end of the tether-第27章

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！





to　bellow　out　through　the　closed　door







〃YouJack！〃







The　footsteps　came　back　without　haste；　the　door



handle　rattled；　and　the　second　engineer　appeared　in　the



opening；　shadowy　in　the　sheen　of　the　skylight　at　his



back；　with　his　face　apparently　as　black　as　the　rest　of



his　figure。







〃We　have　been　very　long　coming　up　this　time；〃　Mr。



Massy　growled；　without　changing　his　attitude。







〃What　do　you　expect　with　half　the　boiler　tubes



plugged　up　for　leaks。〃　　The　second　defended　himself



loquaciously。







〃None　of　your　lip；〃　said　Massy。







〃None　of　your　rotten　boilersI　say；〃　retorted　his



faithful　subordinate　without　animation；　huskily。　　〃Go



down　there　and　carry　a　head　of　steam　on　them　yourself



if　you　dare。　　I　don't。〃







〃You　aren't　worth　your　salt　then；〃　Massy　said。　　The



other　made　a　faint　noise　which　resembled　a　laugh　but



might　have　been　a　snarl。







〃Better　go　slow　than　stop　the　ship　altogether；〃　he



admonished　his　admired　superior。　　Mr。　Massy　moved



at　last。　　He　turned　in　his　chair；　and　grinding　his



teeth







〃Dam'　you　and　the　ship！　　I　wish　she　were　at　the



bottom　of　the　sea。　　Then　you　would　have　to　starve。〃







The　trusty　second　engineer　closed　the　door　gently。







Massy　listened。　　Instead　of　passing　on　to　the　bath…



room　where　he　should　have　gone　to　clean　himself；　the



second　entered　his　cabin；　which　was　next　door。　　Mr。



Massy　jumped　up　and　waited。　　Suddenly　he　heard　the



lock　snap　in　there。　　He　rushed　out　and　gave　a　violent



kick　to　the　door。







〃I　believe　you　are　locking　yourself　up　to　get　drunk；〃



he　shouted。







A　muffled　answer　came　after　a　while。







〃My　own　time。〃







〃If　you　take　to　boozing　on　the　trip　I'll　fire　you　out；〃



Massy　cried。







An　obstinate　silence　followed　that　threat。　　Massy



moved　away　perplexed。　　On　the　bank　two　figures　ap…



peared；　approaching　the　gangway。　　He　heard　a　voice



tinged　with　contempt







〃I　would　rather　doubt　your　word。　　But　I　shall　cer…



tainly　speak　to　him　of　this。〃







The　other　voice；　Sterne's；　said　with　a　sort　of　regretful



formality







〃Thanks。　　That's　all　I　want。　　I　must　do　my　duty。〃







Mr。　Massy　was　surprised。　　A　short；　dapper　figure



leaped　lightly　on　the　deck　and　nearly　bounded　into　him



where　he　stood　beyond　the　circle　of　light　from　the　gang…



way　lamp。　　When　it　had　passed　towards　the　bridge；



after　exchanging　a　hurried　〃Good　evening；〃　Massy



said　surlily　to　Sterne　who　followed　with　slow　steps







〃What　is　it　you're　making　up　to　Mr。　Van　Wyk　for；



now？〃







〃Far　from　it；　Mr。　Massy。　　I　am　not　good　enough　for



Mr。　Van　Wyk。　　Neither　are　you；　sir；　in　his　opinion；　I



am　afraid。　　Captain　Whalley　is；　it　seems。　　He's　gone



to　ask　him　to　dine　up　at　the　house　this　evening。〃







Then　he　murmured　to　himself　darkly







〃I　hope　he　will　like　it。〃











XII







Mr。　Van　Wyk；　the　white　man　of　Batu　Beru；　an　ex…



naval　officer　who；　for　reasons　best　known　to　himself；　had



thrown　away　the　promise　of　a　brilliant　career　to　become



the　pioneer　of　tobacco…planting　on　that　remote　part　of



the　coast；　had　learned　to　like　Captain　Whalley。　　The



appearance　of　the　new　skipper　had　attracted　his　atten…



tion。　　Nothing　more　unlike　all　the　diverse　types　he　had



seen　succeeding　each　other　on　the　bridge　of　the　Sofala



could　be　imagined。







At　that　time　Batu　Beru　was　not　what　it　has　become



since：　the　center　of　a　prosperous　tobacco…growing　dis…



trict；　a　tropically　suburban…looking　little　settlement　of



bungalows　in　one　long　street　shaded　with　two　rows　of



trees；　embowered　by　the　flowering　and　trim　luxuriance



of　the　gardens；　with　a　three…mile…long　carriage…road　for



the　afternoon　drives　and　a　first…class　Resident　with　a



fat；　cheery　wife　to　lead　the　society　of　married　estate…



managers　and　unmarried　young　fellows　in　the　service



of　the　big　companies。







All　this　prosperity　was　not　yet；　and　Mr。　Van　Wyk



prospered　alone　on　the　left　bank　on　his　deep　clearing



carved　out　of　the　forest；　which　came　down　above　and



below　to　the　water's　edge。　　His　lonely　bungalow　faced



across　the　river　the　houses　of　the　Sultan：　a　restless　and



melancholy　old　ruler　who　had　done　with　love　and　war；



for　whom　life　no　longer　held　any　savor　（except　of　evil



forebodings）　and　time　never　had　any　value。　　He　was



afraid　of　death；　and　hoped　he　would　die　before　the　white



men　were　ready　to　take　his　country　from　him。　　He



crossed　the　river　frequently　（with　never　less　than　ten



boats　crammed　full　of　people）；　in　the　wistful　hope　of



extracting　some　information　on　the　subject　from　his



own　white　man。　　There　was　a　certain　chair　on　the



veranda　he　always　took：　the　dignitaries　of　the　court



squatted　on　the　rugs　and　skins　between　the　furniture：



the　inferior　people　remained　below　on　the　grass　plot



between　the　house　and　the　river　in　rows　three　or　four



deep　all　along　the　front。　　Not　seldom　the　visit　began　at



daybreak。　　Mr。　Van　Wyk　tolerated　these　inroads。　　He



would　nod　out　of　his　bedroom　window；　tooth…brush　or



razor　in　hand；　or　pass　through　the　throng　of　courtiers　in



his　bathing　robe。　　He　appeared　and　disappeared　hum…



ming　a　tune；　polished　his　nails　with　attention；　rubbed



his　shaved　face　with　eau…de…Cologne；　drank　his　early



tea；　went　out　to　see　his　coolies　at　work：　returned；　looked



through　some　papers　on　his　desk；　read　a　page　or　two



in　a　book　or　sat　before　his　cottage　piano　leaning　back



on　the　stool；　his　arms　extended；　fingers　on　the　keys；　his



body　swaying　slightly　from　side　to　side。　　When　abso…



lutely　forced　to　speak　he　gave　evasive　vaguely　soothing



answers　out　of　pure　compassion：　the　same　feeling　per…



haps　made　him　so　lavishly　hospitable　with　the　aerated



drinks　that　more　than　once　he　left　himself　without　soda…



water　for　a　whole　week。　　That　old　man　had　granted　him



as　much　land　as　he　cared　to　have　cleared：　it　was　neither



more　nor　less　than　a　fortune。







Whether　it　was　fortune　or　seclusion　from　his　kind　that



Mr。　Van　Wyk　sought；　he　could　not　have　pitched　upon



a　better　place。　　Even　the　mail…boats　of　the　subsidized



company　calling　on　the　veriest　clusters　of　palm…thatched



hovels　along　the　coast　steamed　past　the　mouth　of　Batu



Beru　river　far　away　in　the　offing。　　The　contract　was



old：　perhaps　in　a　few　years'　time；　when　it　had　expired；



Batu　Beru　would　be　included　in　the　service；　meantime



all　Mr。　Van　Wyk's　mail　was　addressed　to　Malacca；



whence　his　agent　sent　it　across　once　a　month　by　the



Sofala。　　It　followed　that　whenever　Massy　had　run　short



of　money　（through　taking　too　many　lottery　tickets）；



or　got　into　a　difficulty　about　a　skipper；　Mr。　Van　Wyk



was　deprived　of　his　letter　and　newspapers。　　In　so　far



he　had　a　personal　interest　in　the　fortunes　of　the　Sofala。



Though　he　considered　himself　a　hermit　（and　for　no



passing　whim　evidently；　since　he　had　stood　eight　years



of　it　already）；　he　liked　to　know　what　went　on　in　the



world。







Handy　on　the　veranda　upon　a　walnut　etagere　（it　had



come　last　year　by　the　Sofalaeverything　came　by　the



Sofala）　there　lay；　piled　up　under　bronze　weights；　a　pile



of　the　Times'　weekly　edition；　the　large　sheets　of　the



Rotterdam　Courant；　the　Graphic　in　its　world…wide



green　wrappers；　an　illustrated　Dutch　publication　with…



out　a　cover；　the　numbers　of　a　German　magazine　with



covers　of　the　〃Bismarck　malade〃　color。　　There　were



also　parcels　of　new　musicthough　the　piano　（it　had



come　years　ago