Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated) (21 page)

He understood, and, as if suddenly released from his invisible bonds, fell at her feet with a shout of joy, and, embracing her knees, hid his head in the folds of her dress, murmuring disjointed words of gratitude and love.  Never before had he felt so proud as now, when at the feet of that woman that half belonged to his enemies.  Her fingers played with his hair in an absent-minded caress as she stood absorbed in thought.  The thing was done.  Her mother was right.  The man was her slave.  As she glanced down at his kneeling form she felt a great pitying tenderness for that man she was used to call — even in her thoughts — the master of life.  She lifted her eyes and looked sadly at the southern heavens under which lay the path of their lives — her own, and that man’s at her feet.  Did he not say himself is that she was the light of his life?  She would be his light and his wisdom; she would be his greatness and his strength; yet hidden from the eyes of all men she would be, above all, his only and lasting weakness.  A very woman!  In the sublime vanity of her kind she was thinking already of moulding a god from the clay at her feet.  A god for others to worship.  She was content to see him as he was now, and to feel him quiver at the slightest touch of her light fingers.  And while her eyes looked sadly at the southern stars a faint smile seemed to be playing about her firm lips.  Who can tell in the fitful light of a camp fire?  It might have been a smile of triumph, or of conscious power, or of tender pity, or, perhaps, of love.

She spoke softly to him, and he rose to his feet, putting his arm round her in quiet consciousness of his ownership; she laid her head on his shoulder with a sense of defiance to all the world in the encircling protection of that arm.  He was hers with all his qualities and all his faults.  His strength and his courage, his recklessness and his daring, his simple wisdom and his savage cunning — all were hers.  As they passed together out of the red light of the fire into the silver shower of rays that fell upon the clearing he bent his head over her face, and she saw in his eyes the dreamy intoxication of boundless felicity from the close touch of her slight figure clasped to his side.  With a rhythmical swing of their bodies they walked through the light towards the outlying shadows of the forests that seemed to guard their happiness in solemn immobility.  Their forms melted in the play of light and shadow at the foot of the big trees, but the murmur of tender words lingered over the empty clearing, grew faint, and died out.  A sigh as of immense sorrow passed over the land in the last effort of the dying breeze, and in the deep silence which succeeded, the earth and the heavens were suddenly hushed up in the mournful contemplation of human love and human blindness.

They walked slowly back to the fire.  He made for her a seat out of the dry branches, and, throwing himself down at her feet, lay his head in her lap and gave himself up to the dreamy delight of the passing hour.  Their voices rose and fell, tender or animated as they spoke of their love and of their future.  She, with a few skilful words spoken from time to time, guided his thoughts, and he let his happiness flow in a stream of talk passionate and tender, grave or menacing, according to the mood which she evoked.  He spoke to her of his own island, where the gloomy forests and the muddy rivers were unknown.  He spoke of its terraced fields, of the murmuring clear rills of sparkling water that flowed down the sides of great mountains, bringing life to the land and joy to its tillers.  And he spoke also of the mountain peak that rising lonely above the belt of trees knew the secrets of the passing clouds, and was the dwelling-place of the mysterious spirit of his race, of the guardian genius of his house.  He spoke of vast horizons swept by fierce winds that whistled high above the summits of burning mountains.  He spoke of his forefathers that conquered ages ago the island of which he was to be the future ruler.  And then as, in her interest, she brought her face nearer to his, he, touching lightly the thick tresses of her long hair, felt a sudden impulse to speak to her of the sea he loved so well; and he told her of its never-ceasing voice, to which he had listened as a child, wondering at its hidden meaning that no living man has penetrated yet; of its enchanting glitter; of its senseless and capricious fury; how its surface was for ever changing, and yet always enticing, while its depths were for ever the same, cold and cruel, and full of the wisdom of destroyed life.  He told her how it held men slaves of its charm for a lifetime, and then, regardless of their devotion, swallowed them up, angry at their fear of its mystery, which it would never disclose, not even to those that loved it most.  While he talked, Nina’s head had been gradually sinking lower, and her face almost touched his now.  Her hair was over his eyes, her breath was on his forehead, her arms were about his body.  No two beings could be closer to each other, yet she guessed rather than understood the meaning of his last words that came out after a slight hesitation in a faint murmur, dying out imperceptibly into a profound and significant silence:  “The sea, O Nina, is like a woman’s heart.”

