some reminiscences-第15章

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remember　where；　how　and　when　I　learned　to　read；　I　am　not　likely



to　forget　the　process　of　being　trained　in　the　art　of　reading



aloud。　　My　poor　father；　an　admirable　reader　himself；　was　the　most



exacting　of　masters。　　I　reflect　proudly　that　I　must　have　read



that　page　of　〃Two　Gentlemen　of　Verona〃　tolerably　well　at　the　age



of　eight。　　The　next　time　I　met　them　was　in　a　5s。　one…volume



edition　of　the　dramatic　works　of　William　Shakespeare；　read　in



Falmouth；　at　odd　moments　of　the　day；　to　the　noisy　accompaniment



of　caulkers'　mallets　driving　oakum　into　the　deck…seams　of　a　ship



in　dry　dock。　We　had　run　in；　in　a　sinking　condition　and　with　the



crew　refusing　duty　after　a　month　of　weary　battling　with　the　gales



of　the　North　Atlantic。　　Books　are　an　integral　part　of　one's　life



and　my　Shakespearean　associations　are　with　that　first　year　of　our



bereavement；　the　last　I　spent　with　my　father　in　exile　（he　sent　me



away　to　Poland　to　my　mother's　brother　directly　he　could　brace



himself　up　for　the　separation）；　and　with　the　year　of　hard　gales；



the　year　in　which　I　came　nearest　to　death　at　sea；　first　by　water



and　then　by　fire。







Those　things　I　remember；　but　what　I　was　reading　the　day　before　my



writing　life　began　I　have　forgotten。　　I　have　only　a　vague　notion



that　it　might　have　been　one　of　Trollope's　political　novels。　　And



I　remember；　too；　the　character　of　the　day。　　It　was　an　autumn　day



with　an　opaline　atmosphere；　a　veiled；　semi…opaque；　lustrous　day；



with　fiery　points　and　flashes　of　red　sunlight　on　the　roofs　and



windows　opposite；　while　the　trees　of　the　square　with　all　their



leaves　gone　were　like　tracings　of　indian　ink　on　a　sheet　of　tissue



paper。　　It　was　one　of　those　London　days　that　have　the　charm　of



mysterious　amenity；　of　fascinating　softness。　　The　effect　of



opaline　mist　was　often　repeated　at　Bessborough　Gardens　on　account



of　the　nearness　to　the　river。







There　is　no　reason　why　I　should　remember　that　effect　more　on　that



day　than　on　any　other　day；　except　that　I　stood　for　a　long　time



looking　out　of　the　window　after　the　landlady's　daughter　was　gone



with　her　spoil　of　cups　and　saucers。　　I　heard　her　put　the　tray



down　in　the　passage　and　finally　shut　the　door；　and　still　I



remained　smoking　with　my　back　to　the　room。　　It　is　very　clear　that



I　was　in　no　haste　to　take　the　plunge　into　my　writing　life；　if　as



plunge　this　first　attempt　may　be　described。　　My　whole　being　was



steeped　deep　in　the　indolence　of　a　sailor　away　from　the　sea；　the



scene　of　never…ending　labour　and　of　unceasing　duty。　　For　utter



surrender　to　indolence　you　cannot　beat　a　sailor　ashore　when　that



mood　is　on　him；　the　mood　of　absolute　irresponsibility　tasted　to



the　full。　　It　seems　to　me　that　I　thought　of　nothing　whatever；　but



this　is　an　impression　which　is　hardly　to　be　believed　at　this



distance　of　years。　　What　I　am　certain　of　is；　that　I　was　very　far



from　thinking　of　writing　a　story；　though　it　is　possible　and　even



likely　that　I　was　thinking　of　the　man　Almayer。







I　had　seen　him　for　the　first　time　some　four　years　before　from　the



bridge　of　a　steamer　moored　to　a　rickety　little　wharf　forty　miles



up；　more　or　less；　a　Bornean　river。　　It　was　very　early　morning　and



a　slight　mist；　an　opaline　mist　as　in　Bessborough　Gardens　only



without　the　fiery　flicks　on　roof　and　chimney…pot　from　the　rays　of



the　red　London　sun；　promised　to　turn　presently　into　a　woolly　fog。



