CHAPTER V.
At last the excitement had died out in Sambir. The inhabitants
got used to the sight of comings and goings between Almayer's
house and the vessel, now moored to the opposite bank, and
speculation as to the feverish activity displayed by Almayer's
boatmen in repairing old canoes ceased to interfere with the due
discharge of domestic duties by the women of the Settlement.
Even the baffled Jim-Eng left off troubling his muddled brain
with secrets of trade, and relapsed by the aid of his opium pipe
into a state of stupefied bliss, letting Babalatchi pursue his
way past his house uninvited and seemingly unnoticed.
So on that warm afternoon, when the deserted river sparkled under
the vertical sun, the statesman of Sambir could, without any
hindrance from friendly inquirers, shove off his little canoe
from under the bushes, where it was usually hidden during his
visits to Almayer's compound. Slowly and languidly Babalatchi
paddled, crouching low in the boat, making himself small under
his as enormous sun hat to escape the scorching heat reflected
from the water. He was not in a hurry; his master, Lakamba, was
surely reposing at this time of the day. He would have ample
time to cross over and greet him on his waking with important
news. Will he be displeased? Will he strike his ebony wood
staff angrily on the floor, frightening him by the incoherent
violence of his exclamations; or will he squat down with a
good-humoured smile, and, rubbing his hands gently over his
stomach with a familiar gesture, expectorate copiously into the
brass siri-vessel, giving vent to a low, approbative murmur?
Such were Babalatchi's thoughts as he skilfully handled his
paddle, crossing the river on his way to the Rajah's campong,
whose stockades showed from behind the dense foliage of the bank
just opposite to Almayer's bungalow.
Indeed, he had a report to make. Something certain at last to
confirm the daily tale of suspicions, the daily hints of
familiarity, of stolen glances he had seen, of short and burning
words he had overheard exchanged between Dain Maroola and
Almayer's daughter.
Lakamba had, till then, listened to it all, calmly and with
evident distrust; now he was going to be convinced, for
Babalatchi had the proof; had it this very morning, when fishing
at break of day in the creek over which stood Bulangi's house.
There from his skiff he saw Nina's long canoe drift past, the
girl sitting in the stern bending over Dain, who was stretched in
the bottom with his head resting on the girl's knees. He saw it.
He followed them, but in a short time they took to the paddles
and got away from under his observant eye. A few minutes
afterwards he saw Bulangi's slave-girl paddling in a small
dug-out to the town with her cakes for sale. She also had seen
them in the grey dawn. And Babalatchi grinned confidentially to
himself at the recollection of the slave-girl's discomposed face,
of the hard look in her eyes, of the tremble in her voice, when
answering his questions. That little Taminah evidently admired
Dain Maroola. That was good! And Babalatchi laughed aloud at
the notion; then becoming suddenly serious, he began by some
strange association of ideas to speculate upon the price for
which Bulangi would, possibly, sell the girl. He shook his head
sadly at the thought that Bulangi was a hard man, and had refused
one hundred dollars for that same Taminah only a few weeks ago;
then he became suddenly aware that the canoe had drifted too far
down during his meditation. He shook off the despondency caused
by the certitude of Bulangi's mercenary disposition, and, taking
up his paddle, in a few strokes sheered alongside the water-gate
of the Rajah's house.
That afternoon Almayer, as was his wont lately, moved about on
the water-side, overlooking the repairs to his boats. He had
decided at last. Guided by the scraps of information contained
in old Lingard's pocket-book, he was going to seek for the rich
gold-mine, for that place where he had only to stoop to gather up
an immense fortune and realise the dream of his young days. To
obtain the necessary help he had shared his knowledge with Dain
Maroola, he had consented to be reconciled with Lakamba, who gave
his support to the enterprise on condition of sharing the
profits; he had sacrificed his pride, his honour, and his loyalty
in the face of the enormous risk of his undertaking, dazzled by
the greatness of the results to be achieved by this alliance so
distasteful yet so necessary. The dangers were great, but
Maroola was brave; his men seemed as reckless as their chief, and
with Lakamba's aid success seemed assured.
