Lord Jim - Joseph Conrad (7 ebook reader TXT) 📗

course⁠—and if an introduction to a man (in Rangoon) who could put some work in his way⁠ ⁠… Why! with the greatest pleasure. I had pen, ink, and paper in my room on the first floor. And even while I was speaking I was impatient to begin the letter⁠—day, month, year, 2:30 a.m.⁠ ⁠… for the sake of our old friendship I ask you to put some work in the way of Mr. James So-and-so, in whom, etc., etc.⁠ ⁠… I was even ready to write in that strain about him. If he had not enlisted my sympathies he had done better for himself⁠—he had gone to the very fount and origin of that sentiment, he had reached the secret sensibility of my egoism. I am concealing nothing from you, because were I to do so my action would appear more unintelligible than any man’s action has the right to be, and⁠—in the second place⁠—tomorrow you will forget my sincerity along with the other lessons of the past. In this transaction, to speak grossly and precisely, I was the irreproachable man; but the subtle intentions of my immorality were defeated by the moral simplicity of the criminal. No doubt he was selfish too, but his selfishness had a higher origin, a more lofty aim. I discovered that, say what I would, he was eager to go through the ceremony of execution, and I didn’t say much, for I felt that in argument his youth would tell against me heavily: he believed where I had already ceased to doubt. There was something fine in the wildness of his unexpressed, hardly formulated hope. ‘Clear out! Couldn’t think of it,’ he said, with a shake of the head. ‘I make you an offer for which I neither demand nor expect any sort of gratitude,’ I said; ‘you shall repay the money when convenient, and⁠ ⁠…’ ‘Awfully good of you,’ he muttered without looking up. I watched him narrowly: the future must have appeared horribly uncertain to him; but he did not falter, as though indeed there had been nothing wrong with his heart. I felt angry⁠—not for the first time that night. ‘The whole wretched business,’ I said, ‘is bitter enough, I should think, for a man of your kind⁠ ⁠…’ ‘It is, it is,’ he whispered twice, with his eyes fixed on the floor. It was heartrending. He towered above the light, and I could see the down on his cheek, the colour mantling warm under the smooth skin of his face. Believe me or not, I say it was outrageously heartrending. It provoked me to brutality. ‘Yes,’ I said; ‘and allow me to confess that I am totally unable to imagine what advantage you can expect from this licking of the dregs.’ ‘Advantage!’ he murmured out of his stillness. ‘I am dashed if I do,’ I said, enraged. ‘I’ve been trying to tell you all there is in it,’ he went on slowly, as if meditating something unanswerable. ‘But after all, it is my trouble.’ I opened my mouth to retort, and discovered suddenly that I’d lost all confidence in myself; and it was as if he too had given me up, for he mumbled like a man thinking half aloud. ‘Went away⁠ ⁠… went into hospitals.⁠ ⁠… Not one of them would face it.⁠ ⁠… They!⁠ ⁠…’ He moved his hand slightly to imply disdain. ‘But I’ve got to get over this thing, and I mustn’t shirk any of it or⁠ ⁠… I won’t shirk any of it.’ He was silent. He gazed as though he had been haunted. His unconscious face reflected the passing expressions of scorn, of despair, of resolution⁠—reflected them in turn, as a magic mirror would reflect the gliding passage of unearthly shapes. He lived surrounded by deceitful ghosts, by austere shades. ‘Oh! nonsense, my dear fellow,’ I began. He had a movement of impatience. ‘You don’t seem to understand,’ he said incisively; then looking at me without a wink, ‘I may have jumped, but I don’t run away.’ ‘I meant no offence,’ I said; and added stupidly, ‘Better men than you have found it expedient to run, at times.’ He coloured all over, while in my confusion I half-choked myself with my own tongue. ‘Perhaps so,’ he said at last, ‘I am not good enough; I can’t afford it. I am bound to fight this thing down⁠—I am fighting it now.’ I got out of my chair and felt stiff all over. The silence was embarrassing, and to put an end to it I imagined nothing better but to remark, ‘I had no idea it was so late,’ in an airy tone.⁠ ⁠… ‘I dare say you have had enough of this,’ he said brusquely: ‘and to tell you the truth’⁠—he began to look round for his hat⁠—‘so have I.’

“Well! he had refused this unique offer. He had struck aside my helping hand; he was ready to go now, and beyond the balustrade the night seemed to wait for him very still, as though he had been marked down for its prey. I heard his voice. ‘Ah! here it is.’ He had found his hat. For a few seconds we hung in the wind. ‘What will you do after⁠—after⁠ ⁠…’ I asked very low. ‘Go to the dogs as likely as not,’ he answered in a gruff mutter. I had recovered my wits in a measure, and judged best to take it lightly. ‘Pray remember,’ I said, ‘that I should like very much to see you again before you go.’ ‘I don’t know what’s to prevent you. The damned thing won’t make me invisible,’ he said with intense bitterness⁠—‘no such luck.’ And then at the moment of taking leave he treated me to a ghastly muddle of dubious stammers and movements, to an awful display of hesitations. God forgive him⁠—me! He had taken it into his fanciful head that I was likely to make some difficulty as to shaking hands. It was too awful for words. I believe I shouted suddenly at him as you would bellow to