’ expedition. He would + test him now in that way. He said negligently— + </p> + <p> + “I want you to start at once for the camp, with surat for the Kavitan. One + dollar a day.” + </p> + <p> + The man appeared plunged in dull hesitation, but Almayer, who knew his + Malays, felt pretty sure from his aspect that nothing would induce the + fellow to go. He urged— + </p> + <p> + “It is important—and if you are swift I shall give two dollars for + the last day.” + </p> + <p> + “No, Tuan. We do not go,” said the man, in a hoarse whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + “We start on another journey.” + </p> + <p> + “Where?” + </p> + <p> + “To a place we know of,” said Mahmat, a little louder, in a stubborn + manner, and looking at the floor. + </p> + <p> + Almayer experienced a feeling of immense joy. He said, with affected + annoyance— + </p> + <p> + “You men live in my house and it is as if it were your own. I may want my + house soon.” + </p> + <p> + Mahmat looked up. + </p> + <p> + “We are men of the sea and care not for a roof when we have a canoe that + will hold three, and a paddle apiece. The sea is our house. Peace be with + you, Tuan.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and went away rapidly, and Almayer heard him directly afterwards + in the courtyard calling to the watchman to open the gate. Mahmat passed + through the gate in silence, but before the bar had been put up behind him + he had made up his mind that if the white man ever wanted to eject him + from his hut, he would burn it and also as many of the white man’s other + buildings as he could safely get at. And he began to call his brothers + before he was inside the dilapidated dwelling. + </p> + <p> + “All’s well!” muttered Almayer to himself, taking some loose Java tobacco + from a drawer in the table. “Now if anything comes out I am clear. I asked + the man to go up the river. I urged him. He will say so himself. Good.” + </p> + <p> + He began to charge the china bowl of his pipe, a pipe with a long cherry + stem and a curved mouthpiece, pressing the tobacco down with his thumb and + thinking: No. I sha’n’t see her again. Don’t want to. I will give her a + good start, then go in chase—and send an express boat after father. + Yes! that’s it. + </p> + <p> + He approached the door of the office and said, holding his pipe away from + his lips— + </p> + <p> + “Good luck to you, Mrs. Willems. Don’t lose any time. You may get along by + the bushes; the fence there is out of repair. Don’t lose time. Don’t + forget that it is a matter of . . . life and death. And don’t forget that + I know nothing. I trust you.” + </p> + <p> + He heard inside a noise as of a chest-lid falling down. She made a few + steps. Then a sigh, profound and long, and some faint words which he did + not catch. He moved away from the door on tiptoe, kicked off his slippers + in a corner of the verandah, then entered the passage puffing at his pipe; + entered cautiously in a gentle creaking of planks and turned into a + curtained entrance to the left. There was a big room. On the floor a small + binnacle lamp—that had found its way to the house years ago from the + lumber-room of the Flash—did duty for a night-light. It glimmered + very small and dull in the great darkness. Almayer walked to it, and + picking it up revived the flame by pulling the wick with his fingers, + which he shook directly after with a grimace of pain. Sleeping shapes, + covered—head and all—with white sheets, lay about on the mats + on the floor. In the middle of the room a small cot, under a square white + mosquito net, stood—the only piece of furniture between the four + walls—looking like an altar of transparent marble in a gloomy + temple. A woman, half-lying on the floor with her head dropped on her + arms, which were crossed on the foot of the cot, woke up as Almayer strode + over her outstretched legs. She sat up without a word, leaning forward, + and, clasping her knees, stared down with sad eyes, full of sleep. + </p> + <p> + Almayer, the smoky light in one hand, his pipe in the other, stood before + the curtained cot looking at his daughter—at his little Nina—at + that part of himself, at that small and unconscious particle of humanity + that seemed to him to contain all his soul. And it was as if he had been + bathed in a bright and warm wave of tenderness, in a tenderness greater + than the world, more precious than life; the only thing real, living, + sweet, tangible, beautiful and safe amongst the elusive, the distorted and + menacing shadows of existence. On his face, lit up indistinctly by the + short yellow flame of the lamp, came a look of rapt attention while he + looked into her future. And he could see things there! Things charming and + splendid passing before him in a magic unrolling of resplendent pictures; + pictures of events brilliant, happy, inexpressibly glorious, that would + make up her life. He would do it! He would do it. He would! He would—for + that child! And as he stood in the still night, lost in his enchanting and + gorgeous dreams, while the ascending, thin thread of tobacco smoke spread + into a faint bluish cloud above his head, he appeared strangely impressive + and ecstatic: like a devout and mystic worshipper, adoring, transported + and mute; burning incense before a shrine, a diaphanous shrine of a + child-idol with closed eyes; before a pure and vaporous shrine of a small + god—fragile, powerless, unconscious and sleeping. + </p> + <p> + When Ali, roused by loud and repeated shouting of his name, stumbled + outside the door of his hut, he saw a narrow streak of trembling gold + above the forests and a pale sky with faded stars overhead: signs of the + coming day. His master stood before the door waving a piece of paper in + his hand and shouting excitedly—“Quick, Ali! Quick!” When he saw his + servant he rushed forward, and pressing the paper on him objurgated him, + in tones which induced Ali to think that something awful had happened, to + hurry up and get the whale-boat ready to go immediately—at once, at + once—after Captain Lingard. Ali remonstrated, agitated also, having + caught the infection of distracted haste. + </p> + <p> + “If must go quick, better canoe. Whale-boat no can catch, same as small + canoe.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no! Whale-boat! whale-boat! You dolt! you wretch!” howled Almayer, + with all the appearance of having gone mad. “Call the men! Get along with + it. Fly!” + </p> + <p> + And Ali rushed about the courtyard kicking the doors of huts open to put + his head in and yell frightfully inside; and as he dashed from hovel to + hovel, men shivering and sleepy were coming out, looking after him + stupidly, while they scratched their ribs with bewildered apathy. It was + hard work to put them in motion. They wanted time to stretch themselves + and to shiver a little. Some wanted food. One said he was sick. Nobody + knew where the rudder was. Ali darted here and there, ordering, abusing, + pushing one, then another, and stopping in his exertions at times to wring + his hands hastily and groan, because the whale-boat was much slower than + the worst canoe and his master would not listen to his protestations. + </p> + <p> + Almayer saw the boat go off at last, pulled anyhow by men that were cold, + hungry, and sulky; and he remained on the jetty watching it down the + reach. It was broad day then, and the sky was perfectly cloudless. Almayer + went up to the house for a moment. His household was all astir and + wondering at the strange disappearance of the Sirani woman, who had taken + her child and had left her luggage. Almayer spoke to no one, got his + revolver, and went down to the river again. He jumped into a small canoe + and paddled himself towards the schooner. He worked very leisurely, but as + soon as he was nearly alongside he began to hail the silent craft with the + tone and appearance of a man in a tremendous hurry. + </p> + <p> + “Schooner ahoy! schooner ahoy!” he shouted. + </p> + <p> + A row of blank faces popped up above the bulwark. After a while a man with + a woolly head of hair said— + </p> + <p> + “Sir!” + </p> + <p> + “The mate! the mate! Call him, steward!” said Almayer, excitedly, making a + frantic grab at a rope thrown down to him by somebody. + </p> + <p> + In less than a minute the mate put his head over. He asked, surprised— + </p> + <p> + “What can I do for you, Mr. Almayer?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me have the gig at once, Mr. Swan—at once. I ask in Captain + Lingard’s name. I must have it. Matter of life and death.” + </p> + <p> + The mate was impressed by Almayer’s agitation + </p> + <p> + “You shall have it, sir. . . . Man the gig there! Bear a hand, serang! . . + . It’s hanging astern, Mr. Almayer,” he said, looking down again. “Get + into it, sir. The men are coming down by the painter.” + </p> + <p> + By the time Almayer had clambered over into the stern sheets, four + calashes were in the boat and the oars were being passed over the + taffrail. The mate was looking on. Suddenly he said— + </p> + <p> + “Is it dangerous work? Do you want any help? I would come . . .” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, yes!” cried Almayer. “Come along. Don’t lose a moment. Go and get + your revolver. Hurry up! hurry up!” + </p> + <p> + Yet, notwithstanding his feverish anxiety to be off, he lolled back very + quiet and unconcerned till the mate got in and, passing over the thwarts, + sat down by his side. Then he seemed to wake up, and called out— + </p> + <p> + “Let go—let go the painter!” + </p> + <p> + “Let go the painter—the painter!” yelled the bowman, jerking at it. + </p> + <p> + People on board also shouted “Let go!” to one another, till it occurred at + last to somebody to cast off the rope; and the boat drifted rapidly away + from the schooner in the sudden silencing of all voices. + </p> + <p> + Almayer steered. The mate sat by his side, pushing the cartridges into the + chambers of his revolver. When the weapon was loaded he asked— + </p> + <p> + “What is it? Are you after somebody?