"I am a lost man."
He shook his hand above his head in a
gesturecareless and
tragic, then walked down into the mist that closed above him in
shining undulations under the first
breath of the morning
breeze.
CHAPTER FOUR
Willems moved languidly towards the river, then retraced his
steps to the tree and let himself fall on the seat under its
shade. On the other side of the
immense trunk he could hear the
old woman moving about, sighing loudly, muttering to herself,
snapping dry sticks, blowing up the fire. After a while a whiff
of smoke drifted round to where he sat. It made him feel hungry,
and that feeling was like a new indignity added to an intolerable
load of humiliations. He felt inclined to cry. He felt very
weak. He held up his arm before his eyes and watched for a
little while the trembling of the lean limb. Skin and bone, by
God! How thin he was! . . . He had suffered from fever a good
deal, and now he thought with tearful
dismay that Lingard,
although he had sent him food--and what food, great Lord: a
little rice and dried fish; quite unfit for a white man--had not
sent him any medicine. Did the old
savage think that he was like
the wild beasts that are never ill? He wanted quinine.
He leaned the back of his head against the tree and closed his
eyes. He thought
feebly that if he could get hold of Lingard he
would like to flay him alive; but it was only a blurred, a short
and a passing thought. His
imagination, exhausted by the repeated
delineations of his own fate, had not enough strength left to
grip the idea of
revenge. He was not
indignant and rebellious.
He was cowed. He was cowed by the
immense cataclysm of his
disaster. Like most men, he had carried
solemnly within his
breast the whole
universe, and the approaching end of all things
in the
destruction of his own
personality filled him with
paralyzing awe. Everything was toppling over. He blinked his
eyes quickly, and it seemed to him that the very
sunshine of the
morning disclosed in its
brightness a
suggestion of some
hiddenand
sinister meaning. In his unreasoning fear he tried to hide
within himself. He drew his feet up, his head sank between his
shoulders, his arms hugged his sides. Under the high and
enormous tree soaring superbly out of the mist in a vigorous
spread of lofty boughs, with a
restless and eager
flutter of its
innumerable leaves in the clear
sunshine, he remained motionless,
huddled up on his seat: terrified and still.
Willems' gaze roamed over the ground, and then he watched with
idiotic fixity half a dozen black ants entering courageously a
tuft of long grass which, to them, must have appeared a dark and
a dangerous
jungle. Suddenly he thought: There must be something
dead in there. Some dead
insect. Death everywhere! He closed
his eyes again in an
access of trembling pain. Death
everywhere--wherever one looks. He did not want to see the ants.
He did not want to see anybody or anything. He sat in the
darkness of his own making, reflecting
bitterly that there was no
peace for him. He heard voices now. . . . Illusion! Misery!
Torment! Who would come? Who would speak to him? What business
had he to hear voices? . . . yet he heard them
faintly, from the
river. Faintly, as if shouted far off over there, came the words
"We come back soon." . . . Delirium and mockery! Who would come
back? Nobody ever comes back! Fever comes back. He had it on
him this morning. That was it. . . . He heard
unexpectedly" target="_blank" title="ad.意外地;突然地">
unexpectedly the
old woman muttering something near by. She had come round to his
side of the tree. He opened his eyes and saw her bent back
before him. She stood, with her hand shading her eyes, looking
towards the landing-place. Then she glided away. She had
seen--and now she was going back to her cooking; a woman
incurious; expecting nothing; without fear and without hope.
She had gone back behind the tree, and now Willems could see a
human figure on the path to the landing-place. It appeared to
him to be a woman, in a red gown,
holding some heavy
bundle in
her arms; it was an
apparitionunexpected, familiar and odd. He