Ностромо
Chapter 7
Thehorseofthetorch-bearer,motionless,hunghisheadlow,andtheriderhaddroppedthereinstolightacigarette.TheglareofthetorchplayedonthefrontofthehousecrossedbythebigblacklettersofitsinscriptioninwhichonlythewordITALIAwaslightedfully.ThepatchofwaveringglarereachedasfarasMrs.Gould’scarriagewaitingontheroad,withtheyellow-faced,portlyIgnacioapparentlydozingonthebox.ByhissideBasilio,darkandskinny,heldaWinchestercarbineinfrontofhim,withbothhands,andpeeredfearfullyintothedarkness.Nostromotouchedlightlythedoctor’sshoulder.
“Isshereallydying,senordoctor?”
“Yes,”saidthedoctor,withastrangetwitchofhisscarredcheek.“AndwhyshewantstoseeyouIcannotimagine.”
“Shehasbeenlikethatbefore,”suggestedNostromo,lookingaway.
“Well,Capataz,Icanassureyoushewillneverbelikethatagain,”snarledDr.Monygham.“Youmaygotoherorstayaway.Thereisverylittletobegotfromtalkingtothedying.ButshetoldDonaEmiliainmyhearingthatshehasbeenlikeamothertoyoueversinceyoufirstsetfootashorehere.”
“Si!Andsheneverhadagoodwordtosayformetoanybody.Itismoreasifshecouldnotforgivemeforbeingalive,andsuchaman,too,asshewouldhavelikedhersontobe.”
“Maybe!”exclaimedamournfuldeepvoicenearthem.
