Chapter Chapter 29 · ‘This was the theory of Jim’s marital evening walks. I made a third on

. ‘This was the theory of Jim’s marital evening walks. I made a third on

more than one occasion, unpleasantly aware every time of Cornelius,

who nursed the aggrieved sense of his legal paternity, slinking in

the neighbourhood with that peculiar twist of his mouth as if he were

perpetually on the point of gnashing his teeth. But do you notice how,

three hundred miles beyond the end of telegraph cables and mail-boat

lines, the haggard utilitarian lies of our civilisation wither and die,

to be replaced by pure exercises of imagination, that have the futility,

often the charm, and sometimes the deep hidden truthfulness, of works of

art? Romance had singled Jim for its own--and that was the true part of

the story, which otherwise was all wrong. He did not hide his jewel. In

fact, he was extremely proud of it.

‘It comes to me now that I had, on the whole, seen very little of her.

What I remember best is the even, olive pallor of her complexion, and

the intense blue-black gleams of her hair, flowing abundantly from under

a small crimson cap she wore far back on her shapely head. Her movements

were free, assured, and she blushed a dusky red. While Jim and I were

talking, she would come and go with rapid glances at us, leaving on her

passage an impression of grace and charm and a distinct suggestion of

watchfulness. Her manner presented a curious combination of shyness and

audacity. Every pretty smile was succeeded swiftly by a look of silent,

repressed anxiety, as if put to flight by the recollection of some

abiding danger. At times she would sit down with us and, with her soft

cheek dimpled by the knuckles of her little hand, she would listen

to our talk; her big clear eyes would remain fastened on our lips, as

though each pronounced word had a visible shape. Her mother had taught

her to read and write; she had learned a good bit of English from

Jim, and she spoke it most amusingly, with his own clipping, boyish

intonation. Her tenderness hovered over him like a flutter of wings. She

lived so completely in his contemplation that she had acquired something

of his outward aspect, something that recalled him in her movements, in

the way she stretched her arm, turned her head, directed her glances.

Her vigilant affection had an intensity that made it almost perceptible

to the senses; it seemed actually to exist in the ambient matter

of space, to envelop him like a peculiar fragrance, to dwell in the

sunshine like a tremulous, subdued, and impassioned note. I suppose you

think that I too am romantic, but it is a mistake. I am relating to you

the sober impressions of a bit of youth, of a strange uneasy romance

that had come in my way. I observed with interest the work of

his--well--good fortune. He was jealously loved, but why she should

be jealous, and of what, I could not tell. The land, the people, the

forests were her accomplices, guarding him with vigilant accord, with

an air of seclusion, of mystery, of invincible possession. There was

no appeal, as it were; he was imprisoned within the very freedom of his

power, and she, though ready to make a footstool of her head for his

feet, guarded her conquest inflexibly--as though he were hard to keep.

The very Tamb’ Itam, marching on our journeys upon the heels of his

white lord, with his head thrown back, truculent and be-weaponed like a

janissary, with kriss, chopper, and lance (besides carrying Jim’s gun);

even Tamb’ Itam allowed himself to put on the airs of uncompromising

guardianship, like a surly devoted jailer ready to lay down his life for

his captive. On the evenings when we sat up late, his silent, indistinct

form would pass and repass under the verandah, with noiseless footsteps,

or lifting my head I would unexpectedly make him out standing rigidly

erect in the shadow. As a general rule he would vanish after a time,

without a sound; but when we rose he would spring up close to us as if

from the ground, ready for any orders Jim might wish to give. The girl

too, I believe, never went to sleep till we had separated for the night.

More than once I saw her and Jim through the window of my room come out

together quietly and lean on the rough balustrade--two white forms very

close, his arm about her waist, her head on his shoulder. Their soft

murmurs reached me, penetrating, tender, with a calm sad note in the

stillness of the night, like a self-communion of one being carried on

in two tones. Later on, tossing on my bed under the mosquito-net, I

was sure to hear slight creakings, faint breathing, a throat cleared

cautiously--and I would know that Tamb’ Itam was still on the prowl.

Though he had (by the favour of the white lord) a house in the compound,

had “taken wife,” and had lately been blessed with a child, I believe

that, during my stay at all events, he slept on the verandah every

night. It was very difficult to make this faithful and grim retainer

talk. Even Jim himself was answered in jerky short sentences, under

protest as it were. Talking, he seemed to imply, was no business of his.

