"Who's that hiding?" hailed Babalatchi. "Come out and speak to me."Nobody answered. Babalatchi crossed over, passing from boat to boat, and poked his staff viciously in the suspicious place.
Taminah jumped up with a cry.
"What are you doing here?" he asked, surprised. "I have nearly stepped on your tray. Am I a Dyak that you should hide at my sight?""I was weary, and--I slept," whispered Taminah, confusedly.
"You slept! You have not sold anything to-day, and you will be beaten when you return home," said Babalatchi.
Taminah stood before him abashed and silent. Babalatchi looked her over carefully with great satisfaction. Decidedly he would offer fifty dollars more to that thief Bulangi. The girl pleased him.
"Now you go home. It is late," he said sharply. "Tell Bulangi that I shall be near his house before the night is half over, and that I want him to make all things ready for a long journey. You understand? A long journey to the southward. Tell him that before sunset, and do not forget my words."Taminah made a gesture of assent, and watched Babalatchi recross the ditch and disappear through the bushes bordering Almayer's compound. She moved a little further off the creek and sank in the grass again, lying down on her face, shivering in dry-eyed misery.
Babalatchi walked straight towards the cooking-shed looking for Mrs. Almayer. The courtyard was in a great uproar. A strange Chinaman had possession of the kitchen fire and was noisily demanding another saucepan. He hurled objurgations, in the Canton dialect and bad Malay, against the group of slave-girls standing a little way off, half frightened, half amused, at his violence. From the camping fires round which the seamen of the frigate were sitting came words of encouragement, mingled with laughter and jeering. In the midst of this noise and confusion Babalatchi met Ali, an empty dish in his hand.
"Where are the white men?" asked Babalatchi.
"They are eating in the front verandah," answered Ali. "Do not stop me, Tuan. I am giving the white men their food and am busy.""Where's Mem Almayer?"
"Inside in the passage. She is listening to the talk."Ali grinned and passed on; Babalatchi ascended the plankway to the rear verandah, and beckoning out Mrs. Almayer, engaged her in earnest conversation. Through the long passage, closed at the further end by the red curtain, they could hear from time to time Almayer's voice mingling in conversation with an abrupt loudness that made Mrs. Almayer look significantly at Babalatchi.
"Listen," she said. "He has drunk much.""He has," whispered Babalatchi. "He will sleep heavily to-night."Mrs. Almayer looked doubtful.
"Sometimes the devil of strong gin makes him keep awake, and he walks up and down the verandah all night, cursing; then we stand afar off," explained Mrs. Almayer, with the fuller knowledge born of twenty odd years of married life.
"But then he does not hear, nor understand, and his hand, of course, has no strength. We do not want him to hear to-night.""No," assented Mrs. Almayer, energetically, but in a cautiously subdued voice. "If he hears he will kill."Babalatchi looked incredulous.
"Hai Tuan, you may believe me. Have I not lived many years with that man? Have I not seen death in that man's eyes more than once when I was younger and he guessed at many things. Had he been a man of my own people I would not have seen such a look twice; but he--"With a contemptuous gesture she seemed to fling unutterable scorn on Almayer's weak-minded aversion to sudden bloodshed.
"If he has the wish but not the strength, then what do we fear?"asked Babalatchi, after a short silence during which they both listened to Almayer's loud talk till it subsided into the murmur of general conversation. "What do we fear?" repeated Babalatchi again.
"To keep the daughter whom he loves he would strike into your heart and mine without hesitation," said Mrs. Almayer. "When the girl is gone he will be like the devil unchained. Then you and Ihad better beware."
"I am an old man and fear not death," answered Babalatchi, with a mendacious assumption of indifference. "But what will you do?""I am an old woman, and wish to live," retorted Mrs. Almayer.
"She is my daughter also. I shall seek safety at the feet of our Rajah, speaking in the name of the past when we both were young, and he--"Babalatchi raised his hand.
"Enough. You shall be protected," he said soothingly.
Again the sound of Almayer's voice was heard, and again interrupting their talk, they listened to the confused but loud utterance coming in bursts of unequal strength, with unexpected pauses and noisy repetitions that made some words and sentences fall clear and distinct on their ears out of the meaningless jumble of excited shoutings emphasised by the thumping of Almayer's fist upon the table. On the short intervals of silence, the high complaining note of tumblers, standing close together and vibrating to the shock, lingered, growing fainter, till it leapt up again into tumultuous ringing, when a new idea started a new rush of words and brought down the heavy hand again. At last the quarrelsome shouting ceased, and the thin plaint of disturbed glass died away into reluctant quietude.
Babalatchi and Mrs. Almayer had listened curiously, their bodies bent and their ears turned towards the passage. At every louder shout they nodded at each other with a ridiculous affectation of scandalised propriety, and they remained in the same attitude for some time after the noise had ceased.
