Complete Works of Joseph Conrad (Illustrated) (772 page)

We parted rather hurriedly on the quay, each of us having his own pressing business to attend to.  I would have been very much cut up had I known that this hurried grasp of the hand with “So long, old boy.  Good luck to you!” was the last of our partings.

On his return to the Straits I was away, and he was gone again before I got back.  He was trying to achieve three trips before Freya’s twenty-first birthday.  At Nelson’s Cove I missed him again by only a couple of days.  Freya and I talked of “that lunatic” and “perfect idiot” with great delight and infinite appreciation.  She was very radiant, with a more pronounced gaiety, notwithstanding that she had just parted from Jasper.  But this was to be their last separation.

“Do get aboard as soon as you can, Miss Freya,” I entreated.

She looked me straight in the face, her colour a little heightened and with a sort of solemn ardour — if there was a little catch in her voice.

“The very next day.”

Ah, yes!  The very next day after her twenty-first birthday.  I was pleased at this hint of deep feeling.  It was as if she had grown impatient at last of the self-imposed delay.  I supposed that Jasper’s recent visit had told heavily.

“That’s right,” I said approvingly.  “I shall be much easier in my mind when I know you have taken charge of that lunatic.  Don’t you lose a minute.  He, of course, will be on time — unless heavens fall.”

“Yes.  Unless — ” she repeated in a thoughtful whisper, raising her eyes to the evening sky without a speck of cloud anywhere.  Silent for a time, we let our eyes wander over the waters below, looking mysteriously still in the twilight, as if trustfully composed for a long, long dream in the warm, tropical night.  And the peace all round us seemed without limits and without end.

And then we began again to talk Jasper over in our usual strain.  We agreed that he was too reckless in many ways.  Luckily, the brig was equal to the situation.  Nothing apparently was too much for her.  A perfect darling of a ship, said Miss Freya.  She and her father had spent an afternoon on board.  Jasper had given them some tea.  Papa was grumpy. . . . I had a vision of old Nelson under the brig’s snowy awnings, nursing his unassuming vexation, and fanning himself with his hat.  A comedy father. . . . As a new instance of Jasper’s lunacy, I was told that he was distressed at his inability to have solid silver handles fitted to all the cabin doors.  “As if I would have let him!” commented Miss Freya, with amused indignation.  Incidentally, I learned also that Schultz, the nautical kleptomaniac with the pathetic voice, was still hanging on to his job, with Miss Freya’s approval.  Jasper had confided to the lady of his heart his purpose of straightening out the fellow’s psychology.  Yes, indeed.  All the world was his friend because it breathed the same air with Freya.

Somehow or other, I brought Heemskirk’s name into conversation, and, to my great surprise, startled Miss Freya.  Her eyes expressed something like distress, while she bit her lip as if to contain an explosion of laughter.  Oh!  Yes.  Heemskirk was at the bungalow at the same time with Jasper, but he arrived the day after.  He left the same day as the brig, but a few hours later.

“What a nuisance he must have been to you two,” I said feelingly.

Her eyes flashed at me a sort of frightened merriment, and suddenly she exploded into a clear burst of laughter.  “Ha, ha, ha!”

I echoed it heartily, but not with the game charming tone: “Ha, ha, ha! . . . Isn’t he grotesque?  Ha, ha, ha!”  And the ludicrousness of old Nelson’s inanely fierce round eyes in association with his conciliatory manner to the lieutenant presenting itself to my mind brought on another fit.

“He looks,” I spluttered, “he looks — Ha, ha, ha! — amongst you three . . . like an unhappy black-beetle.  Ha, ha, ha!”

She gave out another ringing peal, ran off into her own room, and slammed the door behind her, leaving me profoundly astounded.  I stopped laughing at once.

“What’s the joke?” asked old Nelson’s voice, half way down the steps.

He came up, sat down, and blew out his cheeks, looking inexpressibly fatuous.  But I didn’t want to laugh any more.  And what on earth, I asked myself, have we been laughing at in this uncontrollable fashion.  I felt suddenly depressed.

Oh, yes.  Freya had started it.  The girl’s overwrought, I thought.  And really one couldn’t wonder at it.

