The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 17Stevenson, Robert Louis
History
The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson - Swanston Edition, Vol. 17
Stevenson, Robert Louis
Islands of the Pacific -- Fiction; Samoan Islands -- History; Short stories
The truth is, Case had done the courting for me in style--told her I was
mad to have her, and cared nothing for the consequence; and the poor
soul, knowing that which I was still ignorant of, believed it, every
word, and had her head nigh turned with vanity and gratitude. Now, of
all this I had no guess; I was one of those most opposed to any nonsense
about native women, having seen so many whites eaten up by their wives'
relatives, and made fools of in the bargain; and I told myself I must
make a stand at once, and bring her to her bearings. But she looked so
quaint and pretty as she ran away and then awaited me, and the thing was
done so like a child or a kind dog, that the best I could do was just to
follow her whenever she went on, to listen for the fall of her bare
feet, and to watch in the dusk for the shining of her body. And there
was another thought came in my head. She played kitten with me now when
we were alone; but in the house she had carried it the way a countess
might, so proud and humble. And what with her dress--for all there was
so little of it, and that native enough--what with her fine tapa and
fine scents, and her red flowers and seeds, that were quite as bright
as jewels, only larger--it came over me she was a kind of countess
really, dressed to hear great singers at a concert, and no even mate for
a poor trader like myself.
She was the first in the house; and while I was still without I saw a
match flash and the lamplight kindle in the windows. The station was a
wonderful fine place, coral built, with quite a wide verandah, and the
main room high and wide. My chests and cases had been piled in, and made
rather of a mess; and there, in the thick of the confusion, stood Uma by
the table, awaiting me. Her shadow went all the way up behind her into
the hollow of the iron roof; she stood against it bright, the lamplight
shining on her skin. I stopped in the door, and she looked at me, not
speaking, with eyes that were eager and yet daunted; then she touched
herself on the bosom.
"Me--your wifie," she said. It had never taken me like that before; but
the want of her took and shook all through me, like the wind in the luff
of a sail.
I could not speak if I had wanted; and if I could, I would not. I was
ashamed to be so much moved about a native, ashamed of the marriage too,
and the certificate she had treasured in her kilt; and I turned aside
and made believe to rummage among my cases. The first thing I lighted on
was a case of gin, the only one that I had brought; and, partly for the
girl's sake, and partly for horror of the recollections of old Randall,
took a sudden resolve. I prised the lid off. One by one I drew the
bottles with a pocket corkscrew, and sent Uma out to pour the stuff from
the verandah.
She came back after the last, and looked at me puzzled like.
"No good," said I, for I was now a little better master of my tongue.
"Man he drink, he no good."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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