 Part 3, Chapter 5 of Nostromo. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Mario Pineda. Nostromo by Joseph Conrad. Part 3, The Lighthouse. Chapter 5. During the night, the expectant populace had taken possession of all the belfries in the town in order to welcome Pedrito Montero, who was making his entry after having slept the night in Rincon. And first came straggling in, through the land gate, the arm mob of all colors, complexions, types and states of raggedness, calling themselves the Sulaco National Guard, and commanded by Señor Gamacho. Through the middle of the street, streamed like a torrent of rubbish, a mass of straw hats, punches, gun barrels, with an enormous green and yellow flag, flapping in the midst in a cloud of dust through the furious beating of drums. The spectators recoiled against the walls of the houses, shouting their bibas. Behind the rubble could be seen the lands of the cavalry, the army of Pedro Montero. He advanced between Senores Fuentes and Gamacho at the head of his Janeros, who had accomplished the feat of crossing the Paramos of the Higurota in a snowstorm. They rode for a breast, mounted on confiscated camper horses, gliding the heterogeneous stock of roadside stores that had looted hurriedly in the rapid drier through the northern part of the province. For Pedro Montero had been in a great hurry to go by Sulaco. The handkerchiefs noted loosely around their bare throats were glaringly new and all the right sleeves of their cotton shirts had been cut off close to the shoulder for greater freedom in throwing the lasso. Emaciated graybirds rode by the side of the lean dark dudes, marked by all the hardships of campaigning, with strips of raw beef twining around the crowns of their hats and huge iron spurs fastened to their naked heels. Those that in the passes of the mountain had lost their lances had provided themselves with the goats used by the Campo cattlemen. The slender shafts of palm fully ten feet long, with a lot of loose rings jingling under the iron shot point. They were armed with knives and revolvers. A hugger of furlessness characterized the expression of all these sun-black countenances. They glared down hoftily, with their scorched eyes at the crowd or, blinking upwards and silently, pointed out to each other some particular head amongst the women at the windows. When they had ridden into the plaza and caught sight of the equestrian statue of the king daisingly white in the sunshine, towering enormous and motionless about the searches of the crowd, with its eternal gesture of saluting, a murmur of surprise ran through the ranks. What is that saint and the big hat? They asked each other. There were a good sample of the cavalry of the plains with which Pedro Montero had helped so much of the victorious career of his brother the general. The influence which that man brought up in coast towns acquired in a short time over the placement of the republic can be ascribed only to a genius for treachery of so effective a kind that it must have appeared to those violent men but little removed from a state of utter savagery as the perfection of sagacity and virtue. The popular lore of all nations testifies that duplicity and cunning together with bodily strength were looked upon even more than courage as heroic virtues by primitive mankind. To overcome your adversary was the great affair of life. Courage was taken for granted. But the use of intelligence, awakening, wonder and respect, the stratagems providing they did not fail were honorable. The easy massacre of an unsuspecting enemy evoked no feelings about those of gladness, pride and admiration. Not perhaps that primitive men were more faithless than their descendants of today but that they were straighter to their aim and were more endless in the recognition of success as the only standard of morality. We have changed since. The use of intelligence awakens little wonder and less respect. But the ignorant and barbarous placement engaging in civil strife followed willingly a leader who often managed to deliver their enemies bound as if aware into their hands. Pedro Montero had a talent for lolling his adversaries into a sense of security and as men learn wisdom with extreme slowness and are always ready to believe promises that flutter their secret hopes, Pedro Montero was successful time after time. Whether only a servant of some imperial official in the Costa 1 allegation in Paris, he had rushed back to his country directly he heard that his brother had emerged from the obscurity of his frontier commandancia. He had managed to deceive by his gift of plausibility the chiefs of the river east movement in the capital and even the acute agent of the Santome mine had failed to understand him terribly. At once he had obtained an enormous influence over his brother. They were very much alike in appearance. Both bold with bunches of crisp hair above their ears argued the presence of some negro blood. Only Pedro was smaller than the general, more delicate altogether with an ape-like faculty for imitating all the outward signs of revinement and distinction and with a part of the like talent for languages. Both brothers had received some elementary instruction by the magnificence of a great European traveler to whom their father had been a body servant during his journey into the interior of the country. In General Montero's case it enabled him to rise from the ranks. Pedrito, the jungler, incorrigibly lazy and slumily, had drifted aimlessly from one coast town to another, hanging about counting houses, attaching himself to strangers as a sort of belated place, picking up an easy and disrepeatable living. His ability to read did nothing for him but fill his head with absurd visions. His actions were usually determined by motives so improbable in themselves as to escape the penetration of a rational person. Those, at first sight, the agent of the good concession in Santa Marta had credited him with the possession of sane views and even with a restraining power over the general's everlastingly discontented vanity. It could never have entered his head that Pedrito Montero, lacky or inferior in scribe, lodged in the guirards of the various paris and hotels where the Costa Juan allegation used to shelter its diplomatic dignity, had been devouring the lighter sort of historical works in the French language, such, for instance, as the books of Imbert, the Saint Amount, upon the Second Empire. But Pedrito had been struck by the splendor of a brilliant court and had conceived the idea of an existence for himself where, like the Doug de Moroney, he would associate the command of every pleasure with the conduct of political affairs and enjoy power supremely in every way. Nobody could have guessed that. And yet, this was one of the immediate causes of the Monterey's revolution. This will appear less credible by the reflection that the fundamental causes were the same as ever, rooted in the political immaturity of the people in the indolence of the upper classes and the mental darkness of the lower. Pedrito Montero saw, in the elevation of his brother, the road wide open to his wildest imaginings. This was what made the Monterey's pronounceamiento so unpreventable. The general himself probably could have been bought off, pacified with flatteries, despatched on a diplomatic mission to Europe. It was his brother who had egged him on from first to last. He wanted to become the most brilliant statesman of South America. He did not desire supreme power. He would have been afraid of its labor and risk, in fact. Overall, Pedrito Montero taught by this European experience meant to acquire a serious version for himself. With this object in view, he obtained from his brother, on the very moral of the successful battle, the permission to push on over the mountains to take possession of Sulaco. Sulaco was the land of future prosperity, the chosen land of material progress, the only province in the Republic of interest to European capitalists. Pedrito Montero, following the example of the Duke de Moroni, meant to have his share of this prosperity. This is what he had meant literally. Now his brother was master of the country, whether as president, dictator, or even as emperor. Why not as an emperor? He meant to demand his share in every enterprise. In railways, in mines, in sugar states, in cotton mills, in land companies, in each and every undertaking, as the price of his protection. The desire to be on the spot early was the real cause of the celebrated ride over the mountains with some 200 generos, an enterprise of which the dangers had not appeared at first clearly to his impatience. Coming from a series of victories, it seemed to him that a Montero had only to appear to be master of the situation. This illusion had betrayed him into a rashness of which he was becoming aware. As he rode at the head of his generos, he regretted that there were so few of them. The enthusiasm of his populace reassured him. They yelled, Viva Montero! Viva Pedrito! In order to make them still more enthusiastic, and from the natural pleasure he had in dissembling, he dropped the reins of his horse's neck and, with the tremendous effect of familiarity and confidence, slipped his hands under the arms of Senores Fuentes and Gamacho. In that posture, with a ragged town mozzo holding his horse by the brittle, he rode triumphantly across the plaza to the door of the Intendencia. Its old gloomy walls seemed to shake in the acclamations that rend the air and covered the crashing peels of the cathedral bells. Pedro Montero, the brother of a general, dismounted into his shouting and perspiring throng of enthusiasts whom the ragged nationals were pushing back fiercely. Ascending a few steps, he surveyed the large crowd gaping at him at the bullied speckled walls of the house's opposite, lightly bialled by the soon a haze of dust. The word, Purvenir, in immense black capitals, alternating with broken windows, stared at him across the vast space, and he thought with the delight of the aura of vengeance because he was very sure of laying his hands upon the coup. On his left hand, Gamacho, big and hot, wiping his hairy wet face, uncovered a set of yellow fangs in a grin of a stupid hilarity. On his right, Señor Fuentes, small and lean, looked on with compressed lips. The crowd stirred literally up and mounted, lost in eager stillness as though they had expected the great guerrillero, the famous Pedrito, to begin scattering at once some sort of visible largesse. What he began was a speech. He began it with the shout of word, Citizens, which reached even those in the middle of the plaza. Afterwards, the greater part of the citizens remained fascinated by the orator's action alone. His tiptoeing, the arms flung above his head, with the fists clenched, a hand laid flat upon the heart, the silver gleam of rolling eyes, the sweeping, pointing, embracing gestures, a hand laid familiarly on Gamacho's shoulder, a hand waved formally towards a little black-coated person of Señor Fuentes, advocate and politician and a true friend of the people. The bebas of those nearest to the orator bursting out suddenly propagated themselves irregularly to the confines of the crowd, like flames running over dry grass and expired in the opening of the streets. In the intervals of our diswarming plaza, brutally heavy silence in which the mouth of the orator went on opening and shouting and the touch-phrases, the happiness of the people, sons of the