Nostromo: A Tale of the Seaboard
returned into his body from the circumambient darkness in which land, sea, sky, the mountains and the rocks were as if they had not been.
Nostromo's voice was speaking, though he, at the tiller, was also as if he were not. "Have you been asleep, Don Martin? Caramba! If it were possible I would think that I, too, have dozed off. I have a strange notion somehow of having dreamed that there was a sound of blubbering, a sound a sorrowing man could make, somewhere near this boat. Something between a sigh and a sob."
"Strange," muttered Decoud, stretched upon the pile of treasure - boxes covered by many tarpaulins. "Could it be that there is another boat near us in the gulf? We could not see it, you know."
Nostromo laughed a little at the absurdity of the idea. They dismissed it from their minds. The solitude could almost be felt. And when the breeze ceased, the blackness seemed to weigh upon Decoud like a stone.
"This is overpowering," he muttered. "Do we move at all, capataz?"
"Not so fast as a crawling beetle tangled in the grass," answered Nostromo, and his voice seemed deadened by the thick veil of obscurity that felt warm and hopeless all about them. There were long periods when he made no sound, invisible and inaudible as if he had mysteriously stepped out of the lighter.
In the featureless night Nostromo was not even certain which way the lighter headed after the wind had completely died out. He peered for the islands. There was not a hint of them to be seen, as if they had sunk
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