Ностромо

           AndthenforanotherfiveminutesormoreIpouredoutanimpassionedappealtotheircourageandmanliness,withallthepassionofmyloveforAntonia.Forifevermanspokewell,itwouldbefromapersonalfeeling,denouncinganenemy,defendinghimself,orpleadingforwhatreallymaybedearerthanlife.Mydeargirl,Iabsolutelythunderedatthem.Itseemedasifmyvoicewouldburstthewallsasunder,andwhenIstoppedIsawalltheirscaredeyeslookingatmedubiously.AndthatwasalltheeffectIhadproduced!OnlyDonJose’sheadhadsunklowerandloweronhisbreast.Ibentmyeartohiswitheredlips,andmadeouthiswhisper,somethinglike,‘InGod’sname,then,Martin,myson!’Idon’tknowexactly.TherewasthenameofGodinit,Iamcertain.ItseemstomeIhavecaughthislastbreath—thebreathofhisdepartingsoulonhislips.

           “Helivesyet,itistrue.Ihaveseenhimsince;butitwasonlyasenilebody,lyingonitsback,coveredtothechin,withopeneyes,andsostillthatyoumighthavesaiditwasbreathingnolonger.Ilefthimthus,withAntoniakneelingbythesideofthebed,justbeforeIcametothisItalian’sposada,wheretheubiquitousdeathisalsowaiting.ButIknowthatDonJosehasreallydiedthere,intheCasaGould,withthatwhisperurgingmetoattemptwhatnodoubthissoul,wrappedupinthesanctityofdiplomatictreatiesandsolemndeclarations,musthaveabhorred.Ihadexclaimedveryloud,‘ThereisneveranyGodinacountrywheremenwillnothelpthemselves.