Серце темряви
Chapter 3
Ididnotwanttohavethethrottlingofhim,youunderstand—andindeeditwouldhavebeenverylittleuseforanypracticalpurpose.Itriedtobreakthespell—theheavy,mutespellofthewilderness—thatseemedtodrawhimtoitspitilessbreastbytheawakeningofforgottenandbrutalinstincts,bythememoryofgratifiedandmonstrouspassions.Thisalone,Iwasconvinced,haddrivenhimouttotheedgeoftheforest,tothebush,towardsthegleamoffires,thethrobofdrums,thedroneofweirdincantations;thisalonehadbeguiledhisunlawfulsoulbeyondtheboundsofpermittedaspirations.And,don’tyousee,theterrorofthepositionwasnotinbeingknockedonthehead—thoughIhadaverylivelysenseofthatdanger,too—butinthis,thatIhadtodealwithabeingtowhomIcouldnotappealinthenameofanythinghighorlow.Ihad,evenliketheniggers,toinvokehim—himself—hisownexaltedandincredibledegradation.Therewasnothingeitheraboveorbelowhim,andIknewit.Hehadkickedhimselflooseoftheearth.Confoundtheman!hehadkickedtheveryearthtopieces.Hewasalone,andIbeforehimdidnotknowwhetherIstoodonthegroundorfloatedintheair.I’vebeentellingyouwhatwesaid—repeatingthephraseswepronounced—butwhat’sthegood?Theywerecommoneverydaywords—thefamiliar,vaguesoundsexchangedoneverywakingdayoflife.Butwhatofthat?Theyhadbehindthem,tomymind,theterrificsuggestivenessofwordsheardindreams,ofphrasesspokeninnightmares.
