Page 469 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

most daily, the pompous and testy self-importance of the
old seaman had grown irksome with use to Nostromo. At
first it had given him an inward satisfaction. But the ne-
cessity of overcoming small obstacles becomes wearisome
to a self-confident personality as much by the certitude of
success as by the monotony of effort. He mistrusted his su-
perior’s proneness to fussy action. That old Englishman had
no judgment, he said to himself. It was useless to suppose
that, acquainted with the true state of the case, he would
keep it to himself. He would talk of doing impracticable
things. Nostromo feared him as one would fear saddling
one’s self with some persistent worry. He had no discretion.
He would betray the treasure. And Nostromo had made up
his mind that the treasure should not be betrayed.
The word had fixed itself tenaciously in his intelligence.
His imagination had seized upon the clear and simple
notion of betrayal to account for the dazed feeling of en-
lightenment as to being done for, of having inadvertently
gone out of his existence on an issue in which his person-
ality had not been taken into account. A man betrayed is
a man destroyed. Signora Teresa (may God have her soul!)
had been right. He had never been taken into account. De-
stroyed! Her white form sitting up bowed in bed, the falling
black hair, the wide-browed suffering face raised to him,
the anger of her denunciations appeared to him now ma-
jestic with the awfulness of inspiration and of death. For it
was not for nothing that the evil bird had uttered its lam-
entable shriek over his head. She was dead—may God have
her soul!

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard