Джозеф Конрад - Suspense

He had not come to any conclusion before Barbone returned, accompanied by a silver–haired, meek old fellow, with a nut–brown face, barefooted and barearmed, and carrying a pair of sculls over his shoulder, whom he pushed in front of the sergeant. The latter took his short pipe out of his mouth, spat on one side, looked at the old man with a fixed savage stare and finally nodded. At Cosmo he did not look at all, but to Barbone he handed a key with the words: “Bring it back.” The sbirri closed round Cosmo, and Barbone uttered a growl, with a gesture towards the door. Why Barbone should require a key to take him out of doors Cosmo could not understand. Unless it were the key of liberty. But it was not likely that the fierce Croat and the gloomy Barbone should have indulged in symbolic actions. The mariner, with the sculls on his shoulder, followed the group patiently, to where, on the very edge of the quay, the Austrian soldier with his musket shouldered paced to and fro across the streak of reddish light from the garrison door. He swung round and stood, very martial, in front of the group, but at the sight of the key exhibited to him by Barbone, moved out of the way. The air was calm but chilly. Below the level of the quay there was the clinking of metal and the rattling of small chains, and Cosmo then discovered that the key belonged to a padlock securing the chain to which quite a lot of small rowing–boats were moored. The young policeman said from behind into Cosmo’s ear: “The signore is always forgetting his cloak,” and threw it lightly on Cosmo’s shoulders. He explained also that every night all the small boats in the port were collected and secured like this on both sides of the port, and the Austrians furnished the sentry to look after them on this side. The object was that there should be no boats moving after ten o’clock, except the galley of the dogana , and, of course, the boat of the English man–of–war.

“Come and see me at noon at Cantelucci’s inn,” whispered Cosmo, to which the other breathed out a “Certainly, Excellency,” feelingly, before going up the steps.

Cosmo found himself presently sitting in a boat between two sbirri . The ancient fellow shoved off and shipped his oars. From the quay, high above, Barbone’s voice shouted to him: “The gendarmes will take charge of your boat for the rest of the night.” The old boatman’s only answer was a deep sigh, and in a very few strokes the quay with the sentry receded into the darkness. One of the sbirri remarked in a tone of satisfaction: “Our service will be over after we have given up the signore there.” The other said: “I hope the signore will consider we have been kept late on his account.” Cosmo, who was contemplating with immense distaste the prospect of being delivered up to the gendarmes, emitted a mirthless laugh; and after a while said in a cold tone: “Why waste your time in pulling to the other side of the harbour? Put me on board the nearest vessel. I’ll soon find my way to the quay from one tartane to another, and your service would be over at once.”

The fellow on his left assumed an astonishing seriousness: “Most of those tartanes have a dog on board. We could not expose an illustrious stranger to get bitten by one of these ugly brutes.”

But the other had no mind for grave mockery. In a harsh and overbearing tone he ordered the boatman to pull well into the middle of the harbour, away from the moored craft.

It was like crossing a lake over–shadowed by the hills, with the breakwaters prolonging the shore to seaward. The old man raised and dipped his oars slowly, without a sound, and the long trails of starlight trembled on the ripples on each side of the boat. When they had progressed far enough to open the harbour entrance, Cosmo detected between the end of the jetties far away—he was glancing casually about—a dark speck about the size of a man’s head, which ought not to have been there. The air was perfectly clear and the stars thick on the horizon. It struck him at once that it could be nothing than either the English man–of–war’s boat, or the boat of the dogana , since no others were allowed to move at night. His thoughts were, however, so busy with speculating as to what he had better do, that he paid no more attention to that remarkable speck. He looked absently at the silver–haired boatman pulling an easy stroke, and asked himself: Was it or was it not time to lose his hat overboard? How could he contrive to make it look plausible in this absurd calm? Then he reproached himself for reasoning, as if those two low fellows (whose proximity had grown extremely irksome to him) had wits of preternatural sharpness. If he were to snatch it and fling it away, they would probably conclude that he was trying to make himself troublesome, or simply mad, or anything in the world rather than guess that he had in his hat something which he wanted to destroy. He undid quietly the clasp of his cloak, and rested his hands on his knees. His guardians did not think it necessary now to hold his arms. In fact, they did not seem to pay much attention to him. Cosmo asked himself for a moment whether he would stand up suddenly and jump into the water. Of course he knew that fully clothed and in his boots they would very soon get hold of him, but the object would have been attained. However, the prospect of being towed behind a boat to the custom–house quay by the collar of his coat, and being led into the presence of the gendarmes looking like a drowned rat, was so disagreeable that he rejected that plan.

By this time the boat had reached little more than half–way across the harbour. The great body of the shipping was merged with the shore. The nearest vessels were a polacca brig and chebek lying at anchor; both were shadowy, and the last, with her low spars, a mere low smudge on the dim sheen of the water. From time to time the aged boatman emitted a moan. The boat seemed hardly to move. Everything afloat was silent and dark. The crews of the coasters were ashore or asleep; and if there were any dogs on board any of them they, too, seemed plunged in the same slumber that lay over all things of the earth, and by contrast with which the stars of heaven looked intensely wakeful. In the midst of his perplexities Cosmo enjoyed the feeling of peace that had come to him directly his trouble had begun.

“We will be all night getting across,” growled suddenly the man on his left…. “I don’t know what Barbone was thinking of to get this antiquity out of his bed.”

“I told him there was hardly any breath in my old body,” declared the boatman’s tranquil voice.

Apparently in order to speak he had to cease rowing, for he rested on his oars while he went on in the grave–like silence: “But he raged like a devil; and rather than let him wake up all the neighbours I came out. I may just as well die in the boat as in my bed.”

Both sbirri exclaimed indignantly against Barbone, but neither offered to take the sculls. With a painful groan the old man began to pull again. Cosmo asked: “What’s that dark thing between the heads of the jetties?” One of his captors turning his head to look said: “That must be the galley. I wish she would come this way. We would ask her for a tow.” The other man remarked sarcastically: “No fear, they are all snoozing in her, except one, perhaps, to keep a lookout. It’s an easy life…. Voga, vecchio, voga. ”

Cosmo thought suddenly that if by any chance the man–of–war boat happened to be pulling that way, he would hail her without hesitation, and, surely, the officer in charge would not leave him in the hands of those villains without at least listening to his tale. Unluckily their way across the harbour did not take them near the man–of–war. The light at her mizzen–peak seemed to Cosmo very far away; so that if it had not burned against the dark background of the land it would have seemed more distant than any star, and not half as brightly vigilant. He took his eyes from it and let them rest idly on the water ahead. The sbirro on his right hand emitted an immense yawn. This provided an excuse to the other to mutter curses on the tediousness of all this affair. Cosmo had been too perplexed to have felt bored. Just then, as if in antagonism to those offensive manifestations, he felt very alert. Moreover, the moment when something would have to be done was approaching. A tension of all his senses accumulated in a sort of all–over impatience. While in that state, staring into the night, he caught sight of the man–of–war’s boat.