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Almayer, curtly, with his eyes fixed ahead on the river. “We + must catch a dangerous man.” + </p> + <p> + “I like a bit of a chase myself,” declared the mate, and then, discouraged + by Almayer’s aspect of severe thoughtfulness, said nothing more. + </p> + <p> + Nearly an hour passed. The calashes stretched forward head first and lay + back with their faces to the sky, alternately, in a regular swing that + sent the boat flying through the water; and the two sitters, very upright + in the stern sheets, swayed rhythmically a little at every stroke of the + long oars plied vigorously. + </p> + <p> + The mate observed: “The tide is with us.” + </p> + <p> + “The current always runs down in this river,” said Almayer. + </p> + <p> + “Yes—I know,” retorted the other; “but it runs faster on the ebb. + Look by the land at the way we get over the ground! A five-knot current + here, I should say.” + </p> + <p> + “H’m!” growled Almayer. Then suddenly: “There is a passage between two + islands that will save us four miles. But at low water the two islands, in + the dry season, are like one with only a mud ditch between them. Still, + it’s worth trying.” + </p> + <p> + “Ticklish job that, on a falling tide,” said the mate, coolly. “You know + best whether there’s time to get through.” + </p> + <p> + “I will try,” said Almayer, watching the shore intently. “Look out now!” + </p> + <p> + He tugged hard at the starboard yoke-line. + </p> + <p> + “Lay in your oars!” shouted the mate. + </p> + <p> + The boat swept round and shot through the narrow opening of a creek that + broadened out before the craft had time to lose its way. + </p> + <p> + “Out oars! . . . Just room enough,” muttered the mate. + </p> + <p> + It was a sombre creek of black water speckled with the gold of scattered + sunlight falling through the boughs that met overhead in a soaring, + restless arc full of gentle whispers passing, tremulous, aloft amongst the + thick leaves. The creepers climbed up the trunks of serried trees that + leaned over, looking insecure and undermined by floods which had eaten + away the earth from under their roots. And the pungent, acrid smell of + rotting leaves, of flowers, of blossoms and plants dying in that poisonous + and cruel gloom, where they pined for sunshine in vain, seemed to lay + heavy, to press upon the shiny and stagnant water in its tortuous windings + amongst the everlasting and invincible shadows. + </p> + <p> + Almayer looked anxious. He steered badly. Several times the blades of the + oars got foul of the bushes on one side or the other, checking the way of + the gig. During one of those occurrences, while they were getting clear, + one of the calashes said something to the others in a rapid whisper. They + looked down at the water. So did the mate. + </p> + <p> + “Hallo!” he exclaimed. “Eh, Mr. Almayer! Look! The water is running out. + See there! We will be caught.” + </p> + <p> + “Back! back! We must go back!” cried Almayer. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps better go on.” + </p> + <p> + “No; back! back!” + </p> + <p> + He pulled at the steering line, and ran the nose of the boat into the + bank. Time was lost again in getting clear. + </p> + <p> + “Give way, men! give way!” urged the mate, anxiously. + </p> + <p> + The men pulled with set lips and dilated nostrils, breathing hard. + </p> + <p> + “Too late,” said the mate, suddenly. “The oars touch the bottom already. + We are done.” + </p> + <p> + The boat stuck. The men laid in the oars, and sat, panting, with crossed + arms. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, we are caught,” said Almayer, composedly. “That is unlucky!” + </p> + <p> + The water was falling round the boat. The mate watched the patches of mud + coming to the surface. Then in a moment he laughed, and pointing his + finger at the creek— + </p> + <p> + “Look!” he said; “the blamed river is running away from us. Here’s the + last drop of water clearing out round that bend.” + </p> + <p> + Almayer lifted his head. The water was gone, and he looked only at a + curved track of mud—of mud soft and black, hiding fever, rottenness, + and evil under its level and glazed surface. + </p> + <p> + “We are in for it till the evening,” he said, with cheerful resignation. + “I did my best. Couldn’t help it.” + </p> + <p> + “We must sleep the day away,” said the mate. “There’s nothing to eat,” he + added, gloomily. + </p> + <p> + Almayer stretched himself in the stern sheets. The Malays curled down + between thwarts. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I’m jiggered!” said the mate, starting up after a long pause. “I + was in a devil of a hurry to go and pass the day stuck in the mud. Here’s + a holiday for you! Well! well!” + </p> + <p> + They slept or sat unmoving and patient. As the sun mounted higher the + breeze died out, and perfect stillness reigned in the empty creek. A troop + of long-nosed monkeys appeared, and crowding on the outer boughs, + contemplated the boat and the motionless men in it with grave and + sorrowful intensity, disturbed now and then by irrational outbreaks of mad + gesticulation. A little bird with sapphire breast balanced a slender twig + across a slanting beam of light, and flashed in it to and fro like a gem + dropped from the sky. His minute round eye stared at the strange and + tranquil creatures in the boat. After a while he sent out a thin twitter + that sounded impertinent and funny in the solemn silence of the great + wilderness; in the great silence full of struggle and death. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0025" id="link2HCH0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER THREE + </h2> + <p> + On Lingard’s departure solitude and silence closed round Willems; the + cruel solitude of one abandoned by men; the reproachful silence which + surrounds an outcast ejected by his kind, the silence unbroken by the + slightest whisper of hope; an immense and impenetrable silence that + swallows up without echo the murmur of regret and the cry of revolt. The + bitter peace of the abandoned clearings entered his heart, in which + nothing could live now but the memory and hate of his past. Not remorse. + In the breast of a man possessed by the masterful consciousness of his + individuality with its desires and its rights; by the immovable conviction + of his own importance, of an importance so indisputable and final that it + clothes all his wishes, endeavours, and mistakes with the dignity of + unavoidable fate, there could be no place for such a feeling as that of + remorse. + </p> + <p> + The days passed. They passed unnoticed, unseen, in the rapid blaze of + glaring sunrises, in the short glow of tender sunsets, in the crushing + oppression of high noons without a cloud. How many days? Two—three—or + more? He did not know. To him, since Lingard had gone, the time seemed to + roll on in profound darkness. All was night within him. All was gone from + his sight. He walked about blindly in the deserted courtyards, amongst the + empty houses that, perched high on their posts, looked down inimically on + him, a white stranger, a man from other lands; seemed to look hostile and + mute out of all the memories of native life that lingered between their + decaying walls. His wandering feet stumbled against the blackened brands + of extinct fires, kicking up a light black dust of cold ashes that flew in + drifting clouds and settled to leeward on the fresh grass sprouting from + the hard ground, between the shade trees. He moved on, and on; ceaseless, + unresting, in widening circles, in zigzagging paths that led to no issue; + he struggled on wearily with a set, distressed face behind which, in his + tired brain, seethed his thoughts: restless, sombre, tangled, chilling, + horrible and venomous, like a nestful of snakes. + </p> + <p> + From afar, the bleared eyes of the old serving woman, the sombre gaze of + Aissa followed the gaunt and tottering figure in its unceasing prowl along + the fences, between the houses, amongst the wild luxuriance of riverside + thickets. Those three human beings abandoned by all were like shipwrecked + people left on an insecure and slippery ledge by the retiring tide of an + angry sea—listening to its distant roar, living anguished between + the menace of its return and the hopeless horror of their solitude—in + the midst of a tempest of passion, of regret, of disgust, of despair. The + breath of the storm had cast two of them there, robbed of everything—even + of resignation. The third, the decrepit witness of their struggle and + their torture, accepted her own dull conception of facts; of strength and + youth gone; of her useless old age; of her last servitude; of being thrown + away by her chief, by her nearest, to use up the last and worthless + remnant of flickering life between those two incomprehensible and sombre + outcasts: a shrivelled, an unmoved, a passive companion of their disaster. + </p> + <p> + To the river Willems turned his eyes like a captive that looks fixedly at + the door of his cell. If there was any hope in the world it would come + from the river, by the river. For hours together he would stand in + sunlight while the sea breeze sweeping over the lonely reach fluttered his + ragged garments; the keen salt breeze that made him shiver now and then + under the flood of intense heat. He looked at the brown and sparkling + solitude of the flowing water, of the water flowing ceaseless and free in + a soft, cool murmur of ripples at his feet. The world seemed to end there. + The forests of the other bank appeared unattainable, enigmatical, for ever + beyond reach like the stars of heaven—and as indifferent. Above and + below, the forests on his side of the river came down to the water in a + serried multitude of tall, immense trees towering in a great spread of + twisted boughs above the thick undergrowth; great, solid trees, looking + sombre, severe, and malevolently stolid, like a giant crowd of pitiless + enemies pressing round silently to witness his slow agony. He was alone, + small, crushed. He thought of escape—of something to be done. What? + A raft! He imagined himself working at it, feverishly, desperately; + cutting down trees, fastening the logs together and then drifting down + with the current, down to the sea into the straits. There were ships there—ships, + help, white men. Men like himself. Good men who would rescue him, take him + away, take him far away where there was trade, and houses, and other men + that could understand him exactly, appreciate his capabilities; where + there was proper food, and money; where there were beds, knives, forks, + carriages, brass bands, cool drinks, churches with well-dressed people + praying in them. He would pray also. The superior land of refined delights + where he could sit on a chair, eat his tiffin off a white tablecloth, nod + to fellows—good fellows; he would be popular; always was—where + he could be virtuous, correct, do business, draw a salary, smoke cigars, + buy things in shops—have boots . . . be happy, free, become rich. O + God! What was wanted? Cut down a few trees. No! One would do. They used to + make canoes by burning out a tree trunk, he had heard. Yes! One would do. + One tree to cut down . . . He rushed forward, and suddenly stood still as + if rooted in the ground. He had a pocket-knife. + </p> + <p> + And he would throw himself down on the ground by the riverside. He was + tired, exhausted; as if that raft had been made, the voyage accomplished, + the fortune attained. A glaze came over his staring eyes, over his eyes + that gazed hopelessly at the rising river where big logs and uprooted + trees drifted in the shine of mid-stream: a long procession of black and + ragged specks. He could swim out and drift away on one of these trees. + Anything to escape! Anything! Any risk! He could fasten himself up between + the dead branches. He was torn by desire, by fear; his heart was wrung by + the faltering of his courage. He turned over, face downwards, his head on + his arms. He had a terrible vision of shadowless horizons where the blue + sky and the blue sea met; or a circular and blazing emptiness