For the last fortnight Almayer was absorbed in the preparations,
walking amongst his workmen and slaves in a kind of waking
trance, where practical details as to the fitting out of the
boats were mixed up with vivid dreams of untold wealth, where the
present misery of burning sun, of the muddy and malodorous river
bank disappeared in a gorgeous vision of a splendid future
existence for himself and Nina. He hardly saw Nina during these
last days, although the beloved daughter was ever present in his
thoughts. He hardly took notice of Dain, whose constant presence
in his house had become a matter of course to him now they were
connected by a community of interests. When meeting the young
chief he gave him an absent greeting and passed on, seemingly
wishing to avoid him, bent upon forgetting the hated reality of
the present by absorbing himself in his work, or else by letting
his imagination soar far above the tree-tops into the great white
clouds away to the westward, where the paradise of Europe was
awaiting the future Eastern millionaire. And Maroola, now the
bargain was struck and there was no more business to be talked
over, evidently did not care for the white man's company. Yet
Dain was always about the house, but he seldom stayed long by the
riverside. On his daily visits to the white man the Malay chief
preferred to make his way quietly through the central passage of
the house, and would come out into the garden at the back, where
the fire was burning in the cooking shed, with the rice kettle
swinging over it, under the watchful supervision of Mrs. Almayer.
Avoiding that shed, with its black smoke and the warbling of
soft, feminine voices, Dain would turn to the left. There, on
the edge of a banana plantation, a clump of palms and mango trees
formed a shady spot, a few scattered bushes giving it a certain
seclusion into which only the serving women's chatter or an
occasional burst of laughter could penetrate. Once in, he was
invisible; and hidden there, leaning against the smooth trunk of
a tall palm, he waited with gleaming eyes and an assured smile to
hear the faint rustle of dried grass under the light footsteps of
Nina.
From the very first moment when his eyes beheld this--to him--
perfection of loveliness he felt in his inmost heart the
conviction that she would be his; he felt the subtle breath of
mutual understanding passing between their two savage natures,
and he did not want Mrs. Almayer's encouraging smiles to take
every opportunity of approaching the girl; and every time he
spoke to her, every time he looked into her eyes, Nina, although
averting her face, felt as if this bold-looking being who spoke
burning words into her willing ear was the embodiment of her
fate, the creature of her dreams--reckless, ferocious, ready with
flashing kriss for his enemies, and with passionate embrace for
his beloved--the ideal Malay chief of her mother's tradition.
She recognised with a thrill of delicious fear the mysterious
consciousness of her identity with that being. Listening to his
words, it seemed to her she was born only then to a knowledge of
a new existence, that her life was complete only when near him,
and she abandoned herself to a feeling of dreamy happiness, while
with half- veiled face and in silence--as became a Malay
girl--she listened to Dain's words giving up to her the whole
treasure of love and passion his nature was capable of with all
the unrestrained enthusiasm of a man totally untrammelled by any
influence of civilised self-discipline.
And they used to pass many a delicious and fast fleeting hour
under the mango trees behind the friendly curtain of bushes till
Mrs. Almayer's shrill voice gave the signal of unwilling
separation. Mrs. Almayer had undertaken the easy task of
watching her husband lest he should interrupt the smooth course
of her daughter's love affair, in which she took a great and
benignant interest. She was happy and proud to see Dain's
infatuation, believing him to be a great and powerful chief, and
she found also a gratification of her mercenary instincts in
Dain's open-handed generosity.
On the eve of the day when Babalatchi's suspicions were confirmed
by ocular demonstration, Dain and Nina had remained longer than
usual in their shady retreat. Only Almayer's heavy step on the
verandah and his querulous clamour for food decided Mrs. Almayer
to lift a warning cry. Maroola leaped lightly over the low
bamboo fence, and made his way stealthily through the banana
plantation down to the muddy shore of the back creek, while Nina
walked slowly towards the house to minister to her father's
wants, as was her wont every evening. Almayer felt happy enough
that evening; the preparations were nearly completed; to-morrow
he would launch his boats. In his mind's eye he saw the rich
prize in his grasp; and, with tin spoon in his hand, he was
forgetting the plateful of rice before him in the fanciful
arrangement of some splendid banquet to take place on his arrival
in Amsterdam. Nina, reclining in the long chair, listened
absently to the few disconnected words escaping from her father's
lips. Expedition! Gold! What did she care for all that? But at
the name of Maroola mentioned by her father she was all
attention. Dain was going down the river with his brig to-morrow
to remain away for a few days, said Almayer. It was very
annoying, this delay. As soon as Dain returned they would have
to start without loss of time, for the river was rising. He
would not be surprised if a great flood was coming. And he
pushed away his plate with an impatient gesture on rising from
the table. But now Nina heard him not. Dain going away! That's
why he had ordered her, with that quiet masterfulness it was her
delight to obey, to meet him at break of day in Bulangi's creek.
Was there a paddle in her canoe? she thought. Was it ready? She
would have to start early--at four in the morning, in a very few
hours.
She rose from her chair, thinking she would require rest before
the long pull in the early morning. The lamp was burning dimly,
and her father, tired with the day's labour, was already in his
hammock. Nina put the lamp out and passed into a large room she
shared with her mother on the left of the central passage.