country, the entire world, el mundo entero, rich even-depact streets of the cathedral with a feeble clear ring, thin as the buzzing of a mosquito, but the orator struck his breast. He seemed to prance between his two supporters. It was the supreme effort of his preparation. Then the two smaller figures disappeared from the public gaze and the enormous Gamacho left alone, advanced, raising his head high above his head. Then he covered himself proudly and gelled out, Ciudadanos, a dull roar greeted Señor Gamacho, ex-pedlar of the campo, commandante of the national guards. Upstairs, Pedrito Montero walked about rapidly from one wrecked room of the Intendencia to another, snarling incessantly. What stupidity! What destruction! Señor Fuentes, following, would relax his as he turned his position to murmur. It is all the work of Gamacho and his nationals, and then, inclining his head on his left shoulder, would press together his lips so firmly that a little hollow wood appeared at each ordinar. He had his nomination for political chief of the town in his pocket and was all impatient to enter upon his functions. In the long audience room, with its tall mirrors, all starved by his taunts, the hanging stormed down and the canopy over the platform at the upper end pulled to pieces, the vast, deep muttering of the crowd and the hollowing voice of Gamacho speaking just below reached them through the shutters as they stood idly in dimness and desolation. The brute observed his excellency, Don Pedro Montero, through clenched teeth. We must contrive as quickly as possible to send him and his nationals out there to find Hernandez. The new jefe político only jerked his head sideways and took a puff at his favorite in sign of his agreement with this medal of four riding the town of Gamacho in his inconvenient rubble. Pedrito Montero looked with disgust at the absolutely bare floor and at the belt of heavy guilt picture frames running around the room out of which the remnants of torn and slashed canvases fluttered like danger rags. We are not barbarians, he said. This was what said his excellency, the popular Pedrito, the Iguerriero, a skill in the art of laying, but ambitious, charged by his brother at his own demand with the organization of Sulaco on democratic principles. The night before, during the consultation with his partisans who had come out to meet him in Rincon, he had opened his intentions to Senor Fuentes. We shall organize a popular boat, by yes or no, confiding the destinies of our beloved country to the wisdom and valiance of Marmeroi's brother, the invincibly general. A plebiscite, do you understand? And Senor Fuentes, puffing out his leathery cheeks, had inclined his head slightly to the left, letting a thin, bluish jet of smoke escape through his pursed lips. He had understood. His excellency was exasperated at his devastation. Not a single chair, table, sofa, etager, or console had been left in the state rooms of the Intendencia. His excellency, though twitching all over with rage, was restrained from bursting into violence by a sense of his remoteness and isolation. His heroic brother was very far away. Meantime, how was he going to take his siesta? He had expected to find comfort and luxury in the Intendencia after a year of hard camp life, ending with a hardship some probation for the daring dash upon Solaco, upon the province, which was worked more in wealth and influence than all the rest of the Republic's territory. He would get even with Camacho by and by. And Senor Camacho's oration, delectable to popular years, went under the heat and glared the plaza like the uncouth howlings of an inferior sort of devil cast into a white-hard furnace. Every moment he had to wipe his streaming face with his bare forearm. He had flown off his coat and had turned up the sleeves of his shirt high above the elbows. But he kept on his head the large, cocked hand with white blooms. His ingeniousness cherished the design of his rank as commandant of the National Guards. Approving ungraved murmurs greeted his periods. His opinion was that war should be declared once against France, England, Germany and the United States, by introducing railways, mining, enterprises, colonization and under such a rare shallow pretenses aimed at robbing poor people of their lands and with the help of these gulfs and paralytics, the aristocrats would convert them into toiling and miserable slaves. And the leperos, flinging about the corners of their dirty white mantas, yelled their approbation. General Montero, Camacho, hauled with conviction was the only man equal to the patriotic task. They assented to that too. The morning was wearing on. There were already signs of disruption, currents and eddies in the crowd, somewhere seeking the shade of the walls and under the trees of the Alameda. Horsemen spurred through, shouting, groups of sombreros set level on heads against the vertical sun were drifting away into the streets, where the open doors of pulperias revealed an enticing gloom resounding with the gentle thinkling of guitars. The National Guards were thinking of siesta and the eloquence of Camacho, their chief, was exhausted. Later on, when the cooler hours of the afternoon they tried to assemble again for further consideration of public affairs, the attachments of Montero's cavalry camped on the Alameda charged them with a parley at speed, with long lenses leveled are their flying backs as far as the ends of the streets. The National Guards of Sulaco were surprised by this proceeding, but they were not indignant. No costa guanero had ever learned to question the eccentricities of the military force. They were part of their natural order of things. This must be, they concluded, some kind of administrative measure, no doubt. But the motive of it escaped their unaided intelligence, and their chief and narrator, Camacho, commandant of the National Guard, was lying drunk and asleep in the boson of his family. His bare feet were upturned in the shadows repulsively in the manner of a corpse. His eloquent mouth had dropped open. His youngest daughter, scratching her head with one hand, with the other waved a green bow over his scorch and peeling face. End of Part 3, Chapter 5 of Nostromo. Part 3, Chapter 6 of Nostromo. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Mario Pineda. Nostromo, by Joseph Conrad. Part 3, The Lighthouse. Chapter 6 The declining sun had shifted the shadows from west to east among the houses of the town. It had shifted them upon the whole extent of the immense campo with the white walls of its asiendas and the knolls dominating the green distances. With its grass-tatched ranches crouching in the falls of ground by the banks of streams. With the dark islands of clustered trees on a clear sea of grass and cordillera immense and motionless emerging from the billows of the lower forests like the barren coast of a land of giants. The sunset rays striking the snow slope of Hibirota from afar gave it an air of rosy joth while the serrated mass of distant peaks remained black as if calcium in the fire irradiance. The undulating surface of the forest seemed power with pale gold dust and a way there beyond Rincon hitting from the town of two wooden spurs The rocks of the Santome gorge with the flat wall of the mountain itself crowned by gigantic ferns took on warm tones of brown and yellow with the rosky streaks and the dark green clumps of bushes fluttering crevices. From the plain the stamper sheds and the houses of the mine appeared dark and small high up like the nests of birds clustered on the ledges of a cliff. The zigzag paths resembled faint tracing stretched on the wall of a cyclopean blockhouse. To the two serenals of the mine on patrol duty strolling, carbine in hand and watchful eye in the shade of the trees lining the stream near the bridge Don Pepe descending the path from the upper plateau appeared no bigger than a large pitle. With his air of aimless insect-like coin too unfro upon the face of the rogue Don Pepe's figure kept on descending steadily and when near the bottom sank at last behind the roots of storehouses, forages and workshops. For a time the pair of serenals strolled back and forth before the bridge on which they had stopped a horseman holding a large white envelope in his hand. Then Don Pepe, emerging in the village street from amongst the houses noticed a stone stroller from the frontier bridge approach striding and wide dark trousers tucked into boots and a white linen jacket saber than his side and a ball better than his belt. In this disturbed time nothing could find the senor gobernador with his boots off as the saying is. At a slight note from one of the serenals, the man, a messenger from the town dismounted and crossed the bridge leading his horse by the bridle. Don Pepe received the letter from his other hand slapped his left side and his hips in succession filling him for his respectable case. After settling the heavy silver-mounted affair as tried his nose and adjusted it carefully behind his ears he opened the envelope holding it up at about a foot in front of his eyes. The paper he pulled out contained some lines of writing. He looked at them for a long time. His great moustache moved slightly up and down and the wrinkles radiating at the corners of his eyes ran together. He nodded serenely. Well, he said. There is no answer. Then in his quiet candid way he engaged in a cautious conversation with the man who was willing to talk cheerily as if something lucky had happened to him recently. He had seen from a distance Sotilo's infantry come along the shore of the harbor on each side of the custom house. They had done no damage to the buildings. The foreigners of the railway remained shut up within the yards. They were no longer anxious to shoot poor people. He cursed the foreigners. Then he reported Montero's entry and the rumors of the town. The poor were going to be made rich now. That was very good. More he did not know. And breaking into propitiatory smiles he intimated that he was hungry and thirsty. The old major directed him to go to the Alcaldeo the first village. The man rode off and Don Pepe straight and slowly in the direction of the little wooden belfrey looked over and hatched into a little garden and saw a fat old woman sitting in a white hammock as long between two orange streets in front of the presbytery and a normal stammering shaded with this dark foliage the whole white frame house. A young Indian girl with long hair big eyes and small hands and feet carried out a wooden chair while a thin old woman carved on bilge line watched her all in memoranda. Don Pepe sat down in the chair and lighted a cigar. The priest drew in an immense quantity of snuff out of the hollow of his palm. On his reddish brown face worn hollowed as if crumbled the eyes fresh and candid sparkled like two black diamonds. Don Pepe in a mild and humorous voice informed Father Ramanda that Pedrito Montero by the hand of Señor Fuentes had asked him on what terms he would surrender the mine in proper working order to constitute a commission of patriotic citizens escorted by his small military force. The priest cast his eyes up to heaven. However, Don Pepe continued the mozo who brought the letter said that Don Carlos Gut was alive and so far unmolested. Father Román expressed in a few words his thankfulness of hearing of the Señor Aministrador's safety. The hour of oration had gone by the silvery ringing of a bell in the little bell free. The bell