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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Ностромо
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- Стр. 226/274
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The
Capataz
picked
up
the
spade
,
and
with
the
feel
of
the
handle
in
his
palm
the
desire
of
having
a
look
at
the
horse-hide
boxes
of
treasure
came
upon
him
suddenly
.
In
a
very
few
strokes
he
uncovered
the
edges
and
corners
of
several
;
then
,
clearing
away
more
earth
,
became
aware
that
one
of
them
had
been
slashed
with
a
knife
.
He
exclaimed
at
that
discovery
in
a
stifled
voice
,
and
dropped
on
his
knees
with
a
look
of
irrational
apprehension
over
one
shoulder
,
then
over
the
other
.
The
stiff
hide
had
closed
,
and
he
hesitated
before
he
pushed
his
hand
through
the
long
slit
and
felt
the
ingots
inside
.
There
they
were
.
One
,
two
,
three
.
Yes
,
four
gone
.
Taken
away
.
Four
ingots
.
But
who
?
Decoud
?
Nobody
else
.
And
why
?
For
what
purpose
?
For
what
cursed
fancy
?
Let
him
explain
.
Four
ingots
carried
off
in
a
boat
,
and
--
blood
!
In
the
face
of
the
open
gulf
,
the
sun
,
clear
,
unclouded
,
unaltered
,
plunged
into
the
waters
in
a
grave
and
untroubled
mystery
of
self-immolation
consummated
far
from
all
mortal
eyes
,
with
an
infinite
majesty
of
silence
and
peace
.
Four
ingots
short
!
--
and
blood
!
The
Capataz
got
up
slowly
.
"
He
might
simply
have
cut
his
hand
,
"
he
muttered
.
"
But
,
then
--
--
"
He
sat
down
on
the
soft
earth
,
unresisting
,
as
if
he
had
been
chained
to
the
treasure
,
his
drawn-up
legs
clasped
in
his
hands
with
an
air
of
hopeless
submission
,
like
a
slave
set
on
guard
.
Once
only
he
lifted
his
head
smartly
:
the
rattle
of
hot
musketry
fire
had
reached
his
ears
,
like
pouring
from
on
high
a
stream
of
dry
peas
upon
a
drum
.
After
listening
for
a
while
,
he
said
,
half
aloud
--
"
He
will
never
come
back
to
explain
.
"
And
he
lowered
his
head
again
.
