Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated) (5 page)

BOOK: Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated)
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His hesitation was put an end to by Nina’s unexpected appearance in Sambir.  She arrived in the steamer under the captain’s care.  Almayer beheld her with surprise not unmixed with wonder.  During those ten years the child had changed into a woman, black-haired, olive-skinned, tall, and beautiful, with great sad eyes, where the startled expression common to Malay womankind was modified by a thoughtful tinge inherited from her European ancestry.  Almayer thought with dismay of the meeting of his wife and daughter, of what this grave girl in European clothes would think of her betel-nut chewing mother, squatting in a dark hut, disorderly, half naked, and sulky.  He also feared an outbreak of temper on the part of that pest of a woman he had hitherto managed to keep tolerably quiet, thereby saving the remnants of his dilapidated furniture.  And he stood there before the closed door of the hut in the blazing sunshine listening to the murmur of voices, wondering what went on inside, wherefrom all the servant-maids had been expelled at the beginning of the interview, and now stood clustered by the palings with half-covered faces in a chatter of curious speculation.  He forgot himself there trying to catch a stray word through the bamboo walls, till the captain of the steamer, who had walked up with the girl, fearing a sunstroke, took him under the arm and led him into the shade of his own verandah: where Nina’s trunk stood already, having been landed by the steamer’s men.  As soon as Captain Ford had his glass before him and his cheroot lighted, Almayer asked for the explanation of his daughter’s unexpected arrival.  Ford said little beyond generalising in vague but violent terms upon the foolishness of women in general, and of Mrs. Vinck in particular.

“You know, Kaspar,” said he, in conclusion, to the excited Almayer, “it is deucedly awkward to have a half-caste girl in the house.  There’s such a lot of fools about.  There was that young fellow from the bank who used to ride to the Vinck bungalow early and late.  That old woman thought it was for that Emma of hers.  When she found out what he wanted exactly, there was a row, I can tell you.  She would not have Nina — not an hour longer — in the house.  Fact is, I heard of this affair and took the girl to my wife.  My wife is a pretty good woman — as women go — and upon my word we would have kept the girl for you, only she would not stay.  Now, then!  Don’t flare up, Kaspar.  Sit still.  What can you do?  It is better so.  Let her stay with you.  She was never happy over there.  Those two Vinck girls are no better than dressed-up monkeys.  They slighted her.  You can’t make her white.  It’s no use you swearing at me.  You can’t.  She is a good girl for all that, but she would not tell my wife anything.  If you want to know, ask her yourself; but if I was you I would leave her alone.  You are welcome to her passage money, old fellow, if you are short now.”  And the skipper, throwing away his cigar, walked off to “wake them up on board,” as he expressed it.

Almayer vainly expected to hear of the cause of his daughter’s return from his daughter’s lips.  Not that day, not on any other day did she ever allude to her Singapore life.  He did not care to ask, awed by the calm impassiveness of her face, by those solemn eyes looking past him on the great, still forests sleeping in majestic repose to the murmur of the broad river.  He accepted the situation, happy in the gentle and protecting affection the girl showed him, fitfully enough, for she had, as she called it, her bad days when she used to visit her mother and remain long hours in the riverside hut, coming out as inscrutable as ever, but with a contemptuous look and a short word ready to answer any of his speeches.  He got used even to that, and on those days kept quiet, although greatly alarmed by his wife’s influence upon the girl.  Otherwise Nina adapted herself wonderfully to the circumstances of a half-savage and miserable life.  She accepted without question or apparent disgust the neglect, the decay, the poverty of the household, the absence of furniture, and the preponderance of rice diet on the family table.  She lived with Almayer in the little house (now sadly decaying) built originally by Lingard for the young couple.  The Malays eagerly discussed her arrival.  There were at the beginning crowded levées of Malay women with their children, seeking eagerly after “Ubat” for all the ills of the flesh from the young Mem Putih.  In the cool of the evening grave Arabs in long white shirts and yellow sleeveless jackets walked slowly on the dusty path by the riverside towards Almayer’s gate, and made solemn calls upon that Unbeliever under shallow pretences of business, only to get a glimpse of the young girl in a highly decorous manner.  Even Lakamba came out of his stockade in a great pomp of war canoes and red umbrellas, and landed on the rotten little jetty of Lingard and Co.  He came, he said, to buy a couple of brass guns as a present to his friend the chief of Sambir Dyaks; and while Almayer, suspicious but polite, busied himself in unearthing the old popguns in the godowns, the Rajah sat on an armchair in the verandah, surrounded by his respectful retinue waiting in vain for Nina’s appearance.  She was in one of her bad days, and remained in her mother’s hut watching with her the ceremonious proceedings on the verandah.  The Rajah departed, baffled but courteous, and soon Almayer began to reap the benefit of improved relations with the ruler in the shape of the recovery of some debts, paid to him with many apologies and many a low salaam by debtors till then considered hopelessly insolvent.  Under these improving circumstances Almayer brightened up a little.  All was not lost perhaps.  Those Arabs and Malays saw at last that he was a man of some ability, he thought.  And he began, after his manner, to plan great things, to dream of great fortunes for himself and Nina.  Especially for Nina!  Under these vivifying impulses he asked Captain Ford to write to his friends in England making inquiries after Lingard.  Was he alive or dead?  If dead, had he left any papers, documents; any indications or hints as to his great enterprise?  Meantime he had found amongst the rubbish in one of the empty rooms a note-book belonging to the old adventurer.  He studied the crabbed handwriting of its pages and often grew meditative over it.  Other things also woke him up from his apathy.  The stir made in the whole of the island by the establishment of the British Borneo Company affected even the sluggish flow of the Pantai life.  Great changes were expected; annexation was talked of; the Arabs grew civil.  Almayer began building his new house for the use of the future engineers, agents, or settlers of the new Company.  He spent every available guilder on it with a confiding heart.  One thing only disturbed his happiness: his wife came out of her seclusion, importing her green jacket, scant sarongs, shrill voice, and witch-like appearance, into his quiet life in the small bungalow.  And his daughter seemed to accept that savage intrusion into their daily existence with wonderful equanimity.  He did not like it, but dared say nothing.

