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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Ностромо
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- Стр. 178/274
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She
put
out
both
her
hands
impulsively
.
"
Dr.
Monygham
,
you
are
running
a
terrible
risk
,
"
she
whispered
,
averting
from
his
face
her
eyes
,
full
of
tears
,
for
a
short
glance
at
the
door
of
her
husband
's
room
.
She
pressed
both
his
hands
,
and
the
doctor
stood
as
if
rooted
to
the
spot
,
looking
down
at
her
,
and
trying
to
twist
his
lips
into
a
smile
.
"
Oh
,
I
know
you
will
defend
my
memory
,
"
he
uttered
at
last
,
and
ran
tottering
down
the
stairs
across
the
patio
,
and
out
of
the
house
.
In
the
street
he
kept
up
.
a
great
pace
with
his
smart
hobbling
walk
,
a
case
of
instruments
under
his
arm
.
He
was
known
for
being
loco
.
Nobody
interfered
with
him
.
From
under
the
seaward
gate
,
across
the
dusty
,
arid
plain
,
interspersed
with
low
bushes
,
he
saw
,
more
than
a
mile
away
,
the
ugly
enormity
of
the
Custom
House
,
and
the
two
or
three
other
buildings
which
at
that
time
constituted
the
seaport
of
Sulaco
.
Far
away
to
the
south
groves
of
palm
trees
edged
the
curve
of
the
harbour
shore
.
The
distant
peaks
of
the
Cordillera
had
lost
their
identity
of
clearcut
shapes
in
the
steadily
deepening
blue
of
the
eastern
sky
.
The
doctor
walked
briskly
.
A
darkling
shadow
seemed
to
fall
upon
him
from
the
zenith
.
The
sun
had
set
.
For
a
time
the
snows
of
Higuerota
continued
to
glow
with
the
reflected
glory
of
the
west
.
The
doctor
,
holding
a
straight
course
for
the
Custom
House
,
appeared
lonely
,
hopping
amongst
the
dark
bushes
like
a
tall
bird
with
a
broken
wing
.
Tints
of
purple
,
gold
,
and
crimson
were
mirrored
in
the
clear
water
of
the
harbour
.
A
long
tongue
of
land
,
straight
as
a
wall
,
with
the
grass-grown
ruins
of
the
fort
making
a
sort
of
rounded
green
mound
,
plainly
visible
from
the
inner
shore
,
closed
its
circuit
;
while
beyond
the
Placid
Gulf
repeated
those
splendours
of
colouring
on
a
greater
scale
and
with
a
more
sombre
magnificence
The
great
mass
of
cloud
filling
the
head
of
the
gulf
had
long
red
smears
amongst
its
convoluted
folds
of
grey
and
black
,
as
of
a
floating
mantle
stained
with
blood
.
The
three
Isabels
,
overshadowed
and
clear
cut
in
a
great
smoothness
confounding
the
sea
and
sky
,
appeared
suspended
,
purple-black
,
in
the
air
.
The
little
wavelets
seemed
to
be
tossing
tiny
red
sparks
upon
the
sandy
beaches
.
The
glassy
bands
of
water
along
the
horizon
gave
out
a
fiery
red
glow
,
as
if
fire
and
water
had
been
mingled
together
in
the
vast
bed
of
the
ocean
.
At
last
the
conflagration
of
sea
and
sky
,
lying
embraced
and
still
in
a
flaming
contact
upon
the
edge
of
the
world
,
went
out
.
The
red
sparks
in
the
water
vanished
together
with
the
stains
of
blood
in
the
black
mantle
draping
the
sombre
head
of
the
Placid
Gulf
;
a
sudden
breeze
sprang
up
and
died
out
after
rustling
heavily
the
growth
of
bushes
on
the
ruined
earthwork
of
the
fort
.
Nostromo
woke
up
from
a
fourteen
hours
'
sleep
,
and
arose
full
length
from
his
lair
in
the
long
grass
.
He
stood
knee
deep
amongst
the
whispering
undulations
of
the
green
blades
with
the
lost
air
of
a
man
just
born
into
the
world
.
