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PART THREE: CHAPTER EIGHT
Heyst walked away slowly. There was still no light in his bungalow,
and he thought that perhaps it was just as well. By this time he
was much less perturbed. Wang had preceded him with the lantern, as
if in a hurry to get away from the two white men and their hairy
attendant. The light was not dancing along any more; it was
standing perfectly still by the steps of the veranda.
Heyst, glancing back casually, saw behind him still another light--
the light of the strangers' open fire. A black, uncouth form,
stooping over it monstrously, staggered away into the outlying
shadows. The kettle had boiled, probably.
With that weird vision of something questionably human impressed
upon his senses, Heyst moved on a pace or two. What could the
people be who had such a creature for their familiar attendant? He
stopped. The vague apprehension, of a distant future, in which he
saw Lena unavoidably separated from him by profound and subtle
differences; the sceptical carelessness which had accompanied every
one of his attempts at action, like a secret reserve of his soul,
fell away from him. He no longer belonged to himself. There was a
call far more imperious and august. He came up to the bungalow, and
at the very limit of the lantern's light, on the top step, he saw
her feet and the bottom part of her dress. The rest of her person
was suggested dimly as high as her waist. She sat on a chair, and
the gloom of the low eaves descended upon her head and shoulders.
She didn't stir.
"You haven't gone to sleep here?" he asked.
"Oh, no! I was waiting for you--in the dark."
Heyst, on the top step, leaned against a wooden pillar, after moving
the lantern to one side.
"I have been thinking that it is just as well you had no light. But
wasn't it dull for you to sit in the dark?"
"I don't need a light to think of you." Her charming voice gave a
value to this banal answer, which had also the merit of truth.
Heyst laughed a little, and said that he had had a curios
experience. She made no remark. He tried to figure to himself the
outlines of her easy pose. A spot of dim light here and there
hinted at the unfailing grace of attitude which was one of her
natural possessions.
She had thought of him, but not in connection with the strangers.
She had admired him from the first; she had been attracted by his
warm voice, his gentle eye, but she had felt him too wonderfully
difficult to know. He had given to life a savour, a movement, a
promise mingled with menaces, which she had not suspected were to be
found in it--or, at any rate, not by a girl wedded to misery as she
was. She said to herself that she must not be irritated because he
seemed too self-contained, and as if shut up in a world of his own.
When he took her in his arms, she felt that his embrace had a great
and compelling force, that he was moved deeply, and that perhaps he
would not get tired of her so very soon. She thought that he had
opened to her the feelings of delicate joy, that the very uneasiness
he caused her was delicious in its sadness, and that she would try
to hold him as long as she could--till her fainting arms, her
sinking soul, could cling to him no more.
"Wang's not here, of course?" Heyst said suddenly. She answered as
if in her sleep.
"He put this light down here without stopping, and ran."
"Ran, did he? H'm! Well, it's considerably later than his usual
time to go home to his Alfuro wife; but to be seen running is a sort
of degradation for Wang, who has mastered the art of vanishing. Do
you think he was startled out of his perfection by something?"
"Why should he be startled?"
Her voice remained dreamy, a little uncertain.
"I have been startled," Heyst said.
She was not listening to him. The lantern at their feet threw the
shadows of her face upward. Her eyes glistened, as if frightened
and attentive, above a lighted chin and a very white throat.
"Upon my word," mused Heyst, "now that I don't see them, I can
hardly believe that those fellows exist!"
"And what about me?" she asked, so swiftly that he made a movement
like somebody pounced upon from an ambush. "When you don't see me,
do you believe that I exist?"
"Exist? Most charmingly! My dear Lena, you don't know your own
advantages. Why, your voice alone would be enough to make you
unforgettable!"
"Oh, I didn't mean forgetting in that way. I dare say if I were to
die you would remember me right enough. And what good would that be
to anybody? It's while I am alive that I want--"
Heyst stood by her chair, a stalwart figure imperfectly lighted.
The broad shoulders, the martial face that was like a disguise of
his disarmed soul, were lost in the gloom above the plane of light
in which his feet were planted. He suffered from a trouble with
which she had nothing to do. She had no general conception of the
conditions of the existence he had offered to her. Drawn into its
peculiar stagnation she remained unrelated to it because of her
ignorance.
For instance, she could never perceive the prodigious improbability
of the arrival of that boat. She did not seem to be thinking of it.
Perhaps she had already forgotten the fact herself. And Heyst
resolved suddenly to say nothing more of it. It was not that he
shrank from alarming her. Not feeling anything definite himself he
could not imagine a precise effect being produced on her by any
amount of explanation. There is a quality in events which is
apprehended differently by different minds or even by the same mind
at different times. Any man living at all consciously knows that
embarrassing truth. Heyst was aware that this visit could bode
nothing pleasant. In his present soured temper towards all mankind
he looked upon it as a visitation of a particularly offensive kind.
He glanced along the veranda in the direction of the other bungalow.
The fire of sticks in front of it had gone out. No faint glow of
embers, not the slightest thread of light in that direction, hinted
at the presence of strangers. The darker shapes in the obscurity,
the dead silence, betrayed nothing of that strange intrusion. The
peace of Samburan asserted itself as on any other night. Everything
was as before, except--Heyst became aware of it suddenly--that for a
whole minute, perhaps, with his hand on the back of the girl's chair
and within a foot of her person, he had lost the sense of her
existence, for the first time since he had brought her over to share
this invincible, this undefiled peace. He picked up the lantern,
and the act made a silent stir all along the veranda. A spoke of
shadow swung swiftly across her face, and the strong light rested on
the immobility of her features, as of a woman looking at a vision.
Her eyes were still, her lips serious. Her dress, open at the neck,
stirred slightly to her even breathing.
"We had better go in, Lena," suggested Heyst, very low, as if
breaking a spell cautiously.
She rose without a word. Heyst followed her indoors. As they
passed through the living-room, he left the lantern burning on the
centre table.
Content of PART THREE CHAPTER EIGHT [Joseph Conrad's novel: Victory]
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