to forced closing the entrance of the public screen between the low sun and the street of the village. At the other end of the rocky gorge between the walls of basalt and granite a forest cloud mountain hiding all the range from the sentinel dwellers rose steeply, lighted up and leafy to the very top. Three small, rosy clouds hung motionless overhead in the great depth of blue. Notes of people sat in the street between the waddled huts. Before the cassa of the alcalde the foreman of the night shift already assembled to lead their men and squatted on the grounds in a circle of letters called caps and bowing their bronze backs were passing around the gourd of mate. The mozo from the town having fastened his horse to a wooden post before the door was telling them the news of Sulaco as the blackened gourd of the deduction passed from hand to hand. The graybalcalde himself in a white waist clothes and a flowered chintz gown with sleeves open wide upon his naked stout person with a bathing robe stood by wearing a rough beaver head at the back of his head and grasping at all stuff with a silver nose in his hand. This insignia of his dignity had been conferred upon him by the administration of the mine, the fountain of earner of prosperity and peace. He had been one of the first immigrants into this valley. His sons and sons in law worked within the mountain which shimped with his treasures to pour down the thundering or chutes of the opera mesa, the gifts of well-being, security and justice upon the toilers. He listened to the news from the town with curiosity and indifference as if concerning another world than his own. And it was true that they appeared to him so. In a very few years the sense of belonging to a powerful organization had been developed in this harassed half wild Indians. They were proud of and attached to the mine. It had security confidence and belief. They invested it with the protecting and invincible virtue as though it were fetish made by their own hands, for they were ignorant and in other respects did not differ appreciably from the rest of mankind which puts infinite trust in its own creations. It never entered the alcoholist's head that the mine could fail in its protection and force. Politics worked good enough for the people of the town and the camp. His yellow, round face with white nostrils and motionless expression resembled the first full moon. He listened to the exciting vaporings of the Mosul without misgivings, without surprise, without any active sentiment at all. Padre Roman said dejectedly balancing himself, his feet just touching the ground, his hands gripping the edge of the hammock. With less confidence but as ignorant as his flock, he asked the major what he did think was going to happen now. Don Pepe, bolt upright in the chair, folded with hands peacefully on the hilt of his sword, standing perpendicular between his thighs and answered that he did not know. The mine could be defended against any force likely to be sent to take possession. On the other hand, from the arid character of the valley, when the regular supplies from the camp had been cut off, the population of the three villages could be starving to submission. Don Pepe exposed to these contingencies with serenity to Padre Roman, who, as an old campaigner, was able to understand the reasoning of a military man. They talked with simplicity and directness. Padre Roman was saddened by the idea of his flock being scattered or else enslaved. He had no illusions as to their fate, not from penetration, but from long experience of political atrocities which seemed to him fatal and unavoidable in the life of a state. The working of the usual public institutions presented itself to him most distinctly as a series of calamities overtaking private individuals and flowing logically from each other through hate, revenge, folly and rapacity, as though they had been part of a divine dispensation. Padre Roman's clear-sightedness was served by an uninformed intelligence, but his heart, preserving its tenderness amongst scenes of carnage, spoliation and violence of horrid calamities, the more as his association with the victims was closer. He entertained towards the Indians of the valley, fillings of paternal scorn. He had been marrying, baptizing, confessing, absolving and burying the workers of the sentiment mine with dignity and unction for five years or more and he believed in the sacredness of these administrations, which made him his own in his spiritual sense. They were dear to his ancestral supremacy. Mr. Good's earnest interest in the concerns of these people enhanced their importance in the priest's eyes, because it really augmented his own. When talking over with her, the innumerable Maria, some bridged us of the villages, he felt his own humanity expand. Padre Roman was incapable of finding the system to an almost reprehensible degree. The English senora was evidently a heretic, but at the same time she seemed to him wonderful and angelic. Whatever that confused the state of his feelings occurred to him, while strolling for instance his bravery under his arm in the wide shade of a tamarind, he would stop short to inhale with a strong snuffing nose, a large quantity of snuff and shake his head profoundly. At the thought of what might, before the illustrious senora presently, he became gradually overcome with his may. He voiced it in an agitated murmur. Even Dom Pepe lost his serenity for a moment. He leaned forward stiffly. Listen Padre, the very fact that those thieving macaques in Sulac were trying to find out the price of my honor proves that Senor Don Carlos and all in the casa good are safe. As to my honor, that is also safe as every man, woman and child knows. But the negro liberals who have snatched the town to by surprise do not know that. Bueno, let them sing await. While they wait, they can do no harm. And he regained his composter. He regained it easily because whatever happened his honor of an all officer of payas was safe. He had promised Charles Good that at the approach of an armed force he would defend the gorge just long enough to give himself time to destroy scientifically the whole plant, buildings and workshops of the mine with heavy charges of dynamite. Blocked with ruins, did main tunnel, break down the pathways, blow out the dam with water power, shattered a famous good concession into fragments, flying sky high out of a horrified world. The mine had got hold of Charles Good with a grip as deadly as ever had laid upon his fatter. But this extreme resolution had seemed to Dom Pepe the most natural thing in the world. The treasures had been taken with judgment. Everything was prepared with a careful completeness. And Dom Pepe folded his hands specifically on his sword Hilt and noted at the priest. In his excitement Father Roman had flung his snuff and handfuls at his face. And all this mirrored with pavako, round eye and beside himself had got out the hammock to walk about uttering exclamations. Dom Pepe struck his grey impendent moustache, whose fine ends hung far below the clean cut line of his spoke with a conscious pride in his reputation. So Padre, I don't know what will happen. But I know that as long as I am here, Dom Carlos can speak to the mad cake, Pedrito Montero and threaten the destruction of the mine with perfect assurance that he will be taking seriously for people know me. He began to turn the cigar in his lips and a little nervously and went on. But that is talk good for the politicos. I am a military man. I don't know what might happen, but I know what I'll be done. The mine should march upon town with guns, axes, knives, tied up to sticks, por dios. That is what should be done. Only he folded hands switched on the hilt. The cigar turned faster in the corner of his lips. And who should I lead, but I unfortunately observe I have given my word of honor to Dom Carlos not to let the mine fall into the hands of these thieves. In war, you know, this Padre the fate of battles is uncertain and who could I have here to act for me in case of defeat? The explosives are ready, but it would require a man of high honor of intelligence, of judgment, of courage to carry out the prepared destruction somebody I can trust with my honor as I can trust myself. Another all officer of Pius, for instance. Or, or perhaps one of Pius's old chaplains would do. He got up long blank, upright, hard with his martial mustache and deboning a structure of his face from which the glance of the sunken eye seemed to transfix the priest who stood still an empty wooden snuff box held upside down in his hand and glared back, speechless, at the governor on the mine. End of Part 3, Chapter 6 of Nostromo Part 3, Chapter 7 of Nostromo This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Mario Pineda Nostromo by Joseph Conrad Part 3, The Lighthouse, Chapter 7 At about that time in the Intendencia of Sulaco Charles Goode was assuring Pedrito Monteiro, who had sent a request for his presence there, that he would never let the mine pass out of his hands for the profit of a government who had robbed him of it. The Goode concession could not be resumed. His father had not desired it. The song would never surrender it. He would never surrender it alive. And once then, where was the power capable of resuscitating such an enterprise of all its vigor and wealth out of the ashes and ruin of destruction? There was no such power in the country. And where was the skill and capital abroad that would condescend to touch such an ill, omened corpse? Charles Goode talked in the impassive tone which had for many years served to conceal his anger and contempt. He suffered. He was disgusted with what he had to say. It was too much like heroics. In him, the strictly practical instinct was in profound discord with the almost mystic view he took of his right. The Goode concession was symbolic of abstract justice. Let the heavens fall. But since the Santome mine had developed into worldwide fame, his threat had enough force and effectiveness to reach the rudimentary intelligence of Pedro Monteiro wrapped up as it was in the futilities of historical anecdotes. The Goode concession was a serious asset in the country's finance and what was more in the private budgets of many officials as were. It was traditional. It was known. It was said. It was credible. Every minister of interior drew a salary from the Santome mine. It was natural. And Pedrito intended to be minister of the interior and president of the council in his brother's government. The Duke de Mourney had occupied those high posts during the Second French Empire with conspicuous advantage to himself. A table, a chair, a wooden bedstead had been procured for his excellency who, after a short siesta, rendered absolutely necessary by the labors and the pumps of his entry into Sulaco had been getting hold of the administrative machine by making appointments, giving orders and signing programations. Along with Charles Goode in the audience room, his excellency managed with his well-known skill to conceal his annoyance and consternation. He had begun at first to talk loftily of confiscation, but the want of all proper filling and mobility in these senior administrators' features ended by affecting adversely his power of masterful expression. Charles Goode had repeated, the government can certainly bring about the destruction of the Santome mine if it likes, but without me, he can do nothing else. It was an alarming pronouncement and well