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An Outcast of the Islands-Part44_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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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 slippers in a corner of the verandah, then



entered the passage puffing at his pipe; entered cautiously in a

gentle creaking of planks 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

glimmered 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



grimace 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 transparentmarble 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

unconsciousparticle 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, tangible, beautiful and safe amongst the elusive, 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 enchanting and gorgeous dreams, while the ascending, thin

thread of tobacco smoke spread into a faint bluish cloud above



his head, he appeared strangelyimpressive and ecstatic: like a

devout and mystic worshipper, adoring, transported and mute;



burning incense before a shrine, a diaphanous 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 streak 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

remonstrated, agitated 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 dolt! you wretch!" 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 ribs with



bewildered apathy. It was hard work to put them in motion. They




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