Nostromo - A Tale of the Seaboard.pdf - Planet eBook

in the low, smoky room of Domingo’s posada, where thefraternity of Cargadores gambled, sang, and danced of anevening; to remain with empty pockets after a burst of publicgenerosity to some peyne d’oro girl or other (for whomhe did not care), had none of the humiliation of destitution.He remained rich in glory and reputation. But since it wasno longer possible for him to parade the streets of the town,and be hailed with respect in the usual haunts of his leisure,this sailor felt himself destitute indeed.His mouth was dry. It was dry with heavy sleep and extremelyanxious thinking, as it had never been dry before. Itmay be said that Nostromo tasted the dust and ashes of thefruit of life into which he had bitten deeply in his hunger forpraise. Without removing his head from between his fists,he tried to spit before him—‘Tfui’—and muttered a curseupon the selfishness of all the rich people.Since everything seemed lost in Sulaco (and that was thefeeling of his waking), the idea of leaving the country altogetherhad presented itself to Nostromo. At that thoughthe had seen, like the beginning of another dream, a visionof steep and tideless shores, with dark pines on the heightsand white houses low down near a very blue sea. He saw thequays of a big port, where the coasting feluccas, with theirlateen sails outspread like motionless wings, enter glidingsilently between the end of long moles of squared blocksthat project angularly towards each other, hugging a clusterof shipping to the superb bosom of a hill covered with palaces.He remembered these sights not without some filialemotion, though he had been habitually and severely beaten