calculated to hear the sensibilities of a politician whose mine is bent upon the spoils of victory. And Charles Goode said also that the destruction of the Santome mine would cause the ruin of other undertakings that would draw all the European capital, they would hold most probably of the last installment of the foreign loan. That stony fiend of a man said all these things which were accessible to his excellency's intelligence in a cold-blooded manner which made one shudder. A long course of reading historical works, light and gossipy in tone, carried out in garrets of Parisian hotels, sprawling on an untidy bed to the neglect of his duties, menial of otherwise, had affected the manners of Pedro Montero. He had seen around him the splendor of the old Intendencia, the magnificent hangings, the gilt furniture ranked along the walls. He had stood upon a day on a noble square of red carpet. He would have probably been very dangerous from a sense of success and elevation. But in this act and devasted your residence with the three pieces of common furniture huddled up in the middle of a vast apartment, Petrito's imagination was subdued by a feeling of insecurity and impermanence. That feeling and the firm attitude of Charles Goode who had not once so far pronounced the word excellency, diminished him in his own eyes. He assumed the tone of an enlightened man of the world and begged Charles Goode to dismiss from his mind every causeful alarm. He was now conversing, he reminded him, with the brother of the master of the country, charged with a reorganized mission. The trusted brother of the master of the country, he repeated, nothing was further from the touch of that wise and patriotic hero than ideas of destruction. I entreat you, Don Carlos, not to give way to your anti-democratic prejudices, he cried, in a burst of condescending defusion. Petrito Montero surprised one at first sight by the vast development of his bald forehead, a shiny yellow expanse between the crinkly, cold parts of hair without any lustre, the engaging form of his mouth and an unexpectedly cultivated voice. But his eyes, very glistening as if freshly painted on each side of his hooked nose, had a round hopeless bird-like stare when opened fully. Now, however, he narrowed them agreeably, throwing his squirt chin up and speaking with closed teeth slightly through the nose with what he imagined to be the manner of a grand senior. In that attitude, he declared suddenly that the highest expression of democracy was Caesareanism, the imperial rule based upon the direct popular boat. Caesareanism was conservative, it was strong, it recognized the legitimate needs of democracy which requires orders, titles, and distinctions. They would be showered upon the serving man. Caesareanism was peace, it was progressive, it secured the prosperity of a country. Petrito Montero was carried away. Look at what this second empire had done for France. It was a regime which delighted the honor man of Don Carlos' stamp. The second empire fell, but that was because his chief was the boy of that military genius which had raised General Montero to the pinnacle of fame and glory. Petrito elevated his hand jerkily to help the idea of pinnacle, of fame. We shall have many talks yet. We shall understand each other thoroughly, Don Carlos. He cried in a ton of fellowship. Republicanism had done its work. Democracy was the power of the future. Petrito di Guerrillero, showing his hand, lowered his voice forcibly. A man singled out by his fellow citizens for the honorable nickname of El Rey de Zulaco could not but receive a full recognition from a imperial democracy as a great captain of industry and a person of white council whose popular designation could be soon replaced by a more solid title. Eh, Don Carlos? No. What do you say? Conte de Zulaco, eh? Or Marquis? Hisist. The air was cool on the plaza where a patrol of cavalry rolled round and round without penetrating into the streets which resounded with shouts and this drumming of guitars inching from the open doors of Pulperias. The orders were not to interfere with the enjoyment of the people. And above the roofs, next to the perpendicular lines of the cathedral towers, the snowy curve of Gigerroda blocked a large space marking in blue sky before the windows of the Intendencia. After the time, Pedrito Montero thrusting his hand in the bosom of his coat bowed his head with a slow dignity. The audience was over. Charles Good, ongoing out, passed his hand over his forehead as if to disperse the mists of an oppressive dream whose grotesque extravagance leaps behind a subtle sense of bodily and danger and intellectual decay. In the passage and on the staircases of the old palace Montero's troopers launched about in suddenly smoking and making way for no one. The clanking of sabers and spurs resounded all over the building. Free silent groups of civilians in severe black waited in the main gallery, formal and helpless, a little huddled up each keeping apart from the orders as if in the exercise of a public duty they had been overcome by a desire to shunt the notice of every eye. These were the deputations waiting for the audience. The one from the provincial assembly, more restless and uneasy in his corporate expression was overtop by the big face of Don Giuste Lopes, soft and wise, with prominent eyelids and redded and impenetrable solemnity as if in a dense cloud. The president of the provincial assembly coming bravely to save the last shred of parliamentary institutions on the English model avertil his eyes from the administrator of the Santome Mine as a dignified rebuke of his little faith in that only-saving principle. The mournful severity of that rip-proof did not affect Charles Goode, but he was sensible to the glances of the orders directed upon him without reproach as if only to read their own faith to point his face. All of them had talked, shouted and acclaimed in the great salah of the Casa Goode. The feeling of compassion for those men struck with a strange impotence in the tolls of moral degradation did not induce him to make a sign. He suffered from his fellowship in evil with them too much. He crossed the plaza unmalested. The Amarilla Club was full of festive ragamuffins. Their frowsy heads protruded from every window and from within came drunken shouts, the trumping of feet and the twigging of harps. Broken bottles as threw the pavement below. Charles Goode found the doctor still in his house. Dr. Boniham came away from the crack in the shutter through which he had been watching the street. Ah, you're back at last, he said in a ton of relief. I have been telling Mr. Goode you were perfectly safe, but I was not by any means certain that the fellow would not let you go. Neither was I confess Charles Goode laying his head on the table. You will have to take action. The silence of Charles Goode seemed to admit that this was the only curse. This was as far as Charles Goode was accustomed to go towards expressing his intentions. I hope you did not warn Montero what you mean to do, the doctor said anxiously. I tried to make him see that the existence of the mind was bound up with my personal continued Charles Goode looking away from the doctor and fixing his eyes upon the water cooler sketch upon the wall. He believed you, the doctor asked eagerly. God knows, said Charles Goode. I owe it to my wife to say that much. He is well enough informed. He knows that I have done pepe there. Fuentes must have told him. They know that the old major is perfectly capable of blowing up the sentiment mind with a hesitation or compunction. Had it not been for that I don't think I had left the intendency I free man. He would blow everything up from loyalty and from hate. From hate of these liberals as they call themselves. Liberals, the words one knows so well have a night marriage meaning in this country. Liberty, democracy, patriotism, government, all of them have a flavor of folly and murder. Haven't they doctor? I alone can't restrain them pepe. If they were to do away with me, nothing could prevent them. They will try to tamper with the doctor suggested thoughtfully. It is very possible Charles Goode said very long as if speaking to himself and still gazing at the sketch of the son to make a gorgeous point of all. Yes, I expect they will try that. Charles Goode looked for the first time at the doctor. It would give me time, he added. Exactly said Dr. Moneham, suppressing his excitement. Especially if the pepe behaves diplomatically. Why shouldn't he give them some hope of success? Eh? Otherwise, you wouldn't gain so much confidence. Charles Goode looking at the doctor steadily shook his head, but the doctor continued with a certain amount of fire. Yes, to enter into negotiations for the surrender of the mine, it is a good notion. You would mature your plan. Of course, I don't ask what it is. I don't want to know. I would refuse to listen to you if you tried to tell me. I am not fearful of confidences. What nuns says Mother Charles Goode with this pleasure? He disapproved of the doctor's sensitivity at far off episode of his life. So much memory shocked Charles Goode. It was like morbidness. And again, he shook his head. He refused to tamper with the open rectitude of the pepe's conduct, both from taste and from policy. Instructions would have to be either verbal or in writing. In either case, they were under risk of being intercepted. It was by no means certain that a messenger could reach the mine and besides, there was no one to send. It was on the tip of Charles' tongue to say that only the late Capotaz de Cargadores could have been employed with some chance of success and the certitude of discretion. But he did not say that. He pointed out to the doctor that it would have been bad policy. Directly, Dompepe let it be supposed that he could be bought over, the administrator's personal safety and the safety of his friends would become endangered. For there would be, then, the reason for moderation. The incorruptibility of Dompepe was the essential and restraining fact. The doctor hung his head and admitted that in a way it was so. He couldn't deny to himself that the reasoning was sounding off. Dompepe's usefulness consisted in his unstained character. As to his own usefulness, he reflected bitterly it was also his own character. He declared to Charles' good that he had the means of keeping Sotigio from joining his forces with Monteiro, at least for the present. If you had had all this silver here, the doctor said or even if he had been known to be at the mine, you could bribe Sotigio to throw off his recent militarism. You could have induced him either to go away in his esteem or even to join you. Certainly not that last, Charles' good declared firmly. What could one do with a man like that afterwards? Tell me doctor. The silver is gone and I am glad of it. It would have been an immediate and strong temptation. The scramble for that visible plunder would have precipitated a disastrous ending. I would have had to defend it too. I am glad we have removed it, even if it is lost. It would have been a danger and a curse. Perhaps he is right the doctor an hour later said hurriedly to Mr's good whom he met in the corridor. The thing is done and the shadow of the treasure might do just as well as the substance. Let me try to serve to the whole extent of my evil reputation. I am off now to play my game of a trail with Sotigio and kick him off the town. She put up both her hands