 

CHAPTER III.

 

The deliberations conducted in London have a far-reaching importance, and so the decision issued from the fog-veiled offices of the Borneo Company darkened for Almayer the brilliant sunshine of the Tropics, and added another drop of bitterness to the cup of his disenchantments.  The claim to that part of the East Coast was abandoned, leaving the Pantai river under the nominal power of Holland.  In Sambir there was joy and excitement.  The slaves were hurried out of sight into the forest and jungle, and the flags were run up to tall poles in the Rajah’s compound in expectation of a visit from Dutch man-of-war boats.

The frigate remained anchored outside the mouth of the river, and the boats came up in tow of the steam launch, threading their way cautiously amongst a crowd of canoes filled with gaily dressed Malays.  The officer in command listened gravely to the loyal speeches of Lakamba, returned the salaams of Abdulla, and assured those gentlemen in choice Malay of the great Rajah’s — down in Batavia — friendship and goodwill towards the ruler and inhabitants of this model state of Sambir.

Almayer from his verandah watched across the river the festive proceedings, heard the report of brass guns saluting the new flag presented to Lakamba, and the deep murmur of the crowd of spectators surging round the stockade.  The smoke of the firing rose in white clouds on the green background of the forests, and he could not help comparing his own fleeting hopes to the rapidly disappearing vapour.  He was by no means patriotically elated by the event, yet he had to force himself into a gracious behaviour when, the official reception being over, the naval officers of the Commission crossed the river to pay a visit to the solitary white man of whom they had heard, no doubt wishing also to catch a glimpse of his daughter.  In that they were disappointed, Nina refusing to show herself; but they seemed easily consoled by the gin and cheroots set before them by the hospitable Almayer; and sprawling comfortably on the lame armchairs under the shade of the verandah, while the blazing sunshine outside seemed to set the great river simmering in the heat, they filled the little bungalow with the unusual sounds of European languages, with noise and laughter produced by naval witticisms at the expense of the fat Lakamba whom they had been complimenting so much that very morning.  The younger men in an access of good fellowship made their host talk, and Almayer, excited by the sight of European faces, by the sound of European voices, opened his heart before the sympathising strangers, unaware of the amusement the recital of his many misfortunes caused to those future admirals.  They drank his health, wished him many big diamonds and a mountain of gold, expressed even an envy of the high destinies awaiting him yet.  Encouraged by so much friendliness, the grey-headed and foolish dreamer invited his guests to visit his new house.  They went there through the long grass in a straggling procession while their boats were got ready for the return down the river in the cool of the evening.  And in the great empty rooms where the tepid wind entering through the sashless windows whirled gently the dried leaves and the dust of many days of neglect, Almayer in his white jacket and flowered sarong, surrounded by a circle of glittering uniforms, stamped his foot to show the solidity of the neatly-fitting floors and expatiated upon the beauties and convenience of the building.  They listened and assented, amazed by the wonderful simplicity and the foolish hopefulness of the man, till Almayer, carried away by his excitement, disclosed his regret at the non-arrival of the English, “who knew how to develop a rich country,” as he expressed it.  There was a general laugh amongst the Dutch officers at that unsophisticated statement, and a move was made towards the boats; but when Almayer, stepping cautiously on the rotten boards of the Lingard jetty, tried to approach the chief of the Commission with some timid hints anent the protection required by the Dutch subject against the wily Arabs, that salt water diplomat told him significantly that the Arabs were better subjects than Hollanders who dealt illegally in gunpowder with the Malays.  The innocent Almayer recognised there at once the oily tongue of Abdulla and the solemn persuasiveness of Lakamba, but ere he had time to frame an indignant protest the steam launch and the string of boats moved rapidly down the river leaving him on the jetty, standing open-mouthed in his surprise and anger.  There are thirty miles of river from Sambir to the gem-like islands of the estuary where the frigate was awaiting the return of the boats.  The moon rose long before the boats had traversed half that distance, and the black forest sleeping peacefully under her cold rays woke up that night to the ringing laughter in the small flotilla provoked by some reminiscence of Almayer’s lamentable narrative.  Salt-water jests at the poor man’s expense were passed from boat to boat, the non-appearance of his daughter was commented upon with severe displeasure, and the half-finished house built for the reception of Englishmen received on that joyous night the name of “Almayer’s Folly” by the unanimous vote of the lighthearted seamen.