where a dead + tree and a dead man drifted together, endlessly, up and down, upon the + brilliant undulations of the straits. No ships there. Only death. And the + river led to it. + </p> + <p> + He sat up with a profound groan. + </p> + <p> + Yes, death. Why should he die? No! Better solitude, better hopeless + waiting, alone. Alone. No! he was not alone, he saw death looking at him + from everywhere; from the bushes, from the clouds—he heard her + speaking to him in the murmur of the river, filling the space, touching + his heart, his brain with a cold hand. He could see and think of nothing + else. He saw it—the sure death—everywhere. He saw it so close + that he was always on the point of throwing out his arms to keep it off. + It poisoned all he saw, all he did; the miserable food he ate, the muddy + water he drank; it gave a frightful aspect to sunrises and sunsets, to the + brightness of hot noon, to the cooling shadows of the evenings. He saw the + horrible form among the big trees, in the network of creepers in the + fantastic outlines of leaves, of the great indented leaves that seemed to + be so many enormous hands with big broad palms, with stiff fingers + outspread to lay hold of him; hands gently stirring, or hands arrested in + a frightful immobility, with a stillness attentive and watching for the + opportunity to take him, to enlace him, to strangle him, to hold him till + he died; hands that would hold him dead, that would never let go, that + would cling to his body for ever till it perished—disappeared in + their frantic and tenacious grasp. + </p> + <p> + And yet the world was full of life. All the things, all the men he knew, + existed, moved, breathed; and he saw them in a long perspective, far off, + diminished, distinct, desirable, unattainable, precious . . . lost for + ever. Round him, ceaselessly, there went on without a sound the mad + turmoil of tropical life. After he had died all this would remain! He + wanted to clasp, to embrace solid things; he had an immense craving for + sensations; for touching, pressing, seeing, handling, holding on, to all + these things. All this would remain—remain for years, for ages, for + ever. After he had miserably died there, all this would remain, would + live, would exist in joyous sunlight, would breathe in the coolness of + serene nights. What for, then? He would be dead. He would be stretched + upon the warm moisture of the ground, feeling nothing, seeing nothing, + knowing nothing; he would lie stiff, passive, rotting slowly; while over + him, under him, through him—unopposed, busy, hurried—the + endless and minute throngs of insects, little shining monsters of + repulsive shapes, with horns, with claws, with pincers, would swarm in + streams, in rushes, in eager struggle for his body; would swarm countless, + persistent, ferocious and greedy—till there would remain nothing but + the white gleam of bleaching bones in the long grass; in the long grass + that would shoot its feathery heads between the bare and polished ribs. + There would be that only left of him; nobody would miss him; no one would + remember him. + </p> + <p> + Nonsense! It could not be. There were ways out of this. Somebody would + turn up. Some human beings would come. He would speak, entreat—use + force to extort help from them. He felt strong; he was very strong. He + would . . . The discouragement, the conviction of the futility of his + hopes would return in an acute sensation of pain in his heart. He would + begin again his aimless wanderings. He tramped till he was ready to drop, + without being able to calm by bodily fatigue the trouble of his soul. + There was no rest, no peace within the cleared grounds of his prison. + There was no relief but in the black release of sleep, of sleep without + memory and without dreams; in the sleep coming brutal and heavy, like the + lead that kills. To forget in annihilating sleep; to tumble headlong, as + if stunned, out of daylight into the night of oblivion, was for him the + only, the rare respite from this existence which he lacked the courage to + endure—or to end. + </p> + <p> + He lived, he struggled with the inarticulate delirium of his thoughts + under the eyes of the silent Aissa. She shared his torment in the poignant + wonder, in the acute longing, in the despairing inability to understand + the cause of his anger and of his repulsion; the hate of his looks; the + mystery of his silence; the menace of his rare words—of those words + in the speech of white people that were thrown at her with rage, with + contempt, with the evident desire to hurt her; to hurt her who had given + herself, her life—all she had to give—to that white man; to + hurt her who had wanted to show him the way to true greatness, who had + tried to help him, in her woman’s dream of everlasting, enduring, + unchangeable affection. From the short contact with the whites in the + crashing collapse of her old life, there remained with her the imposing + idea of irresistible power and of ruthless strength. She had found a man + of their race—and with all their qualities. All whites are alike. + But this man’s heart was full of anger against his own people, full of + anger existing there by the side of his desire of her. And to her it had + been an intoxication of hope for great things born in the proud and tender + consciousness of her influence. She had heard the passing whisper of + wonder and fear in the presence of his hesitation, of his resistance, of + his compromises; and yet with a woman’s belief in the durable + steadfastness of hearts, in the irresistible charm of her own personality, + she had pushed him forward, trusting the future, blindly, hopefully; sure + to attain by his side the ardent desire of her life, if she could only + push him far beyond the possibility of retreat. She did not know, and + could not conceive, anything of his—so exalted—ideals. She + thought the man a warrior and a chief, ready for battle, violence, and + treachery to his own people—for her. What more natural? Was he not a + great, strong man? Those two, surrounded each by the impenetrable wall of + their aspirations, were hopelessly alone, out of sight, out of earshot of + each other; each the centre of dissimilar and distant horizons; standing + each on a different earth, under a different sky. She remembered his + words, his eyes, his trembling lips, his outstretched hands; she + remembered the great, the immeasurable sweetness of her surrender, that + beginning of her power which was to last until death. He remembered the + quaysides and the warehouses; the excitement of a life in a whirl of + silver coins; the glorious uncertainty of a money hunt; his numerous + successes, the lost possibilities of wealth and consequent glory. She, a + woman, was the victim of her heart, of her woman’s belief that there is + nothing in the world but love—the everlasting thing. He was the + victim of his strange principles, of his continence, of his blind belief + in himself, of his solemn veneration for the voice of his boundless + ignorance. + </p> + <p> + In a moment of his idleness, of suspense, of discouragement, she had come—that + creature—and by the touch of her hand had destroyed his future, his + dignity of a clever and civilized man; had awakened in his breast the + infamous thing which had driven him to what he had done, and to end + miserably in the wilderness and be forgotten, or else remembered with hate + or contempt. He dared not look at her, because now whenever he looked at + her his thought seemed to touch crime, like an outstretched hand. She + could only look at him—and at nothing else. What else was there? She + followed him with a timorous gaze, with a gaze for ever expecting, + patient, and entreating. And in her eyes there was the wonder and + desolation of an animal that knows only suffering, of the incomplete soul + that knows pain but knows not hope; that can find no refuge from the facts + of life in the illusory conviction of its dignity, of an exalted destiny + beyond; in the heavenly consolation of a belief in the momentous origin of + its hate. + </p> + <p> + For the first three days after Lingard went away he would not even speak + to her. She preferred his silence to the sound of hated and + incomprehensible words he had been lately addressing to her with a wild + violence of manner, passing at once into complete apathy. And during these + three days he hardly ever left the river, as if on that muddy bank he had + felt himself nearer to his freedom. He would stay late; he would stay till + sunset; he would look at the glow of gold passing away amongst sombre + clouds in a bright red flush, like a splash of warm blood. It seemed to + him ominous and ghastly with a foreboding of violent death that beckoned + him from everywhere—even from the sky. + </p> + <p> + One evening he remained by the riverside long after sunset, regardless of + the night mist that had closed round him, had wrapped him up and clung to + him like a wet winding-sheet. A slight shiver recalled him to his senses, + and he walked up the courtyard towards his house. Aissa rose from before + the fire, that glimmered red through its own smoke, which hung thickening + under the boughs of the big tree. She approached him from the side as he + neared the plankway of the house. He saw her stop to let him begin his + ascent. In the darkness her figure was like the shadow of a woman with + clasped hands put out beseechingly. He stopped—could not help + glancing at her. In all the sombre gracefulness of the straight figure, + her limbs, features—all was indistinct and vague but the gleam of + her eyes in the faint starlight. He turned his head away and moved on. He + could feel her footsteps behind him on the bending planks, but he walked + up without turning his head. He knew what she wanted. She wanted to come + in there. He shuddered at the thought of what might happen in the + impenetrable darkness of that house if they were to find themselves alone—even + for a moment. He stopped in the doorway, and heard her say— + </p> + <p> + “Let me come in. Why this anger? Why this silence? . . . Let me watch . . + . by your side. . . . Have I not watched faithfully? Did harm ever come to + you when you closed your eyes while I was by? . . . I have waited . .. I + have waited for your smile, for your words . . . I can wait no more.. . . + Look at me . . . speak to me. Is there a bad spirit in you? A bad spirit + that has eaten up your courage and your love? Let me touch you. Forget all + . . . All. Forget the wicked hearts, the angry faces . . . and remember + only the day I came to you . . . to you! O my heart! O my life!” + </p> + <p> + The pleading sadness of her appeal filled the space with the tremor of her + low tones, that carried tenderness and tears into the great peace of the + sleeping world. All around them the forests, the clearings, the river, + covered by the silent veil of night, seemed to wake up and listen to her + words in attentive stillness. After the sound of her voice had died out in + a stifled sigh they appeared to listen yet; and nothing stirred among the + shapeless shadows but the innumerable