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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Ностромо
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- Стр. 198/274
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He
felt
a
reluctance
--
part
of
that
unfathomable
dread
that
crept
on
all
sides
upon
him
.
He
remembered
reluctantly
,
too
,
the
dilated
eyes
of
the
hide
merchant
,
his
contortions
,
his
loud
sobs
and
protestations
.
It
was
not
compassion
or
even
mere
nervous
sensibility
.
The
fact
was
that
though
Sotillo
did
never
for
a
moment
believe
his
story
--
he
could
not
believe
it
;
nobody
could
believe
such
nonsense
--
yet
those
accents
of
despairing
truth
impressed
him
disagreeably
.
They
made
him
feel
sick
.
And
he
suspected
also
that
the
man
might
have
gone
mad
with
fear
.
A
lunatic
is
a
hopeless
subject
.
Bah
!
A
pretence
.
Nothing
but
a
pretence
.
He
would
know
how
to
deal
with
that
.
He
was
working
himself
up
to
the
right
pitch
of
ferocity
.
His
fine
eyes
squinted
slightly
;
he
clapped
his
hands
;
a
bare-footed
orderly
appeared
noiselessly
,
a
corporal
,
with
his
bayonet
hanging
on
his
thigh
and
a
stick
in
his
hand
.
The
colonel
gave
his
orders
,
and
presently
the
miserable
Hirsch
,
pushed
in
by
several
soldiers
,
found
him
frowning
awfully
in
a
broad
armchair
,
hat
on
head
,
knees
wide
apart
,
arms
akimbo
,
masterful
,
imposing
,
irresistible
,
haughty
,
sublime
,
terrible
.
Hirsch
,
with
his
arms
tied
behind
his
back
,
had
been
bundled
violently
into
one
of
the
smaller
rooms
.
For
many
hours
he
remained
apparently
forgotten
,
stretched
lifelessly
on
the
floor
.
From
that
solitude
,
full
of
despair
and
terror
,
he
was
torn
out
brutally
,
with
kicks
and
blows
,
passive
,
sunk
in
hebetude
.
He
listened
to
threats
and
admonitions
,
and
afterwards
made
his
usual
answers
to
questions
,
with
his
chin
sunk
on
his
breast
,
his
hands
tied
behind
his
back
,
swaying
a
little
in
front
of
Sotillo
,
and
never
looking
up
.
When
he
was
forced
to
hold
up
his
head
,
by
means
of
a
bayonet-point
prodding
him
under
the
chin
,
his
eyes
had
a
vacant
,
trance-like
stare
,
and
drops
of
perspiration
as
big
as
peas
were
seen
hailing
down
the
dirt
,
bruises
,
and
scratches
of
his
white
face
.
Then
they
stopped
suddenly
.
Sotillo
looked
at
him
in
silence
.
"
Will
you
depart
from
your
obstinacy
,
you
rogue
?
"
he
asked
.
Already
a
rope
,
whose
one
end
was
fastened
to
Senor
Hirsch
's
wrists
,
had
been
thrown
over
a
beam
,
and
three
soldiers
held
the
other
end
,
waiting
.
He
made
no
answer
.
His
heavy
lower
lip
hung
stupidly
.
Sotillo
made
a
sign
.
Hirsch
was
jerked
up
off
his
feet
,
and
a
yell
of
despair
and
agony
burst
out
in
the
room
,
filled
the
passage
of
the
great
buildings
,
rent
the
air
outside
,
caused
every
soldier
of
the
camp
along
the
shore
to
look
up
at
the
windows
,
started
some
of
the
officers
in
the
hall
babbling
excitedly
,
with
shining
eyes
;
others
,
setting
their
lips
,
looked
gloomily
at
the
floor
.
Sotillo
,
followed
by
the
soldiers
,
had
left
the
room
.
The
sentry
on
the
landing
presented
arms
.
Hirsch
went
on
screaming
all
alone
behind
the
half-closed
jalousies
while
the
sunshine
,
reflected
from
the
water
of
the
harbour
,
made
an
ever-running
ripple
of
light
high
up
on
the
wall
.
He
screamed
with
uplifted
eyebrows
and
a
wide-open
mouth
--
incredibly
wide
,
black
,
enormous
,
full
of
teeth
--
comical
.
In
the
still
burning
air
of
the
windless
afternoon
he
made
the
waves
of
his
agony
travel
as
far
as
the
O.
S.
N.
Company
's
offices
.
Captain
Mitchell
on
the
balcony
,
trying
to
make
out
what
went
on
generally
,
had
heard
him
faintly
but
distinctly
,
and
the
feeble
and
appalling
sound
lingered
in
his
ears
after
he
had
retreated
indoors
with
blanched
cheeks
.
He
had
been
driven
off
the
balcony
several
times
during
that
afternoon
.
Sotillo
,
irritable
,
moody
,
walked
restlessly
about
,
held
consultations
with
his
officers
,
gave
contradictory
orders
in
this
shrill
clamour
pervading
the
whole
empty
edifice
.
Sometimes
there
would
be
long
and
awful
silences
.
Several
times
he
had
entered
the
torture-chamber
where
his
sword
,
horsewhip
,
revolver
,
and
field-glass
were
lying
on
the
table
,
to
ask
with
forced
calmness
,
"
Will
you
speak
the
truth
now
?
No
?
I
can
wait
.
"
But
he
could
not
afford
to
wait
much
longer
.
That
was
just
it
.
Every
time
he
went
in
and
came
out
with
a
slam
of
the
door
,
the
sentry
on
the
landing
presented
arms
,
and
got
in
return
a
black
,
venomous
,
unsteady
glance
,
which
,
in
reality
,
saw
nothing
at
all
,
being
merely
the
reflection
of
the
soul
within
--
a
soul
of
gloomy
hatred
,
irresolution
,
avarice
,
and
fury
.
