Section 53

512 NOSTROMO |
She pressed the backs of her entwined hands on her
eyes and murmured hopelessly— “Is it this we have worked for, then?”
The doctor lowered his head. He could follow her | |
silent thought. Was it for this that her life had been robbed of all the intimate felicities of daily affection
which her tenderness needed as the human body needs _
air to breathe? And the doctor, indignant with Charles Gould’s blindness, hastened to change the conversation.
“It is about Nostromo that I wanted to talk to you, Ah! that fellow has some continuity and force. Noth- ing will put an end to him. But never mind that. There’s something inexplicable going on—or perhaps only too easy to explain. You know, Linda is prac- tically the lighthouse keeper of the Great Isabel light. The Garibaldino is too old now. His part is to clean the lamps and to cook in the house; but he can’t get up the stairs any longer. The black-eyed Linda sleeps all day and watches the light all night. Not all day, though. She is up towards five in the afternoon, when our Nostromo, whenever he is in harbour with his schooner, comes out on his courting visit, pulling in a small boat.”
“Aren’t they married yet?” Mrs. Gould asked. “The mother wished it, as far as I can understand, while Linda was yet quite a child. When I had the girls with me for a year or so during the War of Separa- tion, that extraordinary Linda used to declare quite simply that she was going to be Gian’ Battista’s wife.”
“They are not married yet,” said the doctor, curtly. “TI have looked after them a little.” |
“Thank you, dear Dr. Monygham,” said Mrs. Gould; and under the shade of the big trees her little, even teeth gleamed in a youthful smile of gentle malice. “People don’t know how really good you are. You
THE LIGHTHOUSE 618
will not let them know, as if on purpose to annoy me, who have put my faith in your good heart long ago.”
The doctor, with a lifting up cf his urper lip, as though he were longing to bite, bowed stiffly in his chair. With the utter absorption of a man to whom love comes late, not as the most splendid of illusions, but like an enlightening and priceless misfortune, the sight of that woman (of whom he had been deprived for nearly a year) suggested ideas of adoration, of kissing the hem of her robe. And this excess of feeling trans- lated itself naturally into an augmented grimness of speech.
“T am afraid of being overwhelmed by too much gratitude. However, these people interest me. I, went out several times to the Great Isabel light to look
_ after old Giorgio.” ’
He did not tell Mrs. Gould that it was because he found there, in her absence, the relief of an atmosphere, of congenial sentiment in old Giorgio’s austere admira-. tion for the “English signora—the benefactress’’; in black-eyed Linda’s voluble, torrential, passionate affection for “our Dofia Emilia—that angel”; in the white-throated, fair Giselle’s adoring upward turn of the eyes, which then glided towards him with a sidelong, half-arch, half-candid glance, which made the doctor exclaim to himself mentally, “If I weren’t what I am, old and ugly, I would think the minx is making eyes at me. And perhaps she is. I dare say she would make eyes at anybody.”’ Dr. Monygham said nothing of this to Mrs. Gould, the providence of the Viola family, but reverted to what he called “‘our great Nostromo.”
‘What I wanted to tell you is this: Our great Nos- tromo did not take much notice of the old man.and the children for some years. It’s true, too, that he
514 NOSTROMO
was away on his coasting voyages certainly ten months out of the twelve. He was making his fortune, as he told Captain Mitchell once. He seems to have done uncommonly well. It was only to be expected. He is a man full of resource, full of confidence in himself, ready to take chances and risks of every sort. I re- member being in Mitchell’s office one day, when he came in with that calm, grave air he always carries everywhere. He had been away trading in the Gulf of California, he said, looking straight past us at the wall, as his manner is, and was glad to see on his return that a lighthouse was being built on the cliff of the Great Isabel. Very glad, he repeated. Mitchell ex- plained that it was the O. S. N. Co. who was building it, for the convenience of the mail service, on his own
advice. Captain Fidanza was good enough to say that —
it was excellent advice. I remember -him twisting up his moustaches and looking all round the cornice of the room before he proposed that old Giorgio should be made the keeper of that light.”
