第4章 PART I(3)

In the light of this disclosure the facts of the last five years of his life stood clearly revealed in their full meaning.He had spoken first to Joanna at the gate of their dwelling as he went to his work in the brilliant flush of the early morning,when women and flowers are charming even to the dullest eyes.A most respectable family--two women and a young man--were his next-door neighbours.Nobody ever came to their little house but the priest,a native from the Spanish islands,now and then.The young man Leonard he had met in town,and was flattered by the little fellow's immense respect for the great Willems.He let him bring chairs,call the waiters,chalk his cues when playing billiards,express his admiration in choice words.He even condescended to listen patiently to Leonard's allusions to "our beloved father,"a man of official position,a government agent in Koti,where he died of cholera,alas!a victim to duty,like a good Catholic,and a good man.It sounded very respectable,and Willems approved of those feeling references.Moreover,he prided himself upon having no colour-prejudices and no racial antipathies.He consented to drink curacoa one afternoon on the verandah of Mrs.da Souza's house.He remembered Joanna that day,swinging in a hammock.She was untidy even then,he remembered,and that was the only impression he carried away from that visit.He had no time for love in those glorious days,no time even for a passing fancy,but gradually he fell into the habit of calling almost every day at that little house where he was greeted by Mrs.da Souza's shrill voice screaming for Joanna to come and entertain the gentleman from Hudig &Co.And then the sudden and unexpected visit of the priest.He remembered the man's flat,yellow face,his thin legs,his propitiatory smile,his beaming black eyes,his conciliating manner,his veiled hints which he did not understand at the time.How he wondered what the man wanted,and how unceremoniously he got rid of him.And then came vividly into his recollection the morning when he met again that fellow coming out of Hudig's office,and how he was amused at the incongruous visit.And that morning with Hudig!

Would he ever forget it?Would he ever forget his surprise as the master,instead of plunging at once into business,looked at him thoughtfully before turning,with a furtive smile,to the papers on the desk?He could hear him now,his nose in the paper before him,dropping astonishing words in the intervals of wheezy breathing.

"Heard said...called there often...most respectable ladies...knew the father very well...estimable...best thing for a young man...settle down...Personally,very glad to hear...thing arranged...Suitable recognition of valuable services...Best thing--best thing to do."And he believed!What credulity!What an ass!Hudig knew the father!Rather.And so did everybody else probably;all except himself.How proud he had been of Hudig's benevolent interest in his fate!How proud he was when invited by Hudig to stay with him at his little house in the country--where he could meet men,men of official position--as a friend.Vinck had been green with envy.Oh,yes!He had believed in the best thing,and took the girl like a gift of fortune.How he boasted to Hudig of being free from prejudices.The old scoundrel must have been laughing in his sleeve at his fool of a confidential clerk.He took the girl,guessing nothing.How could he?There had been a father of some kind to the common knowledge.Men knew him;spoke about him.A lank man of hopelessly mixed descent,but otherwise--apparently--unobjectionable.The shady relations came out afterward,but--with his freedom from prejudices--he did not mind them,because,with their humble dependence,they completed his triumphant life.Taken in!taken in!Hudig had found an easy way to provide for the begging crowd.He had shifted the burden of his youthful vagaries on to the shoulders of his confidential clerk;and while he worked for the master,the master had cheated him;had stolen his very self from him.He was married.He belonged to that woman,no matter what she might do!...Had sworn...for all life!...Thrown himself away...And that man dared this very morning call him a thief!Damnation!

"Let go,Lingard!"he shouted,trying to get away by a sudden jerk from the watchful old seaman."Let me go and kill that..."

"No you don't!"panted Lingard,hanging on manfully."You want to kill,do you?You lunatic.Ah!--I've got you now!Be quiet,I say!"They struggled violently,Lingard forcing Willems slowly towards the guard-rail.Under their feet the jetty sounded like a drum in the quiet night.On the shore end the native caretaker of the wharf watched the combat,squatting behind the safe shelter of some big cases.The next day he informed his friends,with calm satisfaction,that two drunken white men had fought on the jetty.

It had been a great fight.They fought without arms,like wild beasts,after the manner of white men.No!nobody was killed,or there would have been trouble and a report to make.How could he know why they fought?White men have no reason when they are like that.

