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Some Reminiscences-Part12_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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opaline mist was often repeated at Bessborough Gardens on account

of the nearness to the river.



There is no reason why I should remember that effect more on that

day than on any other day, except that I stood for a long time



looking out of the window after the landlady's daughter was gone

with her spoil of cups and saucers. I heard her put the tray



down in the passage and finally shut the door; and still I

remained smoking with my back to the room. It is very clear that



I was in no haste to take the plunge into my writing life, if as

plunge this first attempt may be described. My whole being was



steeped deep in the indolence of a sailor away from the sea, the

scene of never-ending labour and of unceasing duty. For utter



surrender to indolence you cannot beat a sailor ashore when that

mood is on him, the mood of absolute irresponsibility tasted to



the full. It seems to me that I thought of nothing whatever, but

this is an impression which is hardly to be believed at this



distance of years. What I am certain of is, that I was very far

from thinking of writing a story, though it is possible and even



likely that I was thinking of the man Almayer.

I had seen him for the first time some four years before from the



bridge of a steamer moored to a rickety little wharf forty miles

up, more or less, a Bornean river. It was very early morning and



a slight mist, an opaline mist as in Bessborough Gardens only

without the fiery flicks on roof and chimney-pot from the rays of



the red London sun, promised to turn presently into a woolly fog.

Barring a small dug-out canoe on the river there was nothing



moving within sight. I had just come up yawning from my cabin.

The serang and the Malay crew were overhauling the cargo chains



and trying the winches; their voices sounded subdued on the deck

below and their movements were languid. That tropical daybreak



was chilly. The Malay quartermaster, coming up to get something

from the lockers on the bridge, shivered visibly. The forests



above and below and on the opposite bank looked black and dank;

wet dripped from the rigging upon the tightly stretched deck



awnings, and it was in the middle of a shuddering yawn that I

caught sight of Almayer. He was moving across a patch of burnt



grass, a blurred shadowy shape with the blurred bulk of a house

behind him, a low house of mats, bamboos and palm-leaves with a



high-pitched roof of grass.

He stepped upon the jetty. He was clad simply in flapping



pyjamas of cretonne pattern (enormous flowers with yellow petals

on a disagreeable blue ground) and a thin cotton singlet with



short sleeves. His arms, bare to the elbow, were crossed on his

chest. His black hair looked as if it had not been cut for a



very long time and a curly wisp of it strayed across his

forehead. I had heard of him at Singapore; I had heard of him on



board; I had heard of him early in the morning and late at night;

I had heard of him at tiffin and at dinner; I had heard of him in



a place called Pulo Laut from a half-caste gentleman there, who

described himself as the manager of a coal-mine; which sounded



civilised and progressive till you heard that the mine could not

be worked at present because it was haunted by some particulary



atrocious ghosts. I had heard of him in a place called Dongola,

in the Island of Celebes, when the Rajah of that little-known



seaport (you can get no anchorage there in less than fifteen

fathom, which is extremely inconvenient) came on board in a



friendly way with only two attendants, and drank bottle after

bottle of soda-water on the after-skylight with my good friend



and commander, Captain C--. At least I heard his name distinctly

pronounced several times in a lot of talk in Malay language. Oh



yes, I heard it quite distinctly--Almayer, Almayer--and saw

Captain C-- smile while the fat dingy Rajah laughed audibly. To



hear a Malay Rajah laugh outright is a rare experience I can

assure you. And I overhead more of Almayer's name amongst our



deck passengers (mostly wandering traders of good repute) as they

sat all over the ship--each man fenced round with bundles and



boxes--on mats, on pillows, on quilts, on billets of wood,




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