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An Outcast of the Islands-Part16_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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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.



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.



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.

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--



"Syed Abdulla bin Selim is here!"

Babalatchi answered aloud in a formal tone--



"Allah gladdens our hearts! Come to the land!"

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.

"Who are you?"



"Babalatchi. The friend of Omar. The protected of Lakamba."

"You wrote?"



"My words were written, O Giver of alms!"

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




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