impulsively. Doctor Morniha, you are running in a terrible risk. She whispered a birding from his face her eyes full of tears for a short glance at the door of her husband's room. She pressed both his hands and the doctor stood as if rooted to the spot looking down at her and trying to twist his lips into his smile. Oh, I know you will defend my memory he uttered at last and run tottering down the stairs across the patio and out of the house. In the street he kept up a great pace with his smart hobbling walk a case of instruments under his arm. He was known for being local. Nobody interfered with him. From under the sewer gate across the industry or arid pain interspersed with low bushes he saw more than a mile away the ugly enormity of the custom house and the two or three other buildings which at that time constituted the seaport of Sulaco. Far away to the south, drops of palm trees etched the curve of the harbour shore. The distant peaks of the Cordillera had lost their identity of clear cut shapes in the deepening blue of the eastern sky. The doctor walked briskly. A dark lean shadow seemed to fall upon him from the zenith. The sun had set. For the time the snows of Higarota continued to glow with the reflected glory of the west. The doctor holding a straight curse for the custom house appeared lonely hopping amongst the dark bushes like a tall bird with a broken wing. Thins of purple, gold and crimson were mirrored in the clear water of the harbour. A long, tongued of land was straight as a wall with the grass-grown ruin so the fort making a sort of round and green mound plainly visible from the inner shore closed its circuit. While beyond the placid gulf repeated those splendours of colouring on a greater scale and with a more somber magnificence. The great massive cloud filling, the head of the gulf had long red smears amongst its convoluted folds of grey and black as of a floating mantel stained with blood. The three Isabel's plain clear cut in the great smoothness confounded in the sea and sky appeared suspended, purple, black in the air. The little wavelets seemed to be toasting tiny red sparks upon the sandy beaches. The glassy bands of water along the horizon gave out a fire red glow as if fire and water had been mingled together in the vast bed of the ocean. At last the conflagration of sea and sky, lion embraced and still in a flaming contact upon the edge of the world went out. The red sparks on the water banished together with the stains of blood in the black mantel draping this somber head of the placid gulf. A sudden breeze sprang up and died out after rustling heavily the grouse of bushes on the ruined air fork of the fort. Nostromo woke up from a fourteen hours sleep and arose full length from his lair in the long grass. He stood knee deep amongst the whispering undulations of the green blades with the lost air of a man just born out of the world. Handsome, robust and supple, he threw back his head, long his arms open and stretched himself with a slow twist of the waist and a leisurely growling jawn of white teeth as natural and free from evil in the moment of waking as a magnificent and unconscious wild beast. Then, in the subtly stitted lens, fixed upon nothing from under a thoughtful frown, appeared the man. End of Part 3 Chapter 7 of Nostromo Part 3 Chapter 8 Part 1 of Nostromo This is a LibriBox recording. All LibriBox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriBox.org Recording by Mario Pineda Nostromo by Joseph Conrad Part 3, The Lighthouse Chapter 8, Part 1 After landing from his swim Nostromo had scrambled up, all dripping into the main quadrangle of the old fort. And there, amongst ruined bits of walls and rotten remnants of roofs and shells, he had slept in the shadow of the mountains, in the white place of noon in the stillness and solitude of that overgrown piece of land between the obel of the harbor and the spacious semi-circle of the gulf. He lay as if dead. A raised samurano, appearing like a tiny black speck in the blue, circling prudently with a steltedness of light starling in a bird of that gray size. The shadow of his pearly white body of his black tipped wings fell on the grass no more silently than he alighting himself on a hillock of rubbish within three jars of the man lying as still as a corpse. The bird stretched his bare neck, craned his bald head, left some in the brilliance of bariote coloring with an air of voracious anxiety towards the promising stillness of that great bariote. Then, sinking his head deeply into his soft plumage, he settled himself to wait. The first thing upon which Nostromo's eyes fell on waking was this patient watcher for the signs of death and corruption. When the man got up the vulture hopped away in great side-long fluttering jumps, he lingered for a while, morose and reluctant before he rose, circling noiselessly with a sinister drop of beak and claws. Long after he had vanished, Nostromo, lifting his eyes up to the sky, muttered, I am not dead yet. The capitas of the Sulaco Cargadores had lived in splendor and publicity up to the very moment, as it were, when he took charge of the lighter containing the treasure of silver ingots. The last act he had performed in Sulaco was in complete harmony with his vanity and as such, perfectly genuine. He had given his last dollar to an old woman momenting with the grief and fatigue of a small search under the arch of the ancient gate. Performed in obscurity and without witnesses, it had still the characteristics of splendor and publicity and was in strict keeping with his reputation. But this awakening in solitude except for the washful vulture amongst the ruins of the fort had no such characteristics. His first confused feeling was exactly this, that it was not in keeping. It was more like the end of things. The necessity of living concealed somehow for God knows how long which assailed him on his return to consciousness made everything that had gone before for years appear vain and foolish, like a flattering dream comes suddenly to an end. He climbed the crumbling slope of the rembered and putting aside the bushes looked upon the harbor. He saw a couple of ships at anchor upon the sheet of water reflecting the last gleams of light and sotillos steamer moored to the jetty. And behind the pale long front of the custom house there appeared the extent of the town to grow a thick timber on the plane with a gate waiting front and the cupolas, towers and mirators rising above the trees all dark as if surrendered already to the night. They thought that it was no longer open to him to ride through the streets recognized by everyone great and little as he used to do every evening on his way to play monte in the posada of the mexican domingo or to sit in the place of honor listening to songs and looking at it appeared to him as a town that had no existence. For a long time he gazed on then led the part of bushes a spring back and crossing over to the other side of the fort surveyed the vast emptiness of the great gulf. The isabels stood out heavily upon the narrow and long bend of red in the west which glimped low between their black shapes and the capitas thought of the good along there with the treasure that man was the only one who cared whether he fell into the hands of one tourists or not the capitas reflected bitterly and that merrily would be an anxiety for his own sake as to the rest they neither knew nor cared what he had heard georgia bayola say once was very true. Kings ministers aristocrats the rich in general kept the people in poverty and subjection. They kept them as they kept dogs to fight and hunt for their service. The darkness of the sky had descended to the line of the horizon enveloping the whole earth, the islets and the lower of Antonia alone with the treasure on the great isabel. The capitas turning his back on these things invisible and existing sat down and took his face between his fists. He felt the pinch of poverty for the first time in his life. To defend himself without money after a run of bad luck at monte in the low smoky room of domingo's posada where the fraternity of cargadores gumbled, sang and danced of an evening to remain with empty pockets after the public generosity to some pine doral girl or otter for whom he did not care had none of the humiliation of destitution. He remained rich in glory and reputation but since it was no longer possible for him to parade the streets of the town and be hailed with respect in the usual haunts of his leisure, this sailor felt himself destitute indeed. His mouth was dry. It was dry with heavy sleep and extremely anxious thinking as it had never been dry before. It might be said that Nostromo was the dust and ashes of the fruit of life into which he had bitten deeply in his hunger for praise. Without removing his head from between his fists he tried to spit before him tifuyu and murdered a curse upon the selfishness of all the rich people. Since everything seemed lost in Sulaco and that was the feeling of his waking the idea of living the country altogether had presented himself to Nostromo and that thought he had seen like the beginning of another dream a vision of a steep and tidal ashore with dark pines on the heights and white houses low down near a very blue sea. He saw the quays of a big port where the coast in Feluca with their latin sails outspread like motionless wings enter gliding silently between the end of long of square blocks that project angularly towards each other hugging a cluster of shipping to the superb bosom of a hill covered with palaces. He remembered this sight not without some filial emotion though he had been habitually and severely beaten as a boy on one of these felucas by a short-necked shaving genuese with a deliberate and distrustful manner who, he firmly believed, had cheated him out of his orphan's inheritance but it is merciful decree that the evils of the past should appear but faintly in retrospect under the sense of loneliness abandonment and failure the idea of return to these things appeared tolerable but what? return with bare feet and head with one check shirt and a pair of cotton calzoneiros for all worldly positions? the renowned capitas his elbows on his knees and a fist down into a cheek love with self-duration as he had his pet with disgust straight out before him into the night the confused and intimate impressions of universal dissolution which beset the subjective nature at any strong check to its ruling passion had a bearingless approaching to the past itself he was simple he was as ready to become the prey of any belief superstition or desire as a child the facts of his situation he could appreciate like a man with a distinct experience of the country he saw them clearly he was as if suburbed after a long bout of intoxication his fidelity had been taken advantage of he had persuaded the body of cargadores to side with the blankos against the rest of the people he had had interviews with Don José he had been made use of by fighter Corbellon for negotiating with Hernandez it was also that Don Martin de Coutre had admitted him to a sort of intimacy so that he had been free of the offices of the poor veneer all these things had flattered him the usual way why did he care about their politics? nothing at all and at the end of it all Nostromo here and Nostromo there where is Nostromo? Nostromo can do this and that work all day and ride all night he found himself a marked reverist for any sort of vengeance for instance, we