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NOSTROMO
and after hearing her broken and groaning tale had advised
her to go and look amongst the wounded in the patio of
the Casa Gould. He had also given her a quarter dollar, he
mentioned carelessly».
«‘Why did you do that?’ I asked. ‘Do you know her?’
«‘No, senor. I don’t suppose I have ever seen her before.
How should I? She has not probably been out in the streets
for years. She is one of those old women that you fi nd in this
countryat the back of huts, crouching over fi replaces, with
a stick on the ground by their side, and almost too feeble to
drive away the stray dogs from their cooking-pots. Caramba!
I could tell by her voice that death had forgotten her. But, old
or young, they like money, and will speak well of the man who
gives it to them.’ He laughed a little. ‘Senor, you should have
felt the clutch of her paw as I put the piece in her palm.’
He paused. ‘My last, too,’ he added.
«I made no comment. He’s known for his liberality and his
bad luckat the game of monte, which keeps him as poor as
when he fi rst came here.
«‘I suppose, D on Martin,’ he began, in a thoughtful, speculative tone, ‘that the Senor Administrador of San Tome will
reward me some day if I save his silver?’
«I said that it could not be otherwise, surely. He walked on,
muttering to himself. ‘Si, si, without doubt, without doubt; and,
look you, Senor Martin, what it is to be well spoken of! There
is not another man that could have been even thought of
for such a thing. I shall get something great for it some day.
And let it come soon,’ he mumbled. ‘Time passes in this country as quick as anywhere else.’
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JOSEPH CONRAD
«This, soeur cherie , is my compani on in the great escape
for the sake of the great cause. He is more naive than shrewd,
more masterful than crafty, more generous with his personality than the people who make use of him are with their
money.At least, that is what he thinks himself with more pride
than sentiment. I am glad I have made friends with him. As
a compani on he acquires more importance than he ever had as
a sort of minor genius in his way – as an original Italian sailor
whom I allowed to come in in the small hours and talk familiarly to the editor of the Porvenir while the paper was going through the press. And it is curious to have met a man for
whom the value of life seems to consist in personal prestige.
«I am waiting for him here now. On arrivingat the posada kept by Viola we found the children alone down below, and
the old Genoese shouted to his countryman to go and fetch
the doctor. Otherwise we would have gone on to the wharf,
where it appears Captain Mitchell with some volunteer Europeans and a few picked Cargadores are loading the lighter
with the silver that must be saved from Montero’s clutches in
order to be used for Montero’s defeat. Nostromo galloped furiously back towards the town. He has been long gone already.
This delay gives me time to talk to you. By the time this pocketbook reaches your hands much will have happened. But now it
is a pause under the hovering wing of death in this silent house
buried in the black night, with this dying woman, the two
children crouching without a sound, and that old man whom
I can hear through the thickness of the wall passing up and
down with a light rubbing noise no louder than a mouse. And
I, the only other with them, don’t really know whether to
282
NOSTROMO
count myself with the living or with the dead. ‘Quien sabe?’ as
the people here are prone to say in answer to every question.
But no! feeling for you is certainly not dead, and the whole
thing, the house, the dark night, the silent children in this dim
room, my very presence here – all this is life, must be life, since
it is so much like a dream».
With the writing of the last line there came up on Decoud a moment of sudden and complete oblivion. He swayed
over the table as if struck by a bullet. The next moment he
sat up, confused, with the idea that he had heard his pencil
roll on the fl oor. The low door of the cafe, wide open, was fi lled
with the glare of a torch in which was visible half of a horse,
switching its tail against the leg of a rider with a long ir on
spur strapped to the naked heel. The two girls were gone, and
Nostromo, standing in the middle of the room, lookedat him
from under the round brim of the sombrero low down over
his brow.
«I have brought that sour-faced English doctor in Senora Gould’s carriage», said Nostromo. «I doubt if, with all his
wisdom, he can save the Padrona this time. They have sent for
the children. A bad sign that».
He sat down on the end of a bench. «She wants to give
them her blessing, I suppose».
Dazedly Decoud observed that he must have fallen sound
asleep, and Nostromo said, with a vague smile, that he had
looked inat the window and had seen him lying still across
the table with his head on his arms. The English senora had
also come in the carriage, and went upstairsat once with
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JOSEPH CONRAD
the doctor. She had told him not to wake up D on Martin yet;
but when they sent for the children he had come into the cafe.
The half of the horse with its half of the rider swung round
outside the door; the torch of tow and resin in the ir on basket
which was carried on a stickat the saddle-bow fl ared right into
the room for a moment, and Mrs. Gould entered hastily with
a very white, tired face. The hood of her dark, blue cloak had
fallen back. Both men rose.
