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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 aftertaste of slime in the water.
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 tomorrow's work probably. The man's composure seemed
to Willems an unpardonable insult. Why didn't that idiot talk tonight 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 tobaccosmoke at the stained
tablecloth.
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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
An Outcast of the Islands
CHAPTER SEVEN
32
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.
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
ricebirds 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 lipsher frowns and her smile.
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 voicethose 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 unknownof the
unforeseen and of the sudden; of a being strong, dangerous, alive, and
human, ready to be enslaved.
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
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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 ownthe animated and
brilliant flower of all that exuberant life which, born in gloom, struggles
for ever towards the sunshine.
Every day she came a little nearer. He watched her slow progressthe gradual [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]