Ностромо

           Yes,theywouldlaughiftheyknewthattheCapatazdeCargadoreswasatthemercyofthemaddoctorwhomtheycouldremember,onlyafewyearsago,buyingcookedfoodfromastallonthePlazaforacoppercoin—likeoneofthemselves.

           AtthatmomentthenotionofseekingCaptainMitchellpassedthroughhismind.HeglancedinthedirectionofthejettyandsawasmallgleamoflightintheO.S.N.Company’sbuilding.Thethoughtoflightedwindowswasnotattractive.TwolightedwindowshaddecoyedhimintotheemptyCustomHouse,onlytofallintotheclutchesofthatdoctor.No!Hewouldnotgonearlightedwindowsagainonthatnight.CaptainMitchellwasthere.Andwhatcouldhebetold?Thatdoctorwouldwormitalloutofhimasifhewereachild.

           Onthethresholdhecalledout“Giorgio!”inanundertone.Nobodyanswered.Hesteppedin.“Ola!viejo!Areyouthere?...”IntheimpenetrabledarknesshisheadswamwiththeillusionthattheobscurityofthekitchenwasasvastasthePlacidGulf,andthatthefloordippedforwardlikeasinkinglighter.“Ola!viejo!”herepeated,falteringly,swayingwherehestood.Hishand,extendedtosteadyhimself,felluponthetable.Movingastepforward,heshiftedit,andfeltaboxofmatchesunderhisfingers.Hefanciedhehadheardaquietsigh.Helistenedforamoment,holdinghisbreath;then,withtremblinghands,triedtostrikealight.