I had no answer to old Nelson’s question, but he was too aggrieved at Jasper’s visit to think of anything else.  He as good as asked me whether I wouldn’t undertake to hint to Jasper that he was not wanted at the Seven Isles group.  I declared that it was not necessary.  From certain circumstances which had come to my knowledge lately, I had reason to think that he would not be much troubled by Jasper Allen in the future.

He emitted an earnest “Thank God!” which nearly set me laughing again, but he did not brighten up proportionately.  It seemed Heemskirk had taken special pains to make himself disagreeable.  The lieutenant had frightened old Nelson very much by expressing a sinister wonder at the Government permitting a white man to settle down in that part at all.  “It is against our declared policy,” he had remarked.  He had also charged him with being in reality no better than an Englishman.  He had even tried to pick a quarrel with him for not learning to speak Dutch.

“I told him I was too old to learn now,” sighed out old Nelson (or Nielsen) dismally.  “He said I ought to have learned Dutch long before.  I had been making my living in Dutch dependencies.  It was disgraceful of me not to speak Dutch, he said.  He was as savage with me as if I had been a Chinaman.”

It was plain he had been viciously badgered.  He did not mention how many bottles of his best claret he had offered up on the altar of conciliation.  It must have been a generous libation.  But old Nelson (or Nielsen) was really hospitable.  He didn’t mind that; and I only regretted that this virtue should be lavished on the lieutenant-commander of the Neptun.  I longed to tell him that in all probability he would be relieved from Heemskirk’s visitations also.  I did not do so only from the fear (absurd, I admit) of arousing some sort of suspicion in his mind.  As if with this guileless comedy father such a thing were possible!

Strangely enough, the last words on the subject of Heemskirk were spoken by Freya, and in that very sense.  The lieutenant was turning up persistently in old Nelson’s conversation at dinner.  At last I muttered a half audible “Damn the lieutenant.”  I could see that the girl was getting exasperated, too.

“And he wasn’t well at all — was he, Freya?” old Nelson went on moaning.  “Perhaps it was that which made him so snappish, hey, Freya?  He looked very bad when he left us so suddenly.  His liver must be in a bad state, too.”

“Oh, he will end by getting over it,” said Freya impatiently.  “And do leave off worrying about him, papa.  Very likely you won’t see much of him for a long time to come.”

The look she gave me in exchange for my discreet smile had no hidden mirth in it.  Her eyes seemed hollowed, her face gone wan in a couple of hours.  We had been laughing too much.  Overwrought!  Overwrought by the approach of the decisive moment.  After all, sincere, courageous, and self-reliant as she was, she must have felt both the passion and the compunction of her resolve.  The very strength of love which had carried her up to that point must have put her under a great moral strain, in which there might have been a little simple remorse, too.  For she was honest — and there, across the table, sat poor old Nelson (or Nielsen) staring at her, round-eyed and so pathetically comic in his fierce aspect as to touch the most lightsome heart.

He retired early to his room to soothe himself for a night’s rest by perusing his account-books.  We two remained on the verandah for another hour or so, but we exchanged only languid phrases on things without importance, as though we had been emotionally jaded by our long day’s talk on the only momentous subject.  And yet there was something she might have told a friend.  But she didn’t.  We parted silently.  She distrusted my masculine lack of common sense, perhaps. . . . O!  Freya!

Going down the precipitous path to the landing-stage, I was confronted in the shadows of boulders and bushes by a draped feminine figure whose appearance startled me at first.  It glided into my way suddenly from behind a piece of rock.  But in a moment it occurred to me that it could be no one else but Freya’s maid, a half-caste Malacca Portuguese.  One caught fleeting glimpses of her olive face and dazzling white teeth about the house.  I had observed her at times from a distance, as she sat within call under the shade of some fruit trees, brushing and plaiting her long raven locks.  It seemed to be the principal occupation of her leisure hours.  We had often exchanged nods and smiles — and a few words, too.  She was a pretty creature.  And once I had watched her approvingly make funny and expressive grimaces behind Heemskirk’s back.  I understood (from Jasper) that she was in the secret, like a comedy camerista.  She was to accompany Freya on her irregular way to matrimony and “ever after” happiness.  Why should she be roaming by night near the cove — unless on some love affair of her own — I asked myself.  But there was nobody suitable within the Seven Isles group, as far as I knew.  It flashed upon me that it was myself she had been lying in wait for.

