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Chapter 3
Heleanedback,serene,withthatpeculiarsmileofhissealingtheunexpresseddepthsofhismeanness.Acontinuousshowerofsmallfliesstreameduponthelamp,uponthecloth,uponourhandsandfaces.Suddenlythemanager’sboyputhisinsolentblackheadinthedoorway,andsaidinatoneofscathingcontempt:
"‘MistahKurtz—hedead.’
"Allthepilgrimsrushedouttosee.Iremained,andwentonwithmydinner.IbelieveIwasconsideredbrutallycallous.However,Ididnoteatmuch.Therewasalampinthere—light,don’tyouknow—andoutsideitwassobeastly,beastlydark.Iwentnomoreneartheremarkablemanwhohadpronouncedajudgmentupontheadventuresofhissoulonthisearth.Thevoicewasgone.Whatelsehadbeenthere?ButIamofcourseawarethatnextdaythepilgrimsburiedsomethinginamuddyhole.
"Andthentheyverynearlyburiedme.
"However,asyousee,IdidnotgotojoinKurtzthereandthen.Ididnot.Iremainedtodreamthenightmareouttotheend,andtoshowmyloyaltytoKurtzoncemore.Destiny.Mydestiny!Drollthinglifeis—thatmysteriousarrangementofmercilesslogicforafutilepurpose.Themostyoucanhopefromitissomeknowledgeofyourself—thatcomestoolate—acropofunextinguishableregrets.Ihavewrestledwithdeath.Itisthemostunexcitingcontestyoucanimagine.
