Page 626 - nostromo-a-tale-of-the-seaboard

photographer, small, frail, bloodthirsty, the hater of capital-
ists, perched on a high stool near the head of the bed with
his knees up and his chin in his hands. He had been fetched
by a comrade who, working late on the wharf, had heard
from a negro belonging to a lancha, that Captain Fidanza
had been brought ashore mortally wounded.
‘Have you any dispositions to make, comrade?’ he asked,
anxiously. ‘Do not forget that we want money for our work.
The rich must be fought with their own weapons.’
Nostromo made no answer. The other did not insist,
remaining huddled up on the stool, shock-headed, wild-
ly hairy, like a hunchbacked monkey. Then, after a long
silence—
‘Comrade Fidanza,’ he began, solemnly, ‘you have refused
all aid from that doctor. Is he really a dangerous enemy of
the people?’
In the dimly lit room Nostromo rolled his head slowly on
the pillow and opened his eyes, directing at the weird figure
perched by his bedside a glance of enigmatic and profound
inquiry. Then his head rolled back, his eyelids fell, and the
Capataz de Cargadores died without a word or moan after
an hour of immobility, broken by short shudders testifying
to the most atrocious sufferings.
Dr. Monygham, going out in the police-galley to the is-
lands, beheld the glitter of the moon upon the gulf and the
high black shape of the Great Isabel sending a shaft of light
afar, from under the canopy of clouds.
‘Pull easy,’ he said, wondering what he would find there.
He tried to imagine Linda and her father, and discovered a