Barring　a　small　dug…out　canoe　on　the　river　there　was　nothing



moving　within　sight。　　I　had　just　come　up　yawning　from　my　cabin。



The　serang　and　the　Malay　crew　were　overhauling　the　cargo　chains



and　trying　the　winches；　their　voices　sounded　subdued　on　the　deck



below　and　their　movements　were　languid。　　That　tropical　daybreak



was　chilly。　　The　Malay　quartermaster；　coming　up　to　get　something



from　the　lockers　on　the　bridge；　shivered　visibly。　　The　forests



above　and　below　and　on　the　opposite　bank　looked　black　and　dank；



wet　dripped　from　the　rigging　upon　the　tightly　stretched　deck



awnings；　and　it　was　in　the　middle　of　a　shuddering　yawn　that　I



caught　sight　of　Almayer。　　He　was　moving　across　a　patch　of　burnt



grass；　a　blurred　shadowy　shape　with　the　blurred　bulk　of　a　house



behind　him；　a　low　house　of　mats；　bamboos　and　palm…leaves　with　a



high…pitched　roof　of　grass。







He　stepped　upon　the　jetty。　　He　was　clad　simply　in　flapping



pyjamas　of　cretonne　pattern　（enormous　flowers　with　yellow　petals



on　a　disagreeable　blue　ground）　and　a　thin　cotton　singlet　with



short　sleeves。　　His　arms；　bare　to　the　elbow；　were　crossed　on　his



chest。　　His　black　hair　looked　as　if　it　had　not　been　cut　for　a



very　long　time　and　a　curly　wisp　of　it　strayed　across　his



forehead。　　I　had　heard　of　him　at　Singapore；　I　had　heard　of　him　on



board；　I　had　heard　of　him　early　in　the　morning　and　late　at　night；



I　had　heard　of　him　at　tiffin　and　at　dinner；　I　had　heard　of　him　in



a　place　called　Pulo　Laut　from　a　half…caste　gentleman　there；　who



described　himself　as　the　manager　of　a　coal…mine；　which　sounded



civilised　and　progressive　till　you　heard　that　the　mine　could　not



be　worked　at　present　because　it　was　haunted　by　some　particulary



atrocious　ghosts。　　I　had　heard　of　him　in　a　place　called　Dongola；



in　the　Island　of　Celebes；　when　the　Rajah　of　that　little…known



seaport　（you　can　get　no　anchorage　there　in　less　than　fifteen



fathom；　which　is　extremely　inconvenient）　came　on　board　in　a



friendly　way　with　only　two　attendants；　and　drank　bottle　after



bottle　of　soda…water　on　the　after…skylight　with　my　good　friend



and　commander；　Captain　C。　　At　least　I　heard　his　name　distinctly



pronounced　several　times　in　a　lot　of　talk　in　Malay　language。　　Oh



yes；　I　heard　it　quite　distinctlyAlmayer；　Almayerand　saw



Captain　C　smile　while　the　fat　dingy　Rajah　laughed　audibly。　　To



hear　a　Malay　Rajah　laugh　outright　is　a　rare　experience　I　can



assure　you。　　And　I　overhead　more　of　Almayer's　name　amongst　our



deck　passengers　（mostly　wandering　traders　of　good　repute）　as　they



sat　all　over　the　shipeach　man　fenced　round　with　bundles　and



boxeson　mats；　on　pillows；　on　quilts；　on　billets　of　wood；



conversing　of　Island　affairs。　　Upon　my　word；　I　heard　the　mutter



of　Almayer's　name　faintly　at　midnight；　while　making　my　way　aft



from　the　bridge　to　look　at　the　patent　taffrail…log　tinkling　its



quarter…miles　in　the　great　silence　of　the　sea。　　I　don't　mean　to



say　that　our　passengers　dreamed　aloud　of　Almayer；　but　it　is



indubitable　that　two　of　them　at　least；　who　could　not　sleep



apparently　and　were　trying　to　charm　away　the　trouble　of　insomnia



by　a　little　whispered　talk　at　that　ghostly　hour；　were　referring



in　some　way　or　other　to　Almayer。　　It　was　really　impossible　on



board　that　ship　to　get　away　definitely　from　Almayer；　and　a　very



small　pony　tied　up　forward　and　whisking　its　tail　inside　the



galley；　to　the　great　embarrassment　of　our　Chinaman　cook；　was



destined　for　Almayer。　　What　he　wanted　with　a　pony　goodness　only



knows；　since　I　am　perfectly　certain　he　could　not　ride　it；　but



here　you　have　the　man；　ambitious；　aiming　at　the　grandiose；



importing　a　pony；　whereas　in　the　whole　settlement　at　which　he



used　to　shake　daily　his　impotent　fist；　there　was　only　one　path



that　was　practicable　for　a　pony：　　a　quarter　of　a　mile　at　most；



hedged　in　by　hundreds　of　square　leagues　of　virgin　forest。　　But



who　knows？　　The　importation　of　that　Bali　Pony　might　have　been



part　of　some　deep　scheme；　of　some　diplomatic　plan；　of　some



hopeful　intrigue。　　With　Almayer　one　could　never　tell。　　He



governed　his　conduct　by　considerations　removed　from　the　obvious；



by　incredible　assumptions；　which　rendered　his　logic　impenetrable



to　any　reasonable　person。　　I　learned　all　this　later。　　That



morning　seeing　the　figure　in　pyjamas　moving　in　the　mist　I　said　to



myself：　　〃That's　the　man。〃







He　came　quite　close　to　the　ship's　side　and　raised　a　harassed



countenance；　round　and　flat；　with　that　curl　of　black　hair　over



the　forehead　and　a　heavy；　pained　glance。







〃Good　morning。〃







〃Good　morning。〃







He　looked　hard　at　me：　　I　was　a　new　face；　having　just　replaced



the　chief　mate　he　was　accustomed　to　see；　and　I　think　that　this



novelty　inspired　him；　as　things　generally　did；　with　deep…seated



mistrust。







〃Didn't　expect　you　in　till　this　evening；〃　he　remarked



suspiciously。







I　don't　know　why　he　should　have　been　aggrieved；　but　he　seemed　to



be。　　I　took　pains　to　explain　to　him　that　having　picked　up　the



beacon　at　the　mouth　of　the　river　just　before　dark　and　the　tide



serving；　Captain　C　was　enabled　to　cross　the　bar　and　there　was



nothing　to　prevent　him　going　up　river　at　night。







〃Captain　C　knows　this　river　like　his　own　pocket；〃　I　concluded



discursively；　trying　to　get　on　terms。







〃Better；〃　said　Almayer。







Leaning　over　the　rail　of　the　bridge　I　looked　at　Almayer；　who



looked　down　at　the　wharf　in　aggrieved　thought。　　He　shuffled　his



feet　a　little；　he　wore　straw　slippers　with　thick　soles。　　The



morning　fog　had　thickened　considerably。　　Everything　round　us



dripped：　　the　derricks；　the　rails；　every　single　rope　in　the　ship…



…as　if　a　fit　of　crying　had　come　upon　the　universe。







Almayer　again　raised　his　head　and　in　the　accents　of　a　man



accustomed　to　the　buffets　of　evil　fortune　asked　hardly　audibly：







〃I　suppose　you　haven't　got　such　a　thing　as　a　pony　on　board？〃







I　told　him　almost　in　a　whisper；　for　he　attuned　my　communications



to　his　minor　key；　that　we　had　such　a　thing　as　a　pony；　and　I



hinted；　as　gently　as　I　could；　that　he　was　confoundedly　in　the　way



too。　　I　was　very　anxious　to　have　him　landed　before　I　began　to



handle　the　cargo。　　Almayer　remained　looking　up　at　me　for　a　long



while　with　incredulous　and　melancholy　eyes　as　though　it　were　not



a　safe　thing　to　believe　my　statement。　　This　pathetic　mistrust　in



the　favourable　issue　of　any　sort　of　affair　touched　me　deeply；　and



I　added：







〃He　doesn't　seem　a　bit　the　worse　for　the　passage。　　He's　a　nice



pony　too。〃







Almayer　was　not　to　be　cheered　up；　for　all　answer　he　cleared　his



throat　and　looked　down　again　at　his　feet。　　I　tried　to　close　with



him　on　another　tack。







〃By　Jove！〃　I　said。　　〃Aren't　you　afraid　of　catching　pneumonia　or



bronchitis　or　something；　walking　about　in　a　singlet　in　such　a　wet



fog？〃







He　was　not　to　be　propitiated　by　a　show　of　interest　in　his　health。



His　answer　was　a　sinister　〃No　fear；〃　as　much　as　to　say　that　even



that　way　o