Серце темряви

           Adarkfigureobscuredthelighteddoorwayofthemanager’shut,vanished,then,asecondorsoafter,thedoorwayitselfvanished,too.Westopped,andthesilencedrivenawaybythestampingofourfeetflowedbackagainfromtherecessesoftheland.Thegreatwallofvegetation,anexuberantandentangledmassoftrunks,branches,leaves,boughs,festoons,motionlessinthemoonlight,waslikeariotinginvasionofsoundlesslife,arollingwaveofplants,piledup,crested,readytotoppleoverthecreek,tosweepeverylittlemanofusoutofhislittleexistence.Anditmovednot.Adeadenedburstofmightysplashesandsnortsreachedusfromafar,asthoughanicthyosaurushadbeentakingabathofglitterinthegreatriver.‘Afterall,’saidtheboiler-makerinareasonabletone,‘whyshouldn’twegettherivets?’Whynot,indeed!Ididnotknowofanyreasonwhyweshouldn’t.‘They’llcomeinthreeweeks,’Isaidconfidently.

           "Buttheydidn’t.Insteadofrivetstherecameaninvasion,aninfliction,avisitation.Itcameinsectionsduringthenextthreeweeks,eachsectionheadedbyadonkeycarryingawhitemaninnewclothesandtanshoes,bowingfromthatelevationrightandlefttotheimpressedpilgrims.Aquarrelsomebandoffootsoresulkyniggerstrodontheheelsofthedonkey;alotoftents,camp-stools,tinboxes,whitecases,brownbaleswouldbeshotdowninthecourtyard,andtheairofmysterywoulddeepenalittleoverthemuddleofthestation.