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An Outcast of the Islands-Part10_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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slowly, with a bitter sense of unreasonabledisappointment 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.



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 painfullyamongst 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.



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.

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.



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




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