fireflies that twinkled in changing + clusters, in gliding pairs, in wandering and solitary points—like + the glimmering drift of scattered star-dust. + </p> + <p> + Willems turned round slowly, reluctantly, as if compelled by main force. + Her face was hidden in her hands, and he looked above her bent head, into + the sombre brilliance of the night. It was one of those nights that give + the impression of extreme vastness, when the sky seems higher, when the + passing puffs of tepid breeze seem to bring with them faint whispers from + beyond the stars. The air was full of sweet scent, of the scent charming, + penetrating and violent like the impulse of love. He looked into that + great dark place odorous with the breath of life, with the mystery of + existence, renewed, fecund, indestructible; and he felt afraid of his + solitude, of the solitude of his body, of the loneliness of his soul in + the presence of this unconscious and ardent struggle, of this lofty + indifference, of this merciless and mysterious purpose, perpetuating + strife and death through the march of ages. For the second time in his + life he felt, in a sudden sense of his significance, the need to send a + cry for help into the wilderness, and for the second time he realized the + hopelessness of its unconcern. He could shout for help on every side—and + nobody would answer. He could stretch out his hands, he could call for + aid, for support, for sympathy, for relief—and nobody would come. + Nobody. There was no one there—but that woman. + </p> + <p> + His heart was moved, softened with pity at his own abandonment. His anger + against her, against her who was the cause of all his misfortunes, + vanished before his extreme need for some kind of consolation. Perhaps—if + he must resign himself to his fate—she might help him to forget. To + forget! For a moment, in an access of despair so profound that it seemed + like the beginning of peace, he planned the deliberate descent from his + pedestal, the throwing away of his superiority, of all his hopes, of old + ambitions, of the ungrateful civilization. For a moment, forgetfulness in + her arms seemed possible; and lured by that possibility the semblance of + renewed desire possessed his breast in a burst of reckless contempt for + everything outside himself—in a savage disdain of Earth and of + Heaven. He said to himself that he would not repent. The punishment for + his only sin was too heavy. There was no mercy under Heaven. He did not + want any. He thought, desperately, that if he could find with her again + the madness of the past, the strange delirium that had changed him, that + had worked his undoing, he would be ready to pay for it with an eternity + of perdition. He was intoxicated by the subtle perfumes of the night; he + was carried away by the suggestive stir of the warm breeze; he was + possessed by the exaltation of the solitude, of the silence, of his + memories, in the presence of that figure offering herself in a submissive + and patient devotion; coming to him in the name of the past, in the name + of those days when he could see nothing, think of nothing, desire nothing—but + her embrace. + </p> + <p> + He took her suddenly in his arms, and she clasped her hands round his neck + with a low cry of joy and surprise. He took her in his arms and waited for + the transport, for the madness, for the sensations remembered and lost; + and while she sobbed gently on his breast he held her and felt cold, sick, + tired, exasperated with his failure—and ended by cursing himself. + She clung to him trembling with the intensity of her happiness and her + love. He heard her whispering—her face hidden on his shoulder—of + past sorrow, of coming joy that would last for ever; of her unshaken + belief in his love. She had always believed. Always! Even while his face + was turned away from her in the dark days while his mind was wandering in + his own land, amongst his own people. But it would never wander away from + her any more, now it had come back. He would forget the cold faces and the + hard hearts of the cruel people. What was there to remember? Nothing? Was + it not so? . . . + </p> + <p> + He listened hopelessly to the faint murmur. He stood still and rigid, + pressing her mechanically to his breast while he thought that there was + nothing for him in the world. He was robbed of everything; robbed of his + passion, of his liberty, of forgetfulness, of consolation. She, wild with + delight, whispered on rapidly, of love, of light, of peace, of long years. + . . . He looked drearily above her head down into the deeper gloom of the + courtyard. And, all at once, it seemed to him that he was peering into a + sombre hollow, into a deep black hole full of decay and of whitened bones; + into an immense and inevitable grave full of corruption where sooner or + later he must, unavoidably, fall. + </p> + <p> + In the morning he came out early, and stood for a time in the doorway, + listening to the light breathing behind him—in the house. She slept. + He had not closed his eyes through all that night. He stood swaying—then + leaned against the lintel of the door. He was exhausted, done up; fancied + himself hardly alive. He had a disgusted horror of himself that, as he + looked at the level sea of mist at his feet, faded quickly into dull + indifference. It was like a sudden and final decrepitude of his senses, of + his body, of his thoughts. Standing on the high platform, he looked over + the expanse of low night fog above which, here and there, stood out the + feathery heads of tall bamboo clumps and the round tops of single trees, + resembling small islets emerging black and solid from a ghostly and + impalpable sea. Upon the faintly luminous background of the eastern sky, + the sombre line of the great forests bounded that smooth sea of white + vapours with an appearance of a fantastic and unattainable shore. + </p> + <p> + He looked without seeing anything—thinking of himself. Before his + eyes the light of the rising sun burst above the forest with the + suddenness of an explosion. He saw nothing. Then, after a time, he + murmured with conviction—speaking half aloud to himself in the shock + of the penetrating thought: + </p> + <p> + “I am a lost man.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his hand above his head in a gesture careless and tragic, then + walked down into the mist that closed above him in shining undulations + under the first breath of the morning breeze. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0026" id="link2HCH0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + CHAPTER FOUR + </h2> + <p> + Willems moved languidly towards the river, then retraced his steps to the + tree and let himself fall on the seat under its shade. On the other side + of the immense trunk he could hear the old woman moving about, sighing + loudly, muttering to herself, snapping dry sticks, blowing up the fire. + After a while a whiff of smoke drifted round to where he sat. It made him + feel hungry, and that feeling was like a new indignity added to an + intolerable load of humiliations. He felt inclined to cry. He felt very + weak. He held up his arm before his eyes and watched for a little while + the trembling of the lean limb. Skin and bone, by God! How thin he was! . + . . He had suffered from fever a good deal, and now he thought with + tearful dismay that Lingard, although he had sent him food—and what + food, great Lord: a little rice and dried fish; quite unfit for a white + man—had not sent him any medicine. Did the old savage think that he + was like the wild beasts that are never ill? He wanted quinine. + </p> + <p> + He leaned the back of his head against the tree and closed his eyes. He + thought feebly that if he could get hold of Lingard he would like to flay + him alive; but it was only a blurred, a short and a passing thought. His + imagination, exhausted by the repeated delineations of his own fate, had + not enough strength left to grip the idea of revenge. He was not indignant + and rebellious. He was cowed. He was cowed by the immense cataclysm of his + disaster. Like most men, he had carried solemnly within his breast the + whole universe, and the approaching end of all things in the destruction + of his own personality filled him with paralyzing awe. Everything was + toppling over. He blinked his eyes quickly, and it seemed to him that the + very sunshine of the morning disclosed in its brightness a suggestion of + some hidden and sinister meaning. In his unreasoning fear he tried to hide + within himself. He drew his feet up, his head sank between his shoulders, + his arms hugged his sides. Under the high and enormous tree soaring + superbly out of the mist in a vigorous spread of lofty boughs, with a + restless and eager flutter of its innumerable leaves in the clear + sunshine, he remained motionless, huddled up on his seat: terrified and + still. + </p> + <p> + Willems’ gaze roamed over the ground, and then he watched with idiotic + fixity half a dozen black ants entering courageously a tuft of long grass + which, to them, must have appeared a dark and a dangerous jungle. Suddenly + he thought: There must be something dead in there. Some dead insect. Death + everywhere! He closed his eyes again in an access of trembling pain. Death + everywhere—wherever one looks. He did not want to see the ants. He + did not want to see anybody or anything. He sat in the darkness of his own + making, reflecting bitterly that there was no peace for him. He heard + voices now. . . . Illusion! Misery! Torment! Who would come? Who would + speak to him? What business had he to hear voices? . . . yet he heard them + faintly, from the river. Faintly, as if shouted far off over there, came + the words “We come back soon.” . . . Delirium and mockery! Who would come + back? Nobody ever comes back! Fever comes back. He had it on him this + morning. That was it. . . . He heard unexpectedly the old woman muttering + something near by. She had come round to his side of the tree. He opened + his eyes and saw her bent back before him. She stood, with her hand + shading her eyes, looking towards the landing-place. Then she glided away. + She had seen—and now she was going back to her cooking; a woman + incurious; expecting nothing; without fear and without hope. + </p> + <p> + She had gone back behind the tree, and now Willems could see a human + figure on the path to the landing-place. It appeared to him to be a woman, + in a red gown, holding some heavy bundle in her arms; it was an apparition + unexpected, familiar and odd. He cursed through his teeth . . . It had + wanted only this! See things like that in broad daylight! He was very bad—very + bad. . . . He was horribly scared at this awful symptom of the desperate + state of his health. + </p> + <p> + This scare lasted for the space of a flash of lightning, and in the next + moment it was revealed to him that the woman was real; that she was coming + towards him; that she was his wife! He put his feet down to the ground + quickly, but made no other movement. His eyes opened wide. He was so + amazed that for a time he absolutely forgot his