Just as Lingard was beginning to fear that he would be unable to restrain much longer the violence of the younger man,he felt Willems'muscles relaxing,and took advantage of this opportunity to pin him,by a last effort,to the rail.They both panted heavily,speechless,their faces very close.

"All right,"muttered Willems at last."Don't break my back over this infernal rail.I will be quiet.""Now you are reasonable,"said Lingard,much relieved."What made you fly into that passion?"he asked,leading him back to the end of the jetty,and,still holding him prudently with one hand,he fumbled with the other for his whistle and blew a shrill and prolonged blast.Over the smooth water of the roadstead came in answer a faint cry from one of the ships at anchor.

"My boat will be here directly,"said Lingard."Think of what you are going to do.I sail to-night.""What is there for me to do,except one thing?"said Willems,gloomily.

"Look here,"said Lingard;"I picked you up as a boy,and consider myself responsible for you in a way.You took your life into your own hands many years ago--but still..."He paused,listening,till he heard the regular grind of the oars in the rowlocks of the approaching boat then went on again.

"I have made it all right with Hudig.You owe him nothing now.Go back to your wife.She is a good woman.Go back to her.""Why,Captain Lingard,"exclaimed Willems,"she...""It was most affecting,"went on Lingard,without heeding him.

"I went to your house to look for you and there I saw her despair.It was heart-breaking.She called for you;she entreated me to find you.She spoke wildly,poor woman,as if all this was her fault."Willems listened amazed.The blind old idiot!How queerly he misunderstood!But if it was true,if it was even true,the very idea of seeing her filled his soul with intense loathing.He did not break his oath,but he would not go back to her.Let hers be the sin of that separation;of the sacred bond broken.He revelled in the extreme purity of his heart,and he would not go back to her.Let her come back to him.He had the comfortable conviction that he would never see her again,and that through her own fault only.In this conviction he told himself solemnly that if she would come to him he would receive her with generous forgiveness,because such was the praiseworthy solidity of his principles.But he hesitated whether he would or would not disclose to Lingard the revolting completeness of his humiliation.Turned out of his house--and by his wife;that woman who hardly dared to breathe in his presence,yesterday.He remained perplexed and silent.No.He lacked the courage to tell the ignoble story.

As the boat of the brig appeared suddenly on the black water close to the jetty,Lingard broke the painful silence.

"I always thought,"he said,sadly,"I always thought you were somewhat heartless,Willems,and apt to cast adrift those that thought most of you.I appeal to what is best in you;do not abandon that woman.""I have not abandoned her,"answered Willems,quickly,with conscious truthfulness."Why should I?As you so justly observed,she has been a good wife to me.A very good,quiet,obedient,loving wife,and I love her as much as she loves me.

Every bit.But as to going back now,to that place where I...

To walk again amongst those men who yesterday were ready to crawl before me,and then feel on my back the sting of their pitying or satisfied smiles--no!I can't.I would rather hide from them at the bottom of the sea,"he went on,with resolute energy."Idon't think,Captain Lingard,"he added,more quietly,"I don't think that you realize what my position was there."In a wide sweep of his hand he took in the sleeping shore from north to south,as if wishing it a proud and threatening good-bye.For a short moment he forgot his downfall in the recollection of his brilliant triumphs.Amongst the men of his class and occupation who slept in those dark houses he had been indeed the first.

"It is hard,"muttered Lingard,pensively."But whose the fault?Whose the fault?"

"Captain Lingard!"cried Willems,under the sudden impulse of a felicitous inspiration,"if you leave me here on this jetty--it's murder.I shall never return to that place alive,wife or no wife.You may just as well cut my throat at once."The old seaman started.

"Don't try to frighten me,Willems,"he said,with great severity,and paused.

Above the accents of Willems'brazen despair he heard,with considerable uneasiness,the whisper of his own absurd conscience.He meditated for awhile with an irresolute air.

"I could tell you to go and drown yourself,and be damned to you,"he said,with an unsuccessful assumption of brutality in his manner,"but I won't.We are responsible for one another--worse luck.I am almost ashamed of myself,but I can understand your dirty pride.I can!By..."He broke off with a loud sigh and walked briskly to the steps,at the bottom of which lay his boat,rising and falling gently on the slight and invisible swell.