“T heard of this. I was consulted at the time,” Mrs. Gould said. “I doubted whether it would be good for these girls to be shut up on that island as if in a prison.”
“The proposal fell in with the old Garibaldino’s humour. As to Linda, any place was lovely and delight- ful enough for her as long as it was Nostromo’s sugges- tion. She could wait for her Gian’ Battista’s good pleasure there as well as anywhere else. My opinion is that she was always in love with that incorruptible Capataz. Moreover, both father and sister were anxious to get Giselle away from the attentions of a certain Ramirez.”
“Ah!” said Mrs. Gould, interested. ‘Ramirez? What sort of man is that?”
“Just a mozo of the town. His father was a Car-
re | / - hd yer
THE LIGHTHOUSE 516
gador. Asa lanky boy he ran about the wharf in rags, till Nostromo took him up and made a man of him. When he got a little older, he put him into a lighter and very soon gave him charge of the No. 3 boat—the boat which took the silver away, Mrs. Gould. Nos- tromo selected that lighter for the work because she was the best sailing and the strongest boat of all the Com- pany’s fleet. Young Ramirez was one of the five Car- gadores entrusted with the removal of the treasure from the Custom House on that famous night. As the boat he had charge of was sunk, Nostromo, on leaving the Company’s service, recommended him to Captain Mitchell for his successor. He had trained him in the routine of work perfectly, and thus Mr. Ramirez, from a starving waif, becomes a man and the Capataz of the Sulaco Cargadores.”
“Thanks to Nostromo,” said Mrs. Gould, with warn approval.
“Thanks to Nostromo,” repeated Dr. Monygham. “Upon my word, the fellow’s power frightens me when I think of it. That our poor old Mitchell was only too glad to appoint somebody trained to the work, who saved him trouble, is not surprising. What is wonder- ful is the fact that the Sulaco Cargadores accepted Ramirez for their chief, simply because such was Nos- tromo’s good pleasure. Of course, he is not a second Nostromo, as he fondly imagined he would be; but still, the position was brilliant enough. It emboldened him to make up to Giselle Viola, who, you know, is the recognized beauty of the town. The old Garibaldino, however, took a violent dislike to him. I don’t know why. Perhaps because he was not a model of perfec- tion like his Gian’ Battista, the incarnation of the courage, the fidelity, the honour of ‘the people.’ Signor Viola does not think much of Sulaco natives. Both of
516 NOSTROMO © °
them, the old Spartan and that white faced Linda,,
with her red mouth and coal-black eyes, were looking rather fiercely after the fair one. Ramirez was warned off. Father Viola, I am told, threatened him with his gun once.” .
“‘But what of Giselle herself?” asked Mrs. Gould.
“‘She’s a bit of a flirt, I believe,” said the doctor. “I don’t think she cared much one way or another. Of course she likes men’s attentions. Ramirez was not the only one, let me tell you, Mrs. Gould. There was one engineer, at least, on the railway staff who got warned off with a gun, too. Old Viola does not allow any trifling with his honour. He has grown uneasy and suspicious since his wife died. _He was very pleased to remove his youngest girl away from the town. But look what happens, Mrs. Gould. Ramirez, the honest, lovelorn swain, is forbidden the island. Very well. He respects the prohibition, but naturally turns his eyes frequently towards the Great Isabel. It seems as though he had been in the habit of gazing late at night upon the light. And during these sentimental vigils he discovers that Nostromo, Captain Fidanza that is, returns very late from his visits to the Violas. As late as midnight at times.”
The doctor paused and stared meaningly at Mrs. Gould.
“Yes. But I don’t understand,” she began, looking puzzled.
