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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Стр. 227/274
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"
Impossible
!
"
he
muttered
,
gloomily
.
The
sounds
of
firing
died
out
.
The
loom
of
a
great
conflagration
in
Sulaco
flashed
up
red
above
the
coast
,
played
on
the
clouds
at
the
head
of
the
gulf
,
seemed
to
touch
with
a
ruddy
and
sinister
reflection
the
forms
of
the
Three
Isabels
.
He
never
saw
it
,
though
he
raised
his
head
.
"
But
,
then
,
I
can
not
know
,
"
he
pronounced
,
distinctly
,
and
remained
silent
and
staring
for
hours
.
He
could
not
know
.
Nobody
was
to
know
.
As
might
have
been
supposed
,
the
end
of
Don
Martin
Decoud
never
became
a
subject
of
speculation
for
any
one
except
Nostromo
.
Had
the
truth
of
the
facts
been
known
,
there
would
always
have
remained
the
question
.
Why
?
Whereas
the
version
of
his
death
at
the
sinking
of
the
lighter
had
no
uncertainty
of
motive
.
The
young
apostle
of
Separation
had
died
striving
for
his
idea
by
an
ever-lamented
accident
.
But
the
truth
was
that
he
died
from
solitude
,
the
enemy
known
but
to
few
on
this
earth
,
and
whom
only
the
simplest
of
us
are
fit
to
withstand
.
The
brilliant
Costaguanero
of
the
boulevards
had
died
from
solitude
and
want
of
faith
in
himself
and
others
.
For
some
good
and
valid
reasons
beyond
mere
human
comprehension
,
the
sea-birds
of
the
gulf
shun
the
Isabels
.
The
rocky
head
of
Azuera
is
their
haunt
,
whose
stony
levels
and
chasms
resound
with
their
wild
and
tumultuous
clamour
as
if
they
were
for
ever
quarrelling
over
the
legendary
treasure
.
At
the
end
of
his
first
day
on
the
Great
Isabel
,
Decoud
,
turning
in
his
lair
of
coarse
grass
,
under
the
shade
of
a
tree
,
said
to
himself
--
"
I
have
not
seen
as
much
as
one
single
bird
all
day
.
"
And
he
had
not
heard
a
sound
,
either
,
all
day
but
that
one
now
of
his
own
muttering
voice
.
It
had
been
a
day
of
absolute
silence
--
the
first
he
had
known
in
his
life
.
And
he
had
not
slept
a
wink
.
Not
for
all
these
wakeful
nights
and
the
days
of
fighting
,
planning
,
talking
;
not
for
all
that
last
night
of
danger
and
hard
physical
toil
upon
the
gulf
,
had
he
been
able
to
close
his
eyes
for
a
moment
.
And
yet
from
sunrise
to
sunset
he
had
been
lying
prone
on
the
ground
,
either
on
his
back
or
on
his
face
.
He
stretched
himself
,
and
with
slow
steps
descended
into
the
gully
to
spend
the
night
by
the
side
of
the
silver
.
If
Nostromo
returned
--
as
he
might
have
done
at
any
moment
--
it
was
there
that
he
would
look
first
;
and
night
would
,
of
course
,
be
the
proper
time
for
an
attempt
to
communicate
.
He
remembered
with
profound
indifference
that
he
had
not
eaten
anything
yet
since
he
had
been
left
alone
on
the
island
.
He
spent
the
night
open-eyed
,
and
when
the
day
broke
he
ate
something
with
the
same
indifference
.
The
brilliant
"
Son
Decoud
,
"
the
spoiled
darling
of
the
family
,
the
lover
of
Antonia
and
journalist
of
Sulaco
,
was
not
fit
to
grapple
with
himself
single-handed
.
