Джозеф Конрад - Suspense

He leaned back and waited till the outburst of noisy mirth had died out at the officers’ table. The corners of his mouth dropped again, and Cosmo came to the conclusion that that face in repose was decidedly peevish.

“I don’t know what they have got to be so merry about,” the other began with a slight glance at the naval table, and leaning forward again towards Cosmo. “Their occupation is gone. Heroes are a thoughtless lot. Yet just look at that elderly lieutenant at the head of the table. Shabby coat. Old epaulette. He doesn’t laugh. He will die a lieutenant—on half–pay. That’s how heroic people end when the heroic times are over.”

“I am glad,” said Cosmo steadily, “that you recognise at least their heroism.”

The other opened his mouth for some time before he laughed, and that gave his face an expression of somewhat hard jollity. But the laugh when it came was by no means loud, and had a sort of ingratiating softness.

“No, no. Don’t think I am disparaging our sea–service. I had the privilege to know the greatest hero of them all. Yes, I had two talks with Lord Nelson. Well, he was certainly not … ”

He interrupted himself and raising his eyes saw the perfectly still gaze of Cosmo fastened on his face. Then peevishly:

“What I meant to say was that he at least was indubitably a hero. I remember that I was very careful about what I said to him. I had to be mighty careful then about what I said to anybody. Someone might have put it into his head to hang me at some yardarm or other.”

“I envy you your experience all the same,” said Cosmo amiably. “I suppose your conscience was clear?”

“I have always been most careful not to give my conscience any licence to trouble me,” retorted the other with a certain curtness of tone which was not offensive; “and I have lived now for some considerable time. I am really much older than I look,” he concluded, giving Cosmo such a keen glance that the young man could not help a smile.

The other went on looking at him steadily for a while, then let his eyes wander to a door in a distant part of the long room as if impatient for the coming of the dinner. Then giving it up:

“A man who has lived actively, actively I say, the last twenty years, may well feel as old as Methuselah. Lord Nelson was but a circumstance in my life. I wonder, had he lived, how he would have taken all this?”

A slight movement of his hand seemed to carry this allusion outside the confines of the vaulted noisy room, to indicate all the out–of–doors of the world. Cosmo remarked that the hand was muscular, shapely and extremely well–cared for.

“I think there can be no doubt about the nature of his feelings, if he were living.” Cosmo’s voice was exactly non–committal. His interlocutor grunted slightly.

“H’m. He would have done nothing but groan and complain about anything and everything. No, he wouldn’t have taken it laughing. Very poor physique. Very. Frightful hypochondriac…. I am a doctor, you know.”

Cantelucci was going to attend himself on his two guests. He presented to the doctor a smoking soup tureen enveloped in a napkin. The doctor assumed at once a business–like air, and at his invitation Cosmo held out his plate. The doctor helped him carefully.

“Don’t forget the wine, my wine, Anzelmo,” he said to Cantelucci, who answered by a profound bow. “I saved his life once,” he continued after the innkeeper had gone away.

The tone was particularly significant. Cosmo, partly repelled and partly amused by the man, inquired whether the worthy host had been very ill. The doctor swallowed the last spoonful of soup.

“Ill,” he said. “He had a gash that long in his side, and a set of forty–pound fetters on his legs. I cured both complaints. Not without some risk to myself, as you imagine. There was an epidemic of hanging and shooting in the south of Italy then.”

He noticed Cosmo’s steady stare and raised the corners of his mouth with an effect of geniality on his broad, rosy face.

“In ’99, you know. I wonder I didn’t die of it too. I was considerably younger then and my humane instincts, early enthusiasms, and so on, had led me into pretty bad company. However, I had also pretty good friends. What with one thing and another, I am pretty well known all over Italy. My name is Martel—Dr. Martel. You probably may have heard … ”

He threw a searching glance at Cosmo, who bowed non–committally, and went on without a pause. “I am the man who brought vaccine to Italy first. Cantelucci was trying to tell me your name, but really I couldn’t make it out.”

“Latham is my name,” said Cosmo, “and I only set foot in Italy for the first time in my life two days ago.”

The doctor jerked his head sideways.

“Latham, eh? Yorkshire?”

“Yes,” said Cosmo, smiling.

“To be sure. Sir Charles … ”

“That’s my father.”

“Yes, yes. Served in the Guards. I used to know the doctor of his regiment. Married in Italy. I don’t remember the lady’s name. Oh, those are old times. Might have been a hundred years ago.”

“You mean that so much history has been made since?”

“Yes, no end of history,” assented the doctor, but checked himself…. “And yet, tell me, what does it all amount to?”

Cosmo made no answer. Cantelucci having brought the wine while they talked, the doctor filled two glasses, waited a moment as if to hear Cosmo speak, but as the young man remained silent he said:

“Well, let us drink then to Peace.”

He tossed the wine down his throat, while Cosmo drank his much more leisurely. As they set down their empty glasses they were startled by a roar of a tremendous voice filling the vaulted room from end to end, in order to “Let their honours know that the boat was at the steps.” The doctor made a faint grimace.

“Do you hear the voice of the British lion, Mr. Latham?” he asked peevishly. “Ah, well, we will have some little peace now here.”

Those officers at the naval table who had to go on board rose in a body and left the room hastily. Three or four who had a longer leave drew close together, and began to talk low with their heads in a bunch. Cosmo glancing down the room seemed to recognise at the door the form of the seaman whom he had met earlier in the evening. He followed the officers out. The other diners, the sombre ones, and a good many of them with powdered heads, were also leaving the room. Cantelucci put another dish on the table, stepped back a pace with a bow and stood still. A moment of profound silence succeeded the noise.

“First–rate,” said Dr. Martel to Cosmo, after tasting the dish, and then gave a nod to Cantelucci, who made another bow and retreated backwards, always with a solemn expression on his face.

“Italian cooking, of course, but then I am an old Italian myself. Not that I love them, but I have acquired many of their tastes. Before we have done dining, you will have tasted the perfection of their cookery, north and south, for I assure you, you are sharing my dinner. You don’t suppose that the dishes that come to this table are the same the common customers get?”

Cosmo made a slight bow. “I am very sensible of the privilege,” he said.

“The honour and the pleasure are mine, I assure you,” the doctor said in a half–careless tone, and looking with distaste towards the small knot of the officers with a twenty–four hours’ leave, who had finished their confabulation and had risen in a body like men who had agreed on some pleasant course of action. Only the elderly lieutenant, lagging a little behind, cast a glance at his two countrymen at the little table, and followed his comrades with less eager movements.

“A quarter of a tough bullock or half a roast sheep are more in their way, and Cantelucci knows it. As to that company that was sitting at the other table, well, I daresay you can tell yourself what they were, small officials or tradesmen of some sort. I should think that emptying all their pockets—and they were how many, say twenty—you couldn’t collect the value of one English pound at any given time. And Cantelucci knows that too. Well, of course. Still, he does well here, but it’s a poor place. I wonder, Mr. Latham, what are you doing here?”