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The Arrow of Gold-Part38_JOSEPH CONRAD (1857-1924)_English Literature(文学名著)-第2页

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as belonging to the majority, he said frankly that he didn't think

so; unless the folly of voicing this view in a company, so utterly



unable to appreciate all its horror, could be regarded as the first

symptom of his own fate. We shouted down him and his theory, but



there is no doubt that it had thrown a chill on the gaiety of our

gathering.



We had now entered a quieter quarter of the town and Senor Ortega

had ceased his muttering. For myself I had not the slightest doubt



of my own sanity. It was proved to me by the way I could apply my

intelligence to the problem of what was to be done with Senor



Ortega. Generally, he was unfit to be trusted with any mission

whatever. The unstability of his temper was sure to get him into a



scrape. Of course carrying a letter to Headquarters was not a very

complicated matter; and as to that I would have trusted willingly a



properly trained dog. My private letter to Dona Rita, the

wonderful, the unique letter of farewell, I had given up for the



present. Naturally I thought of the Ortega problem mainly in the

terms of Dona Rita's safety. Her image presided at every council,



at every conflict of my mind, and dominated every faculty of my

senses. It floated before my eyes, it touched my elbow, it guarded



my right side and my left side; my ears seemed to catch the sound

of her footsteps behind me, she enveloped me with passing whiffs of



warmth and perfume, with filmy touches of the hair on my face. She

penetrated me, my head was full of her . . . And his head, too, I



thought suddenly with a side glance at my companion. He walked

quietly with hunched-up shoulders carrying his little hand-bag and



he looked the most commonplace figure imaginable.

Yes. There was between us a most horriblefellowship; the



association of his crazy torture with the sublimesuffering of my

passion. We hadn't been a quarter of an hour together when that



woman had surged up fatally between us; between this miserable

wretch and myself. We were haunted by the same image. But I was



sane! I was sane! Not because I was certain that the fellow must

not be allowed to go to Tolosa, but because I was perfectly alive



to the difficulty of stopping him from going there, since the

decision was absolutely in the hands of Baron H.



If I were to go early in the morning and tell that fat, bilious

man: "Look here, your Ortega's mad," he would certainly think at



once that I was, get very frightened, and . . . one couldn't tell

what course he would take. He would eliminate me somehow out of



the affair. And yet I could not let the fellow proceed to where

Dona Rita was, because, obviously, he had been molesting her, had



filled her with uneasiness and even alarm, was an unhappy element

and a disturbing influence in her life - incredible as the thing



appeared! I couldn't let him go on to make himself a worry and a

nuisance, drive her out from a town in which she wished to be (for



whatever reason) and perhaps start some explosivescandal. And

that girl Rose seemed to fear something graver even than a scandal.



But if I were to explain the matter fully to H. he would simply

rejoice in his heart. Nothing would please him more than to have



Dona Rita driven out of Tolosa. What a relief from his anxieties

(and his wife's, too); and if I were to go further, if I even went



so far as to hint at the fears which Rose had not been able to

conceal from me, why then - I went on thinking coldly with a



stoical rejection of the most elementary faith in mankind's

rectitude - why then, that accommodating husband would simply let



the ominousmessenger have his chance. He would see there only his

natural anxieties being laid to rest for ever. Horrible? Yes.



But I could not take the risk. In a twelvemonth I had travelled a

long way in my mistrust of mankind.



We paced on steadily. I thought: "How on earth am I going to stop

you?" Had this arisen only a month before, when I had the means at



hand and Dominic to confide in, I would have simply kidnapped the

fellow. A little trip to sea would not have done Senor Ortega any



harm; though no doubt it would have been abhorrent to his feelings.

But now I had not the means. I couldn't even tell where my poor



Dominic was hiding his diminished head.




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