Complete Works

solicitude.
    “I have been queer — you know — these last few days, but no pain.” He struck his broad chest several times, cleared his throat with a powerful “Hem!” and repeated: “No. No pain. Good for a few years yet. But I am bothered with all this, I can tell you!”
    “You must take care of yourself,” said Almayer. Then after a pause he added: “You will see Abdulla. Won’t you?”
    “I don’t know. Not yet. There’s plenty of time,” said Lingard, impatiently.
    “I wish you would do something,” urged Almayer, moodily. “You know, that woman is a perfect nuisance to me. She and her brat! Yelps all day. And the children don’t get on together. Yesterday the little devil wanted to fight with my Nina. Scratched her face, too. A perfect savage! Like his honourable papa. Yes, really. She worries about her husband, and whimpers from morning to night. When she isn’t weeping she is furious with me. Yesterday she tormented me to tell her when he would be back and cried because he was engaged in such dangerous work. I said something about it being all right — no necessity to make a fool of herself, when she turned upon me like a wild cat. Called me a brute, selfish, heartless; raved about her beloved Peter risking his life for my benefit, while I did not care. Said I took advantage of his generous good-nature to get him to do dangerous work — my work. That he was worth twenty of the likes of me. That she would tell you — open your eyes as to the kind of man I was, and so on. That’s what I’ve got to put up with for your sake. You really might consider me a little. I haven’t robbed anybody,” went on Almayer, with an attempt at bitter irony — ”or sold my best friend, but still you ought to have some pity on me. It’s like living in a hot fever. She is out of her wits. You make my house a refuge for scoundrels and lunatics. It isn’t fair. ‘Pon my word it isn’t! When she is in her tantrums she is ridiculously ugly and screeches so — it sets my teeth on edge. Thank God! my wife got a fit of the sulks and cleared out of the house. Lives in a riverside hut since that affair — you know. But this Willems’ wife by herself is almost more than I can bear. And I ask myself why should I? You are exacting and no mistake. This morning I thought she was going to claw me. Only think! She wanted to go prancing about the settlement. She might have heard something there, so I told her she mustn’t. It wasn’t safe outside our fences, I said. Thereupon she rushes at me with her ten nails up to my eyes. ‘You miserable man,’ she yells, ‘even this place is not safe, and you’ve sent him up this awful river where he may lose his head. If he dies before forgiving me, Heaven will punish you for your crime . . .’ My crime! I ask myself sometimes whether I am dreaming! It will make me ill, all this. I’ve lost my appetite already.”
    He flung his hat on deck and laid hold of his hair despairingly. Lingard looked at him with concern.
    “What did she mean by it?” he muttered, thoughtfully.
    “Mean! She is crazy, I tell you — and I will be, very soon, if this lasts!”
    “Just a little patience, Kaspar,” pleaded Lingard. “A day or so more.”
    Relieved or tired by his violent outburst, Almayer calmed down, picked up his hat and, leaning against the bulwark, commenced to fan himself with it.
    “Days do pass,” he said, resignedly — ”but that kind of thing makes a man old before his time. What is there to think about? — I can’t imagine! Abdulla says plainly that if you undertake to pilot his ship out and instruct the half-caste, he will drop Willems like a hot potato and be your friend ever after. I believe him perfectly, as to Willems. It’s so natural. As to being your friend it’s a lie of course, but we need not bother about that just yet. You just say yes to Abdulla, and then whatever happens to Willems will be nobody’s business.”
    He interrupted himself and remained silent for a while, glaring about with set teeth and dilated nostrils.
    “You leave it to me. I’ll see to it that something happens to him,” he said at last, with calm ferocity. Lingard smiled faintly.
    “The fellow isn’t worth a shot. Not the trouble of it,” he whispered, as if to himself. Almayer fired up suddenly.
    “That’s what you think,” he cried. “You haven’t been sewn up in your hammock to be made a laughing-stock of before a parcel of savages. Why! I daren’t look