«Teresa wants to see you, Nostromo», she said. The Capataz did not move. Decoud, with his back to the table, began to
butt on up his coat.
«The silver, Mrs. Gould, the silver», he murmured in
English. «Don’t forget that the Esmeralda garris on have got
a steamer. They may appearat any momentat the harbour entrance».
«The doctor says there is no hope», Mrs. Gould spoke rapidly, also in English. «I shall take you down to the wharf in
my carriage and then come back to fetch away the girls». She
changed swiftly into Spanish to address Nostromo. «Why are
you wasting time? Old Giorgio’s wife wishes to see you».
«I am going to her, senora», muttered the Capataz.
Dr. Monygham now showed himself, bringing back the children. To Mrs. Gould’s inquiring glance he only shook his head
and went outsideat once, followed by Nostromo.
The horse of the torch-bearer, motionless, hung his head
low, and the rider had dropped the reins to light a cigarette. The glare of the torch played on the front of the house
crossed by the big black letters of its inscripti on in which only
the word Italia was lighted fully. The patch of wavering glare
284
NOSTROMO
reached as far as Mrs. Gould’s carriage waiting on the road, with
the yellow-faced, portly Ignacio apparently dozing on the box.
By his side Basilio, dark and skinny, held a Winchester carbine
in front of him, with both hands, and peered fearfully into
the darkness. Nostromo touched lightly the doctor’s shoulder.
«Is she really dying, senor doctor?»
«Yes», said the doctor, with a strange twitch of his scarred
cheek. «And why she wants to see you I cannot imagine».
«She has been like that before», suggested Nostromo,
looking away.
«Well, Capataz, I can assure you she will never be like that
again», snarled Dr. Monygham. «You may go to her or stay
away. There is very little to be got from talking to the dying.
But she told Dona Emilia in my hearing that she has been like
a mother to you ever since you fi rst set foot ashore here».
«Si! And she never had a good word to say for me to anybody. It is more as if she could not forgive me for being alive,
and such a man, too, as she would have liked her son to be».
«Maybe!» exclaimed a mournful deep voice near them.
«Women have their own ways of tormenting themselves».
Giorgio Viola had come out of the house. He threw a heavy
black shadow in the torchlight, and the glare fell on his big
face, on the great bushy head of white hair. He motioned
the Capataz indoors with his extended arm.
Dr. Monygham, after busying himself with a little medicament box of polished wood on the seat of the landau, turned to
old Giorgio and thrust into his big, trembling hand one of
the glass-stoppered bottles out of the case.
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JOSEPH CONRAD
«Give her a spoonful of this now and then, in water», he
said. «It will make her easier».
«And there is nothing more for her?» asked the old man,
patiently.
«No. Not on earth», said the doctor, with his back to him,
clicking the lock of the medicine case.
Nostromo slowly crossed the large kitchen, all dark but
for the glow of a heap of charcoal under the heavy mantel of
the cooking-range, where water was boiling in an ir on pot
with a loud bubbling sound. Between the two walls of a narrow staircase a bright light streamed from the sick-room above;
and the magnifi cent Capataz de Cargadores stepping noiselessly in soft leather sandals, bushy whiskered, his muscular
neck and bronzed chest bare in the open check shirt, resembled a Mediterranean sailor just come ashore from some wine
or fruit-laden felucca.At the top he paused, broad shouldered,
narrow hipped and supple, lookingat the large bed, like a white
couch of state, with a profusi on of snowy linen, amongst which
the Padrona sat unpropped and bowed, her handsome, blackbrowed face bent over her chest. A mass of raven hair with
only a few white threads in it covered her shoulders; one thick
strand fallen forward half veiled her cheek. Perfectly motionless in that pose, expressing physical anxiety and unrest, she
turned her eyes alone towards Nostromo.
The Capataz had a red sash wound many times round his
waist, and a heavy silver ring on the forefi nger of the hand he
raised to give a twist to his moustache.
«Their revolutions, their revolutions», gasped Senora Teresa. «Look, Gian’ Battista, it has killed meat last!»
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NOSTROMO
Nostromo said nothing, and the sick woman with an upward glance insisted. «Look, this one has killed me, while you
were away fi ghting for what did not concern you, foolish man».
«Why talk like this?» mumbled the Capataz between his
teeth. «Will you never believe in my good sense? It concerns
me to keep on being what I am: every day alike».
«You never change, indeed», she said, bitterly. «Always
thinking of yourself and taking your pay out in fi ne words
from those who care nothing for you».