Handsome
,
robust
,
and
supple
,
he
threw
back
his
head
,
flung
his
arms
open
,
and
stretched
himself
with
a
slow
twist
of
the
waist
and
a
leisurely
growling
yawn
of
white
teeth
,
as
natural
and
free
from
evil
in
the
moment
of
waking
as
a
magnificent
and
unconscious
wild
beast
.
Then
,
in
the
suddenly
steadied
glance
fixed
upon
nothing
from
under
a
thoughtful
frown
,
appeared
the
man
.
AFTER
landing
from
his
swim
Nostromo
had
scrambled
up
,
all
dripping
,
into
the
main
quadrangle
of
the
old
fort
;
and
there
,
amongst
ruined
bits
of
walls
and
rotting
remnants
of
roofs
and
sheds
,
he
had
slept
the
day
through
.
He
had
slept
in
the
shadow
of
the
mountains
,
in
the
white
blaze
of
noon
,
in
the
stillness
and
solitude
of
that
overgrown
piece
of
land
between
the
oval
of
the
harbour
and
the
spacious
semi-circle
of
the
gulf
.
He
lay
as
if
dead
.
A
rey-zamuro
,
appearing
like
a
tiny
black
speck
in
the
blue
,
stooped
,
circling
prudently
with
a
stealthiness
of
flight
startling
in
a
bird
of
that
great
size
.
The
shadow
of
his
pearly-white
body
,
of
his
black-tipped
wings
,
fell
on
the
grass
no
more
silently
than
he
alighted
himself
on
a
hillock
of
rubbish
within
three
yards
of
that
man
,
lying
as
still
as
a
corpse
.
The
bird
stretched
his
bare
neck
,
craned
his
bald
head
,
loathsome
in
the
brilliance
of
varied
colouring
,
with
an
air
of
voracious
anxiety
towards
the
promising
stillness
of
that
prostrate
body
.
Then
,
sinking
his
head
deeply
into
his
soft
plumage
,
he
settled
himself
to
wait
.
The
first
thing
upon
which
Nostromo
's
eyes
fell
on
waking
was
this
patient
watcher
for
the
signs
of
death
and
corruption
.
When
the
man
got
up
the
vulture
hopped
away
in
great
,
side-long
,
fluttering
jumps
.
He
lingered
for
a
while
,
morose
and
reluctant
,
before
he
rose
,
circling
noiselessly
with
a
sinister
droop
of
beak
and
claws
.
Long
after
he
had
vanished
,
Nostromo
,
lifting
his
eyes
up
to
the
sky
,
muttered
,
"
I
am
not
dead
yet
.
"
The
Capataz
of
the
Sulaco
Cargadores
had
lived
in
splendour
and
publicity
up
to
the
very
moment
,
as
it
were
,
when
he
took
charge
of
the
lighter
containing
the
treasure
of
silver
ingots
.
The
last
act
he
had
performed
in
Sulaco
was
in
complete
harmony
with
his
vanity
,
and
as
such
perfectly
genuine
.
He
had
given
his
last
dollar
to
an
old
woman
moaning
with
the
grief
and
fatigue
of
a
dismal
search
under
the
arch
of
the
ancient
gate
.
Performed
in
obscurity
and
without
witnesses
,
it
had
still
the
characteristics
of
splendour
and
publicity
,
and
was
in
strict
keeping
with
his
reputation
.
But
this
awakening
in
solitude
,
except
for
the
watchful
vulture
,
amongst
the
ruins
of
the
fort
,
had
no
such
characteristics
.
His
first
confused
feeling
was
exactly
this
--
that
it
was
not
in
keeping
.
It
was
more
like
the
end
of
things
.
The
necessity
of
living
concealed
somehow
,
for
God
knows
how
long
,
which
assailed
him
on
his
return
to
consciousness
,
made
everything
that
had
gone
before
for
years
appear
vain
and
foolish
,
like
a
flattering
dream
come
suddenly
to
an
end
.