own existence. The only + idea in his head was: Why on earth did she come here? + </p> + <p> + Joanna was coming up the courtyard with eager, hurried steps. She carried + in her arms the child, wrapped up in one of Almayer’s white blankets that + she had snatched off the bed at the last moment, before leaving the house. + She seemed to be dazed by the sun in her eyes; bewildered by her strange + surroundings. She moved on, looking quickly right and left in impatient + expectation of seeing her husband at any moment. Then, approaching the + tree, she perceived suddenly a kind of a dried-up, yellow corpse, sitting + very stiff on a bench in the shade and looking at her with big eyes that + were alive. That was her husband. + </p> + <p> + She stopped dead short. They stared at one another in profound stillness, + with astounded eyes, with eyes maddened by the memories of things far off + that seemed lost in the lapse of time. Their looks crossed, passed each + other, and appeared to dart at them through fantastic distances, to come + straight from the incredible. + </p> + <p> + Looking at him steadily she came nearer, and deposited the blanket with + the child in it on the bench. Little Louis, after howling with terror in + the darkness of the river most of the night, now slept soundly and did not + wake. Willems’ eyes followed his wife, his head turning slowly after her. + He accepted her presence there with a tired acquiescence in its fabulous + improbability. Anything might happen. What did she come for? She was part + of the general scheme of his misfortune. He half expected that she would + rush at him, pull his hair, and scratch his face. Why not? Anything might + happen! In an exaggerated sense of his great bodily weakness he felt + somewhat apprehensive of possible assault. At any rate, she would scream + at him. He knew her of old. She could screech. He had thought that he was + rid of her for ever. She came now probably to see the end. . . . + </p> + <p> + Suddenly she turned, and embracing him slid gently to the ground. + </p> + <p> + This startled him. With her forehead on his knees she sobbed noiselessly. + He looked down dismally at the top of her head. What was she up to? He had + not the strength to move—to get away. He heard her whispering + something, and bent over to listen. He caught the word “Forgive.” + </p> + <p> + That was what she came for! All that way. Women are queer. Forgive. Not + he! . . . All at once this thought darted through his brain: How did she + come? In a boat. Boat! boat! + </p> + <p> + He shouted “Boat!” and jumped up, knocking her over. Before she had time + to pick herself up he pounced upon her and was dragging her up by the + shoulders. No sooner had she regained her feet than she clasped him + tightly round the neck, covering his face, his eyes, his mouth, his nose + with desperate kisses. He dodged his head about, shaking her arms, trying + to keep her off, to speak, to ask her. . . . She came in a boat, boat, + boat! . . . They struggled and swung round, tramping in a semicircle. He + blurted out, “Leave off. Listen,” while he tore at her hands. This meeting + of lawful love and sincere joy resembled fight. Louis Willems slept + peacefully under his blanket. + </p> + <p> + At last Willems managed to free himself, and held her off, pressing her + arms down. He looked at her. He had half a suspicion that he was dreaming. + Her lips trembled; her eyes wandered unsteadily, always coming back to his + face. He saw her the same as ever, in his presence. She appeared startled, + tremulous, ready to cry. She did not inspire him with confidence. He + shouted— + </p> + <p> + “How did you come?” + </p> + <p> + She answered in hurried words, looking at him intently— + </p> + <p> + “In a big canoe with three men. I know everything. Lingard’s away. I come + to save you. I know. . . . Almayer told me.” + </p> + <p> + “Canoe!—Almayer—Lies. Told you—You!” stammered Willems + in a distracted manner. “Why you?—Told what?” + </p> + <p> + Words failed him. He stared at his wife, thinking with fear that she—stupid + woman—had been made a tool in some plan of treachery . . . in some + deadly plot. + </p> + <p> + She began to cry— + </p> + <p> + “Don’t look at me like that, Peter. What have I done? I come to beg—to + beg—forgiveness. . . . Save—Lingard—danger.” + </p> + <p> + He trembled with impatience, with hope, with fear. She looked at him and + sobbed out in a fresh outburst of grief— + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Peter. What’s the matter?—Are you ill? . . . Oh! you look so + ill . . .” + </p> + <p> + He shook her violently into a terrified and wondering silence. + </p> + <p> + “How dare you!—I am well—perfectly well. . . . Where’s that + boat? Will you tell me where that boat is—at last? The boat, I say . + . . You! . . .” + </p> + <p> + “You hurt me,” she moaned. + </p> + <p> + He let her go, and, mastering her terror, she stood quivering and looking + at him with strange intensity. Then she made a movement forward, but he + lifted his finger, and she restrained herself with a long sigh. He calmed + down suddenly and surveyed her with cold criticism, with the same + appearance as when, in the old days, he used to find fault with the + household expenses. She found a kind of fearful delight in this abrupt + return into the past, into her old subjection. + </p> + <p> + He stood outwardly collected now, and listened to her disconnected story. + Her words seemed to fall round him with the distracting clatter of + stunning hail. He caught the meaning here and there, and straightway would + lose himself in a tremendous effort to shape out some intelligible theory + of events. There was a boat. A boat. A big boat that could take him to sea + if necessary. That much was clear. She brought it. Why did Almayer lie to + her so? Was it a plan to decoy him into some ambush? Better that than + hopeless solitude. She had money. The men were ready to go anywhere . . . + she said. + </p> + <p> + He interrupted her— + </p> + <p> + “Where are they now?” + </p> + <p> + “They are coming directly,” she answered, tearfully. “Directly. There are + some fishing stakes near here—they said. They are coming directly.” + </p> + <p> + Again she was talking and sobbing together. She wanted to be forgiven. + Forgiven? What for? Ah! the scene in Macassar. As if he had time to think + of that! What did he care what she had done months ago? He seemed to + struggle in the toils of complicated dreams where everything was + impossible, yet a matter of course, where the past took the aspects of the + future and the present lay heavy on his heart—seemed to take him by + the throat like the hand of an enemy. And while she begged, entreated, + kissed his hands, wept on his shoulder, adjured him in the name of God, to + forgive, to forget, to speak the word for which she longed, to look at his + boy, to believe in her sorrow and in her devotion—his eyes, in the + fascinated immobility of shining pupils, looked far away, far beyond her, + beyond the river, beyond this land, through days, weeks, months; looked + into liberty, into the future, into his triumph . . . into the great + possibility of a startling revenge. + </p> + <p> + He felt a sudden desire to dance and shout. He shouted— + </p> + <p> + “After all, we shall meet again, Captain Lingard.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no! No!” she cried, joining her hands. + </p> + <p> + He looked at her with surprise. He had forgotten she was there till the + break of her cry in the monotonous tones of her prayer recalled him into + that courtyard from the glorious turmoil of his dreams. It was very + strange to see her there—near him. He felt almost affectionate + towards her. After all, she came just in time. Then he thought: That other + one. I must get away without a scene. Who knows; she may be dangerous! . . + . And all at once he felt he hated Aissa with an immense hatred that + seemed to choke him. He said to his wife— + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment.” + </p> + <p> + She, obedient, seemed to gulp down some words which wanted to come out. He + muttered: “Stay here,” and disappeared round the tree. + </p> + <p> + The water in the iron pan on the cooking fire boiled furiously, belching + out volumes of white steam that mixed with the thin black thread of smoke. + The old woman appeared to him through this as if in a fog, squatting on + her heels, impassive and weird. + </p> + <p> + Willems came up near and asked, “Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + The woman did not even lift her head, but answered at once, readily, as + though she had expected the question for a long time. + </p> + <p> + “While you were asleep under the tree, before the strange canoe came, she + went out of the house. I saw her look at you and pass on with a great + light in her eyes. A great light. And she went towards the place where our + master Lakamba had his fruit trees. When we were many here. Many, many. + Men with arms by their side. Many . . . men. And talk . . . and songs . . + .” + </p> + <p> + She went on like that, raving gently to herself for a long time after + Willems had left her. + </p> + <p> + Willems went back to his wife. He came up close to her and found he had + nothing to say. Now all his faculties were concentrated upon his wish to + avoid Aissa. She might stay all the morning in that grove. Why did those + rascally boatmen go? He had a physical repugnance to set eyes on her. And + somewhere, at the very bottom of his heart, there was a fear of her. Why? + What could she do? Nothing on earth could stop him now. He felt strong, + reckless, pitiless, and superior to everything. He wanted to preserve + before his wife the lofty purity of his character. He thought: She does + not know. Almayer held his tongue about Aissa. But if she finds out, I am + lost. If it hadn’t been for the boy I would . . . free of both of them. . + . . The idea darted through his head. Not he! Married. . . . Swore + solemnly. No . . . sacred tie. . . . Looking on his wife, he felt for the + first time in his life something approaching remorse. Remorse, arising + from his conception of the awful nature of an oath before the altar. . . . + She mustn’t find out. . . . Oh, for that boat! He must run in and get his + revolver. Couldn’t think of trusting himself unarmed with those Bajow + fellows. Get it now while she is away. Oh, for that boat! . . . He dared + not go to the river and hail. He thought: She might hear me. . . . I’ll go + and get . . . cartridges . . . then will be all ready . . . nothing else. + No. + </p> + <p> + And while he stood meditating profoundly before he could make up his mind + to run to the house, Joanna pleaded, holding to his arm—pleaded + despairingly, broken-hearted, hopeless whenever she glanced up at his + face, which to her seemed to wear the aspect of unforgiving rectitude, of + virtuous severity, of merciless justice. And she pleaded humbly—abashed + before him, before the unmoved appearance of the man she had wronged in + defiance of human and divine laws. He heard not a word of what she said + till she raised her voice in a final appeal— + </p> + <p> + “. . . Don’t you see I loved you always? They told me horrible things + about you. . . . My own mother! They told me—you have been—you + have been unfaithful to me, and I . . .” + </p> + <p> + “It’s a damned lie!” shouted Willems, waking up for a moment into + righteous indignation. + </p> + <p> + “I know! I know—Be generous.