There was between them an intimacy of antagonism as
close in its way as the intimacy of accord and affection. He had
not walked along the way of Teresa’s expectations. It was she
who had encouraged him to leave his ship, in the hope of
securing a friend and defender for the girls. The wife of old
Giorgio was aware of her precarious health, and was haunted by the fear of her aged husband’s loneliness and the unprotected state of the children. She had wanted to annex that
apparently quiet and steady young man, affectionate and pliable, an orphan from his tenderest age, as he had told her,
with no ties in Italy except an uncle, owner and master of a felucca, from whose ill-usage he had run away before he was
fourteen. He had seemed to her courageous, a hard worker,
determined to make his way in the world. From gratitude
and the ties of habit he would become like a son to herself
and Giorgio; and then, who knows, when Linda had grown
up…. Ten years’ difference between husband and wife was not
so much. Her own great man was nearly twenty years older
than herself. Gian’ Battista was an attractive young fellow, besides; attractive to men, women, and children, just by that pro-
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JOSEPH CONRAD
found quietness of personality which, like a serene twilight,
rendered more seductive the promise of his vigorous form and
the resoluti on of his conduct.
Old Giorgio, in profound ignorance of his wife’s views
and hopes, had a great regard for his young countryman.
«A man ought not to be tame», he used to tell her, quoting
the Spanish proverb in defence of the splendid Capataz. She
was growing jealous of his success. He was escaping from her,
she feared. She was practical, and he seemed to her to be an absurd spendthrift of these qualities which made him so valuable.
He got too little for them. He scattered them with both hands
amongst too many people, she thought. He laid no money by.
She railedat his poverty, his exploits, his adventures, his loves
and his reputation; but in her heart she had never given him
up, as though, indeed, he had been her son.
Even now, ill as she was, ill enough to feel the chill, black
breath of the approaching end, she had wished to see him. It
was like putting out her benumbed hand to regain her hold.
But she had presumed too much on her strength. She could
not command her thoughts; they had become dim, like her vision. The words faltered on her lips, and only the paramount
anxiety and desire of her life seemed to be too strong for death.
The Capataz said, «I have heard these things many times.
You are unjust, but it does not hurt me. Only now you do
not seem to have much strength to talk, and I have but little
time to listen. I am engaged in a work of very great moment».
She made an effort to ask him whether it was true that he
had found time to go and fetch a doctor for her. Nostromo
nodded affi rmatively.
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NOSTROMO
She was pleased: it relieved her sufferings to know that
the man had condescended to do so much for those who really
wanted his help. It was a pro of of his friendship. Her voice
become stronger.
«I want a priest more than a doctor», she said, pathetically.
She did not move her head; only her eyes ran into the corners to watch the Capataz standing by the side of her bed.
«Would you go to fetch a priest for me now? Think! A dying
woman asks you!»
Nostromo shook his head resolutely. He did not believe
in priests in their sacerdotal character. A doctor was an effi cacious person; but a priest, as priest, was nothing, incapable of
doing either good or harm. Nostromo did not even dislike
the sight of them as old Giorgio did. The utter uselessness of
the errand was what struck him most.
«Padrona», he said, «you have been like this before, and got
better after a few days. I have given you already the very last
moments I can spare. Ask Senora Gould to send you one».
He was feeling uneasyat the impiety of this refusal. The Padrona believed in priests, and confessed herself to them. But
all women did that. It could not be of much consequence. And
yet his heart felt oppressed for a moment –at the thought
what absoluti on would mean to her if she believed in it only
ever so little. No matter. It was quite true that he had given her
already the very last moment he could spare.
«You refuse to go?» she gasped. «Ah! you are always yourself, indeed».
«Listen to reason, Padrona», he said. «I am needed to
save the silver of the mine. Do you hear? A greater treasure
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JOSEPH CONRAD
than the one which they say is guarded by ghosts and devils on
Azuera. It is true. I am resolved to make this the most desperate affair I was ever engaged on in my whole life».
She felt a despairing indignation. The supreme test had
failed. Standing above her, Nostromo did not see the distorted
features of her face, distorted by a paroxysm of pain and anger.
Only she began to tremble all over. Her bowed head shook.
The broad shoulders quivered.
«Then God, perhaps, will have mercy up on me! But do you
look to it, man, that you get something for yourself out of it,
besides the remorse that shall overtake you some day».
She laughed feebly. «Get richesat least for once, you indispensable, admired Gian’ Battista, to whom the peace of a dying
woman is less than the praise of people who have given you
a silly name – and nothing besides – in exchange for your
soul and body».
The Capataz de Cargadores swore to himself under his
breath.
«Leave my soul alone, Padrona, and I shall know how to
take care of my body. Where is the harm of people having
need of me? What are you envying me that I have robbed
you and the children of? Those very people you are throwing
in my teeth have done more for old Giorgio than they ever
thought of doing for me».
He struck his breast with his open palm; his voice had remained low though he had spoken in a forcible tone. He twisted his moustaches one after another, and his eyes wandered
a little about the room.
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