“He did not fall into the river? — say, thou blind watcher!” Ali was growling6 in a bullying7 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.”
He shouted —
“Master! O master! O mast . . . ”
“What are you making that noise for?” said Almayer, with severity, stepping out close to them.
The two Malays leaped away from each other in their surprise.
“You may go. I don’t want you any more tonight, Ali,” went on Almayer. “Is Mahmat there?”
“Unless the ill-behaved savage8 got tired of waiting. Those men know not politeness. They should not be spoken to by white men,” said Ali, resentfully.
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 possessed10 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!
And Ali strolled towards his hut, yawning loudly.
As Almayer ascended11 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 doorway12 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 spoke9, a close row of black and glistening13 teeth. His eyes were big, prominent, dreamy and restless. He said sulkily, looking all over the place from under his eyebrows14 —
“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.”
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 rattan15 cutters some distance up the river. A three days’ expedition. He would test him now in that way. He said negligently16 —
“I want you to start at once for the camp, with surat for the Kavitan. One dollar a day.”
The man appeared plunged17 in dull hesitation18, but Almayer, who knew his Malays, felt pretty sure from his aspect that nothing would induce the fellow to go. He urged —
“It is important — and if you are swift I shall give two dollars for the last day.”
“No, Tuan. We do not go,” said the man, in a hoarse19 whisper.
“Why?”
“We start on another journey.”
“Where?”
“To a place we know of,” said Mahmat, a little louder, in a stubborn manner, and looking at the floor.
Almayer experienced a feeling of immense joy. He said, with affected21 annoyance22 —
“You men live in my house and it is as if it were your own. I may want my house soon.”
Mahmat looked up.
“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.”
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 dwelling23.
“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.”
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.
He approached the door of the office and said, holding his pipe away from his lips —
“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.”
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 slippers24 in a corner of the verandah, then entered the passage puffing25 at his pipe; entered cautiously in a gentle creaking of planks26 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 glimmered27 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 grimace28 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 transparent29 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.
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, tangible30, beautiful and safe amongst the elusive31, 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 enchanting32 and gorgeous dreams, while the ascending33, thin thread of tobacco smoke spread into a faint bluish cloud above his head, he appeared strangely impressive and ecstatic: like a devout34 and mystic worshipper, adoring, transported and mute; burning incense35 before a shrine36, a diaphanous37 shrine of a child-idol with closed eyes; before a pure and vaporous shrine of a small god — fragile, powerless, unconscious and sleeping.
When Ali, roused by loud and repeated shouting of his name, stumbled outside the door of his hut, he saw a narrow streak38 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 remonstrated39, agitated40 also, having caught the infection of distracted haste.
“If must go quick, better canoe. Whale-boat no can catch, same as small canoe.”
“No, no! Whale-boat! whale-boat! You dolt41! you wretch42!” howled Almayer, with all the appearance of having gone mad. “Call the men! Get along with it. Fly!”
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 ribs43 with bewildered apathy44. 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 darted45 here and there, ordering, abusing, pushing one, then another, and stopping in his exertions46 at times to wring47 his hands hastily and groan48, because the whale-boat was much slower than the worst canoe and his master would not listen to his protestations.
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 perfectly49 cloudless. Almayer went up to the house for a moment. His household was all astir and wondering at the strange disappearance50 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 schooner51. He worked very leisurely52, 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.
“Schooner ahoy! schooner ahoy!” he shouted.
A row of blank faces popped up above the bulwark53. After a while a man with a woolly head of hair said —
“Sir!”
“The mate! the mate! Call him, steward54!” said Almayer, excitedly, making a frantic55 grab at a rope thrown down to him by somebody.
In less than a minute the mate put his head over. He asked, surprised —
“What can I do for you, Mr. Almayer?”
“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.”
The mate was impressed by Almayer’s agitation56
“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.”
By the time Almayer had clambered over into the stern sheets, four calashes were in the boat and the oars20 were being passed over the taffrail. The mate was looking on. Suddenly he said —
“Is it dangerous work? Do you want any help? I would come . . . ”
“Yes, yes!” cried Almayer. “Come along. Don’t lose a moment. Go and get your revolver. Hurry up! hurry up!”
Yet, notwithstanding his feverish57 anxiety to be off, he lolled back very quiet and unconcerned till the mate got in and, passing over the thwarts58, sat down by his side. Then he seemed to wake up, and called out —
“Let go — let go the painter!”
“Let go the painter — the painter!” yelled the bowman, jerking at it.
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.
Almayer steered59. The mate sat by his side, pushing the cartridges60 into the chambers61 of his revolver. When the weapon was loaded he asked —
“What is it? Are you after somebody?”