For many weeks after this visit life in Sambir resumed its even and uneventful flow.  Each day’s sun shooting its morning rays above the tree-tops lit up the usual scene of daily activity.  Nina walking on the path that formed the only street in the settlement saw the accustomed sight of men lolling on the shady side of the houses, on the high platforms; of women busily engaged in husking the daily rice; of naked brown children racing along the shady and narrow paths leading to the clearings.  Jim-Eng, strolling before his house, greeted her with a friendly nod before climbing up indoors to seek his beloved opium pipe.  The elder children clustered round her, daring from long acquaintance, pulling the skirts of her white robe with their dark fingers, and showing their brilliant teeth in expectation of a shower of glass beads.  She greeted them with a quiet smile, but always had a few friendly words for a Siamese girl, a slave owned by Bulangi, whose numerous wives were said to be of a violent temper.  Well-founded rumour said also that the domestic squabbles of that industrious cultivator ended generally in a combined assault of all his wives upon the Siamese slave.  The girl herself never complained — perhaps from dictates of prudence, but more likely through the strange, resigned apathy of half-savage womankind.  From early morning she was to be seen on the paths amongst the houses — by the riverside or on the jetties, the tray of pastry, it was her mission to sell, skilfully balanced on her head.  During the great heat of the day she usually sought refuge in Almayer’s campong, often finding shelter in a shady corner of the verandah, where she squatted with her tray before her, when invited by Nina.  For “Mem Putih” she had always a smile, but the presence of Mrs. Almayer, the very sound of her shrill voice, was the signal for a hurried departure.

To this girl Nina often spoke; the other inhabitants of Sambir seldom or never heard the sound of her voice.  They got used to the silent figure moving in their midst calm and white-robed, a being from another world and incomprehensible to them.  Yet Nina’s life for all her outward composure, for all the seeming detachment from the things and people surrounding her, was far from quiet, in consequence of Mrs. Almayer being much too active for the happiness and even safety of the household.  She had resumed some intercourse with Lakamba, not personally, it is true (for the dignity of that potentate kept him inside his stockade), but through the agency of that potentate’s prime minister, harbour master, financial adviser, and general factotum.  That gentleman — of Sulu origin — was certainly endowed with statesmanlike qualities, although he was totally devoid of personal charms.  In truth he was perfectly repulsive, possessing only one eye and a pockmarked face, with nose and lips horribly disfigured by the small-pox.  This unengaging individual often strolled into Almayer’s garden in unofficial costume, composed of a piece of pink calico round his waist.  There at the back of the house, squatting on his heels on scattered embers, in close proximity to the great iron boiler, where the family daily rice was being cooked by the women under Mrs. Almayer’s superintendence, did that astute negotiator carry on long conversations in Sulu language with Almayer’s wife.  What the subject of their discourses was might have been guessed from the subsequent domestic scenes by Almayer’s hearthstone.

BOOK: Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated)
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