Page 520 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

had left it twenty-four hours before, when he had nothing
to hide from the world. He remained before it, irresolute,
like a fugitive, like a man betrayed. Poverty, misery, starva-
tion! Where had he heard these words? The anger of a dying
woman had prophesied that fate for his folly. It looked as
if it would come true very quickly. And the leperos would
laugh—she had said. Yes, they would laugh if they knew
that the Capataz de Cargadores was at the mercy of the mad
doctor whom they could remember, only a few years ago,
buying cooked food from a stall on the Plaza for a copper
coin—like one of themselves.
At that moment the notion of seeking Captain Mitchell
passed through his mind. He glanced in the direction of
the jetty and saw a small gleam of light in the O.S.N. Com-
pany’s building. The thought of lighted windows was not
attractive. Two lighted windows had decoyed him into the
empty Custom House, only to fall into the clutches of that
doctor. No! He would not go near lighted windows again
on that night. Captain Mitchell was there. And what could
he be told? That doctor would worm it all out of him as if
he were a child.
On the threshold he called out ‘Giorgio!’ in an under-
tone. Nobody answered. He stepped in. ‘Ola! viejo! Are you
there? …’ In the impenetrable darkness his head swam with
the illusion that the obscurity of the kitchen was as vast as
the Placid Gulf, and that the floor dipped forward like a
sinking lighter. ‘Ola! viejo!’ he repeated, falteringly, sway-
ing where he stood. His hand, extended to steady himself,
fell upon the table. Moving a step forward, he shifted it, and

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