Almayers Folly | Page 6

what you are told."
Startled by the unexpected proposal, Almayer hesitated, and remained
silent for a minute. He was gifted with a strong and active imagination,
and in that short space of time he saw, as in a flash of dazzling light,
great piles of shining guilders, and realised all the possibilities of an
opulent existence. The consideration, the indolent ease of life--for
which he felt himself so well fitted--his ships, his warehouses, his
merchandise (old Lingard would not live for ever), and, crowning all,
in the far future gleamed like a fairy palace the big mansion in
Amsterdam, that earthly paradise of his dreams, where, made king
amongst men by old Lingard's money, he would pass the evening of his
days in inexpressible splendour. As to the other side of the picture--the
companionship for life of a Malay girl, that legacy of a boatful of
pirates--there was only within him a confused consciousness of shame
that he a white man-- Still, a convent education of four years!--and then
she may mercifully die. He was always lucky, and money is powerful!
Go through it. Why not? He had a vague idea of shutting her up
somewhere, anywhere, out of his gorgeous future. Easy enough to
dispose of a Malay woman, a slave, after all, to his Eastern mind,
convent or no convent, ceremony or no ceremony.
He lifted his head and confronted the anxious yet irate seaman.
"I--of course--anything you wish, Captain Lingard."
"Call me father, my boy. She does," said the mollified old adventurer.
"Damme, though, if I didn't think you were going to refuse. Mind you,
Kaspar, I always get my way, so it would have been no use. But you
are no fool."
He remembered well that time--the look, the accent, the words, the
effect they produced on him, his very surroundings. He remembered
the narrow slanting deck of the brig, the silent sleeping coast, the

smooth black surface of the sea with a great bar of gold laid on it by the
rising moon. He remembered it all, and he remembered his feelings of
mad exultation at the thought of that fortune thrown into his hands. He
was no fool then, and he was no fool now. Circumstances had been
against him; the fortune was gone, but hope remained.
He shivered in the night air, and suddenly became aware of the intense
darkness which, on the sun's departure, had closed in upon the river,
blotting out the outlines of the opposite shore. Only the fire of dry
branches lit outside the stockade of the Rajah's compound called
fitfully into view the ragged trunks of the surrounding trees, putting a
stain of glowing red half-way across the river where the drifting logs
were hurrying towards the sea through the impenetrable gloom. He had
a hazy recollection of having been called some time during the evening
by his wife. To his dinner probably. But a man busy contemplating the
wreckage of his past in the dawn of new hopes cannot be hungry
whenever his rice is ready. Time he went home, though; it was getting
late.
He stepped cautiously on the loose planks towards the ladder. A lizard,
disturbed by the noise, emitted a plaintive note and scurried through the
long grass growing on the bank. Almayer descended the ladder
carefully, now thoroughly recalled to the realities of life by the care
necessary to prevent a fall on the uneven ground where the stones,
decaying planks, and half-sawn beams were piled up in inextricable
confusion. As he turned towards the house where he lived--"my old
house" he called it-- his ear detected the splash of paddles away in the
darkness of the river. He stood still in the path, attentive and surprised
at anybody being on the river at this late hour during such a heavy
freshet. Now he could hear the paddles distinctly, and even a rapidly
exchanged word in low tones, the heavy breathing of men fighting with
the current, and hugging the bank on which he stood. Quite close, too,
but it was too dark to distinguish anything under the overhanging
bushes.
"Arabs, no doubt," muttered Almayer to himself, peering into the solid
blackness. "What are they up to now? Some of Abdulla's business;

curse him!"
The boat was very close now.
"Oh, ya! Man!" hailed Almayer.
The sound of voices ceased, but the paddles worked as furiously as
before. Then the bush in front of Almayer shook, and the sharp sound
of the paddles falling into the canoe rang in the quiet night. They were
holding on to the bush now; but Almayer could hardly make out an
indistinct dark shape of a man's head and shoulders above the bank.
"You Abdulla?" said Almayer, doubtfully.
A grave voice answered--
"Tuan Almayer is speaking to a friend.