Complete Works

fellow!” said Almayer, banteringly. “Well, come up. Don’t make a noise, but come up. You’ll catch a sunstroke down there and die on my doorstep perhaps. I don’t want any tragedy here. Come on!”
    Before he finished speaking Willems’ head appeared above the level of the floor, then his shoulders rose gradually and he stood at last before Almayer — a masquerading spectre of the once so very confidential clerk of the richest merchant in the islands. His jacket was soiled and torn; below the waist he was clothed in a worn-out and faded sarong. He flung off his hat, uncovering his long, tangled hair that stuck in wisps on his perspiring forehead and straggled over his eyes, which glittered deep down in the sockets like the last sparks amongst the black embers of a burnt-out fire. An unclean beard grew out of the caverns of his sunburnt cheeks. The hand he put out towards Almayer was very unsteady. The once firm mouth had the tell-tale droop of mental suffering and physical exhaustion. He was barefooted. Almayer surveyed him with leisurely composure.
    “Well!” he said at last, without taking the extended hand which dropped slowly along Willems’ body.
    “I am come,” began Willems.
    “So I see,” interrupted Almayer. “You might have spared me this treat without making me unhappy. You have been away five weeks, if I am not mistaken. I got on very well without you — and now you are here you are not pretty to look at.”
    “Let me speak, will you!” exclaimed Willems.
    “Don’t shout like this. Do you think yourself in the forest with your . . . your friends? This is a civilized man’s house. A white man’s. Understand?”
    “I am come,” began Willems again; “I am come for your good and mine.”
    “You look as if you had come for a good feed,” chimed in the irrepressible Almayer, while Willems waved his hand in a discouraged gesture. “Don’t they give you enough to eat,” went on Almayer, in a tone of easy banter, “those — what am I to call them — those new relations of yours? That old blind scoundrel must be delighted with your company. You know, he was the greatest thief and murderer of those seas. Say! do you exchange confidences? Tell me, Willems, did you kill somebody in Macassar or did you only steal something?”
    “It is not true!” exclaimed Willems, hotly. “I only borrowed. . . . They all lied! I . . .”
    “Sh-sh!” hissed Almayer, warningly, with a look at the sleeping child. “So you did steal,” he went on, with repressed exultation. “I thought there was something of the kind. And now, here, you steal again.”
    For the first time Willems raised his eyes to Almayer’s face.
    “Oh, I don’t mean from me. I haven’t missed anything,” said Almayer, with mocking haste. “But that girl. Hey! You stole her. You did not pay the old fellow. She is no good to him now, is she?”
    “Stop that. Almayer!”
    Something in Willems’ tone caused Almayer to pause. He looked narrowly at the man before him, and could not help being shocked at his appearance.
    “Almayer,” went on Willems, “listen to me. If you are a human being you will. I suffer horribly — and for your sake.”
    Almayer lifted his eyebrows. “Indeed! How? But you are raving,” he added, negligently.
    “Ah! You don’t know,” whispered Willems. “She is gone. Gone,” he repeated, with tears in his voice, “gone two days ago.”
    “No!” exclaimed the surprised Almayer. “Gone! I haven’t heard that news yet.” He burst into a subdued laugh. “How funny! Had enough of you already? You know it’s not flattering for you, my superior countryman.”
    Willems — as if not hearing him — leaned against one of the columns of the roof and looked over the river. “At first,” he whispered, dreamily, “my life was like a vision of heaven — or hell; I didn’t know which. Since she went I know what perdition means; what darkness is. I know what it is to be torn to pieces alive. That’s how I feel.”
    “You may come and live with me again,” said Almayer, coldly. “After all, Lingard — whom I call my father and respect as such — left you under my care. You pleased yourself by going away. Very good. Now you want to come back. Be it so. I am no friend of yours. I act for Captain Lingard.”
    “Come back?” repeated Willems, passionately. “Come back to you and abandon her? Do you think I am mad? Without her! Man! what are you made of? To think that she moves, lives,