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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Стр. 180/274
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The
Capataz
de
Cargadores
,
on
a
revulsion
of
subjectiveness
,
exasperated
almost
to
insanity
,
beheld
all
his
world
without
faith
and
courage
.
He
had
been
betrayed
!
With
the
boundless
shadows
of
the
sea
behind
him
,
out
of
his
silence
and
immobility
,
facing
the
lofty
shapes
of
the
lower
peaks
crowded
around
the
white
,
misty
sheen
of
Higuerota
,
Nostromo
laughed
aloud
again
,
sprang
abruptly
to
his
feet
,
and
stood
still
.
He
must
go
.
But
where
?
"
There
is
no
mistake
.
They
keep
us
and
encourage
us
as
if
we
were
dogs
born
to
fight
and
hunt
for
them
.
The
vecchio
is
right
,
"
he
said
,
slowly
and
scathingly
.
He
remembered
old
Giorgio
taking
his
pipe
out
of
his
mouth
to
throw
these
words
over
his
shoulder
at
the
cafe
,
full
of
engine-drivers
and
fitters
from
the
railway
workshops
.
This
image
fixed
his
wavering
purpose
.
He
would
try
to
find
old
Giorgio
if
he
could
.
God
knows
what
might
have
happened
to
him
!
He
made
a
few
steps
,
then
stopped
again
and
shook
his
head
.
To
the
left
and
right
,
in
front
and
behind
him
,
the
scrubby
bush
rustled
mysteriously
in
the
darkness
.
"
Teresa
was
right
,
too
,
"
he
added
in
a
low
tone
touched
with
awe
.
He
wondered
whether
she
was
dead
in
her
anger
with
him
or
still
alive
.
As
if
in
answer
to
this
thought
,
half
of
remorse
and
half
of
hope
,
with
a
soft
flutter
and
oblique
flight
,
a
big
owl
,
whose
appalling
cry
:
"
Ya-acabo
!
Ya-acabo
!
--
it
is
finished
;
it
is
finished
"
--
announces
calamity
and
death
in
the
popular
belief
,
drifted
vaguely
like
a
large
dark
ball
across
his
path
.
In
the
downfall
of
all
the
realities
that
made
his
force
,
he
was
affected
by
the
superstition
,
and
shuddered
slightly
.
Signora
Teresa
must
have
died
,
then
.
It
could
mean
nothing
else
.
The
cry
of
the
ill-omened
bird
,
the
first
sound
he
was
to
hear
on
his
return
,
was
a
fitting
welcome
for
his
betrayed
individuality
.
The
unseen
powers
which
he
had
offended
by
refusing
to
bring
a
priest
to
a
dying
woman
were
lifting
up
their
voice
against
him
.
She
was
dead
.
With
admirable
and
human
consistency
he
referred
everything
to
himself
.
She
had
been
a
woman
of
good
counsel
always
.
And
the
bereaved
old
Giorgio
remained
stunned
by
his
loss
just
as
he
was
likely
to
require
the
advice
of
his
sagacity
.
The
blow
would
render
the
dreamy
old
man
quite
stupid
for
a
time
.
As
to
Captain
Mitchell
,
Nostromo
,
after
the
manner
of
trusted
subordinates
,
considered
him
as
a
person
fitted
by
education
perhaps
to
sign
papers
in
an
office
and
to
give
orders
,
but
otherwise
of
no
use
whatever
,
and
something
of
a
fool
.
The
necessity
of
winding
round
his
little
finger
,
almost
daily
,
the
pompous
and
testy
self-importance
of
the
old
seaman
had
grown
irksome
with
use
to
Nostromo
.
At
first
it
had
given
him
an
inward
satisfaction
.
But
the
necessity
of
overcoming
small
obstacles
becomes
wearisome
to
a
self-confident
personality
as
much
by
the
certitude
of
success
as
by
the
monotony
of
effort
.
He
mistrusted
his
superior
's
proneness
to
fussy
action
.
That
old
Englishman
had
no
judgment
,
he
said
to
himself
.
It
was
useless
to
suppose
that
,
acquainted
with
the
true
state
of
the
case
,
he
would
keep
it
to
himself
.
He
would
talk
of
doing
impracticable
things
.
Nostromo
feared
him
as
one
would
fear
saddling
one
's
self
with
some
persistent
worry
.
He
had
no
discretion
.
He
would
betray
the
treasure
.
And
Nostromo
had
made
up
his
mind
that
the
treasure
should
not
be
betrayed
.
The
word
had
fixed
itself
tenaciously
in
his
intelligence
.
His
imagination
had
seized
upon
the
clear
and
simple
notion
of
betrayal
to
account
for
the
dazed
feeling
of
enlightenment
as
to
being
done
for
,
of
having
inadvertently
gone
out
of
his
existence
on
an
issue
in
which
his
personality
had
not
been
taken
into
account
.
A
man
betrayed
is
a
man
destroyed
.
Signora
Teresa
(
may
God
have
her
soul
!
)
had
been
right
.
He
had
never
been
taken
into
account
.
Destroyed
!
Her
white
form
sitting
up
bowed
in
bed
,
the
falling
black
hair
,
the
wide-browed
suffering
face
raised
to
him
,
the
anger
of
her
denunciations
appeared
to
him
now
majestic
with
the
awfulness
of
inspiration
and
of
death
.
For
it
was
not
for
nothing
that
the
evil
bird
had
uttered
its
lamentable
shriek
over
his
head
.
She
was
dead
--
may
God
have
her
soul
!
Sharing
in
the
anti-priestly
freethought
of
the
masses
,
his
mind
used
the
pious
formula
from
the
superficial
force
of
habit
,
but
with
a
deep-seated
sincerity
.
The
popular
mind
is
incapable
of
scepticism
;
and
that
incapacity
delivers
their
helpless
strength
to
the
wiles
of
swindlers
and
to
the
pitiless
enthusiasms
of
leaders
inspired
by
visions
of
a
high
destiny
.
She
was
dead
.
But
would
God
consent
to
receive
her
soul
?
She
had
died
without
confession
or
absolution
,
because
he
had
not
been
willing
to
spare
her
another
moment
of
his
time
.
His
scorn
of
priests
as
priests
remained
;
but
after
all
,
it
was
impossible
to
know
whether
what
they
affirmed
was
not
true
.
Power
,
punishment
,
pardon
,
are
simple
and
credible
notions
.
The
magnificent
Capataz
de
Cargadores
,
deprived
of
certain
simple
realities
,
such
as
the
admiration
of
women
,
the
adulation
of
men
,
the
admired
publicity
of
his
life
,
was
ready
to
feel
the
burden
of
sacrilegious
guilt
descend
upon
his
shoulders
.
