Сердце тьмы. Уровень 2 / Heart of Darkness

5

In about forty-five seconds I found myself again in the waiting-room with the compassionate secretary. He was full of desolation and sympathy. He gave me some document to sign. I believe I undertook amongst other things not to disclose any trade secrets. Well, I am not going to.

I began to feel slightly uneasy. You know I am not used to such ceremonies. There was something ominous in the atmosphere. I don’t know – I felt that something was not quite right. I was glad to get out. In the outer room the two women knitted black wool feverishly. People were arriving. The younger woman was walking back and forth with them. The old woman sat on her chair. Her flat cloth slippers were propped up on a foot-warmer^[13]. A cat reposed on her lap. She wore a starched white affair on her head. She had a wart on one cheek, and silver-rimmed spectacles on the tip of her nose. She glanced at me above the glasses. The swift and indifferent placidity of that look troubled me.

Two youths with foolish and cheery countenances arrived. She threw at them the same quick glance of wisdom. She seemed to know all about them and about me, too. An eerie feeling came over me. She seemed uncanny and fateful. Often far away there I thought of these two women. They were guarding the door of Darkness. They were knitting black wool as for a warm pall. The first woman was introducing continuously to the unknown, the other woman was scrutinizing the cheery and foolish faces with unconcerned old eyes. Ave! Old knitter of black wool. Morituri te salutant^[14]. Not many saw her again.

There was yet a visit to the doctor. ‘A simple formality,’ assured me the secretary. Soon a young chap with his hat over the left eyebrow – some clerk I suppose – came from somewhere upstairs, and led me forth. He was shabby and careless. He had inkstains on the sleeves of his jacket. His cravat was large and billowy. Under a chin it shaped like the toe of an old boot. It was a little too early for the doctor, so I proposed a drink.

As we sat over our vermouths he glorified the Company’s business. By and by^[15] I expressed casually my surprise,

“Aren’t you going there?” I asked.

He became very cool and collected all at once.

“I am not such a fool as I look, said Plato to his disciples,” he said sententiously.

Then he emptied his glass with great resolution, and we rose.

The old doctor felt my pulse.

“Good, good for there,” he mumbled.

Then with certain eagerness he asked me to let him measure my head. Rather surprised, I said “Yes”. He produced a thing like calipers and got the dimensions back and front and every way. He was taking notes carefully. He was an unshaven little man in a threadbare coat like a gaberdine, with his feet in slippers. I thought he was a harmless fool.

“I always want, in the interests of science, to measure the crania of those who are going out there,” he said.

“And when they come back, too?” I asked.

“Oh, I never see them,” he remarked; “and, moreover, the changes take place inside, you know.”

He smiled, as if at some quiet joke.

“So you are going out there. Famous. Interesting, too.”

He gave me a serious glance, and made another note.

“Any madness in your family?” he asked.

I felt very annoyed.

“Is that question in the interests of science, too?”

“It will be,” he said, “interesting for science to watch the mental changes of individuals, on the spot, but…”

“Are you an alienist?” I interrupted.

“Every doctor must be – a little,” answered he imperturbably. “I have a little theory which you gentlemen who go out there must help me to prove. This is my share in the advantages my country shall reap from the possession of such a magnificent dependency. The mere wealth I leave to others. Pardon my questions, but you are the first Englishman under my observation…”

I hastened to assure him I was not in the least typical.

“Really?” said I. “But I talk to you.”

“What you say is rather profound, and probably erroneous,” he said, with a laugh. “Avoid irritation more than exposure to the sun. Adieu. How do you English say, eh? Good-bye. Ah! Good-bye. Adieu. In the tropics one must keep calm.”

He lifted a warning forefinger,

“Keep calm, keep calm.”

6

One thing more remained to do – to say good-bye to my excellent aunt. I found her triumphant. I had a cup of tea – the last decent cup of tea for many days. In a room, we had a long quiet chat by the fireside. In the course of these confidences it became quite plain to me one thing. I was represented to the wife of the high dignitary. Goodness knows to how many more people besides. They recommended me as an exceptional and gifted creature – a piece of good fortune for the Company. Good heavens! I was going to take charge of a cheap river-steamboat with a cheap whistle!

It appeared, however, I was also one of the Workers, with a capital^[16] – you know. Something like an emissary of light, something like an apostle. The excellent woman talked about ‘weaning those ignorant millions from their horrid ways,’ till she made me quite uncomfortable. I ventured to hint that the Company was run for profit^[17].

“You forget, dear Charlie, that the labourer is worthy of his hire,” she said, brightly.

It’s queer how out of touch with truth women are. They live in a world of their own.

