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Its big smooth trunk leaned like a falling column far over the trickle of water running amongst the loose stones. A couple of years before Nostromo had spent a whole Sunday, all alone, exploring the island.
The red sparks in the water vanished together with the stains of blood in the black mantle draping the sombre head of the Placid Gulf; a sudden breeze sprang up and died out after rustling heavily the growth of bushes on the ruined earthwork of the fort. Nostromo woke up from a fourteen hours' sleep, and arose full length from his lair in the long grass.
He hoisted the big sail; a breath of wind fanned Decoud's cheek. Everything had vanished but the light of the lantern Captain Mitchell had hoisted upon the post at the end of the jetty to guide Nostromo out of the harbour.
"What do you think has become of Hirsch?" he shouted. "Knocked overboard and drowned," cried Nostromo's voice confidently out of the black wastes of sky and sea around the islet. "Keep close in the ravine, senor. I shall try to come out to you in a night or two." A slight swishing rustle showed that Nostromo was setting the sail. It filled all at once with a sound as of a single loud drum-tap.
Perfectly motionless in that pose, expressing physical anxiety and unrest, she turned her eyes alone towards Nostromo. The Capataz had a red sash wound many times round his waist, and a heavy silver ring on the forefinger of the hand he raised to give a twist to his moustache. "Their revolutions, their revolutions," gasped Senora Teresa. "Look, Gian' Battista, it has killed me at last!"
The honour was safe. . . . Senora, she would have followed to the end of the world Nostromo the thief. . . . I have said the word. The spell is broken!" A low moan from the girl made him cast his eyes down. "I cannot see her. . . . No matter," he went on, with the shadow of the old magnificent carelessness in his voice. "One kiss is enough, if there is no time for more. An airy soul, senora!
He could not conceive what harm the man could do. At most he would be in the way, like an inanimate and useless object like a block of wood, for instance. "I would think twice before getting rid of a piece of wood," said Nostromo, calmly. "Something may happen unexpectedly where you could make use of it. But in an affair like ours a man like this ought to be thrown overboard.
Nostromo nodded; then, after a short silence "You saw my schooner pass in not two hours ago? Do you know why I am here before, so to speak, my anchor has fairly bitten into the ground of this port of Sulaco?" "You are welcome like a son," the old man declared, quietly, staring away upon the sea. "Ah! thy son. I know. I am what thy son would have been. It is well, viejo. It is a very good welcome.
He put himself at their head, crying, "Avanti!" "He has not stopped very long with us. There is no praise from strangers to be got here," Signora Teresa said tragically. "Avanti! Yes! That is all he cares for. To be first somewhere somehow to be first with these English. They will be showing him to everybody. 'This is our Nostromo!" She laughed ominously. "What a name! What is that? Nostromo?
Nostromo, the miscalled Capataz de Cargadores, had made for himself, under his rightful name, another public existence, but modified by the new conditions, less picturesque, more difficult to keep up in the increased size and varied population of Sulaco, the progressive capital of the Occidental Republic.
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