Entering, she saw that Mrs. Almayer had deserted the pile of mats
serving her as bed in one corner of the room, and was now bending
over the opened lid of her large wooden chest. Half a shell of
cocoanut filled with oil, where a cotton rag floated for a wick,
stood on the floor, surrounding her with a ruddy halo of light
shining through the black and odorous smoke. Mrs. Almayer's back
was bent, and her head and shoulders hidden in the deep box. Her
hands rummaged in the interior, where a soft clink as of silver
money could be heard. She did not notice at first her daughter's
approach, and Nina, standing silently by her, looked down on many
little canvas bags ranged in the bottom of the chest, wherefrom
her mother extracted handfuls of shining guilders and Mexican
dollars, letting them stream slowly back again through her
claw-like fingers. The music of tinkling silver seemed to
delight her, and her eyes sparkled with the reflected gleam of
freshly-minted coins. She was muttering to herself: "And this,
and this, and yet this! Soon he will give more--as much more as
I ask. He is a great Rajah--a Son of Heaven! And she will be a
Ranee--he gave all this for her! Who ever gave anything for me?
I am a slave! Am I? I am the mother of a great Ranee!" She
became aware suddenly of her daughter's presence, and ceased her
droning, shutting the lid down violently; then, without rising
from her crouching position, she looked up at the girl standing
by with a vague smile on her dreamy face.
"You have seen. Have you?" she shouted, shrilly. "That is all
mine, and for you. It is not enough! He will have to give more
before he takes you away to the southern island where his father
is king. You hear me? You are worth more, granddaughter of
Rajahs! More! More!"
The sleepy voice of Almayer was heard on the verandah
recommending silence. Mrs. Almayer extinguished the light and
crept into her corner of the room. Nina laid down on her back on
a pile of soft mats, her hands entwined under her head, gazing
through the shutterless hole, serving as a window at the stars
twinkling on the black sky; she was awaiting the time of start
for her appointed meeting-place. With quiet happiness she
thought of that meeting in the great forest, far from all human
eyes and sounds. Her soul, lapsing again into the savage mood,
which the genius of civilisation working by the hand of Mrs.
Vinck could never destroy, experienced a feeling of pride and of
some slight trouble at the high value her worldly-wise mother had
put upon her person; but she remembered the expressive glances
and words of Dain, and, tranquillised, she closed her eyes in a
shiver of pleasant anticipation.
There are some situations where the barbarian and the, so-called,
civilised man meet upon the same ground. It may be supposed that
Dain Maroola was not exceptionally delighted with his prospective
mother-in-law, nor that he actually approved of that worthy
woman's appetite for shining dollars. Yet on that foggy morning
when Babalatchi, laying aside the cares of state, went to visit
his fish-baskets in the Bulangi creek, Maroola had no misgivings,
experienced no feelings but those of impatience and longing, when
paddling to the east side of the island forming the back-water in
question. He hid his canoe in the bushes and strode rapidly
across the islet, pushing with impatience through the twigs of
heavy undergrowth intercrossed over his path. From motives of
prudence he would not take his canoe to the meeting-place, as
Nina had done. He had left it in the main stream till his return
from the other side of the island. The heavy warm fog was
closing rapidly round him, but he managed to catch a fleeting
glimpse of a light away to the left, proceeding from Bulangi's
house. Then he could see nothing in the thickening vapour, and
kept to the path only by a sort of instinct, which also led him
to the very point on the opposite shore he wished to reach. A
great log had stranded there, at right angles to the bank,
forming a kind of jetty against which the swiftly flowing stream
broke with a loud ripple. He stepped on it with a quick but
steady motion, and in two strides found himself at the outer end,
with the rush and swirl of the foaming water at his feet.
Standing there alone, as if separated from the world; the
heavens, earth; the very water roaring under him swallowed up in
the thick veil of the morning fog, he breathed out the name of
Nina before him into the apparently limitless space, sure of
being heard, instinctively sure of the nearness of the delightful
creature; certain of her being aware of his near presence as he
was aware of hers.
The bow of Nina's canoe loomed up close to the log, canted high
out of the water by the weight of the sitter in the stern.
Maroola laid his hand on the stem and leaped lightly in, giving
it a vigorous shove off. The light craft, obeying the new
impulse, cleared the log by a hair's breadth, and the river, with
obedient complicity, swung it broadside to the current, and bore
it off silently and rapidly between the invisible banks. And
once more Dain, at the feet of Nina, forgot the world, felt
himself carried away helpless by a great wave of supreme emotion,
by a rush of joy, pride, and desire; understood once more with
overpowering certitude that there was no life possible without
that being he held clasped in his arms with passionate strength
in a prolonged embrace.