“Yes,” said Almayer, curtly62, with his eyes fixed63 ahead on the river. “We must catch a dangerous man.”
“I like a bit of a chase myself,” declared the mate, and then, discouraged by Almayer’s aspect of severe thoughtfulness, said nothing more.
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 rhythmically64 a little at every stroke of the long oars plied65 vigorously.
The mate observed: “The tide is with us.”
“The current always runs down in this river,” said Almayer.
“Yes — I know,” retorted the other; “but it runs faster on the ebb66. Look by the land at the way we get over the ground! A five-knot current here, I should say.”
“H’m!” growled67 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.”
“Ticklish job that, on a falling tide,” said the mate, coolly. “You know best whether there’s time to get through.”
“I will try,” said Almayer, watching the shore intently. “Look out now!”
He tugged68 hard at the starboard yoke-line.
“Lay in your oars!” shouted the mate.
The boat swept round and shot through the narrow opening of a creek69 that broadened out before the craft had time to lose its way.
“Out oars! . . . Just room enough,” muttered the mate.
It was a sombre creek of black water speckled with the gold of scattered70 sunlight falling through the boughs71 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 serried72 trees that leaned over, looking insecure and undermined by floods which had eaten away the earth from under their roots. And the pungent73, acrid74 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 stagnant75 water in its tortuous76 windings77 amongst the everlasting78 and invincible79 shadows.
Almayer looked anxious. He steered badly. Several times the blades of the oars got foul80 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.
“Hallo!” he exclaimed. “Eh, Mr. Almayer! Look! The water is running out. See there! We will be caught.”
“Back! back! We must go back!” cried Almayer.
“Perhaps better go on.”
“No; back! back!”
He pulled at the steering81 line, and ran the nose of the boat into the bank. Time was lost again in getting clear.
“Give way, men! give way!” urged the mate, anxiously.
The men pulled with set lips and dilated82 nostrils83, breathing hard.
“Too late,” said the mate, suddenly. “The oars touch the bottom already. We are done.”
The boat stuck. The men laid in the oars, and sat, panting, with crossed arms.
“Yes, we are caught,” said Almayer, composedly. “That is unlucky!”
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 —
“Look!” he said; “the blamed river is running away from us. Here’s the last drop of water clearing out round that bend.”
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 glazed84 surface.
“We are in for it till the evening,” he said, with cheerful resignation. “I did my best. Couldn’t help it.”
“We must sleep the day away,” said the mate. “There’s nothing to eat,” he added, gloomily.
Almayer stretched himself in the stern sheets. The Malays curled down between thwarts.
“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!”
They slept or sat unmoving and patient. As the sun mounted higher the breeze died out, and perfect stillness reigned85 in the empty creek. A troop of long-nosed monkeys appeared, and crowding on the outer boughs, contemplated86 the boat and the motionless men in it with grave and sorrowful intensity87, disturbed now and then by irrational88 outbreaks of mad gesticulation. A little bird with sapphire89 breast balanced a slender twig90 across a slanting91 beam of light, and flashed in it to and fro like a gem92 dropped from the sky. His minute round eye stared at the strange and tranquil93 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 wilderness94; in the great silence full of struggle and death.
