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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Ностромо
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- Стр. 1/274
Nostromo
In
the
time
of
Spanish
rule
,
and
for
many
years
afterwards
,
the
town
of
Sulaco
--
the
luxuriant
beauty
of
the
orange
gardens
bears
witness
to
its
antiquity
--
had
never
been
commercially
anything
more
important
than
a
coasting
port
with
a
fairly
large
local
trade
in
ox-hides
and
indigo
.
The
clumsy
deep-sea
galleons
of
the
conquerors
that
,
needing
a
brisk
gale
to
move
at
all
,
would
lie
becalmed
,
where
your
modern
ship
built
on
clipper
lines
forges
ahead
by
the
mere
flapping
of
her
sails
,
had
been
barred
out
of
Sulaco
by
the
prevailing
calms
of
its
vast
gulf
.
Some
harbours
of
the
earth
are
made
difficult
of
access
by
the
treachery
of
sunken
rocks
and
the
tempests
of
their
shores
.
Sulaco
had
found
an
inviolable
sanctuary
from
the
temptations
of
a
trading
world
in
the
solemn
hush
of
the
deep
Golfo
Placido
as
if
within
an
enormous
semi-circular
and
unroofed
temple
open
to
the
ocean
,
with
its
walls
of
lofty
mountains
hung
with
the
mourning
draperies
of
cloud
.
On
one
side
of
this
broad
curve
in
the
straight
seaboard
of
the
Republic
of
Costaguana
,
the
last
spur
of
the
coast
range
forms
an
insignificant
cape
whose
name
is
Punta
Mala
.
From
the
middle
of
the
gulf
the
point
of
the
land
itself
is
not
visible
at
all
;
but
the
shoulder
of
a
steep
hill
at
the
back
can
be
made
out
faintly
like
a
shadow
on
the
sky
.
On
the
other
side
,
what
seems
to
be
an
isolated
patch
of
blue
mist
floats
lightly
on
the
glare
of
the
horizon
.
This
is
the
peninsula
of
Azuera
,
a
wild
chaos
of
sharp
rocks
and
stony
levels
cut
about
by
vertical
ravines
.
It
lies
far
out
to
sea
like
a
rough
head
of
stone
stretched
from
a
green-clad
coast
at
the
end
of
a
slender
neck
of
sand
covered
with
thickets
of
thorny
scrub
.
Utterly
waterless
,
for
the
rainfall
runs
off
at
once
on
all
sides
into
the
sea
,
it
has
not
soil
enough
--
it
is
said
--
to
grow
a
single
blade
of
grass
,
as
if
it
were
blighted
by
a
curse
.
The
poor
,
associating
by
an
obscure
instinct
of
consolation
the
ideas
of
evil
and
wealth
,
will
tell
you
that
it
is
deadly
because
of
its
forbidden
treasures
.
The
common
folk
of
the
neighbourhood
,
peons
of
the
estancias
,
vaqueros
of
the
seaboard
plains
,
tame
Indians
coming
miles
to
market
with
a
bundle
of
sugar-cane
or
a
basket
of
maize
worth
about
threepence
,
are
well
aware
that
heaps
of
shining
gold
lie
in
the
gloom
of
the
deep
precipices
cleaving
the
stony
levels
of
Azuera
.
Tradition
has
it
that
many
adventurers
of
olden
time
had
perished
in
the
search
.
The
story
goes
also
that
within
men
's
memory
two
wandering
sailors
--
Americanos
,
perhaps
,
but
gringos
of
some
sort
for
certain
--
talked
over
a
gambling
,
good-for-nothing
mozo
,
and
the
three
stole
a
donkey
to
carry
for
them
a
bundle
of
dry
sticks
,
a
water-skin
,
and
provisions
enough
to
last
a
few
days
.
Thus
accompanied
,
and
with
revolvers
at
their
belts
,
they
had
started
to
chop
their
way
with
machetes
through
the
thorny
scrub
on
the
neck
of
the
peninsula
.
On
the
second
evening
an
upright
spiral
of
smoke
(
it
could
only
have
been
from
their
camp-fire
)
was
seen
for
the
first
time
within
memory
of
man
standing
up
faintly
upon
the
sky
above
a
razor-backed
ridge
on
the
stony
head
.