The longest speech I heard him volunteer was one morning when, suddenly

extending his hand towards the courtyard, he pointed at Cornelius and

said, “Here comes the Nazarene.” I don’t think he was addressing me,

though I stood at his side; his object seemed rather to awaken the

indignant attention of the universe. Some muttered allusions, which

followed, to dogs and the smell of roast-meat, struck me as singularly

felicitous. The courtyard, a large square space, was one torrid blaze of

sunshine, and, bathed in intense light, Cornelius was creeping across

in full view with an inexpressible effect of stealthiness, of dark and

secret slinking. He reminded one of everything that is unsavoury. His

slow laborious walk resembled the creeping of a repulsive beetle, the

legs alone moving with horrid industry while the body glided evenly. I

suppose he made straight enough for the place where he wanted to get to,

but his progress with one shoulder carried forward seemed oblique. He

was often seen circling slowly amongst the sheds, as if following

a scent; passing before the verandah with upward stealthy glances;

disappearing without haste round the corner of some hut. That he seemed

free of the place demonstrated Jim’s absurd carelessness or else his

infinite disdain, for Cornelius had played a very dubious part (to say

the least of it) in a certain episode which might have ended fatally for

Jim. As a matter of fact, it had redounded to his glory. But everything

redounded to his glory; and it was the irony of his good fortune that

he, who had been too careful of it once, seemed to bear a charmed life.

‘You must know he had left Doramin’s place very soon after his

arrival--much too soon, in fact, for his safety, and of course a long

time before the war. In this he was actuated by a sense of duty; he had

to look after Stein’s business, he said. Hadn’t he? To that end, with an

utter disregard of his personal safety, he crossed the river and took up

his quarters with Cornelius. How the latter had managed to exist through

the troubled times I can’t say. As Stein’s agent, after all, he must

have had Doramin’s protection in a measure; and in one way or another

he had managed to wriggle through all the deadly complications, while I

have no doubt that his conduct, whatever line he was forced to take, was

marked by that abjectness which was like the stamp of the man. That was

his characteristic; he was fundamentally and outwardly abject, as other

men are markedly of a generous, distinguished, or venerable appearance.

It was the element of his nature which permeated all his acts and

passions and emotions; he raged abjectly, smiled abjectly, was abjectly

sad; his civilities and his indignations were alike abject. I am sure

his love would have been the most abject of sentiments--but can one

imagine a loathsome insect in love? And his loathsomeness, too, was

abject, so that a simply disgusting person would have appeared noble

by his side. He has his place neither in the background nor in the

foreground of the story; he is simply seen skulking on its outskirts,

enigmatical and unclean, tainting the fragrance of its youth and of its

naiveness.

‘His position in any case could not have been other than extremely

miserable, yet it may very well be that he found some advantages in it.

Jim told me he had been received at first with an abject display of

the most amicable sentiments. “The fellow apparently couldn’t contain

himself for joy,” said Jim with disgust. “He flew at me every morning to

shake both my hands--confound him!--but I could never tell whether there

would be any breakfast. If I got three meals in two days I considered

myself jolly lucky, and he made me sign a chit for ten dollars every

week. Said he was sure Mr. Stein did not mean him to keep me for

nothing. Well--he kept me on nothing as near as possible. Put it down to

the unsettled state of the country, and made as if to tear his hair out,

begging my pardon twenty times a day, so that I had at last to entreat

him not to worry. It made me sick. Half the roof of his house had

fallen in, and the whole place had a mangy look, with wisps of dry grass

sticking out and the corners of broken mats flapping on every wall. He

did his best to make out that Mr. Stein owed him money on the last three

years’ trading, but his books were all torn, and some were missing. He

tried to hint it was his late wife’s fault. Disgusting scoundrel! At

last I had to forbid him to mention his late wife at all. It made Jewel

cry. I couldn’t discover what became of all the trade-goods; there was

nothing in the store but rats, having a high old time amongst a litter

of brown paper and old sacking. I was assured on every hand that he had

a lot of money buried somewhere, but of course could get nothing out of

him. It was the most miserable existence I led there in that wretched

house. I tried to do my duty by Stein, but I had also other matters to

think of. When I escaped to Doramin old Tunku Allang got frightened and

returned all my things. It was done in a roundabout way, and with no end

of mystery, through a Chinaman who keeps a small shop here; but as soon

as I left the Bugis quarter and went to live with Cornelius it began

to be said openly that the Rajah had made up his mind to have me killed

before long. Pleasant, wasn’t it? And I couldn’t see what there was to

prevent him if he really _had_ made up his mind. The worst of it was,

I couldn’t help feeling I wasn’t doing any good either for Stein or for

myself. Oh! it was beastly--the whole six weeks of it.”’