**Now comes the strange part,” went on Dr. Monyg- ham. ‘Viola, who is king on his island, will-allow no visitor on it after dark. Even Captain Fidanza has got to leave after sunset, when Linda has gone up to tend the light. And Nostromo goes away obediently, But what happens afterwards? What does he do in the gulf between half-past six and midnight? He has been
THE LIGHTHOUSE 517
seen more than once at that late hour pulling quietly into the harbour. Ramirez is devoured by jealousy. He dared. not approach old Viola; but he plucked up courage to rail at Linda about it on Sunday morning as she came on the mainland to hear mass and visit her mother’s grave. There was a scene on the wharf, which, as a matter of fact, I witnessed. It was early morning. He must have been waiting for her on purpose. I was there by the merest chance, having been called to an urgent consultation by the doctor of the German gun- boat in the harbour. She poured wrath, scorn, and flame upon Ramirez, who seemed out of his mind. It was a strange sight, Mrs. Gould: the long jetty, with this raving Cargador in his crimson sash and the-girl all in black, at the end; the early Sunday morning quiet of the harbour in the shade of the mountains; nothing but ‘a canoe or two moving between the ships at anchor, and the German gunboat’s gig coming to take me off. Linda passed me withina foot. I noticed her wild eyes. I called out to her. She never heard “me. Shenever saw me. But I looked at her face. It was awtul in its anger and wretchedness.”
Mrs. Gould sat up, opening her eyes very wide.
“What do you mean, Dr. Monygham? Do you mean to say that you suspect the younger sister?”
“Quien sabe! Who can tell?” ‘said the doctor, shrugging his shoulders like a born Costaguanero. “Ramirez came up to me‘on the wharf. He reeled—he looked insane. He took his head into his hands. He had to talk to someone—simply had to. Of course for all his mad state he recognized me. People know me well here. I have lived too long amongst them to be anything else but the evil-eyed doctor, who can cure all the ills of the flesh, and bring bad luck by a glance. He came up to me. He tried to be calm. He tried
518 NOSTROMO
to make it out that he wanted merely to warn me against Nostromo. It seems that Captain Fidanza at some secret meeting or other had mentioned .me as the worst despiser of all the poor—of the people. It’s very possible. He honours me with his undying dislike. And a word from the great Fidanza may be quite enough to send some fool’s knife into my back. The Sanitary Commission I preside over is not in favour with the populace. ‘Beware of him, sefior doctor. Destroy him, sefior doctor,’ Ramirez hissed right into my face. And then he broke out. ‘That man,’ he spluttered, ‘has cast a spell upon both these girls.’ As to himself, he had said too much. He must run away now—run away and hide somewhere. He moaned tenderly about Giselle, and then called her names that cannot be re- peated. If he thought she could be made to love him by any means, he would carry her off from the island. Off into the woods. But it wasno good. . . . He strode away, flourishing his arms above his head. Then I noticed an old negro, who had been sitting behind a pile of cases, fishing from the wharf. He wound up his lines and slunk away at once. But he must have heard something, and must have talked, too, because some of the old Garibaldino’s railway friends, I suppose, warned him against Ramirez. At any rate, the father has been warned. But Ramirez has disappeared from the town.”
“TI feel I have a duty towards these girls,” said Mrs. Gould, uneasily. “Is Nostromo in Sulaco now?”
“He is, since last Sunday.”
“He ought to be spoken to—at once.”
“Who will dare speak to him? Even the love-mad
Ramirez runs away from the mere shadow of Captain _
Fidanza.”’
“TI can. I will,” Mrs. Gould declared. “A word will be enough for a man like Nostromo.”
THE LIGHTHOUSE 519 The doctor smiled sourly.
~ “He must end this situation which lends itself to— T can’t believe it of that child,” pursued Mrs. Gould.
“He’s very attractive,’ muttered the doctor, gloomily.
- “He’ll see it, Iam sure. He must put an end to all this by marrying Linda at once,” pronounced the first lady of Sulaco with immense decision.
