Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 6. CHAPTER SIX (continued)

At a slight nod from one of the serenos, the man, a messenger
from the town, dismounted, and crossed the bridge, leading his
horse by the bridle.

Don Pepe received the letter from his other hand, slapped his
left side and his hips in succession, feeling for his spectacle
case. After settling the heavy silvermounted affair astride his
nose, and adjusting it carefully behind his ears, he opened the
envelope, holding it up at about a foot in front of his eyes. The
paper he pulled out contained some three lines of writing. He
looked at them for a long time. His grey moustache moved slightly
up and down, and the wrinkles, radiating at the corners of his
eyes, ran together. He nodded serenely. "Bueno," he said. "There
is no answer."

Then, in his quiet, kindly way, he engaged in a cautious
conversation with the man, who was willing to talk cheerily, as
if something lucky had happened to him recently. He had seen from
a distance Sotillo's infantry camped along the shore of the
harbour on each side of the Custom House. They had done no damage
to the buildings. The foreigners of the railway remained shut up
within the yards. They were no longer anxious to shoot poor
people. He cursed the foreigners; then he reported Montero's
entry and the rumours of the town. The poor were going to be made
rich now. That was very good. More he did not know, and,
breaking into propitiatory smiles, he intimated that he was
hungry and thirsty. The old major directed him to go to the
alcalde of the first village. The man rode off, and Don Pepe,
striding slowly in the direction of a little wooden belfry,
looked over a hedge into a little garden, and saw Father Roman
sitting in a white hammock slung between two orange trees in
front of the presbytery.

An enormous tamarind shaded with its dark foliage the whole white
framehouse. A young Indian girl with long hair, big eyes, and
small hands and feet, carried out a wooden chair, while a thin
old woman, crabbed and vigilant, watched her all the time from
the verandah.

Don Pepe sat down in the chair and lighted a cigar; the priest
drew in an immense quantity of snuff out of the hollow of his
palm. On his reddish-brown face, worn, hollowed as if crumbled,
the eyes, fresh and candid, sparkled like two black diamonds.