Complete Works

yellow butterflies rose, and settled to rise again in short flights before Reshid’s half-closed eyes.  From under his feet arose the dull hum of insects in the long grass of the courtyard.  He looked on sleepily.
    From one of the side paths amongst the houses a woman stepped out on the road, a slight girlish figure walking under the shade of a large tray balanced on its head.  The consciousness of something moving stirred Reshid’s half-sleeping senses into a comparative wakefulness.  He recognised Taminah, Bulangi’s slave-girl, with her tray of cakes for sale — an apparition of daily recurrence and of no importance whatever.  She was going towards Almayer’s house.  She could be made useful.  He roused himself up and ran towards the gate calling out, “Taminah O!”  The girl stopped, hesitated, and came back slowly.
    Reshid waited, signing to her impatiently to come nearer.
    When near Reshid Taminah stood with downcast eyes.  Reshid looked at her a while before he asked —
    “Are you going to Almayer’s house?  They say in the settlement that Dain the trader, he that was found drowned this morning, is lying in the white man’s campong.”
    “I have heard this talk,” whispered Taminah; “and this morning by the riverside I saw the body.  Where it is now I do not know.”
    “So you have seen it?” asked Reshid, eagerly.  “Is it Dain?  You have seen him many times.  You would know him.”
    The girl’s lips quivered and she remained silent for a while, breathing quickly.
    “I have seen him, not a long time ago,” she said at last.  “The talk is true; he is dead.  What do you want from me, Tuan?  I must go.”
    Just then the report of the gun fired on board the steam launch was heard, interrupting Reshid’s reply.  Leaving the girl he ran to the house, and met in the courtyard Abdulla coming towards the gate.
    “The Orang Blanda are come,” said Reshid, “and now we shall have our reward.”
    Abdulla shook his head doubtfully.  “The white men’s rewards are long in coming,” he said.  “White men are quick in anger and slow in gratitude.  We shall see.”
    He stood at the gate stroking his grey beard and listening to the distant cries of greeting at the other end of the settlement.  As Taminah was turning to go he called her back.
    “Listen, girl,” he said: “there will be many white men in Almayer’s house.  You shall be there selling your cakes to the men of the sea.  What you see and what you hear you may tell me.  Come here before the sun sets and I will give you a blue handkerchief with red spots.  Now go, and forget not to return.”
    He gave her a push with the end of his long staff as she was going away and made her stumble.
    “This slave is very slow,” he remarked to his nephew, looking after the girl with great disfavour.
    Taminah walked on, her tray on the head, her eyes fixed on the ground.  From the open doors of the houses were heard, as she passed, friendly calls inviting her within for business purposes, but she never heeded them, neglecting her sales in the preoccupation of intense thinking.  Since the very early morning she had heard much, she had also seen much that filled her heart with a joy mingled with great suffering and fear.  Before the dawn, before she left Bulangi’s house to paddle up to Sambir she had heard voices outside the house when all in it but herself were asleep.  And now, with her knowledge of the words spoken in the darkness, she held in her hand a life and carried in her breast a great sorrow.  Yet from her springy step, erect figure, and face veiled over by the everyday look of apathetic indifference, nobody could have guessed of the double load she carried under the visible burden of the tray piled up high with cakes manufactured by the thrifty hands of Bulangi’s wives.  In that supple figure straight as an arrow, so graceful and free in its walk, behind those soft eyes that spoke of nothing but of unconscious resignation, there slept all feelings and all passions, all hopes and all fears, the curse of life and the consolation of death.  And she knew nothing of it all.  She lived like the tall palms amongst whom she was passing now, seeking the light, desiring the sunshine, fearing the storm, unconscious of either.  The slave had no hope, and knew of no change.  She knew of no other sky, no other water, no other forest, no other world, no other life.  She had no wish, no hope, no love, no fear