choose to take now the Montero party had after all, mastered the town the Europeans had given up the Caballeros had given up Don Martin had indeed explained it was only temporary that he was going to bring barrios to the rescue where was that now? with Don Martin whose ironic manner of talk always made the Capitas feel vaguely uneasy with the great Isabel everybody had given up even Don Carlos had given up the hurry removal of the treasure out to sea meant nothing else than that the Capitas de Cargadores on a revulsion of subjectiveness exasperated almost to insanity beheld all his world without fate and courage he had been betrayed with the boundless shadows of the sea behind him out of his silence and immobility facing the lofty shape so the lower peaks crowded around Cigarora, Nostromo loft allowed again sprung 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 Bequio is right he said slowly and scathingly he remember all 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 when the image fixed his wavering purpose he would try to find all 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 the scrubber bush rustle mysteriously in the darkness Teresa was right too he added in a low tone touch with awe he wondered whether she was dead in her anger with them or still alive as if an answer to this thought with a soft flutter of a bleak flight a big owl whose appalling cry it is finished it is finished announces calamity and death in a 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 this superstition and shattered slightly senora Teresa must have died then it could mean nothing else the cry of the ill almond 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 them she was dead with admirable and human consistency he referred everything to himself she had been a woman of good counsel always and the believed all 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 trust his subordinates consider 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 around his little finger almost daily the pompous of testing self-importance of the old semen or some with used to Nostromo at first they had given him an inward satisfaction but the necessity of overcoming small obstacles becomes worrisome to a self confident personality as much by the certitude of success as by the monotony of effort he mistrusted his superior's prongedness to fussy action that all Englishmen had no judgment he said to himself it was useless to suppose that acquainted with the true state of the case he would talk of doing impractical things Nostromo feared him as one would fear saddling once self with some persistent worry he had no discretion he would betray the treasurer and Nostromo had made up his mind that the treasurer should not be betrayed the world had fixed itself tenaciously in his intelligence his imagination had sized to poem the clear and simple notion of betrayal to account for the days filling of enlightenment as to being done for or having inalbernately gone out of his existence on an issue in which his personality had not been taken into account a man betrayed and a man destroyed Senora 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 fallen black hair, the white browed suffering face raised to him the anger of her denunciation appeared to him now majestic the thoughtfulness of inspiration out 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 antipriestly free thought 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 wild soft swindlers with the imperialist entusiasms of leaders inspired by visions of a high destiny she was dead but with God's consent to receive her soul she had died with a 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 what they affirm was not true power, punishment, pardon are simple and credible notions the magnificent Capatars de Cargadores described of certain simple realities such as the admiration of women the adulation of men the admire-publicity of his life was ready to fill the burden of sacrilegious guilt the sand upon his shoulders bur-headed in a thin shirt and drawers he felt the lingering warmth to define sand under the soles of his feet the narrow strand gleamed the far ahead in a long curve defining the outline of this wild side of the harbor he flitted along the shore like a pursued shadow between palm groves and the sheet of water lying as still as death on his right hand he strode with headlong haste in the silence and solitude as though he had forgotten all prudence and caution, but he knew that on this side of the water he ran no risk of discovery the only inhabitant was a lonely silent apathetic Indian in charge of the Palmarias who brought sometimes a lot of coconuts to the town for sale he lived without a woman in an open shed with a perpetual fire of dry sticks he was entering near an old canoe lying bottom up on the beach he could be easily avoided the barking of the dogs about that man's ranch was the first thing that checked his speed he had forgotten the dogs he swept sharply and plunged into the palm grove as into a wilderness of columns in an immense hall whose dense obscurity seemed to whisper and rustle faintly high above his head he traversed it, entered a ravine and climbed to the top of a steep ridge free of trees and bushes from there, open and vague in the starlight he saw the plane between the town and the harbor in the woods above some night bird made a strange drumming noise below, mid-on the Palmaria on the beach the Indian's dogs continued to bark aberratiously he wondered what had upset them so much and peering down from his elevation was surprised to detect unaccountable movements of the ground below as if several oblong pieces of the plane had been in motion as if they were hatches, alternately catching and eluding the eye altered their place always away from the harbor with a suggestion of consecutive order and purpose a lie downed upon him it was a column of infantry on a night march towards the high and broken country at the foot of the hills but he was too much and dark about everything for wonder and speculation the plane had resumed its shadowy immobility he descended the ridge and found himself in the open solitude between the harbor and the town his viciousness extended indefinitely by an effect of obscurity rendered more sensible to his profound isolation his pace became slower no one waiting for him no one thought of him no one expected or wished his return betrayed, betrayed he muttered to himself no one cared he might have been drowned by this time no one would have cared unless perhaps the children hit out of himself but they were with the English Senora he waybored in his purpose of making a straight for the Casa Viola to what end what could he expect there his life seemed to fail him in all its details even to the scornful reproaches of Teresa he was aware painfully of his reluctance was it that remorse which he had prophesied with what he saw now was her last breath meantime he had deviated from the straight course inclining by a sort of instinct to the right towards the jetty and the harbor the scene of his daily labors the great length of the custom house loomed up all at once like the wall of a factory notice all challenged his approach and his curiosity became excited as he passed cautiously towards the front by the unexpected sight of two lighter windows they had the fascination of a lonely vigil capped by some mysterious watcher up there those two windows shining dimly upon the harbor and a whole vast extent of the abandoned building the solitude could almost be felt a strong smell of wood the smoke hung about in a thinned haze which was faintly perceptible to his raised eyes against the glitter of the stars as he advanced in the profound silence the shriveling of innumerable cicadas in the dry grass seemed positively deafening to his strained ears slowly step by step he found himself in the great hall sunburned and full of acrid smoke a fire built against the staircase had burned down importantly to a low heap of embers the hard wood had failed to catch only a few steps at the bottom smoldered with a creeping glow of sparks defining their charred edges at the top he saw a streak of light from an open door it fell upon the bass landing all foggy with a slow drift of smoke that was the room he climbed the stairs then checked himself because he had sinned within the shadow a man cast upon one of the walls he was a shapeless high shoulder shadow of somebody standing still with lowered head out of his line of sight the capitas remembered that he was totally unarmed a stepped aside and a facing himself upright in the dark corner waited with his eyes fixed on the door the whole enormous ruined barrack of a place unfinished without siblings under its lofty roof was pervaded by the smoke swaying to and fro in the faint crows droughts playing in the security of many lofty rooms and born like passages once one of the swinging shutters came against the wall with a single sharp crack as if pushed by an impatient hand a piece of paper is carried out from somewhere rustling along the landing the man, whoever he was did not darken the light in doorway twice the capitas advancing a couple of steps out of his corner craned his neck in the hope of catching sight of what he could be at so quietly in there one time he saw only the distorted shadow on broad shoulders and bowed head he was doing apparently nothing and stood not from the spot as though he were meditating or perhaps reading a paper and not a sound issued from the room once more the capitas stepped back he wondered who he was some monterist but he dreaded to shock himself to discover his presence on shore unless after many days would he believed in danger the treasure with his own knowledge possessing his whole soul it seemed impossible that anybody in Sulaco should fail to jump at the right service after a couple of weeks or so it would be different who could tell he had not returned over land from some port beyond the limits of the republic the existence of the treasure confused his thoughts with a peculiar sort of anxiety as though his life had become bound up with it it rendered him timorous for a moment before that enigmatic lighted door devil take the fellow he did not want to see him to learn from his face known or unknown he was a fool to waste his time there and waiting end of part 3 chapter 8 part 1 of Nostromo part 3 chapter 8 part 2 of Nostromo this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Scott Carpenter Nostromo by Joseph Conrad part 3 the lighthouse chapter 8 part 2 less than 5 minutes after entering the place the Kapitas began his retreat he got away down the stairs with perfect success gave one upward look over his shoulder at the light on the landing and ran stealthily across the hall but at the very moment he was turning out of the great door with his mind fixed upon escaping the notice of the man upstairs somebody he had not heard coming briskly along the front ran full into him both muttered a stifled exclamation of surprise and leaped back and stood still each indistinct to the other Nostromo was silent the other men spoke first in an amazed and deaden tone who are you already Nostromo had seemed to recognize Dr. Monagham he had no doubt now he hesitated the space of a second the idea of bolting without a word presented itself to his mind no use and inexplicable repugnance to pronounce the name by which he was known kept him silent a little longer at last he said in a low voice he