Nina disengaged herself gently with a low laugh.
"You will overturn the boat, Dain," she whispered.
He looked into her eyes eagerly for a minute and let her go with
a sigh, then lying down in the canoe he put his head on her
knees, gazing upwards and stretching his arms backwards till his
hands met round the girl's waist. She bent over him, and,
shaking her head, framed both their faces in the falling locks of
her long black hair.
And so they drifted on, he speaking with all the rude eloquence
of a savage nature giving itself up without restraint to an
overmastering passion, she bending low to catch the murmur of
words sweeter to her than life itself. To those two nothing
existed then outside the gunwales of the narrow and fragile
craft. It was their world, filled with their intense and
all-absorbing love. They took no heed of thickening mist, or of
the breeze dying away before sunrise; they forgot the existence
of the great forests surrounding them, of all the tropical nature
awaiting the advent of the sun in a solemn and impressive
silence.
Over the low river-mist hiding the boat with its freight of young
passionate life and all-forgetful happiness, the stars paled, and
a silvery-grey tint crept over the sky from the eastward. There
was not a breath of wind, not a rustle of stirring leaf, not a
splash of leaping fish to disturb the serene repose of all living
things on the banks of the great river. Earth, river, and sky
were wrapped up in a deep sleep, from which it seemed there would
be no waking. All the seething life and movement of tropical
nature seemed concentrated in the ardent eyes, in the
tumultuously beating hearts of the two beings drifting in the
canoe, under the white canopy of mist, over the smooth surface of
the river.
Suddenly a great sheaf of yellow rays shot upwards from behind
the black curtain of trees lining the banks of the Pantai. The
stars went out; the little black clouds at the zenith glowed for
a moment with crimson tints, and the thick mist, stirred by the
gentle breeze, the sigh of waking nature, whirled round and broke
into fantastically torn pieces, disclosing the wrinkled surface
of the river sparkling in the broad light of day. Great flocks
of white birds wheeled screaming above the swaying tree-tops.
The sun had risen on the east coast.
Dain was the first to return to the cares of everyday life. He
rose and glanced rapidly up and down the river. His eye detected
Babalatchi's boat astern, and another small black speck on the
glittering water, which was Taminah's canoe. He moved cautiously
forward, and, kneeling, took up a paddle; Nina at the stern took
hers. They bent their bodies to the work, throwing up the water
at every stroke, and the small craft went swiftly ahead, leaving
a narrow wake fringed with a lace-like border of white and
gleaming foam. Without turning his head, Dain spoke.
"Somebody behind us, Nina. We must not let him gain. I think he
is too far to recognise us."
"Somebody before us also," panted out Nina, without ceasing to
paddle.
"I think I know," rejoined Dain. "The sun shines over there, but
I fancy it is the girl Taminah. She comes down every morning to
my brig to sell cakes--stays often all day. It does not matter;
steer more into the bank; we must get under the bushes. My canoe
is hidden not far from here."
As he spoke his eyes watched the broad-leaved nipas which they
were brushing in their swift and silent course.
"Look out, Nina," he said at last; "there, where the water palms
end and the twigs hang down under the leaning tree. Steer for
the big green branch."
He stood up attentive, and the boat drifted slowly in shore, Nina
guiding it by a gentle and skilful movement of her paddle. When
near enough Dain laid hold of the big branch, and leaning back
shot the canoe under a low green archway of thickly matted
creepers giving access to a miniature bay formed by the caving in
of the bank during the last great flood. His own boat was there
anchored by a stone, and he stepped into it, keeping his hand on
the gunwale of Nina's canoe. In a moment the two little
nutshells with their occupants floated quietly side by side,
reflected by the black water in the dim light struggling through
a high canopy of dense foliage; while above, away up in the broad
day, flamed immense red blossoms sending down on their heads a
shower of great dew-sparkling petals that descended rotating
slowly in a continuous and perfumed stream; and over them, under
them, in the sleeping water; all around them in a ring of
luxuriant vegetation bathed in the warm air charged with strong
and harsh perfumes, the intense work of tropical nature went on:
plants shooting upward, entwined, interlaced in inextricable
confusion, climbing madly and brutally over each other in the
terrible silence of a desperate struggle towards the life-giving
sunshine above--as if struck with sudden horror at the seething
mass of corruption below, at the death and decay from which they
sprang.
"We must part now," said Dain, after a long silence. "You must
return at once, Nina. I will wait till the brig drifts down
here, and shall get on board then."
"And will you be long away, Dain?" asked Nina, in a low voice.
