Сердце тьмы

           So,oneevening,ImadeaspeechinEnglishwithgestures,notoneofwhichwaslosttothesixtypairsofeyesbeforeme,andthenextmorningIstartedthehammockoffinfrontallright.AnhourafterwardsIcameuponthewholeconcernwreckedinabush—man,hammock,groans,blankets,horrors.Theheavypolehadskinnedhispoornose.Hewasveryanxiousformetokillsomebody,buttherewasn’ttheshadowofacarriernear.Irememberedtheolddoctor—‘Itwouldbeinterestingforsciencetowatchthementalchangesofindividuals,onthespot.’IfeltIwasbecomingscientificallyinteresting.However,allthatistonopurpose.OnthefifteenthdayIcameinsightofthebigriveragain,andhobbledintotheCentralStation.Itwasonabackwatersurroundedbyscrubandforest,withaprettyborderofsmellymudononeside,andonthethreeothersenclosedbyacrazyfenceofrushes.Aneglectedgapwasallthegateithad,andthefirstglanceattheplacewasenoughtoletyouseetheflabbydevilwasrunningthatshow.Whitemenwithlongstavesintheirhandsappearedlanguidlyfromamongstthebuildings,strollinguptotakealookatme,andthenretiredoutofsightsomewhere.Oneofthem,astout,excitablechapwithblackmoustaches,informedmewithgreatvolubilityandmanydigressions,assoonasItoldhimwhoIwas,thatmysteamerwasatthebottomoftheriver.Iwasthunderstruck.What,how,why?Oh,itwas‘allright.’The‘managerhimself’wasthere.Allquitecorrect.