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1
lumber
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| n.木材，木料；v.以破旧东西堆满；伐木；笨重移动 | |
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2
sneaked
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| v.潜行( sneak的过去式和过去分词 )；偷偷溜走；（儿童向成人）打小报告；告状 | |
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flattened
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| [医]（水）平扁的，弄平的 | |
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inconveniently
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| ad.不方便地 | |
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zealous
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| adj.狂热的，热心的 | |
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growling
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| n.吠声, 咆哮声 v.怒吠, 咆哮, 吼 | |
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7
bullying
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| v.恐吓，威逼( bully的现在分词 )；豪；跋扈 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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9
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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10
possessed
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| adj.疯狂的；拥有的，占有的 | |
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11
ascended
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| v.上升，攀登( ascend的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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12
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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13
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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14
eyebrows
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| 眉毛( eyebrow的名词复数 ) | |
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15
rattan
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| n.藤条，藤杖 | |
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negligently
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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18
hesitation
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| n.犹豫，踌躇 | |
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hoarse
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| adj.嘶哑的，沙哑的 | |
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oars
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| n.桨，橹( oar的名词复数 )；划手v.划（行）( oar的第三人称单数 ) | |
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21
affected
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| adj.不自然的，假装的 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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dwelling
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| n.住宅，住所，寓所 | |
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slippers
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| n. 拖鞋 | |
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puffing
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| v.使喷出( puff的现在分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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26
planks
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| （厚）木板( plank的名词复数 )； 政纲条目，政策要点 | |
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27
glimmered
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| v.发闪光，发微光( glimmer的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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transparent
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| adj.明显的，无疑的；透明的 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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elusive
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| adj.难以表达(捉摸)的；令人困惑的；逃避的 | |
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32
enchanting
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| a.讨人喜欢的 | |
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ascending
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| adj.上升的，向上的 | |
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devout
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| adj.虔诚的，虔敬的，衷心的 (n.devoutness) | |
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35
incense
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| v.激怒；n.香，焚香时的烟，香气 | |
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shrine
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| n.圣地，神龛，庙；v.将...置于神龛内，把...奉为神圣 | |
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diaphanous
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| adj.(布)精致的，半透明的 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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39
remonstrated
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| v.抗议( remonstrate的过去式和过去分词 )；告诫 | |
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agitated
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| adj.被鼓动的，不安的 | |
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41
dolt
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| n.傻瓜 | |
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42
wretch
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| n.可怜的人，不幸的人；卑鄙的人 | |
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43
ribs
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| n.肋骨( rib的名词复数 )；（船或屋顶等的）肋拱；肋骨状的东西；（织物的）凸条花纹 | |
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44
apathy
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| n.漠不关心，无动于衷；冷淡 | |
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45
darted
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| v.投掷，投射( dart的过去式和过去分词 )；向前冲，飞奔 | |
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46
exertions
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| n.努力( exertion的名词复数 )；费力；（能力、权力等的）运用；行使 | |
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47
wring
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| n.扭绞；v.拧，绞出，扭 | |
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48
groan
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| vi./n.呻吟，抱怨；(发出)呻吟般的声音 | |
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49
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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50
disappearance
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| n.消失，消散，失踪 | |
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51
schooner
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| n.纵帆船 | |
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52
leisurely
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| adj.悠闲的；从容的，慢慢的 | |
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53
bulwark
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| n.堡垒，保障，防御 | |
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54
steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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55
frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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56
agitation
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| n.搅动；搅拌；鼓动，煽动 | |
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57
feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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58
thwarts
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| 阻挠( thwart的第三人称单数 )； 使受挫折； 挫败； 横过 | |
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59
steered
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| v.驾驶( steer的过去式和过去分词 )；操纵；控制；引导 | |
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60
cartridges
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| 子弹( cartridge的名词复数 )； （打印机的）墨盒； 录音带盒； （唱机的）唱头 | |
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chambers
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| n.房间( chamber的名词复数 )；（议会的）议院；卧室；会议厅 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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rhythmically
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| adv.有节奏地 | |
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plied
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| v.使用（工具）( ply的过去式和过去分词 )；经常供应（食物、饮料）；固定往来；经营生意 | |
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ebb
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| vi.衰退，减退；n.处于低潮，处于衰退状态 | |
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growled
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| v.（动物）发狺狺声， （雷）作隆隆声( growl的过去式和过去分词 )；低声咆哮着说 | |
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tugged
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| v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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creek
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| n.小溪，小河，小湾 | |
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scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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serried
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| adj.拥挤的；密集的 | |
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pungent
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| adj.（气味、味道）刺激性的，辛辣的；尖锐的 | |
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acrid
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| adj.辛辣的，尖刻的，刻薄的 | |
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stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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tortuous
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| adj.弯弯曲曲的，蜿蜒的 | |
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windings
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| （道路、河流等）蜿蜒的，弯曲的( winding的名词复数 )； 缠绕( wind的现在分词 )； 卷绕； 转动（把手） | |
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everlasting
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| adj.永恒的，持久的，无止境的 | |
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invincible
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| adj.不可征服的，难以制服的 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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steering
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| n.操舵装置 | |
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dilated
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| adj.加宽的，扩大的v.（使某物）扩大，膨胀，张大( dilate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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nostrils
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| 鼻孔( nostril的名词复数 ) | |
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glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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reigned
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| vi.当政，统治（reign的过去式形式） | |
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contemplated
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| adj. 预期的 动词contemplate的过去分词形式 | |
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intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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irrational
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| adj.无理性的，失去理性的 | |
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sapphire
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| n.青玉，蓝宝石；adj.天蓝色的 | |
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twig
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| n.小树枝，嫩枝；v.理解 | |
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slanting
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| 倾斜的，歪斜的 | |
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gem
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| n.宝石，珠宝；受爱戴的人 [同]jewel | |
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tranquil
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| adj. 安静的, 宁静的, 稳定的, 不变的 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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