"Long!" exclaimed Dain. "Would a man willingly remain long in a
dark place? When I am not near you, Nina, I am like a man that
is blind. What is life to me without light?"
Nina leaned over, and with a proud and happy smile took Dain's
face between her hands, looking into his eyes with a fond yet
questioning gaze. Apparently she found there the confirmation of
the words just said, for a feeling of grateful security lightened
for her the weight of sorrow at the hour of parting. She
believed that he, the descendant of many great Rajahs, the son of
a great chief, the master of life and death, knew the sunshine of
life only in her presence. An immense wave of gratitude and love
welled forth out of her heart towards him. How could she make an
outward and visible sign of all she felt for the man who had
filled her heart with so much joy and so much pride? And in the
great tumult of passion, like a flash of lightning came to her
the reminiscence of that despised and almost forgotten
civilisation she had only glanced at in her days of restraint, of
sorrow, and of anger. In the cold ashes of that hateful and
miserable past she would find the sign of love, the fitting
expression of the boundless felicity of the present, the pledge
of a bright and splendid future. She threw her arms around
Dain's neck and pressed her lips to his in a long and burning
kiss. He closed his eyes, surprised and frightened at the storm
raised in his breast by the strange and to him hitherto unknown
contact, and long after Nina had pushed her canoe into the river
he remained motionless, without daring to open his eyes, afraid
to lose the sensation of intoxicating delight he had tasted for
the first time.
Now he wanted but immortality, he thought, to be the equal of
gods, and the creature that could open so the gates of paradise
must be his--soon would be his for ever!
He opened his eyes in time to see through the archway of creepers
the bows of his brig come slowly into view, as the vessel drifted
past on its way down the river. He must go on board now, he
thought; yet he was loth to leave the place where he had learned
to know what happiness meant. "Time yet. Let them go," he
muttered to himself; and he closed his eyes again under the red
shower of scented petals, trying to recall the scene with all its
delight and all its fear.
He must have been able to join his brig in time, after all, and
found much occupation outside, for it was in vain that Almayer
looked for his friend's speedy return. The lower reach of the
river where he so often and so impatiently directed his eyes
remained deserted, save for the rapid flitting of some fishing
canoe; but down the upper reaches came black clouds and heavy
showers heralding the final setting in of the rainy season with
its thunderstorms and great floods making the river almost
impossible of ascent for native canoes.
Almayer, strolling along the muddy beach between his houses,
watched uneasily the river rising inch by inch, creeping slowly
nearer to the boats, now ready and hauled up in a row under the
cover of dripping Kajang-mats. Fortune seemed to elude his
grasp, and in his weary tramp backwards and forwards under the
steady rain falling from the lowering sky, a sort of despairing
indifference took possession of him. What did it matter? It was
just his luck! Those two infernal savages, Lakamba and Dain,
induced him, with their promises of help, to spend his last
dollar in the fitting out of boats, and now one of them was gone
somewhere, and the other shut up in his stockade would give no
sign of life. No, not even the scoundrelly Babalatchi, thought
Almayer, would show his face near him, now they had sold him all
the rice, brass gongs, and cloth necessary for his expedition.
They had his very last coin, and did not care whether he went or
stayed. And with a gesture of abandoned discouragement Almayer
would climb up slowly to the verandah of his new house to get out
of the rain, and leaning on the front rail with his head sunk
between his shoulders he would abandon himself to the current of
bitter thoughts, oblivious of the flight of time and the pangs of
hunger, deaf to the shrill cries of his wife calling him to the
evening meal. When, roused from his sad meditations by the first
roll of the evening thunderstorm, he stumbled slowly towards the
glimmering light of his old house, his half-dead hope made his
ears preternaturally acute to any sound on the river. Several
nights in succession he had heard the splash of paddles and had
seen the indistinct form of a boat, but when hailing the shadowy
apparition, his heart bounding with sudden hope of hearing Dain's
voice, he was disappointed each time by the sulky answer
conveying to him the intelligence that the Arabs were on the
river, bound on a visit to the home-staying Lakamba. This caused
him many sleepless nights, spent in speculating upon the kind of
villainy those estimable personages were hatching now. At last,
when all hope seemed dead, he was overjoyed on hearing Dain's
voice; but Dain also appeared very anxious to see Lakamba, and
Almayer felt uneasy owing to a deep and ineradicable distrust as
to that ruler's disposition towards himself. Still, Dain had
returned at last. Evidently he meant to keep to his bargain.
Hope revived, and that night Almayer slept soundly, while Nina
watched the angry river under the lash of the thunderstorm
sweeping onward towards the sea.
