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

would say was very great, and akin to a fright. ‘May I have a cigarette?’ he asked. I gave a push to the box without raising my head. ‘I want⁠—want⁠—tobacco,’ he muttered. I became extremely buoyant. ‘Just a moment.’ I grunted pleasantly. He took a few steps here and there. ‘That’s over,’ I heard him say. A single distant clap of thunder came from the sea like a gun of distress. ‘The monsoon breaks up early this year,’ he remarked conversationally, somewhere behind me. This encouraged me to turn round, which I did as soon as I had finished addressing the last envelope. He was smoking greedily in the middle of the room, and though he heard the stir I made, he remained with his back to me for a time.

“ ‘Come⁠—I carried it off pretty well,’ he said, wheeling suddenly. ‘Something’s paid off⁠—not much. I wonder what’s to come.’ His face did not show any emotion, only it appeared a little darkened and swollen, as though he had been holding his breath. He smiled reluctantly as it were, and went on while I gazed up at him mutely.⁠ ⁠… ‘Thank you, though⁠—your room⁠—jolly convenient⁠—for a chap⁠—badly hipped.’⁠ ⁠… The rain pattered and swished in the garden; a water-pipe (it must have had a hole in it) performed just outside the window a parody of blubbering woe with funny sobs and gurgling lamentations, interrupted by jerky spasms of silence.⁠ ⁠… ‘A bit of shelter,’ he mumbled and ceased.

“A flash of faded lightning darted in through the black framework of the windows and ebbed out without any noise. I was thinking how I had best approach him (I did not want to be flung off again) when he gave a little laugh. ‘No better than a vagabond now’⁠ ⁠… the end of the cigarette smouldered between his fingers⁠ ⁠… ‘without a single⁠—single,’ he pronounced slowly; ‘and yet⁠ ⁠…’ He paused; the rain fell with redoubled violence. ‘Some day one’s bound to come upon some sort of chance to get it all back again. Must!’ he whispered distinctly, glaring at my boots.

“I did not even know what it was he wished so much to regain, what it was he had so terribly missed. It might have been so much that it was impossible to say. A piece of ass’s skin, according to Chester.⁠ ⁠… He looked up at me inquisitively. ‘Perhaps. If life’s long enough,’ I muttered through my teeth with unreasonable animosity. ‘Don’t reckon too much on it.’

“ ‘Jove! I feel as if nothing could ever touch me,’ he said in a tone of sombre conviction. ‘If this business couldn’t knock me over, then there’s no fear of there being not enough time to⁠—climb out, and⁠ ⁠…’ He looked upwards.

“It struck me that it is from such as he that the great army of waifs and strays is recruited, the army that marches down, down into all the gutters of the earth. As soon as he left my room, that ‘bit of shelter,’ he would take his place in the ranks, and begin the journey towards the bottomless pit. I at least had no illusions; but it was I, too, who a moment ago had been so sure of the power of words, and now was afraid to speak, in the same way one dares not move for fear of losing a slippery hold. It is when we try to grapple with another man’s intimate need that we perceive how incomprehensible, wavering, and misty are the beings that share with us the sight of the stars and the warmth of the sun. It is as if loneliness were a hard and absolute condition of existence; the envelope of flesh and blood on which our eyes are fixed melts before the outstretched hand, and there remains only the capricious, unconsolable, and elusive spirit that no eye can follow, no hand can grasp. It was the fear of losing him that kept me silent, for it was borne upon me suddenly and with unaccountable force that should I let him slip away into the darkness I would never forgive myself.

“ ‘Well. Thanks⁠—once more. You’ve been⁠—er⁠—uncommonly⁠—really there’s no word to⁠ ⁠… Uncommonly! I don’t know why, I am sure. I am afraid I don’t feel as grateful as I would if the whole thing hadn’t been so brutally sprung on me. Because at bottom⁠ ⁠… you, yourself⁠ ⁠…’ He stuttered.

“ ‘Possibly,’ I struck in. He frowned.

“ ‘All the same, one is responsible.’ He watched me like a hawk.

“ ‘And that’s true, too,’ I said.

“ ‘Well. I’ve gone with it to the end, and I don’t intend to let any man cast it in my teeth without⁠—without⁠—resenting it.’ He clenched his fist.

“ ‘There’s yourself,’ I said with a smile⁠—mirthless enough, God knows⁠—but he looked at me menacingly. ‘That’s my business,’ he said. An air of indomitable resolution came and went upon his face like a vain and passing shadow. Next moment he looked a dear good boy in trouble, as before. He flung away the cigarette. ‘Goodbye,’ he said, with the sudden haste of a man who had lingered too long in view of a pressing bit of work waiting for him; and then for a second or so he made not the slightest movement. The downpour fell with the heavy uninterrupted rush of a sweeping flood, with a sound of unchecked overwhelming fury that called to one’s mind the images of collapsing bridges, of uprooted trees, of undermined mountains. No man could breast the colossal and headlong stream that seemed to break and swirl against the dim stillness in which we were precariously sheltered as if on an island. The perforated pipe gurgled, choked, spat, and splashed in odious ridicule of a swimmer fighting for his life. ‘It is raining,’ I remonstrated, ‘and I⁠ ⁠…’ ‘Rain or shine,’ he began brusquely, checked himself, and walked to the window. ‘Perfect deluge,’ he muttered after a while: he leaned his forehead on the glass. ‘It’s dark, too.’

“ ‘Yes, it is very dark,’ I said.

“He pivoted on his heels, crossed the room, and had actually opened the door