Ностромо
Chapter 7
“Womenhavetheirownwaysoftormentingthemselves.”GiorgioViolahadcomeoutofthehouse.Hethrewaheavyblackshadowinthetorchlight,andtheglarefellonhisbigface,onthegreatbushyheadofwhitehair.HemotionedtheCapatazindoorswithhisextendedarm.
Dr.Monygham,afterbusyinghimselfwithalittlemedicamentboxofpolishedwoodontheseatofthelandau,turnedtooldGiorgioandthrustintohisbig,tremblinghandoneoftheglass-stopperedbottlesoutofthecase.
“Giveheraspoonfulofthisnowandthen,inwater,”hesaid.“Itwillmakehereasier.”
“Andthereisnothingmoreforher?”askedtheoldman,patiently.
“No.Notonearth,”saidthedoctor,withhisbacktohim,clickingthelockofthemedicinecase.
Nostromoslowlycrossedthelargekitchen,alldarkbutfortheglowofaheapofcharcoalundertheheavymantelofthecooking-range,wherewaterwasboilinginanironpotwithaloudbubblingsound.Betweenthetwowallsofanarrowstaircaseabrightlightstreamedfromthesick-roomabove;andthemagnificentCapatazdeCargadoressteppingnoiselesslyinsoftleathersandals,bushywhiskered,hismuscularneckandbronzedchestbareintheopencheckshirt,resembledaMediterraneansailorjustcomeashorefromsomewineorfruit-ladenfelucca.