The
crew
of
a
coasting
schooner
,
lying
becalmed
three
miles
off
the
shore
,
stared
at
it
with
amazement
till
dark
.
A
negro
fisherman
,
living
in
a
lonely
hut
in
a
little
bay
near
by
,
had
seen
the
start
and
was
on
the
lookout
for
some
sign
.
He
called
to
his
wife
just
as
the
sun
was
about
to
set
.
They
had
watched
the
strange
portent
with
envy
,
incredulity
,
and
awe
.
The
impious
adventurers
gave
no
other
sign
.
The
sailors
,
the
Indian
,
and
the
stolen
burro
were
never
seen
again
.
As
to
the
mozo
,
a
Sulaco
man
--
his
wife
paid
for
some
masses
,
and
the
poor
four-footed
beast
,
being
without
sin
,
had
been
probably
permitted
to
die
;
but
the
two
gringos
,
spectral
and
alive
,
are
believed
to
be
dwelling
to
this
day
amongst
the
rocks
,
under
the
fatal
spell
of
their
success
.
Their
souls
can
not
tear
themselves
away
from
their
bodies
mounting
guard
over
the
discovered
treasure
.
They
are
now
rich
and
hungry
and
thirsty
--
a
strange
theory
of
tenacious
gringo
ghosts
suffering
in
their
starved
and
parched
flesh
of
defiant
heretics
,
where
a
Christian
would
have
renounced
and
been
released
.
These
,
then
,
are
the
legendary
inhabitants
of
Azuera
guarding
its
forbidden
wealth
;
and
the
shadow
on
the
sky
on
one
side
with
the
round
patch
of
blue
haze
blurring
the
bright
skirt
of
the
horizon
on
the
other
,
mark
the
two
outermost
points
of
the
bend
which
bears
the
name
of
Golfo
Placido
,
because
never
a
strong
wind
had
been
known
to
blow
upon
its
waters
.
On
crossing
the
imaginary
line
drawn
from
Punta
Mala
to
Azuera
the
ships
from
Europe
bound
to
Sulaco
lose
at
once
the
strong
breezes
of
the
ocean
.
They
become
the
prey
of
capricious
airs
that
play
with
them
for
thirty
hours
at
a
stretch
sometimes
.
Before
them
the
head
of
the
calm
gulf
is
filled
on
most
days
of
the
year
by
a
great
body
of
motionless
and
opaque
clouds
.
On
the
rare
clear
mornings
another
shadow
is
cast
upon
the
sweep
of
the
gulf
.
The
dawn
breaks
high
behind
the
towering
and
serrated
wall
of
the
Cordillera
,
a
clear-cut
vision
of
dark
peaks
rearing
their
steep
slopes
on
a
lofty
pedestal
of
forest
rising
from
the
very
edge
of
the
shore
.
Amongst
them
the
white
head
of
Higuerota
rises
majestically
upon
the
blue
.
Bare
clusters
of
enormous
rocks
sprinkle
with
tiny
black
dots
the
smooth
dome
of
snow
.
Then
,
as
the
midday
sun
withdraws
from
the
gulf
the
shadow
of
the
mountains
,
the
clouds
begin
to
roll
out
of
the
lower
valleys
.
They
swathe
in
sombre
tatters
the
naked
crags
of
precipices
above
the
wooded
slopes
,
hide
the
peaks
,
smoke
in
stormy
trails
across
the
snows
of
Higuerota
.
The
Cordillera
is
gone
from
you
as
if
it
had
dissolved
itself
into
great
piles
of
grey
and
black
vapours
that
travel
out
slowly
to
seaward
and
vanish
into
thin
air
all
along
the
front
before
the
blazing
heat
of
the
day
.
The
wasting
edge
of
the
cloud-bank
always
strives
for
,
but
seldom
wins
,
the
middle
of
the
gulf
.
The
sun
--
as
the
sailors
say
--
is
eating
it
up
.
Unless
perchance
a
sombre
thunder-head
breaks
away
from
the
main
body
to
career
all
over
the
gulf
till
it
escapes
into
the
offing
beyond
Azuera
,
where
it
bursts
suddenly
into
flame
and
crashes
like
a
sinster
pirate-ship
of
the
air
,
hove-to
above
the
horizon
,
engaging
the
sea
.