_ Through the garden gate emerged Basilio, grown fat and sleek, with an elderly hairless face, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, and his jet-black, coarse hair plas- tered down smoothly. Stooping carefully behind an ornamental clump of bushes, he put down with pre- caution a small child he had been carrying on his shoul- der—his own and Leonarda’s last born. The pouting, spoiled Camerista and the head mozo of the Casa Gould had been married for some years now.
He remained squatting on his heels for a time, gazing fondly at his offspring, which returned his stare with imperturbable gravity; then, solemn and respectable, walked down the path.
“What is it, Basilio?”’ asked Mrs. Gould.
‘A telephone came through from the office of the mine. ‘The master remains to sleep at the mountain to-night.”
Dr. Monygham had got up and stood looking away. A profound silence reigned for a time under the shade of the biggest trees in the lovely gardens of the Casa Gould.
“Very well, Basilio,” said Mrs. Gould. She watched him walk away along the path, step aside behind the flowering bush, and reappear with the child seated on his shoulder. He passed through the gateway between the garden and the patio with measured steps, careful of his light burden.
520 NOSTROMO
The doctor, with his back to Mrs. Gould, contem- plated a flower-bed away in the sunshine. People believed him scornful and soured. The truth of his nature consisted in his capacity for passion and in the sensitiveness of his temperament. What he lacked was the polished callousness of men of the world, the callousness from which springs an easy tolerance for oneself and others; the tolerance wide as poles asunder from true sympathy and human compassion. This
want of callousness accounted for his sardonic turn —
of mind and his biting speeches.
In profound silence, and glaring viciously at the bril- liant flower-bed, Dr. Monygham poured mental im- precations on Charles Gould’s head. Behind him the
immobility of Mrs. Gould added to the grace of her »
seated figure the charm of art, of an attitude caught and interpreted for ever. Turning abruptly, the doctor took his leave.
Mrs. Gould leaned back in the shade of the big trees planted in a-circle. She leaned back with her eyes closed and her white hands lying idle on the arms of her seat. The half-light under the thick mass of leaves brought out the youthful prettiness of her face; made the clear, light fabrics and white lace of her dress appear luminous. Small and dainty, as if radiating a light of her own in the deep shade of the interlaced boughs, she resembled a good fairy, weary with a long career of well-doing, touched by the withering suspicion of the uselessness of her labours, the powerlessness of her magic.
Had anybody asked her of what she was thinking, alone in the garden of the Casa, with her husband at the mine and the house closed to the street like an empty
dwelling, her frankness would have had to evade the —
question. It had come into her mind that for life to
mar
THE LIGHTHOUSE 521
be Jarge and full, it must contain the care of the past and of the future in every passing moment of the pres- ent. Our daily work must be done to the glory of the . dead, and for the good of those who come after. She thought that, and sighed without opening her eyes— without moving at all. Mrs. Gould’s face became set and rigid for a second, as if to receive, without flinching, a great wave of loneliness that swept over her head. And it came into her mind, too, that no one would ever ask her with solicitude what she was thinking of. No one. No one, but perhaps the man who had just gone away. No; no one who could be answered with careless sin- cerity in the ideal perfection of confidence.
The word “‘incorrigible”—a word lately pronounced by Dr. Monygham—floated into her still and sad im~ mobility. Incorrigible in his devotion to the great silver mine was the Sefior Administrador! Incorrigible in his hard, determined service of the material interests’ ‘to which he had pinned his faith in the triumph of order and justice. Poor boy! She had a clear vision of the grey hairs on his temples. He was perfect—perfect. What more could she have expected? It was a colos- sal and lasting success; and love was only a short mo- ment of forgetfulness, a short intoxication, whose de- light one remembered with a sense of sadness, as if it had been a deep grief lived through. There was some- thing inherent in the necessities of successful action which carried with it the moral degradation of the idea. She saw the San Tomé mountain hanging over the Campo, over the whole land, feared, hated, wealthy; more soulless than any tyrant, more pitiless and auto- cratic than the worst Government; ready to crush innumerable lives in the expansion of its greatness. He did not see it. He could not see it. It was not his fault. He was perfect. perfect; but she would never