walked up to the other Dr. Monagham had received a shock he flung his arms up and cried out his wonder aloud forgetting himself before the marvel of this meeting Nostromo angrily warned him to moderate his voice the custom house was not so deserted as it looked there was somebody in the room above there is no more evanescent quality in an accomplished fact than its wonderfulness solicited incessantly by the considerations affecting its fears and desires the human mind turns naturally away from the marvelous side of events and it was in the most natural way possible that the doctor asked this man whom only two minutes before he believed to have been drowned in the gulf you have seen somebody up there have you no I have not seen him then how do you know I was running away from his shadow when we met his shadow yes his shadow in the lighted room said Nostromo in a contemptuous tone leaning back with folded arms at the foot of the immense building he dropped his head biting his lips slightly and not looking at the doctor now he thought to himself he will begin asking me about the treasure but the doctor's thoughts were concerned with an event not as marvelous as Nostromo's appearance but in itself much less clear why had Sotio taken himself off with his whole command with this suddenness and secrecy what did this move portend however it dawned upon the doctor that the man upstairs was one of the officers left behind by the disappointed Colonel to communicate with him I believe he is waiting for me he said it is possible I must see do not go away yet Capitas by where muttered Nostromo already the doctor had left him he remained leaning against the wall staring at the dark water of the harbor the shrilling of cicadas filled his ears an invincible vagueness coming over his thoughts took from them all power to determine his will Capitas Capitas the doctor's voice called urgently from above the sense of betrayal and ruin floated upon his somber indifference as upon a sluggish sea of pitch but he stepped out from under the wall looking up saw Dr. Monagham leaning out of the lighted window come up and see what Sotio has done you need not fear the man up here he answered by a slight bitter laugh fear a man the capitas of the Sulaco Cargadores fear a man it angered him that anybody should suggest such a thing it angered him to be disarmed and skulking and in danger because of the accursed treasure which was of so little account to the people who had tied it he could not shake off the worry of it to Nostromo the doctor represented all these people and he had never even asked after it not a word of inquiry about the most desperate undertaking of his life thinking these thoughts Nostromo passed again through the cavernous hall where the smoke was considerably thin and went up the stairs not so warm to his feet now towards the streak of light at the top the doctor appeared in it for a moment agitated and impatient come up at the moment of crossing the doorway the capitas experienced a shock of surprise the man had not moved he saw his shadow in the same place he started then stepped in with a feeling of being about to solve a mystery it was very simple for an infinitesimal fraction of the second against the light of two flaring and guttering candles through a blue pungent thin haze which made his eyes smart he saw the man standing as he had imagined him with his back to the door casting an enormous and distorted shadow upon the wall swifter than a flash of lightning followed the impression of his constrained toppling attitude the shoulders projecting forward the head sunk low upon the breast then he distinguished the arms behind his back and wrenched so terribly that the two clenched fists slashed together had been forced up higher than the shoulder blades from there his eyes traced in one instantaneous glance the hide rope going upwards from the tied wrists over a heavy beam and down to a staple in the wall he did not want to look at the rigid legs at the feet hanging down nervously with their bare toes some six inches above the floor to know that the man had been given the estapade till he had swooned his first impulse was to dash forward and sever the rope at one blow he felt for his knife he had no knife not even a knife he stood quivering and the doctor perched the table faced thoughtfully the cruel and lamentable sight his chin in his hand uttered without stirring tortured and shot dead through the breast getting cold this information calmed the capitas one of the candles flickering in the socket went out who did this he asked Sotillo I tell you who else tortured of course but why shot the doctor looked fixedly at Nostromo who shrugged his shoulders slightly and Mark shot suddenly on impulse it is evident I wish I had his secret Nostromo had advanced and stooped slightly to look I seem to have seen that face somewhere he muttered who is he the doctor turned his eyes upon him again I may yet come to envying his fate what do you think of that capitas eh but Nostromo did not even hear these words seizing the remaining light he thrust it under the drooping head the doctor sat oblivious with a lost gaze then the heavy iron candlestick as if struck out of Nostromo's hand clattered on the floor although exclaimed the doctor looking up with a start he could hear the capitas stagger against the table and gasp in the sudden extinction of the light within the dead blackness sealing the window frames became alive with stars to his sight of course of course the doctor muttered to himself enough to make him jump out of his skin Nostromo's heart seemed to force itself into his throat his head swam hush the man was hush he held on tight to the edge of the table but he was hiding in the lighter he almost shouted his voice fell in the lighter and and and Sotillo brought him in said the doctor he is no more startling to you than you were to me what I want to know is how he induced some compassionate soul to shoot him so Sotillo knows began Nostromo in a more equitable voice everything interrupted the doctor the capitas was hurt striking the table this fist everything what are you saying there everything know everything it is impossible everything of course what do you mean by impossible I tell you I've heard this hush questioned last night here in this very room he knew your name and all about the loading of the silver the lighter was cut in two he was groveling in abject terror before Sotillo but he remembered that much what do you want more he knew least about himself they found him clinging to their anchor he must have caught at it just as the lighter went to the bottom went to the bottom repeated Nostromo slowly Sotillo believes that bueno the doctor a little impatiently was unable to imagine what he believed yes Sotillo believed that the lighter was sunk and the capitas the cargadores together with Martin they could then perhaps one or two other political fugitives have been drowned I told you well see your doctor remark Nostromo at that point that Sotillo did not know everything hey what do you mean he did not know I was not dead neither did we and you did not care none of you caballeros on the wharf once you got off a man of flesh and blood like yourselves on a fool's business that could not end well you forget capitas I was not on the wharf and I did not think well of the business so you need not taunt me I told you what man we had but little leisure to think of the dead death stands near behind us all you were gone I went indeed broke in Nostromo and for the sake of what tell me that is your own affair the doctor said roughly do not ask me their flowing murmurs paused in the dark perched on the edge of the table with slightly averted faces they felt their shoulders touch and their eyes remained directed towards an upright shape nearly lost in the obscurity of the inner part of the room that with projecting head and shoulders and ghastly immobility seemed intent on catching their every word very well Nostromo muttered at last so be it Teresa was right it is my own affair Teresa is dead remarked the doctor absently while his mind followed a new line of thoughts justed by what might have been called Nostromo's return to life she died the poor woman without a priest the capitas asked anxiously what a question who could have got a priest for her last night may God keep her soul ejaculated Nostromo with a gloomy and hopeless fervor which had no time to surprise Dr. Monagham before reverting to their previous conversation he continued in a sinister tone cease and your doctor as you were saying it is my own affair a very desperate affair there are no two men in this part of the world that could have saved themselves by swimming as you have done the doctor said admiringly and again there was silence between those two men they were both reflecting and the diversity of their natures made their thoughts born from their meeting swing afar from each other the doctor impelled to risky action by his loyalty to the ghouls wondered with thankfulness at the chain of accident that man back where he would be of greatest use in the work of saving the Santo May mine the doctor was loyal to the mine it presented itself to his 50 years old eyes in the shape of a little woman in a soft dress with a long train with a head attractively over-weighted by a great mass of fair hair and the delicate preciousness of her inner worth partaking of a gem and a flower revealed in every attitude of her person as the dangers thickened around the Santo May mine this illusion acquired force permanency and authority it claimed him at last this claim exalted by a spiritual detachment from the usual sanctions of hope and reward made Dr. Monagham's thinking-acting individuality extremely dangerous to himself and to others all his scruples vanishing in the proud feeling that his devotion was the only thing that stood between an admirable woman and a frightful disaster it was a sort of intoxication which made him utterly indifferent to Deku's fate but left his wits perfectly clear of Deku's political idea it was a good idea and Bajos was the only instrument of its realization the doctor's soul withered and shrunk by the shame of moral disgrace became implacable in the expansion of its tenderness Nostromo's return was providential he did not think of him humanely as of a fellow creature just escaped from the jaws of death the capitas for him was the only possible messenger to Kaita the very man the doctor's misanthropic mistrust of mankind the bitterer because based on personal failure did not lift him sufficiently above common weaknesses he was under the spell of an established reputation trumpeted by Captain Mitchell grown in repetition and fixed in general assent Nostromo's faithfulness had never been questioned by Dr. Monagham as a fact it was not likely to be questioned now he stood in desperate need of it himself Dr. Monagham was human he accepted the popular conception of the capitas's incorruptibility simply because no word or fact had ever contradicted a mere affirmation it seemed to be part of the man like his whiskers or his teeth it was impossible to conceive of him otherwise the question was whether he would consent to go on such a dangerous and desperate errand the doctor was observant enough to have become aware from the first of something peculiar in the man's temper he was no doubt sore about the loss of the silver it will be necessary to take him into my fullest confidence he said to himself with a certain