Page 587 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

dred or so from the dark, shaded, jungly ravine, containing
the secret of his safety, of his influence, of his magnificence,
of his power over the future, of his defiance of ill-luck, of ev-
ery possible betrayal from rich and poor alike—what then?
He could never shake off the treasure. His audacity, greater
than that of other men, had welded that vein of silver into
his life. And the feeling of fearful and ardent subjection, the
feeling of his slavery—so irremediable and profound that
often, in his thoughts, he compared himself to the legend-
ary Gringos, neither dead nor alive, bound down to their
conquest of unlawful wealth on Azuera—weighed heavily
on the independent Captain Fidanza, owner and master of
a coasting schooner, whose smart appearance (and fabu-
lous good-luck in trading) were so well known along the
western seaboard of a vast continent.
Fiercely whiskered and grave, a shade less supple in his
walk, the vigour and symmetry of his powerful limbs lost
in the vulgarity of a brown tweed suit, made by Jews in the
slums of London, and sold by the clothing department of the
Compania Anzani, Captain Fidanza was seen in the streets
of Sulaco attending to his business, as usual, that trip. And,
as usual, he allowed it to get about that he had made a great
profit on his cargo. It was a cargo of salt fish, and Lent was
approaching. He was seen in tramcars going to and fro be-
tween the town and the harbour; he talked with people in a
cafe or two in his measured, steady voice. Captain Fidanza
was seen. The generation that would know nothing of the
famous ride to Cayta was not born yet.
Nostromo, the miscalled Capataz de Cargadores, had

Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard