“I—afraid!”
“Then is it the care of your dignity which prevents you from following her there, my high-minded friend?” asked Almayer, with mock solicitude. “How noble of you!”
There was a short silence; then Willems said, quietly, “You are a fool. I should like to kick you.”
“No fear,” answered Almayer, carelessly; “you are too weak for that. You look starved.”
“I don’t think I have eaten anything for the last two days; perhaps more—I don’t remember. It does not matter. I am full of live embers,” said Willems, gloomily. “Look!” and he bared an arm covered with fresh scars. “I have been biting myself to forget in that pain the fire that hurts me there!” He struck his breast violently with his fist, reeled under his own blow, fell into a chair that stood near and closed his eyes slowly.
“Disgusting exhibition,” said Almayer, loftily. “What could father ever see in you? You are as estimable as a heap of garbage.”
“You talk like that! You, who sold your soul for a few guilders,” muttered Willems, wearily, without opening his eyes.
“Not so few,” said Almayer, with instinctive readiness, and stopped confused for a moment. He recovered himself quickly, however, and went on: “But you—you have thrown yours away for nothing; flung it under the feet of a damned savage woman who has made you already the thing you are, and will kill you very soon, one way or another, with her love or with her hate. You spoke just now about guilders. You meant Lingard’s money, I suppose. Well, whatever I have sold, and for whatever price, I never meant you—you of all people—to spoil my bargain. I feel pretty safe though. Even father, even Captain Lingard, would not touch you now with a pair of tongs; not with a ten-foot pole….”
He spoke excitedly, all in one breath, and, ceasing suddenly, glared at Willems and breathed hard through his nose in sulky resentment. Willems looked at him steadily for a moment, then got up.
“Almayer,” he said resolutely, “I want to become a trader in this place.”
Almayer shrugged his shoulders.
“Yes. And you shall set me up. I want a house and trade goods—perhaps a little money. I ask you for it.”
“Anything else you want? Perhaps this coat?” and here Almayer unbuttoned his jacket—”or my house—or my boots?”
“After all it’s natural,” went on Willems, without paying any attention to Almayer—”it’s natural that she should expect the advantages which …and then I could shut up that old wretch and then . . .”
He paused, his face brightened with the soft light of dreamy enthusiasm, and he turned his eyes upwards. With his gaunt figure and dilapidated appearance he looked like some ascetic dweller in a wilderness, finding the reward of a self-denying life in a vision of dazzling glory. He went on in an impassioned murmur—
“And then I would have her all to myself away from her people—all to myself—under my own influence—to fashion—to mould—to adore—to soften—to …Oh! Delight! And then—then go away to some distant place where, far from all she knew, I would be all the world to her! All the world to her!”
His face changed suddenly. His eyes wandered for awhile and then became steady all at once.
“I would repay every cent, of course,” he said, in a business-like tone, with something of his old assurance, of his old belief in himself, in it. “Every cent. I need not interfere with your business. I shall cut out the small native traders. I have ideas—but never mind that now. And Captain Lingard would approve, I feel sure. After all it’s a loan, and I shall be at hand. Safe thing for you.”
“Ah! Captain Lingard would approve! He would app . . .” Almayer choked. The notion of Lingard doing something for Willems enraged him. His face was purple. He spluttered insulting words. Willems looked at him coolly.
“I assure you, Almayer,” he said, gently, “that I have good grounds for my demand.”
“Your cursed impudence!”
“Believe me, Almayer, your position here is not so safe as you may think. An unscrupulous rival here would destroy your trade in a year. It would be ruin. Now Lingard’s long absence gives courage to certain individuals. You know?—I have heard much lately. They made proposals to me …You are very much alone here. Even Patalolo . . .”