acuteness of insight into the nature he had to deal with on Nostromo's side the silence had been full of black irresolution, anger, and mistrust he was the first to break it however the swimming was no great matter he said it is what went before and what comes after that he did not quite finish what he meant to say breaking off short as though his thought had butted against a solid obstacle the doctor's mind pursued its own schemes with Machiavellian subtlety he said as sympathetically as he was able it is unfortunate Capitas but no one would think of blaming you very unfortunate to begin with the treasure ought never to have left the mountain but it was Deku who however he is dead there is no need to talk of him no assented Nostromo as the doctor paused there is no need to talk of dead men but I am not dead yet you are all right only a man of your intrepidity could have saved himself and this Dr. Monagham was sincere he esteemed highly the intrepidity of that man whom he valued but little being disillusioned as to mankind in general because of the particular instance in which his own manhood had failed having had to encounter single-handed during his period of eclipse many physical dangers he was well aware of the most dangerous element common to them all of the crushing paralyzing sense of human littleness which is what really defeats a man struggling with natural forces alone far from the eyes of his fellows he was eminently fit to appreciate the mental image he made for himself of the Capitas after hours of tension, anxiety precipitated suddenly into an abyss of waters and darkness without earth or sky and confronting it not only with an undismayed mind but with sensible success of course the man was an incomparable swimmer that was known who judged that this instance testified to a still greater intrepidity of spirit it was pleasing to him he augured well from it for the success of the arduous mission with which he meant to entrust the Capitas so marvelously restored to usefulness and in a tone vaguely gratified he observed it must have been terribly dark he was the worst darkness of the gulfo the Capitas assented briefly he was mollified by what seemed a sign of some faint interest in such things as had befallen him and dropped a few descriptive phrases with an affected and curt nonchalance at that moment he felt communicative he expected the continuance of that interest which whether accepted or rejected would have restored to him his personality the only thing lost in that desperate affair but the doctor engrossed by a desperate adventure of his own was terrible in the pursuit of his idea he let an exclamation of regret escape him I could almost wish you had shouted and shown a light this unexpected utterance this unexpected utterance astounded the Capitas by its character of cold blooded atrocity it was as much as to say I wish you had shown yourself a coward I wish you had had your throat cut for your pains naturally he referred it to himself whereas it related only to the silver being uttered simply and with many mental reservations surprise and rage rendered him speechless and the doctor pursued practically unheard by Nostromo whose stirred blood was beating violently in his ears for I am convinced Sotio in possession of the silver would have turned short round and made for some small port abroad economically it would have been wasteful but still less wasteful than having it sunk it was the next best thing to having it at hand in some safe place and using part of it to buy up Sotio but I doubt whether Don Carlos would have ever made up his mind to do it he is not fit for Costa Guana and that is a fact, Capitas the Capitas had mastered the fury that was like a tempest in his ears in time to hear the name of Don Carlos he seemed to have come out of it a changed man a man who spoke thoughtfully in a soft and even voice and would Don Carlos have been content if I had surrendered this treasure I should not wonder if they were all of that way of thinking now the doctor said grimly I was never consulted Dekud had it his own way their eyes are opened by this time I should think I for one know that if silver turned up this moment miraculously ashore I would give it to Sotio and as things stand I would be approved turned up miraculously repeated the Capitas very low then raised his voice that senior would be a greater miracle than any saint could perform I believe you Capitas said the doctor dryly he went on to develop his view of Sotio's dangerous influence upon the situation and the Capitas listening as if in a dream felt himself of as little account as the indistinct, motionless shape of the dead man whom he saw upright under the beam with his air of listening also disregarded, forgotten like a terrible example of neglect was it for an unconsidered and foolish whim that they came to me then he interrupted suddenly had I not done enough for them to be of some account for Dios is it that the hombres finos the gentlemen need not think as long as there is a man of the people ready to risk his body and soul or perhaps we have no souls like dogs that was Dekud too with his plan the doctor reminded him again see and the rich man in San Francisco who had something to do with that treasure too what do I know no I have heard too many things it seems to me that everything is permitted to the rich I understand Capitas the doctor began what Capitas broke in Nostromo in a forcible but even voice the Capitas is undone destroyed there is no Capitas oh no you will find the Capitas no more come this is childish remonstrated the doctor and the other calm down suddenly I have been indeed like a little child he muttered and as his eyes met again the shape of the murdered man suspended in his awful immobility which seemed the uncomplaining immobility of attention he asked wondering gently why did Sotio give the ester pile to this pitiful wretch no no torture could have been worse than his fear killing I can understand his anguish was intolerable to behold but why should he torment him like this he could tell no more no he could tell nothing more any sane man would have seen that he had told him everything but I tell you what it is Capitas Sotio would not believe what he was told not everything what is it he would not believe I cannot understand I can because I have seen the man he refuses to believe that the treasure is lost what the Capitas cried out in a discomposed tone that startles you eh am I to understand sir Nostromo went on in a deliberate and as it were watchful tone that Sotio thinks the treasure has been saved by some means no no that would be impossible said the doctor with conviction Nostromo emitted a grunt in the dark that would be impossible he thinks that the silver was no longer in the lighter when she was sunk he is convinced himself that the whole show of getting it away to sea is a mere sham got up to deceive Gamacho and his nationals Pedrito Montero, Señor Fuentes a new hefe político and himself too only he says he is no such fool but he is devoid of sense he is the greatest imbecile that ever called himself a colonel in this country of evil Nostromo he is no more unreasonable than many sensible men said the doctor he is convinced himself that the treasure can be found because he desires passionately to possess himself of it and he is also afraid of his officers turning upon him going over to Pedrito whom he has not the courage either to fight or trust do you see that Capitas he need fear no desertion as long as some hope remains of that enormous plunder turning up I have made it my business to keep this very hope up you have the Capitas de Cargadores repeated cautiously well that is wonderful and how long do you think you are going to keep it up as long as I can what does that mean I can tell you exactly as long as I live the doctor retorted in a stubborn voice then in a few words he described the story of his arrest and the circumstances of his release I was going back to that silly scoundrel when we met he concluded Nostromo had listened with profound attention you have made up your mind then to a speedy death he muttered through his clenched teeth perhaps my lustrous Capitas the doctor said testily you are not the only one here who can look an ugly death in the face no doubt mumbled Nostromo loud enough to be overheard there may be even more than two fools in this place who knows and that is my affair said the doctor curtly a cursed silver to see was my affair retorted Nostromo I see well each of us has his reasons but you were the last man I conversed with before I started and you talk to me as if I were a fool Nostromo had a great distaste for the doctor's sardonic treatment of his great reputation Deku's faintly ironic recognition used to make him uneasy but the familiarity of the man like Don Martin was flattering whereas the doctor was a nobody he could remember him a painless outcast thinking about the streets of Sulaco without a single friend or acquaintance till Don Carlos Gould took him into the service of the mine maybe very wise he went on thoughtfully staring into the obscurity of the room pervaded by the gruesome enigma of the tortured and murdered Hirsch but I am not such a fool as when I started I have learned one thing since and that is that you are a dangerous man Doctor Monagham was too startled to do more than exclaim what is it you say if he could speak he would say the same thing pursued Nostromo with a nod of his shadowy head silhouetted against the starlit window I do not understand you said Doctor Monagham faintly no perhaps if you had not confirmed Sotio and his madness he would have been in no haste to give the estrapade to that miserable Hirsch the doctor started at the suggestion but his devotion absorbing all his sensibilities had left his heart steeled against remorse and pity still for a complete relief he felt the necessity of repelling it loudly and contemptuously Bah! you dare to tell me that with a man like Sotio I confess I did not give a thought to Hirsch if I had it would have been useless anybody can see that the luckless wretch was doomed from the moment he caught hold of the anchor he was doomed I tell you just as I myself am doomed most probably this is what Doctor Monagham said in answer to Nostromo's remark which was plausible enough to prick his conscience he was not a callous man but the necessity the magnitude, the importance of the task he had taken upon himself dwarfed all merely humane considerations he had undertaken it in a fanatical spirit he did not like it to lie, to deceive, to circumvent even the basis of mankind was odious to him it was odious to him by training instinct and tradition to do these things in the character of a traitor was abhorrent to his nature and terrible to his feelings he had made that sacrifice in a spirit of abasement he had said to himself bitterly I am the one fit for that dirty work and he believed this he was not subtle his simplicity was such that though he had no sort of heroic idea of seeking death the risk, deadly enough to which he exposed himself had a sustaining and comforting effect to that spiritual state the fate of Hirsch presented itself as part of the general atrocity of things he considered that episode practically what did it mean? was it a sign of some dangerous change in Sotio's delusion that he had been killed like this was what the doctor could not understand yes, but why SHOT he murmured to himself no stromo kept very still end of chapter 8 part 2