Ностромо
Chapter 9
ThebodyofthelateSenorHirschdweltaloneforatimeinthedismalsolitudeoftheunfinishedbuilding,resoundingweirdlywithsuddenslamsandclicksofdoorsandlatches,withrustlingscurriesoftornpapers,andthetremuloussighsthatateachgustofwindpassedunderthehighroof.ThelightofthetwocandlesburningbeforetheperpendicularandbreathlessimmobilityofthelateSenorHirschthrewagleamafaroverlandandwater,likeasignalinthenight.HeremainedtostartleNostromobyhispresence,andtopuzzleDr.Monyghambythemysteryofhisatrociousend.
“Butwhyshot?”thedoctoragainaskedhimself,audibly.ThistimehewasansweredbyadrylaughfromNostromo.
“Youseemmuchconcernedataverynaturalthing,senordoctor.Iwonderwhy?Itisverylikelythatbeforelongweshallallgetshotoneafteranother,ifnotbySotillo,thenbyPedrito,orFuentes,orGamacho.Andwemayevengettheestrapade,too,orworse—quiensabe?—withyourprettytaleofthesilveryouputintoSotillo’shead.”
“Itwasinhisheadalready,”thedoctorprotested.“Ionly—”
“Yes.Andyouonlynailedittheresothatthedevilhimself—”
“ThatispreciselywhatImeanttodo,”caughtupthedoctor.
“Thatiswhatyoumeanttodo.Bueno.ItisasIsay.Youareadangerousman.”
Theirvoices,whichwithoutrisinghadbeengrowingquarrelsome,ceasedsuddenly.
