Complete Works

away before I tried to wake you.  I did not want your women, I wanted you.”
    “Old Mem!” repeated Almayer.  “Do you mean my wife?”
    She nodded her head.
    “But of my daughter you are not afraid?” said Almayer.
    “Have you not heard me?” she exclaimed.  “Have I not spoken for a long time when you lay there with eyes half open?  She is gone too.”
    “I was asleep.  Can you not tell when a man is sleeping and when awake?”
    “Sometimes,” answered Taminah in a low voice; “sometimes the spirit lingers close to a sleeping body and may hear.  I spoke a long time before I touched you, and I spoke softly for fear it would depart at a sudden noise and leave you sleeping for ever.  I took you by the shoulder only when you began to mutter words I could not understand.  Have you not heard, then, and do you know nothing?”
    “Nothing of what you said.  What is it?  Tell again if you want me to know.”
    He took her by the shoulder and led her unresisting to the front of the verandah into a stronger light.  She wrung her hands with such an appearance of grief that he began to be alarmed.
    “Speak,” he said.  “You made noise enough to wake even dead men.  And yet nobody living came,” he added to himself in an uneasy whisper.  “Are you mute?  Speak!” he repeated.
    In a rush of words which broke out after a short struggle from her trembling lips she told him the tale of Nina’s love and her own jealousy.  Several times he looked angrily into her face and told her to be silent; but he could not stop the sounds that seemed to him to run out in a hot stream, swirl about his feet, and rise in scalding waves about him, higher, higher, drowning his heart, touching his lips with a feel of molten lead, blotting out his sight in scorching vapour, closing over his head, merciless and deadly.  When she spoke of the deception as to Dain’s death of which he had been the victim only that day, he glanced again at her with terrible eyes, and made her falter for a second, but he turned away directly, and his face suddenly lost all expression in a stony stare far away over the river.  Ah! the river!  His old friend and his old enemy, speaking always with the same voice as he runs from year to year bringing fortune or disappointment happiness or pain, upon the same varying but unchanged surface of glancing currents and swirling eddies.  For many years he had listened to the passionless and soothing murmur that sometimes was the song of hope, at times the song of triumph, of encouragement; more often the whisper of consolation that spoke of better days to come.  For so many years!  So many years!  And now to the accompaniment of that murmur he listened to the slow and painful beating of his heart.  He listened attentively, wondering at the regularity of its beats.  He began to count mechanically.  One, two.  Why count?  At the next beat it must stop.  No heart could suffer so and beat so steadily for long.  Those regular strokes as of a muffled hammer that rang in his ears must stop soon.  Still beating unceasing and cruel.  No man can bear this; and is this the last, or will the next one be the last? — How much longer?  O God! how much longer?  His hand weighed heavier unconsciously on the girl’s shoulder, and she spoke the last words of her story crouching at his feet with tears of pain and shame and anger.  Was her revenge to fail her?  This white man was like a senseless stone.  Too late!  Too late!
    “And you saw her go?” Almayer’s voice sounded harshly above her head.
    “Did I not tell you?” she sobbed, trying to wriggle gently out from under his grip.  “Did I not tell you that I saw the witchwoman push the canoe?  I lay hidden in the grass and heard all the words.  She that we used to call the white Mem wanted to return to look at your face, but the witchwoman forbade her, and — ”
    She sank lower yet on her elbow, turning half round under the downward push of the heavy hand, her face lifted up to him with spiteful eyes.
    “And she obeyed,” she shouted out in a half-laugh, half-cry of pain.  “Let me go, Tuan.  Why are you angry with me?  Hasten, or you shall be too late to show your anger to the deceitful woman.”
    Almayer dragged her up to her feet and looked close into her face while she struggled, turning her head away from his wild stare.
    “Who sent you here to torment me?” he asked, violently.  “I do not believe you.  You