She closed his lips with a sudden kiss, and answered in a steady voice —

“But to the men that have no fear, O master of my life, the sea is ever true.”

Over their heads a film of dark, thread-like clouds, looking like immense cobwebs drifting under the stars, darkened the sky with the presage of the coming thunderstorm.  From the invisible hills the first distant rumble of thunder came in a prolonged roll which, after tossing about from hill to hill, lost itself in the forests of the Pantai.  Dain and Nina stood up, and the former looked at the sky uneasily.

“It is time for Babalatchi to be here,” he said.  “The night is more than half gone.  Our road is long, and a bullet travels quicker than the best canoe.”

“He will be here before the moon is hidden behind the clouds,” said Nina.  “I heard a splash in the water,” she added.  “Did you hear it too?”

“Alligator,” answered Dain shortly, with a careless glance towards the creek.  “The darker the night,” he continued, “the shorter will be our road, for then we could keep in the current of the main stream, but if it is light — even no more than now — we must follow the small channels of sleeping water, with nothing to help our paddles.”

“Dain,” interposed Nina, earnestly, “it was no alligator.  I heard the bushes rustling near the landing-place.”

“Yes,” said Dain, after listening awhile.  “It cannot be Babalatchi, who would come in a big war canoe, and openly.  Those that are coming, whoever they are, do not wish to make much noise.  But you have heard, and now I can see,” he went on quickly.  “It is but one man.  Stand behind me, Nina.  If he is a friend he is welcome; if he is an enemy you shall see him die.”

He laid his hand on his kriss, and awaited the approach of his unexpected visitor.  The fire was burning very low, and small clouds — precursors of the storm — crossed the face of the moon in rapid succession, and their flying shadows darkened the clearing.  He could not make out who the man might be, but he felt uneasy at the steady advance of the tall figure walking on the path with a heavy tread, and hailed it with a command to stop.  The man stopped at some little distance, and Dain expected him to speak, but all he could hear was his deep breathing.  Through a break in the flying clouds a sudden and fleeting brightness descended upon the clearing.  Before the darkness closed in again, Dain saw a hand holding some glittering object extended towards him, heard Nina’s cry of “Father!” and in an instant the girl was between him and Almayer’s revolver.  Nina’s loud cry woke up the echoes of the sleeping woods, and the three stood still as if waiting for the return of silence before they would give expression to their various feelings.  At the appearance of Nina, Almayer’s arm fell by his side, and he made a step forward.  Dain pushed the girl gently aside.

“Am I a wild beast that you should try to kill me suddenly and in the dark, Tuan Almayer?” said Dain, breaking the strained silence.  “Throw some brushwood on the fire,” he went on, speaking to Nina, “while I watch my white friend, lest harm should come to you or to me, O delight of my heart!”

Almayer ground his teeth and raised his arm again.  With a quick bound Dain was at his side: there was a short scuffle, during which one chamber of the revolver went off harmlessly, then the weapon, wrenched out of Almayer’s hand, whirled through the air and fell in the bushes.  The two men stood close together, breathing hard.  The replenished fire threw out an unsteady circle of light and shone on the terrified face of Nina, who looked at them with outstretched hands.

“Dain!” she cried out warningly, “Dain!”

He waved his hand towards her in a reassuring gesture, and, turning to Almayer, said with great courtesy —

“Now we may talk, Tuan.  It is easy to send out death, but can your wisdom recall the life?  She might have been harmed,” he continued, indicating Nina.  “Your hand shook much; for myself I was not afraid.”

“Nina!” exclaimed Almayer, “come to me at once.  What is this sudden madness?  What bewitched you?  Come to your father, and together we shall try to forget this horrible nightmare!”

He opened his arms with the certitude of clasping her to his breast in another second.  She did not move.  As it dawned upon him that she did not mean to obey he felt a deadly cold creep into his heart, and, pressing the palms of his hands to his temples, he looked down on the ground in mute despair.  Dain took Nina by the arm and led her towards her father.

“Speak to him in the language of his people,” he said.  “He is grieving — as who would not grieve at losing thee, my pearl!  Speak to him the last words he shall hear spoken by that voice, which must be very sweet to him, but is all my life to me.”