After this she told me to wear flannel, be sure to write often, and so on – and I left. In the street – I don’t know why – a queer feeling came to me that I was an imposter. I had a moment – I won’t say of hesitation, but of startled pause, before this commonplace affair.

7

I left in a French steamer. That steamer called in every blamed port – to land soldiers and custom-house officers. I watched the coast. To watch a coast is to think about an enigma. There it is before you – smiling, frowning, inviting, grand, mean, insipid, or savage, and always mute with an air of whispering, ‘Come and find out.’

This one was almost featureless. The edge of a colossal jungle, so dark-green, almost black, fringed with white surf, ran straight, like a ruled line, far, far away along a blue sea whose glitter was blurred by a mist. The sun was fierce. The land glistened and dripped with steam. Here and there greyish-whitish specks showed up clustered inside the white surf, with a flag above them perhaps. Settlements some centuries old, and still no bigger than pinheads.

We pounded along, stopped, landed soldiers; went on, landed custom-house clerks. Some people got drowned in the surf. But nobody particularly cared. On we went.

Every day the coast looked the same. We passed various places – trading places – with names like Gran’ Bassam, Little Popo. These names seemed to belong to some sordid farce.

The idleness of a passenger, my isolation amongst all these men with whom I had no contact, the oily and languid sea, the uniform sombreness of the coast, kept me away from the truth of things. I was within the toil of a mournful and senseless delusion. The voice of the surf now – and then was a positive pleasure, like the speech of a brother. It was something natural, that had its reason, that had a meaning.

Now and then^[18] a boat from the shore gave one a momentary contact with reality. It was paddled by black fellows. I saw from afar the white of their eyeballs. They shouted, sang. Their bodies streamed with perspiration. They had faces like grotesque masks – these chaps. But they had bone, muscle, a wild vitality, an intense energy of movement. It was as natural and true as the surf along their coast. They wanted no excuse.

8

Once, I remember, we came upon a man-of-war^[19]. There wasn’t even a shed there. That man-of-war was shelling the bush. It appears the French had one of their wars thereabouts. The ensign dropped limp like a rag. The muzzles of the long six-inch guns stuck out all over the low hull. The greasy, slimy swell swung it up lazily and let it down. In the empty immensity of earth, sky, and water, there it was, incomprehensible, firing into a continent.

Pop – went one of the six-inch guns. A small flame darted and vanished. A little white smoke disappeared. A tiny projectile gave a feeble screech – and nothing happened. Nothing happened. There was a touch of insanity in the proceeding, a sense of lugubrious drollery in the sight. Somebody on board assured me earnestly there was a camp of natives – he called them enemies!.

We gave them letters (I heard the men in that lonely ship were dying of fever: three men a day) and went on. We visited some more places with farcical names, where the merry dance of death and trade goes on in a still and earthy atmosphere. I saw the formless coast bordered by dangerous surf. Nature herself tried to ward off intruders; in and out of rivers, streams of death in life, whose banks were rotting into mud, whose waters invaded the contorted mangroves.

We stopped nowhere long enough to get a particularized impression. The general sense of vague and oppressive wonder grew upon me. It was like a weary pilgrimage amongst hints for nightmares.

9

In thirty days I saw the mouth of the big river^[20]. We anchored off the seat of the government. But my work did not begin there. I must go two hundred miles more. So I went to a place thirty miles higher up.

I had my passage on a little sea-going steamer. The captain was a Swede. He invited me on the bridge. He was a young man, lean, fair, and morose, with lanky hair and a shuffling gait. As we left the miserable little wharf, he tossed his head contemptuously at the shore.

“Did you live there?” he asked.

I said,

“Yes.”

“Fine lot these government chaps – are they not?” he went on.

He was speaking English with great precision and considerable bitterness.

“It is funny what some people will do for a few francs a month. I wonder what becomes of them when they go inside the country.”

I said that I expected to see that soon.

“So-o-o!” he exclaimed.

He shuffled athwart.

“Don’t be too sure,” he continued. “The other day I took up a man who hanged himself^[21] on the road. He was a Swede, too.”

“Hanged himself! Why, in God’s name?” I cried.

He looked out watchfully.

“Who knows? Too much sun for him, or the country perhaps.”

At last the river became wide. A rocky cliff appeared, mounds of turned-up earth by the shore, houses on a hill, others with iron roofs, amongst a waste of excavations. A continuous noise of the rapids above. A lot of people, mostly black and naked, moved about like ants. A jetty projected into the river.

“There’s your Company’s station,” said the Swede.

He pointed to three wooden barrack-like structures on the rocky slope.

