Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART SECOND: THE ISABELS 5. CHAPTER FIVE (continued)

There was below the sound of hasty and ponderous footsteps.

"Your uncle, the grand-vicar of the cathedral, has just turned
under the gate," observed Decoud. "He said Mass for the troops in
the Plaza this morning. They had built for him an altar of
drums, you know. And they brought outside all the painted blocks
to take the air. All the wooden saints stood militarily in a row
at the top of the great flight of steps. They looked like a
gorgeous escort attending the Vicar-General. I saw the great
function from the windows of the Porvenir. He is amazing, your
uncle, the last of the Corbelans. He glittered exceedingly in his
vestments with a great crimson velvet cross down his back. And
all the time our saviour Barrios sat in the Amarilla Club
drinking punch at an open window. Esprit fort--our Barrios. I
expected every moment your uncle to launch an excommunication
there and then at the black eye-patch in the window across the
Plaza. But not at all. Ultimately the troops marched off. Later
Barrios came down with some of the officers, and stood with his
uniform all unbuttoned, discoursing at the edge of the pavement.
Suddenly your uncle appeared, no longer glittering, but all
black, at the cathedral door with that threatening aspect he
has--you know, like a sort of avenging spirit. He gives one look,
strides over straight at the group of uniforms, and leads away
the general by the elbow. He walked him for a quarter of an hour
in the shade of a wall. Never let go his elbow for a moment,
talking all the time with exaltation, and gesticulating with a
long black arm. It was a curious scene. The officers seemed
struck with astonishment. Remarkable man, your missionary uncle.
He hates an infidel much less than a heretic, and prefers a
heathen many times to an infidel. He condescends graciously to
call me a heathen, sometimes, you know."

Antonia listened with her hands over the balustrade, opening and
shutting the fan gently; and Decoud talked a little nervously, as
if afraid that she would leave him at the first pause. Their
comparative isolation, the precious sense of intimacy, the slight
contact of their arms, affected him softly; for now and then a
tender inflection crept into the flow of his ironic murmurs.