"Below there!Got a lamp in the boat?Well,light it and bring it up,one of you.Hurry now!"He tore out a page of his pocketbook,moistened his pencil with great energy and waited,stamping his feet impatiently.

"I will see this thing through,"he muttered to himself."And Iwill have it all square and ship-shape;see if I don't!Are you going to bring that lamp,you son of a crippled mud-turtle?I am waiting."The gleam of the light on the paper placated his professional anger,and he wrote rapidly,the final dash of his signature curling the paper up in a triangular tear.

"Take that to this white Tuan's house.I will send the boat back for you in half an hour."The coxswain raised his lamp deliberately to Willem's face.

"This Tuan?Tau!I know."

"Quick then!"said Lingard,taking the lamp from him--and the man went off at a run.

"Kassi mem!To the lady herself,"called Lingard after him.

Then,when the man disappeared,he turned to Willems.

"I have written to your wife,"he said."If you do not return for good,you do not go back to that house only for another parting.You must come as you stand.I won't have that poor woman tormented.I will see to it that you are not separated for long.Trust me!"Willems shivered,then smiled in the darkness.

"No fear of that,"he muttered,enigmatically."I trust you implicitly,Captain Lingard,"he added,in a louder tone.

Lingard led the way down the steps,swinging the lamp and speaking over his shoulder.

"It is the second time,Willems,I take you in hand.Mind it is the last.The second time;and the only difference between then and now is that you were bare-footed then and have boots now.In fourteen years.With all your smartness!A poor result that.Avery poor result."

He stood for awhile on the lowest platform of the steps,the light of the lamp falling on the upturned face of the stroke oar,who held the gunwale of the boat close alongside,ready for the captain to step in.

"You see,"he went on,argumentatively,fumbling about the top of the lamp,"you got yourself so crooked amongst those 'longshore quill-drivers that you could not run clear in any way.That's what comes of such talk as yours,and of such a life.A man sees so much falsehood that he begins to lie to himself.Pah!"he said,in disgust,"there's only one place for an honest man.The sea,my boy,the sea!But you never would;didn't think there was enough money in it;and now--look!"He blew the light out,and,stepping into the boat,stretched quickly his hand towards Willems,with friendly care.Willems sat by him in silence,and the boat shoved off,sweeping in a wide circle towards the brig.

"Your compassion is all for my wife,Captain Lingard,"said Willems,moodily."Do you think I am so very happy?""No!no!"said Lingard,heartily."Not a word more shall pass my lips.I had to speak my mind once,seeing that I knew you from a child,so to speak.And now I shall forget;but you are young yet.Life is very long,"he went on,with unconscious sadness;"let this be a lesson to you."

He laid his hand affectionately on Willems'shoulder,and they both sat silent till the boat came alongside the ship's ladder.

When on board Lingard gave orders to his mate,and leading Willems on the poop,sat on the breech of one of the brass six-pounders with which his vessel was armed.The boat went off again to bring back the messenger.As soon as it was seen returning dark forms appeared on the brig's spars;then the sails fell in festoons with a swish of their heavy folds,and hung motionless under the yards in the dead calm of the clear and dewy night.From the forward end came the clink of the windlass,and soon afterwards the hail of the chief mate informing Lingard that the cable was hove short.

"Hold on everything,"hailed back Lingard;"we must wait for the land-breeze before we let go our hold of the ground."He approached Willems,who sat on the skylight,his body bent down,his head low,and his hands hanging listlessly between his knees.

"I am going to take you to Sambir,"he said."You've never heard of the place,have you?Well,it's up that river of mine about which people talk so much and know so little.I've found out the entrance for a ship of Flash's size.It isn't easy.You'll see.

I will show you.You have been at sea long enough to take an interest...Pity you didn't stick to it.Well,I am going there.I have my own trading post in the place.Almayer is my partner.You knew him when he was at Hudig's.Oh,he lives there as happy as a king.D'ye see,I have them all in my pocket.The rajah is an old friend of mine.My word is law--and I am the only trader.No other white man but Almayer had ever been in that settlement.You will live quietly there till I come back from my next cruise to the westward.We shall see then what can be done for you.Never fear.I have no doubt my secret will be safe with you.Keep mum about my river when you get amongst the traders again.There's many would give their ears for the knowledge of it.I'll tell you something:that's where I get all my guttah and rattans.Simply inexhaustible,my boy."While Lingard spoke Willems looked up quickly,but soon his head fell on his breast in the discouraging certitude that the knowledge he and Hudig had wished for so much had come to him too late.He sat in a listless attitude.