She hesitated, muffled from head to foot, shadowy and bashful.  I advanced another pace, and how I felt is nobody’s business.

“What is it?” I asked, very low.

“Nobody knows I am here,” she whispered.

“And nobody can see us,” I whispered back.

The murmur of words “I’ve been so frightened” reached me.  Just then forty feet above our head, from the yet lighted verandah, unexpected and startling, Freya’s voice rang out in a clear, imperious call:

“Antonia!”

With a stifled exclamation, the hesitating girl vanished out of the path.  A bush near by rustled; then silence.  I waited wondering.  The lights on the verandah went out.  I waited a while longer then continued down the path to my boat, wondering more than ever.

I remember the occurrences of that visit especially, because this was the last time I saw the Nelson bungalow.  On arriving at the Straits I found cable messages which made it necessary for me to throw up my employment at a moment’s notice and go home at once.  I had a desperate scramble to catch the mailboat which was due to leave next day, but I found time to write two short notes, one to Freya, the other to Jasper.  Later on I wrote at length, this time to Allen alone.  I got no answer.  I hunted up then his brother, or, rather, half-brother, a solicitor in the city, a sallow, calm, little man who looked at me over his spectacles thoughtfully.

Jasper was the only child of his father’s second marriage, a transaction which had failed to commend itself to the first, grown-up family.

“You haven’t heard for ages,” I repeated, with secret annoyance.  “May I ask what ‘for ages’ means in this connection?”

“It means that I don’t care whether I ever hear from him or not,” retorted the little man of law, turning nasty suddenly.

I could not blame Jasper for not wasting his time in correspondence with such an outrageous relative.  But why didn’t he write to me — a decent sort of friend, after all; enough of a friend to find for his silence the excuse of forgetfulness natural to a state of transcendental bliss?  I waited indulgently, but nothing ever came.  And the East seemed to drop out of my life without an echo, like a stone falling into a well of prodigious depth.

CHAPTER IV

I suppose praiseworthy motives are a sufficient justification almost for anything.  What could be more commendable in the abstract than a girl’s determination that “poor papa” should not be worried, and her anxiety that the man of her choice should be kept by any means from every occasion of doing something rash, something which might endanger the whole scheme of their happiness?

Nothing could be more tender and more prudent.  We must also remember the girl’s self-reliant temperament, and the general unwillingness of women — I mean women of sense — to make a fuss over matters of that sort.

As has been said already, Heemskirk turned up some time after Jasper’s arrival at Nelson’s Cove.  The sight of the brig lying right under the bungalow was very offensive to him.  He did not fly ashore before his anchor touched the ground as Jasper used to do.  On the contrary, he hung about his quarter-deck mumbling to himself; and when he ordered his boat to be manned it was in an angry voice.  Freya’s existence, which lifted Jasper out of himself into a blissful elation, was for Heemskirk a cause of secret torment, of hours of exasperated brooding.

While passing the brig he hailed her harshly and asked if the master was on board.  Schultz, smart and neat in a spotless white suit, leaned over the taffrail, finding the question somewhat amusing.  He looked humorously down into Heemskirk’s boat, and answered, in the most amiable modulations of his beautiful voice: “Captain Allen is up at the house, sir.”  But his expression changed suddenly at the savage growl: “What the devil are you grinning at?” which acknowledged that information.

He watched Heemskirk land and, instead of going to the house, stride away by another path into the grounds.

The desire-tormented Dutchman found old Nelson (or Nielsen) at his drying-sheds, very busy superintending the manipulation of his tobacco crop, which, though small, was of excellent quality, and enjoying himself thoroughly.  But Heemskirk soon put a stop to this simple happiness.  He sat down by the old chap, and by the sort of talk which he knew was best calculated for the purpose, reduced him before long to a state of concealed and perspiring nervousness.  It was a horrid talk of “authorities,” and old Nelson tried to defend himself.  If he dealt with English traders it was because he had to dispose of his produce somehow.  He was as conciliatory as he knew how to be, and this very thing seemed to excite Heemskirk, who had worked himself up into a heavily breathing state of passion.

“And the worst of them all is that Allen,” he growled.  “Your particular friend — eh?  You have let in a lot of these Englishmen into this part.  You ought never to have been allowed to settle here.  Never.  What’s he doing here now?”