Joseph Conrad: Nostromo

PART THIRD: THE LIGHTHOUSE 9. CHAPTER NINE (continued)

"Si, viejo. It is me. Wait."

Nostromo, after barricading the door and closing the shutters
carefully, groped upon a shelf for a candle, and lit it.

Old Viola had risen. He followed with his eyes in the dark the
sounds made by Nostromo. The light disclosed him standing without
support, as if the mere presence of that man who was loyal,
brave, incorruptible, who was all his son would have been, were
enough for the support of his decaying strength.

He extended his hand grasping the briar-wood pipe, whose bowl was
charred on the edge, and knitted his bushy eyebrows heavily at
the light.

"You have returned," he said, with shaky dignity. "Ah! Very
well! I----"

He broke off. Nostromo, leaning back against the table, his arms
folded on his breast, nodded at him slightly.

"You thought I was drowned! No! The best dog of the rich, of the
aristocrats, of these fine men who can only talk and betray the
people, is not dead yet."

The Garibaldino, motionless, seemed to drink in the sound of the
well-known voice. His head moved slightly once as if in sign of
approval; but Nostromo saw clearly that the old man understood
nothing of the words. There was no one to understand; no one he
could take into the confidence of Decoud's fate, of his own, into
the secret of the silver. That doctor was an enemy of the
people--a tempter. . . .

Old Giorgio's heavy frame shook from head to foot with the effort
to overcome his emotion at the sight of that man, who had shared
the intimacies of his domestic life as though he had been a
grown-up son.

"She believed yon would return," he said, solemnly.

Nostromo raised his head.

"She was a wise woman. How could I fail to come back----?"