—Think of my misery since you went + away—Oh! I could have torn my tongue out. . . . I will never believe + anybody—Look at the boy—Be merciful—I could never rest + till I found you. . . . Say—a word—one word. . .” + </p> + <p> + “What the devil do you want?” exclaimed Willems, looking towards the + river. “Where’s that damned boat? Why did you let them go away? You + stupid!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Peter!—I know that in your heart you have forgiven me—You + are so generous—I want to hear you say so. . . . Tell me—do + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes! yes!” said Willems, impatiently. “I forgive you. Don’t be a fool.” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t go away. Don’t leave me alone here. Where is the danger? I am so + frightened. . . . Are you alone here? Sure? . . . Let us go away!” + </p> + <p> + “That’s sense,” said Willems, still looking anxiously towards the river. + </p> + <p> + She sobbed gently, leaning on his arm. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He had seen above the steep bank the heads of three men glide along + smoothly. Then, where the shore shelved down to the landing-place, + appeared a big canoe which came slowly to land. + </p> + <p> + “Here they are,” he went on, briskly. “I must get my revolver.” + </p> + <p> + He made a few hurried paces towards the house, but seemed to catch sight + of something, turned short round and came back to his wife. She stared at + him, alarmed by the sudden change in his face. He appeared much + discomposed. He stammered a little as he began to speak. + </p> + <p> + “Take the child. Walk down to the boat and tell them to drop it out of + sight, quick, behind the bushes. Do you hear? Quick! I will come to you + there directly. Hurry up!” + </p> + <p> + “Peter! What is it? I won’t leave you. There is some danger in this + horrible place.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you do what I tell you?” said Willems, in an irritable whisper. + </p> + <p> + “No! no! no! I won’t leave you. I will not lose you again. Tell me, what + is it?” + </p> + <p> + From beyond the house came a faint voice singing. Willems shook his wife + by the shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Do what I tell you! Run at once!” + </p> + <p> + She gripped his arm and clung to him desperately. He looked up to heaven + as if taking it to witness of that woman’s infernal folly. + </p> + <p> + The song grew louder, then ceased suddenly, and Aissa appeared in sight, + walking slowly, her hands full of flowers. + </p> + <p> + She had turned the corner of the house, coming out into the full sunshine, + and the light seemed to leap upon her in a stream brilliant, tender, and + caressing, as if attracted by the radiant happiness of her face. She had + dressed herself for a festive day, for the memorable day of his return to + her, of his return to an affection that would last for ever. The rays of + the morning sun were caught by the oval clasp of the embroidered belt that + held the silk sarong round her waist. The dazzling white stuff of her body + jacket was crossed by a bar of yellow and silver of her scarf, and in the + black hair twisted high on her small head shone the round balls of gold + pins amongst crimson blossoms and white star-shaped flowers, with which + she had crowned herself to charm his eyes; those eyes that were henceforth + to see nothing in the world but her own resplendent image. And she moved + slowly, bending her face over the mass of pure white champakas and jasmine + pressed to her breast, in a dreamy intoxication of sweet scents and of + sweeter hopes. + </p> + <p> + She did not seem to see anything, stopped for a moment at the foot of the + plankway leading to the house, then, leaving her high-heeled wooden + sandals there, ascended the planks in a light run; straight, graceful, + flexible, and noiseless, as if she had soared up to the door on invisible + wings. Willems pushed his wife roughly behind the tree, and made up his + mind quickly for a rush to the house, to grab his revolver and . . . + Thoughts, doubts, expedients seemed to boil in his brain. He had a + flashing vision of delivering a stunning blow, of tying up that flower + bedecked woman in the dark house—a vision of things done swiftly + with enraged haste—to save his prestige, his superiority—something + of immense importance. . . . He had not made two steps when Joanna bounded + after him, caught the back of his ragged jacket, tore out a big piece, and + instantly hooked herself with both hands to the collar, nearly dragging + him down on his back. Although taken by surprise, he managed to keep his + feet. From behind she panted into his ear— + </p> + <p> + “That woman! Who’s that woman? Ah! that’s what those boatmen were talking + about. I heard them . . . heard them . . . heard . . . in the night. They + spoke about some woman. I dared not understand. I would not ask . . . + listen . . . believe! How could I? Then it’s true. No. Say no. . . . Who’s + that woman?” + </p> + <p> + He swayed, tugging forward. She jerked at him till the button gave way, + and then he slipped half out of his jacket and, turning round, remained + strangely motionless. His heart seemed to beat in his throat. He choked—tried + to speak—could not find any words. He thought with fury: I will kill + both of them. + </p> + <p> + For a second nothing moved about the courtyard in the great vivid + clearness of the day. Only down by the landing-place a waringan-tree, all + in a blaze of clustering red berries, seemed alive with the stir of little + birds that filled with the feverish flutter of their feathers the tangle + of overloaded branches. Suddenly the variegated flock rose spinning in a + soft whirr and dispersed, slashing the sunlit haze with the sharp outlines + of stiffened wings. Mahmat and one of his brothers appeared coming up from + the landing-place, their lances in their hands, to look for their + passengers. + </p> + <p> + Aissa coming now empty-handed out of the house, caught sight of the two + armed men. In her surprise she emitted a faint cry, vanished back and in a + flash reappeared in the doorway with Willems’ revolver in her hand. To her + the presence of any man there could only have an ominous meaning. There + was nothing in the outer world but enemies. She and the man she loved were + alone, with nothing round them but menacing dangers. She did not mind + that, for if death came, no matter from what hand, they would die + together. + </p> + <p> + Her resolute eyes took in the courtyard in a circular glance. She noticed + that the two strangers had ceased to advance and now were standing close + together leaning on the polished shafts of their weapons. The next moment + she saw Willems, with his back towards her, apparently struggling under + the tree with some one. She saw nothing distinctly, and, unhesitating, + flew down the plankway calling out: “I come!” + </p> + <p> + He heard her cry, and with an unexpected rush drove his wife backwards to + the seat. She fell on it; he jerked himself altogether out of his jacket, + and she covered her face with the soiled rags. He put his lips close to + her, asking— + </p> + <p> + “For the last time, will you take the child and go?” + </p> + <p> + She groaned behind the unclean ruins of his upper garment. She mumbled + something. He bent lower to hear. She was saying— + </p> + <p> + “I won’t. Order that woman away. I can’t look at her!” + </p> + <p> + “You fool!” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to spit the words at her, then, making up his mind, spun round + to face Aissa. She was coming towards them slowly now, with a look of + unbounded amazement on her face. Then she stopped and stared at him—who + stood there, stripped to the waist, bare-headed and sombre. + </p> + <p> + Some way off, Mahmat and his brother exchanged rapid words in calm + undertones. . . . This was the strong daughter of the holy man who had + died. The white man is very tall. There would be three women and the child + to take in the boat, besides that white man who had the money . . . . The + brother went away back to the boat, and Mahmat remained looking on. He + stood like a sentinel, the leaf-shaped blade of his lance glinting above + his head. + </p> + <p> + Willems spoke suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Give me this,” he said, stretching his hand towards the revolver. + </p> + <p> + Aissa stepped back. Her lips trembled. She said very low: “Your people?” + </p> + <p> + He nodded slightly. She shook her head thoughtfully, and a few delicate + petals of the flowers dying in her hair fell like big drops of crimson and + white at her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Did you know?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “No!” said Willems. “They sent for me.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell them to depart. They are accursed. What is there between them and + you—and you who carry my life in your heart!” + </p> + <p> + Willems said nothing. He stood before her looking down on the ground and + repeating to himself: I must get that revolver away from her, at once, at + once. I can’t think of trusting myself with those men without firearms. I + must have it. + </p> + <p> + She asked, after gazing in silence at Joanna, who was sobbing gently— + </p> + <p> + “Who is she?” + </p> + <p> + “My wife,” answered Willems, without looking up. “My wife according to our + white law, which comes from God!” + </p> + <p> + “Your law! Your God!” murmured Aissa, contemptuously. + </p> + <p> + “Give me this revolver,” said Willems, in a peremptory tone. He felt an + unwillingness to close with her, to get it by force. + </p> + <p> + She took no notice and went on— + </p> + <p> + “Your law . . . or your lies? What am I to believe? I came—I ran to + defend you when I saw the strange men. You lied to me with your lips, with + your eyes. You crooked heart! . . . Ah!” she added, after an abrupt pause. + “She is the first! Am I then to be a slave?” + </p> + <p> + “You may be what you like,” said Willems, brutally. “I am going.” + </p> + <p> + Her gaze was fastened on the blanket under which she had detected a slight + movement. She made a long stride towards it. Willems turned half round. + His legs seemed to him to be made of lead. He felt faint and so weak that, + for a moment, the fear of dying there where he stood, before he could + escape from sin and disaster, passed through his mind in a wave of + despair. + </p> + <p> + She lifted up one corner of the blanket, and when she saw the sleeping + child a sudden quick shudder shook her as though she had seen something + inexpressibly horrible. She looked at Louis Willems with eyes fixed in an + unbelieving and terrified