He released her, and, stepping back a few paces out of the circle of light, stood in the darkness looking at them with calm interest.  The reflection of a distant flash of lightning lit up the clouds over their heads, and was followed after a short interval by the faint rumble of thunder, which mingled with Almayer’s voice as he began to speak.

“Do you know what you are doing?  Do you know what is waiting for you if you follow that man?  Have you no pity for yourself?  Do you know that you shall be at first his plaything and then a scorned slave, a drudge, and a servant of some new fancy of that man?”

She raised her hand to stop him, and turning her head slightly, asked —

“You hear this Dain!  Is it true?”

“By all the gods!” came the impassioned answer from the darkness — ”by heaven and earth, by my head and thine I swear: this is a white man’s lie.  I have delivered my soul into your hands for ever; I breathe with your breath, I see with your eyes, I think with your mind, and I take you into my heart for ever.”

“You thief!” shouted the exasperated Almayer.

A deep silence succeeded this outburst, then the voice of Dain was heard again.

“Nay, Tuan,” he said in a gentle tone, “that is not true also.  The girl came of her own will.  I have done no more but to show her my love like a man; she heard the cry of my heart, and she came, and the dowry I have given to the woman you call your wife.”

Almayer groaned in his extremity of rage and shame.  Nina laid her hand lightly on his shoulder, and the contact, light as the touch of a falling leaf, seemed to calm him.  He spoke quickly, and in English this time.

“Tell me,” he said — ”tell me, what have they done to you, your mother and that man?  What made you give yourself up to that savage?  For he is a savage.  Between him and you there is a barrier that nothing can remove.  I can see in your eyes the look of those who commit suicide when they are mad.  You are mad.  Don’t smile.  It breaks my heart.  If I were to see you drowning before my eyes, and I without the power to help you, I could not suffer a greater torment.  Have you forgotten the teaching of so many years?”

“No,” she interrupted, “I remember it well.  I remember how it ended also.  Scorn for scorn, contempt for contempt, hate for hate.  I am not of your race.  Between your people and me there is also a barrier that nothing can remove.  You ask why I want to go, and I ask you why I should stay.”

He staggered as if struck in the face, but with a quick, unhesitating grasp she caught him by the arm and steadied him.

“Why you should stay!” he repeated slowly, in a dazed manner, and stopped short, astounded at the completeness of his misfortune.

“You told me yesterday,” she went on again, “that I could not understand or see your love for me: it is so.  How can I?  No two human beings understand each other.  They can understand but their own voices.  You wanted me to dream your dreams, to see your own visions — the visions of life amongst the white faces of those who cast me out from their midst in angry contempt.  But while you spoke I listened to the voice of my own self; then this man came, and all was still; there was only the murmur of his love.  You call him a savage!  What do you call my mother, your wife?”

“Nina!” cried Almayer, “take your eyes off my face.”

She looked down directly, but continued speaking only a little above a whisper.

“In time,” she went on, “both our voices, that man’s and mine, spoke together in a sweetness that was intelligible to our ears only.  You were speaking of gold then, but our ears were filled with the song of our love, and we did not hear you.  Then I found that we could see through each other’s eyes: that he saw things that nobody but myself and he could see.  We entered a land where no one could follow us, and least of all you.  Then I began to live.”

She paused.  Almayer sighed deeply.  With her eyes still fixed on the ground she began speaking again.

“And I mean to live.  I mean to follow him.  I have been rejected with scorn by the white people, and now I am a Malay!  He took me in his arms, he laid his life at my feet.  He is brave; he will be powerful, and I hold his bravery and his strength in my hand, and I shall make him great.  His name shall be remembered long after both our bodies are laid in the dust.  I love you no less than I did before, but I shall never leave him, for without him I cannot live.”

“If he understood what you have said,” answered Almayer, scornfully, “he must be highly flattered.  You want him as a tool for some incomprehensible ambition of yours.  Enough, Nina.  If you do not go down at once to the creek, where Ali is waiting with my canoe, I shall tell him to return to the settlement and bring the Dutch officers here.  You cannot escape from this clearing, for I have cast adrift your canoe.  If the Dutch catch this hero of yours they will hang him as sure as I stand here.  Now go.”