“I will send your things up. Four boxes did you say? So. Farewell.”

10

I came upon a boiler in the grass, then found a path up the hill. It turned aside for the boulders, and also for a railway-truck^[22]. It was lying there on its back with its wheels in the air. The railway-truck looked dead as the carcass of some animal.

To the left a clump of trees made a shady spot. I blinked, the path was steep. A horn tooted to the right. I saw black people. They were running. A heavy and dull detonation shook the ground. A puff of smoke came out of the cliff, and that was all. No change appeared on the face of the rock. They were building a railway.

I heard a slight clinking behind me. Six black men were toiling up the path. They walked erect and slow. They were balancing small baskets full of earth on their heads. Black rags were wound round their loins. The short ends behind waggled to and fro like tails. I saw every rib, the joints of their limbs were like knots in a rope. Each had an iron collar on his neck. All were connected together with a chain whose bights swung between them. And those bights were rhythmically clinking.

Another report from the cliff. The ship was firing into a continent. These men were not enemies. They were criminals, probably. The outraged law came to them from the sea.

All their meagre breasts panted together. The violently dilated nostrils quivered. The eyes stared stonily uphill. They passed me within six inches, without a glance, with complete, deathlike indifference of unhappy savages. Behind them was a man with a rifle. He had a uniform jacket. He saw a white man on the path, and hoisted his weapon to his shoulder with alacrity. This was simple prudence, white men are so much alike at a distance. He did not know me.

He was speedily reassured. With a large, white, rascally grin, he took me into partnership in his exalted trust. After all, I also was a part of these high and just proceedings.

I did not go up. I turned and descended to the left. My idea was to let that chain-gang get out of sight before I climbed the hill.

You know I am not particularly tender. I can resist and attack sometimes. I know the devil of violence, and the devil of greed, and the devil of hot desire. But these were strong, lusty, red-eyed devils, that swayed and drove men – men, I tell you. As I stood on this hillside, I foresaw that in the sunshine of that land I became acquainted with a flabby, pretending, weak-eyed devil of a rapacious and pitiless folly. How insidious he was, too, I found out several months later and a thousand miles farther. For a moment I stood appalled. Finally I descended the hill, obliquely, towards the trees.

11

I avoided a vast artificial hole on the slope, the purpose of which I found it impossible to divine. It wasn’t a quarry or a sandpit, anyhow. It was just a hole. Then I nearly fell into a very narrow ravine, almost no more than a scar in the hillside. I discovered that all drainage-pipes for the settlement were ruined. There wasn’t one that was not broken. It was a wanton smash-up^[23].

At last I got under the trees. My purpose was to stroll into the shade for a moment. But it seemed to me I stepped into the gloomy circle of some Inferno. The rapids were near. An uninterrupted, uniform, headlong, rushing noise filled the mournful stillness of the grove. Not a breath stirred, not a leaf moved. I heard a mysterious sound.

Black shapes crouched, lay, sat between the trees. They were leaning against the trunks, clinging to the earth, within the dim light, in all the attitudes of pain, abandonment, and despair. Another mine on the cliff went off. A slight shudder of the soil under my feet followed. The work was going on. The work! And this was the place where some of the helpers withdrew to die.

They were dying slowly – it was very clear. They were not enemies, they were not criminals. They were nothing earthly now – nothing but black shadows of disease and starvation. They were lying confusedly in the greenish gloom. They came from all the recesses of the coast, they ate unfamiliar food, they sickened, became inefficient, and then crawled away and rested. These moribund shapes were free. I began to distinguish the gleam of the eyes under the trees.

Then I glanced down. I saw a face near my hand. The black bones reclined at full length with one shoulder against the tree. Then the eyelids rose and the sunken eyes looked up at me.

The man seemed young – almost a boy – but you know with them it’s hard to tell. I found nothing else to do but to offer him one of my good Swede’s ship’s biscuits from my pocket. The fingers closed slowly on it and held. There was no other movement and no other glance.

He had a bit of white worsted round his neck. Why? Where did he get it? Was it a badge – an ornament – a charm? Was there any idea at all connected with it? It looked startling round his black neck.

Near the same tree two more creatures sat. One, with his chin on his knees, stared at nothing, in an intolerable and appalling manner. His brother phantom rested its forehead. All about others were scattered in every pose of contorted collapse, as in some picture of a massacre or a pestilence.

While I stood horror-struck, one of these creatures rose to his hands and knees. He went off on all-fours^[24] towards the river to drink. He lapped out of his hand, then sat up in the sunlight. After a time his woolly head fell on his breastbone.