"You will help Almayer in his trading if you have a heart for it,"continued Lingard,"just to kill time till I come back for you.Only six weeks or so."Over their heads the damp sails fluttered noisily in the first faint puff of the breeze;then,as the airs freshened,the brig tended to the wind,and the silenced canvas lay quietly aback.

The mate spoke with low distinctness from the shadows of the quarter-deck.

"There's the breeze.Which way do you want to cast her,Captain Lingard?"Lingard's eyes,that had been fixed aloft,glanced down at the dejected figure of the man sitting on the skylight.He seemed to hesitate for a minute.

"To the northward,to the northward,"he answered,testily,as if annoyed at his own fleeting thought,"and bear a hand there.

Every puff of wind is worth money in these seas."He remained motionless,listening to the rattle of blocks and the creaking of trusses as the head-yards were hauled round.Sail was made on the ship and the windlass manned again while he stood still,lost in thought.He only roused himself when a barefooted seacannie glided past him silently on his way to the wheel.

"Put the helm aport!Hard over!"he said,in his harsh sea-voice,to the man whose face appeared suddenly out of the darkness in the circle of light thrown upwards from the binnacle lamps.

The anchor was secured,the yards trimmed,and the brig began to move out of the roadstead.The sea woke up under the push of the sharp cutwater,and whispered softly to the gliding craft in that tender and rippling murmur in which it speaks sometimes to those it nurses and loves.Lingard stood by the taff-rail listening,with a pleased smile till the Flash began to draw close to the only other vessel in the anchorage.

"Here,Willems,"he said,calling him to his side,"d'ye see that barque here?That's an Arab vessel.White men have mostly given up the game,but this fellow drops in my wake often,and lives in hopes of cutting me out in that settlement.Not while I live,Itrust.You see,Willems,I brought prosperity to that place.Icomposed their quarrels,and saw them grow under my eyes.

There's peace and happiness there.I am more master there than his Dutch Excellency down in Batavia ever will be when some day a lazy man-of-war blunders at last against the river.I mean to keep the Arabs out of it,with their lies and their intrigues.Ishall keep the venomous breed out,if it costs me my fortune."The Flash drew quietly abreast of the barque,and was beginning to drop it astern when a white figure started up on the poop of the Arab vessel,and a voice called out--"Greeting to the Rajah Laut!"

"To you greeting!"answered Lingard,after a moment of hesitating surprise.Then he turned to Willems with a grim smile."That's Abdulla's voice,"he said."Mighty civil all of a sudden,isn't he?I wonder what it means.Just like his impudence!No matter!His civility or his impudence are all one to me.I know that this fellow will be under way and after me like a shot.Idon't care!I have the heels of anything that floats in these seas,"he added,while his proud and loving glance ran over and rested fondly amongst the brig's lofty and graceful spars.

CHAPTER FIVE

"It was the writing on his forehead,"said Babalatchi,adding a couple of small sticks to the little fire by which he was squatting,and without looking at Lakamba who lay down supported on his elbow on the other side of the embers."It was written when he was born that he should end his life in darkness,and now he is like a man walking in a black night--with his eyes open,yet seeing not.I knew him well when he had slaves,and many wives,and much merchandise,and trading praus,and praus for fighting.Hai--ya!He was a great fighter in the days before the breath of the Merciful put out the light in his eyes.He was a pilgrim,and had many virtues:he was brave,his hand was open,and he was a great robber.For many years he led the men that drank blood on the sea:first in prayer and first in fight!Have I not stood behind him when his face was turned to the West?

