Джозеф Конрад - Suspense

“If they are after anything,” answered the other coolly, “they are after a very fine voice. What made you give that shout?”

“I had to behave like a frightened mouse before those sbirri , on account of those papers you left with me, and I felt that I must assert myself.” Cosmo gave this psychological explanation grimly. He changed his tone to add that fancying he had seen the shape of the English man–of–war’s boat, the temptation to hail her had been irresistible.

“Possibly that’s what startled them. They knew nothing of us. Luck was on our side. We slipped in unseen.” The sound of rowing meantime had grown loud enough to take away from them all desire for further conversation, for the noise of heavy oars working in their row–locks has a purposeful, relentless character on a still night, and the big twelve–oared galley, pulled with a short quick stroke, seemed to hold an unerring way in its hollow thundering progress. For those in the boat concealed under the bows of the brig the strain of having to listen without being able to see was growing intolerable. Cosmo asked himself anxiously whether he was going to be captured once more before this night of surprises was out, but at the last moment the galley swerved and passed under the stern of the polacca, as if bent on taking merely a sweep round the harbour. Everybody in the boat drew a long breath. But almost immediately afterwards the sound of rowing stopped short, and everyone in the boat seemed turned again into stone.

At last Attilio breathed into Cosmo’s ear: “ Per Dio! They have found the other boat.”

Cosmo was almost ashamed at the swift eagerness of his fearfully whispered inquiry:

“Are the men in her dead?”

“All I know is that if either of them is able to talk we are lost,” Attilio whispered back.

“Those sbirri were going to deliver me to the gendarmes,” Cosmo began under his breath, when all at once the noise of the oars burst again on their ears abruptly; but soon all apprehension was at an end because it became clear that the sound was receding towards the east side of the harbour. In fact, the custom–house people, who had started to row round because of a vague impression that there had been some shouting in the harbour, had to their immense surprise come upon a boat which at first seemed empty, but which, they soon discovered, contained two human forms huddled up on the bottom boards, apparently dead, but at any rate insensible if they were still breathing. Attilio’s surmise that as the quickest way of dealing with this mystery the custom–house officer had decided to tow the boat at once to the police–station on the east side, was perfectly right; and also his conviction that now or never was his chance to slip out of that harbour where he and his companions felt themselves in a trap, the door of which might snap to at any time. At the best, it was a desperate situation, he felt. Cosmo felt it too, if in a more detached way—like a rather unwilling spectator. Yet his anxiety for the safety of his companions was as great as though he had known them all his life. Though he had in a way lost sight of his personal connection, he could not help forming his own view which he poured into Attilio’s ear while the two rowers put all their strength into their work.

Tensely rigid at the tiller Attilio had listened, keeping his eyes fixed on the gap of dark gleaming water between the black heads of the two breakwaters.

“The signore is right,” he assented. “We could not hope to escape from that galley once she caught sight of us. Our only chance is to slip out of the port before she gets back to her station outside the jetties. This affair will be a great puzzle to them. They will lose some time talking it over with the gendarmes. Unless one or another of those sbirri comes to himself.”

“Yes, those sbirri … ” murmured Cosmo.

“What would you have? We did our best with the boat–stretchers, I can assure you.”

Cosmo had no doubt of that. The sound of crashing blows rained on those wretches’ heads had been sickening, but the memory comforted him now. So did the return of the profound stillness after the noise of the galley’s oars had died out in the distance. Cosmo took heart till it came upon him suddenly that there never had been a starry sky that gave so much light, no night so amazingly clear, no harbour of such an enormous extent. He felt he must not lose a minute. He jumped up and began to tear off his coat madly. Attilio exclaimed in dismay: “Stay! Don’t!” It looked as though his Englishman had made up his mind to swim for it. But Cosmo, with a muttered “I must lend a hand,” stepped lightly forward past the rowers and began to feel under the thwarts for a spare oar. Before he found it his hand came in contact with a naked foot. This recalled to him the existence of the ancient boatman. The poor old fellow, who had taken no part in the fray, had fallen overboard from mere weakness, and had had a long soaking in chilly water. He lay curled up in the bows, shivering violently like a dog. For the moment Cosmo was simply vexed at this additional dead weight in the boat. He could think of nothing but of the custom–house galley. He imagined her long, slim, cleaving the glassy water, as if endowed with life, while the clumsy tub in which he sat felt to him a dead thing which had to be tugged along by main force every inch of the way. He set his teeth hard and pulled doggedly as if rowing in a losing race, without turning his head once. Suddenly he became aware of the end of the old mole gliding past the boat, and that Attilio, instead of holding on this way, had taken a sweep and was following the outer side of the breakwater towards the shore. Presently, at his word, the oars were taken in, and the boat floated, arrested in shallow water amongst the boulders strewn along the base of the mole. The men panted after their exertions. Not a breath of wind stirred the chilly air. Cosmo returned aft and sat down by Attilio after putting on his coat.

It seemed as though Attilio, while steering with one hand, had managed with the other to go through the pockets of Cosmo’s coat, for his first words murmured in an anxious tone were: “Signore, where are those papers?”

Cosmo had forgotten all about them. The shock was severe. “The papers!” he exclaimed faintly. “In my hat.”

“Yes, I put them there. You had it on your head in the boat. I recognised you by it.”

“Of course I had it on. Where is it?”

“God knows,” said Attilio bitterly. “I was asking you for the papers.”

“I only discovered that the packet was in my hat after I put it on,” protested Cosmo. “Four sbirri were standing over me already.”

“Is it possible?” exclaimed Attilio, very low.

“Afterwards I was watched all the time.”

While they were exchanging those words in the extremity of their consternation, the man nearest to them went down suddenly on his knees and began to grope under the thwarts industriously. Having heard the word “hat,” he had remembered that while battling with the sbirri he had trodden on some round object, which had given way under his foot. He assured the signore that it was a thing that could not be helped, while he tendered to him apologetically the rim with one hand and the crown with the other. It was crushed flat like an empty bag, but it was seized with avidity, and presently Cosmo’s feelings were relieved by the discovery that it still contained the parcel of papers. Attilio took possession of it with a low nervous laugh. It was an emotional sound which, coming from that man, gave Cosmo food for wonder during the few moments the silence lasted, before Attilio announced in a whisper, “Here she is.”

Cosmo, looking seaward, saw on the black and gleaming water, polished like a mirror for the stars, an opaque hummock resembling the head of a rock; and he thought that the race had been won by a very narrow margin. The galley, in fact, had reached the heads of the jetties a very few minutes only after the boat. On getting back to his station the officer in the galley pulled about fifty yards clear of the end of the old mole and ordered his men to lay oars in. He had left the solution of the mystery to the police. It was not his concern; and as he knew nothing of the existence of an outside boat, it never occurred to him to investigate along the coast. Attilio’s boat, lurking close inshore, was invisible from seaward. The distance between the two was great enough to cause the considerable clatter which is made when several oars are laid–in together at the word of command, to reach Cosmo only as a very faint, almost mysterious, sound. It was the last he was to hear for a very long time. He surrendered to the soft and invincible stillness of air and sea and stars enveloping the active desires and the secret fears of men who have the sombre earth for their stage. At every momentary pause in his long and fantastic adventure, it returned with its splendid charm and glorious serenity, resembling the power of a great and unfathomable love whose tenderness like a sacred spell lays to rest all the vividities and all the violences of passionate desire.