Серце темряви

           And,afterall,theydidnoteateachotherbeforemyface:theyhadbroughtalongaprovisionofhippo-meatwhichwentrotten,andmadethemysteryofthewildernessstinkinmynostrils.Phoo!Icansniffitnow.Ihadthemanageronboardandthreeorfourpilgrimswiththeirstaves—allcomplete.Sometimeswecameuponastationclosebythebank,clingingtotheskirtsoftheunknown,andthewhitemenrushingoutofatumble-downhovel,withgreatgesturesofjoyandsurpriseandwelcome,seemedverystrange—hadtheappearanceofbeingheldtherecaptivebyaspell.Thewordivorywouldringintheairforawhile—andonwewentagainintothesilence,alongemptyreaches,roundthestillbends,betweenthehighwallsofourwindingway,reverberatinginhollowclapstheponderousbeatofthestern-wheel.Trees,trees,millionsoftrees,massive,immense,runninguphigh;andattheirfoot,huggingthebankagainstthestream,creptthelittlebegrimedsteamboat,likeasluggishbeetlecrawlingonthefloorofaloftyportico.Itmadeyoufeelverysmall,verylost,andyetitwasnotaltogetherdepressing,thatfeeling.Afterall,ifyouweresmall,thegrimybeetlecrawledon—whichwasjustwhatyouwantedittodo.WherethepilgrimsimagineditcrawledtoIdon’tknow.Tosomeplacewheretheyexpectedtogetsomething.Ibet!FormeitcrawledtowardsKurtz—exclusively;butwhenthesteam-pipesstartedleakingwecrawledveryslow.