Have I not watched by his side ships with high masts burning in a straight flame on the calm water?Have I not followed him on dark nights amongst sleeping men that woke up only to die?His sword was swifter than the fire from Heaven,and struck before it flashed.Hai!Tuan!Those were the days and that was a leader,and I myself was younger;and in those days there were not so many fireships with guns that deal fiery death from afar.Over the hill and over the forest--O!Tuan Lakamba!they dropped whistling fireballs into the creek where our praus took refuge,and where they dared not follow men who had arms in their hands."He shook his head with mournful regret and threw another handful of fuel on the fire.The burst of clear flame lit up his broad,dark,and pock-marked face,where the big lips,stained with betel-juice,looked like a deep and bleeding gash of a fresh wound.The reflection of the firelight gleamed brightly in his solitary eye,lending it for a moment a fierce animation that died out together with the short-lived flame.With quick touches of his bare hands he raked the embers into a heap,then,wiping the warm ash on his waistcloth--his only garment--he clasped his thin legs with his entwined fingers,and rested his chin on his drawn-up knees.Lakamba stirred slightly without changing his position or taking his eyes off the glowing coals,on which they had been fixed in dreamy immobility.

"Yes,"went on Babalatchi,in a low monotone,as if pursuing aloud a train of thought that had its beginning in the silent contemplation of the unstable nature of earthly greatness--"yes.

He has been rich and strong,and now he lives on alms:old,feeble,blind,and without companions,but for his daughter.The Rajah Patalolo gives him rice,and the pale woman--his daughter--cooks it for him,for he has no slave.""I saw her from afar,"muttered Lakamba,disparagingly."Ashe-dog with white teeth,like a woman of the Orang-Putih.""Right,right,"assented Babalatchi;"but you have not seen her near.Her mother was a woman from the west;a Baghdadi woman with veiled face.Now she goes uncovered,like our women do,for she is poor and he is blind,and nobody ever comes near them unless to ask for a charm or a blessing and depart quickly for fear of his anger and of the Rajah's hand.You have not been on that side of the river?""Not for a long time.If I go..."

"True!true!"interrupted Babalatchi,soothingly,"but I go often alone--for your good--and look--and listen.When the time comes;when we both go together towards the Rajah's campong,it will be to enter--and to remain."Lakamba sat up and looked at Babalatchi gloomily.

"This is good talk,once,twice;when it is heard too often it becomes foolish,like the prattle of children.""Many,many times have I seen the cloudy sky and have heard the wind of the rainy seasons,"said Babalatchi,impressively.

"And where is your wisdom?It must be with the wind and the clouds of seasons past,for I do not hear it in your talk.""Those are the words of the ungrateful!"shouted Babalatchi,with sudden exasperation."Verily,our only refuge is with the One,the Mighty,the Redresser of...""Peace!Peace!"growled the startled Lakamba."It is but a friend's talk."Babalatchi subsided into his former attitude,muttering to himself.After awhile he went on again in a louder voice--"Since the Rajah Laut left another white man here in Sambir,the daughter of the blind Omar el Badavi has spoken to other ears than mine.""Would a white man listen to a beggar's daughter?"said Lakamba,doubtingly.

"Hai!I have seen..."

"And what did you see?O one-eyed one!"exclaimed Lakamba,contemptuously.

"I have seen the strange white man walking on the narrow path before the sun could dry the drops of dew on the bushes,and Ihave heard the whisper of his voice when he spoke through the smoke of the morning fire to that woman with big eyes and a pale skin.Woman in body,but in heart a man!She knows no fear and no shame.I have heard her voice too."He nodded twice at Lakamba sagaciously and gave himself up to silent musing,his solitary eye fixed immovably upon the straight wall of forest on the opposite bank.Lakamba lay silent,staring vacantly.Under them Lingard's own river rippled softly amongst the piles supporting the bamboo platform of the little watch-house before which they were lying.Behind the house the ground rose in a gentle swell of a low hill cleared of the big timber,but thickly overgrown with the grass and bushes,now withered and burnt up in the long drought of the dry season.

This old rice clearing,which had been several years lying fallow,was framed on three sides by the impenetrable and tangled growth of the untouched forest,and on the fourth came down to the muddy river bank.There was not a breath of wind on the land or river,but high above,in the transparent sky,little clouds rushed past the moon,now appearing in her diffused rays with the brilliance of silver,now obscuring her face with the blackness of ebony.Far away,in the middle of the river,a fish would leap now and then with a short splash,the very loudness of which measured the profundity of the overpowering silence that swallowed up the sharp sound suddenly.