stare. Then her fingers opened slowly, and a + shadow seemed to settle on her face as if something obscure and fatal had + come between her and the sunshine. She stood looking down, absorbed, as + though she had watched at the bottom of a gloomy abyss the mournful + procession of her thoughts. + </p> + <p> + Willems did not move. All his faculties were concentrated upon the idea of + his release. And it was only then that the assurance of it came to him + with such force that he seemed to hear a loud voice shouting in the + heavens that all was over, that in another five, ten minutes, he would + step into another existence; that all this, the woman, the madness, the + sin, the regrets, all would go, rush into the past, disappear, become as + dust, as smoke, as drifting clouds—as nothing! Yes! All would vanish + in the unappeasable past which would swallow up all—even the very + memory of his temptation and of his downfall. Nothing mattered. He cared + for nothing. He had forgotten Aissa, his wife, Lingard, Hudig—everybody, + in the rapid vision of his hopeful future. + </p> + <p> + After a while he heard Aissa saying— + </p> + <p> + “A child! A child! What have I done to be made to devour this sorrow and + this grief? And while your man-child and the mother lived you told me + there was nothing for you to remember in the land from which you came! And + I thought you could be mine. I thought that I would . . .” + </p> + <p> + Her voice ceased in a broken murmur, and with it, in her heart, seemed to + die the greater and most precious hope of her new life. + </p> + <p> + She had hoped that in the future the frail arms of a child would bind + their two lives together in a bond which nothing on earth could break, a + bond of affection, of gratitude, of tender respect. She the first—the + only one! But in the instant she saw the son of that other woman she felt + herself removed into the cold, the darkness, the silence of a solitude + impenetrable and immense—very far from him, beyond the possibility + of any hope, into an infinity of wrongs without any redress. + </p> + <p> + She strode nearer to Joanna. She felt towards that woman anger, envy, + jealousy. Before her she felt humiliated and enraged. She seized the + hanging sleeve of the jacket in which Joanna was hiding her face and tore + it out of her hands, exclaiming loudly— + </p> + <p> + “Let me see the face of her before whom I am only a servant and a slave. + Ya-wa! I see you!” + </p> + <p> + Her unexpected shout seemed to fill the sunlit space of cleared grounds, + rise high and run on far into the land over the unstirring tree-tops of + the forests. She stood in sudden stillness, looking at Joanna with + surprised contempt. + </p> + <p> + “A Sirani woman!” she said, slowly, in a tone of wonder. + </p> + <p> + Joanna rushed at Willems—clung to him, shrieking: “Defend me, Peter! + Defend me from that woman!” + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet. There is no danger,” muttered Willems, thickly. + </p> + <p> + Aissa looked at them with scorn. “God is great! I sit in the dust at your + feet,” she exclaimed jeeringly, joining her hands above her head in a + gesture of mock humility. “Before you I am as nothing.” She turned to + Willems fiercely, opening her arms wide. “What have you made of me?” she + cried, “you lying child of an accursed mother! What have you made of me? + The slave of a slave. Don’t speak! Your words are worse than the poison of + snakes. A Sirani woman. A woman of a people despised by all.” + </p> + <p> + She pointed her finger at Joanna, stepped back, and began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Make her stop, Peter!” screamed Joanna. “That heathen woman. Heathen! + Heathen! Beat her, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + Willems caught sight of the revolver which Aissa had laid on the seat near + the child. He spoke in Dutch to his wife, without moving his head. + </p> + <p> + “Snatch the boy—and my revolver there. See. Run to the boat. I will + keep her back. Now’s the time.” + </p> + <p> + Aissa came nearer. She stared at Joanna, while between the short gusts of + broken laughter she raved, fumbling distractedly at the buckle of her + belt. + </p> + <p> + “To her! To her—the mother of him who will speak of your wisdom, of + your courage. All to her. I have nothing. Nothing. Take, take.” + </p> + <p> + She tore the belt off and threw it at Joanna’s feet. She flung down with + haste the armlets, the gold pins, the flowers; and the long hair, + released, fell scattered over her shoulders, framing in its blackness the + wild exaltation of her face. + </p> + <p> + “Drive her off, Peter. Drive off the heathen savage,” persisted Joanna. + She seemed to have lost her head altogether. She stamped, clinging to + Willems’ arm with both her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Look,” cried Aissa. “Look at the mother of your son! She is afraid. Why + does she not go from before my face? Look at her. She is ugly.” + </p> + <p> + Joanna seemed to understand the scornful tone of the words. As Aissa + stepped back again nearer to the tree she let go her husband’s arm, rushed + at her madly, slapped her face, then, swerving round, darted at the child + who, unnoticed, had been wailing for some time, and, snatching him up, + flew down to the waterside, sending shriek after shriek in an access of + insane terror. + </p> + <p> + Willems made for the revolver. Aissa passed swiftly, giving him an + unexpected push that sent him staggering away from the tree. She caught up + the weapon, put it behind her back, and cried— + </p> + <p> + “You shall not have it. Go after her. Go to meet danger. . . . Go to meet + death. . . . Go unarmed. . . . Go with empty hands and sweet words . . . + as you came to me. . . . Go helpless and lie to the forests, to the sea . + . . to the death that waits for you. . . .” + </p> + <p> + She ceased as if strangled. She saw in the horror of the passing seconds + the half-naked, wild-looking man before her; she heard the faint + shrillness of Joanna’s insane shrieks for help somewhere down by the + riverside. The sunlight streamed on her, on him, on the mute land, on the + murmuring river—the gentle brilliance of a serene morning that, to + her, seemed traversed by ghastly flashes of uncertain darkness. Hate + filled the world, filled the space between them—the hate of race, + the hate of hopeless diversity, the hate of blood; the hate against the + man born in the land of lies and of evil from which nothing but misfortune + comes to those who are not white. And as she stood, maddened, she heard a + whisper near her, the whisper of the dead Omar’s voice saying in her ear: + “Kill! Kill!” + </p> + <p> + She cried, seeing him move— + </p> + <p> + “Do not come near me . . . or you die now! Go while I remember yet . . . + remember. . . .” + </p> + <p> + Willems pulled himself together for a struggle. He dared not go unarmed. + He made a long stride, and saw her raise the revolver. He noticed that she + had not cocked it, and said to himself that, even if she did fire, she + would surely miss. Go too high; it was a stiff trigger. He made a step + nearer—saw the long barrel moving unsteadily at the end of her + extended arm. He thought: This is my time . . . He bent his knees + slightly, throwing his body forward, and took off with a long bound for a + tearing rush. + </p> + <p> + He saw a burst of red flame before his eyes, and was deafened by a report + that seemed to him louder than a clap of thunder. Something stopped him + short, and he stood aspiring in his nostrils the acrid smell of the blue + smoke that drifted from before his eyes like an immense cloud. . . . + Missed, by Heaven! . . . Thought so! . . . And he saw her very far off, + throwing her arms up, while the revolver, very small, lay on the ground + between them. . . . Missed! . . . He would go and pick it up now. Never + before did he understand, as in that second, the joy, the triumphant + delight of sunshine and of life. His mouth was full of something salt and + warm. He tried to cough; spat out. . . . Who shrieks: In the name of God, + he dies!—he dies!—Who dies?—Must pick up—Night!—What? + . . . Night already. . . . + </p> + <p> + * * * * * * + </p> + <p> + Many years afterwards Almayer was telling the story of the great + revolution in Sambir to a chance visitor from Europe. He was a Roumanian, + half naturalist, half orchid-hunter for commercial purposes, who used to + declare to everybody, in the first five minutes of acquaintance, his + intention of writing a scientific book about tropical countries. On his + way to the interior he had quartered himself upon Almayer. He was a man of + some education, but he drank his gin neat, or only, at most, would squeeze + the juice of half a small lime into the raw spirit. He said it was good + for his health, and, with that medicine before him, he would describe to + the surprised Almayer the wonders of European capitals; while Almayer, in + exchange, bored him by expounding, with gusto, his unfavourable opinions + of Sambir’s social and political life. They talked far into the night, + across the deal table on the verandah, while, between them, clear-winged, + small, and flabby insects, dissatisfied with moonlight, streamed in and + perished in thousands round the smoky light of the evil-smelling lamp. + </p> + <p> + Almayer, his face flushed, was saying— + </p> + <p> + “Of course, I did not see that. I told you I was stuck in the creek on + account of father’s—Captain Lingard’s—susceptible temper. I am + sure I did it all for the best in trying to facilitate the fellow’s + escape; but Captain Lingard was that kind of man—you know—one + couldn’t argue with. Just before sunset the water was high enough, and we + got out of the creek. We got to Lakamba’s clearing about dark. All very + quiet; I thought they were gone, of course, and felt very glad. We walked + up the courtyard—saw a big heap of something lying in the middle. + Out of that she rose and rushed at us. By God. . . . You know those + stories of faithful dogs watching their masters’ corpses . . . don’t let + anybody approach . . . got to beat them off—and all that. . . . + Well, ‘pon my word we had to beat her off. Had to! She was like a fury. + Wouldn’t let us touch him. Dead—of course. Should think so. Shot + through the lung, on the left side, rather high up, and at pretty close + quarters too, for the two holes were small. Bullet came out through the + shoulder-blade. After we had overpowered her—you can’t imagine how + strong that woman was; it took three of us—we got the body into the + boat and shoved off. We thought she had fainted then, but she got up and + rushed into the water after us. Well, I let her clamber in. What could I + do? The river’s full of alligators. I will never forget that pull + up-stream in the night as long as I live. She sat in the bottom of the + boat, holding his head in her lap, and now and again wiping his face with + her hair. There was a lot of blood dried about his mouth and chin. And for + all the six hours of that journey she kept on whispering tenderly to that + corpse! . . . I had the mate of the schooner with me. The man said + afterwards that he wouldn’t go through it again—not for a handful of + diamonds. And I believed him—I did. It makes me shiver. Do you think + he heard? No! I mean somebody—something—heard? . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I am a materialist,” declared the man of science, tilting the bottle + shakily over the emptied glass. + </p> + <p> + Almayer shook his head and went on— + </p> + <p> + “Nobody saw how it really happened but that man Mahmat. He always said + that he was no further off from them than two lengths of his lance. It + appears the two women rowed each other while that Willems stood between + them. Then Mahmat says that when Joanna struck her and ran off, the other + two seemed to become suddenly mad together. They rushed here and there. + Mahmat says—those were his very words: ‘I saw her standing holding + the pistol that fires many times and pointing it all over the campong. I + was afraid—lest she might shoot me, and jumped on one side. Then I + saw the white man coming at her swiftly. He came like our master the tiger + when he rushes out of the jungle at the spears held by men. She did not + take aim. The barrel of her weapon went like this—from side to side, + but in her eyes I could see suddenly a great fear. There was only one + shot. She shrieked while the white man stood blinking his eyes and very + straight, till you could count slowly one, two, three; then he coughed and + fell on his face. The daughter of Omar shrieked without drawing breath, + till he fell. I went away then and left silence behind me. These things + did not concern me, and in my boat there was that other woman who had + promised me money. We left directly, paying no attention to her cries. We + are only poor men—and had but a small reward for our trouble!’ + That’s what Mahmat said. Never varied. You ask him yourself. He’s the man + you hired the boats from, for your journey up the river.” + </p> + <p> + “The most rapacious thief I ever met!” exclaimed the traveller, thickly. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! He is a respectable man. His two brothers got themselves speared—served + them right. They went in for robbing Dyak graves. Gold ornaments in them + you know. Serve them right. But he kept respectable and got on. Aye! + Everybody got on—but I. And all through that scoundrel who brought + the Arabs here.” + </p> + <p> + “De mortuis nil ni . . . num,” muttered Almayer’s guest. + </p> + <p> + “I wish you would speak English instead of jabbering in your own language, + which no one can understand,” said Almayer, sulkily. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be angry,” hiccoughed the other. “It’s Latin, and it’s wisdom. It + means: Don’t waste your breath in abusing shadows. No offence there. I + like you. You have a quarrel with Providence—so have I. I was meant + to be a professor, while—look.” + </p> + <p> + His head nodded. He sat grasping the glass. Almayer walked up and down, + then stopped suddenly. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they all got on but I. Why? I am better than any of them. Lakamba + calls himself a Sultan, and when I go to see him on business sends that + one-eyed fiend of his—Babalatchi—to tell me that the ruler is + asleep; and shall sleep for a long time. And that Babalatchi! He is the + Shahbandar of the State—if you please. Oh Lord! Shahbandar! The pig! + A vagabond I wouldn’t let come up these steps when he first came here. . . + . Look at Abdulla now. He lives here because—he says—here he + is away from white men. But he has hundreds of thousands. Has a house in + Penang. Ships. What did he not have when he stole my trade from me! He + knocked everything here into a cocked hat, drove father to gold-hunting—then + to Europe, where he disappeared. Fancy a man like Captain Lingard + disappearing as though he had been a common coolie. Friends of mine wrote + to London asking about him. Nobody ever heard of him there! Fancy! Never + heard of Captain Lingard!” + </p> + <p> + The learned gatherer of orchids lifted his head. + </p> + <p> + “He was a sen—sentimen—tal old buc—buccaneer,” he + stammered out, “I like him. I’m sent—tal myself.” + </p> + <p> + He winked slowly at Almayer, who laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Yes! I told you about that gravestone. Yes! Another hundred and twenty + dollars thrown away. Wish I had them now. He would do it. And the + inscription. Ha! ha! ha! ‘Peter Willems, Delivered by the Mercy of God + from his Enemy.’ What enemy—unless Captain Lingard himself? And then + it has no sense. He was a great man—father was—but strange in + many ways. . . . You haven’t seen the grave? On the top of that hill, + there, on the other side of the river. I must show you. We will go there.” + </p> + <p> + “Not I!” said the other. “No interest—in the sun—too tiring. . + . . Unless you carry me there.” + </p> + <p> + As a matter of fact he was carried there a few months afterwards, and his + was the second white man’s grave in Sambir; but at present he was alive if + rather drunk. He asked abruptly— + </p> + <p> + “And the woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Lingard, of course, kept her and her ugly brat in Macassar. Sinful + waste of money—that! Devil only knows what became of them since + father went home. I had my daughter to look after. I shall give you a word + to Mrs. Vinck in Singapore when you go back. You shall see my Nina there. + Lucky man. She is beautiful, and I hear so accomplished, so . . .” + </p> + <p> + “I have heard already twenty . . . a hundred times about your daughter. + What ab—about—that—that other one, Ai—ssa?” + </p> + <p> + “She! Oh! we kept her here. She was mad for a long time in a quiet sort of + way. Father thought a lot of her. He gave her a house to live in, in my + campong. She wandered about, speaking to nobody unless she caught sight of + Abdulla, when she would have a fit of fury, and shriek and curse like + anything. Very often she would disappear—and then we all had to turn + out and hunt for her, because father would worry till she was brought + back. Found her in all kinds of places. Once in the abandoned campong of + Lakamba. Sometimes simply wandering in the bush. She had one favourite + spot we always made for at first. It was ten to one on finding her there—a + kind of a grassy glade on the banks of a small brook. Why she preferred + that place, I can’t imagine! And such a job to get her away from there. + Had to drag her away by main force. Then, as the time passed, she became + quieter and more settled, like. Still, all my people feared her greatly. + It was my Nina that tamed her. You see the child was naturally fearless + and used to have her own way, so she would go to her and pull at her + sarong, and order her about, as she did everybody. Finally she, I verily + believe, came to love the child. Nothing could resist that little one—you + know. She made a capital nurse. Once when the little devil ran away from + me and fell into the river off the end of the jetty, she jumped in and + pulled her out in no time. I very nearly died of fright. Now of course she + lives with my serving girls, but does what she likes. As long as I have a + handful of rice or a piece of cotton in the store she sha’n’t want for + anything. You have seen her. She brought in the dinner with Ali.” + </p> + <p> + “What! That doubled-up crone?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” said Almayer. “They age quickly here. And long foggy nights spent in + the bush will soon break the strongest backs—as you will find out + yourself soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Dis . . . disgusting,” growled the traveller. + </p> + <p> + He dozed off. Almayer stood by the balustrade looking out at the bluish + sheen of the moonlit night. The forests, unchanged and sombre, seemed to + hang over the water, listening to the unceasing whisper of the great + river; and above their dark wall the hill on which Lingard had buried the + body of his late prisoner rose in a black, rounded mass, upon the silver + paleness of the sky. Almayer looked for a long time at the clean-cut + outline of the summit, as if trying to make out through darkness and + distance the shape of that expensive tombstone. When he turned round at + last he saw his guest sleeping, his arms on the table, his head on his + arms. + </p> + <p> + “Now, look here!” he shouted, slapping the table with the palm of his + hand. + </p> + <p> + The naturalist woke up, and sat all in a heap, staring owlishly. + </p> + <p> + “Here!” went on Almayer, speaking very loud and thumping the table, “I + want to know. You, who say you have read all the books, just tell me . . . + why such infernal things are ever allowed. Here I am! Done harm to nobody, + lived an honest life . . . and a scoundrel like that is born in Rotterdam + or some such place at the other end of the world somewhere, travels out + here, robs his employer, runs away from his wife, and ruins me and my Nina—he + ruined me, I tell you—and gets himself shot at last by a poor + miserable savage, that knows nothing at all about him really. Where’s the + sense of all this? Where’s your Providence? Where’s the good for anybody + in all this? The world’s a swindle! A swindle! Why should I suffer? What + have I done to be treated so?” + </p> + <p> + He howled out his string of questions, and suddenly became silent. The man + who ought to have been a professor made a tremendous effort to articulate + distinctly— + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow, don’t—don’t you see that the ba-bare fac—the + fact of your existence is off—offensive. . . . I—I like you—like + . . .” + </p> + <p> + He fell forward on the table, and ended his remarks by an unexpected and + prolonged snore. + </p> + <p> + Almayer shrugged his shoulders and walked back to the balustrade. + </p> + <p> + He drank his own trade gin very seldom, but when he did, a ridiculously + small quantity of the stuff could induce him to assume a rebellious + attitude towards the scheme of the universe. And now, throwing his body + over the rail, he shouted impudently into the night, turning his face + towards that far-off and invisible slab of imported granite upon which + Lingard had thought fit to record God’s mercy and Willems’ escape. + </p> + <p> + “Father was wrong—wrong!” he yelled. “I want you to smart for it. + You must smart for it! Where are you, Willems? Hey? . . . Hey? . . . Where + there is no mercy for you—I hope!” + </p> + <p> + “Hope,” repeated in a whispering echo the startled forests, the river and + the hills; and Almayer, who stood waiting, with a smile of tipsy attention + on his lips, heard no other answer. + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg’s An Outcast of the Islands, by Joseph Conrad + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AN OUTCAST OF THE ISLANDS *** + +***** This file should be named 638-h.htm or 638-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/6/3/638/ + +Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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