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- Джозеф Конрад
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- Стр. 14/33
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"
They
swore
aloud
together
--
out
of
sheer
fright
,
I
believe
--
then
pretending
not
to
know
anything
of
my
existence
,
turned
back
to
the
station
.
The
sun
was
low
;
and
leaning
forward
side
by
side
,
they
seemed
to
be
tugging
painfully
uphill
their
two
ridiculous
shadows
of
unequal
length
,
that
trailed
behind
them
slowly
over
the
tall
grass
without
bending
a
single
blade
.
"
In
a
few
days
the
Eldorado
Expedition
went
into
the
patient
wilderness
,
that
closed
upon
it
as
the
sea
closes
over
a
diver
.
Long
afterwards
the
news
came
that
all
the
donkeys
were
dead
.
I
know
nothing
as
to
the
fate
of
the
less
valuable
animals
.
They
,
no
doubt
,
like
the
rest
of
us
,
found
what
they
deserved
.
I
did
not
inquire
.
I
was
then
rather
excited
at
the
prospect
of
meeting
Kurtz
very
soon
.
When
I
say
very
soon
I
mean
it
comparatively
.
It
was
just
two
months
from
the
day
we
left
the
creek
when
we
came
to
the
bank
below
Kurtz
's
station
.
"
Going
up
that
river
was
like
traveling
back
to
the
earliest
beginnings
of
the
world
,
when
vegetation
rioted
on
the
earth
and
the
big
trees
were
kings
.
An
empty
stream
,
a
great
silence
,
an
impenetrable
forest
.
The
air
was
warm
,
thick
,
heavy
,
sluggish
.
There
was
no
joy
in
the
brilliance
of
sunshine
.
The
long
stretches
of
the
waterway
ran
on
,
deserted
,
into
the
gloom
of
overshadowed
distances
.
On
silvery
sand-banks
hippos
and
alligators
sunned
themselves
side
by
side
.
The
broadening
waters
flowed
through
a
mob
of
wooded
islands
;
you
lost
your
way
on
that
river
as
you
would
in
a
desert
,
and
butted
all
day
long
against
shoals
,
trying
to
find
the
channel
,
till
you
thought
yourself
bewitched
and
cut
off
for
ever
from
everything
you
had
known
once
--
somewhere
--
far
away
--
in
another
existence
perhaps
.
There
were
moments
when
one
's
past
came
back
to
one
,
as
it
will
sometimes
when
you
have
not
a
moment
to
spare
for
yourself
;
but
it
came
in
the
shape
of
an
unrestful
and
noisy
dream
,
remembered
with
wonder
amongst
the
overwhelming
realities
of
this
strange
world
of
plants
,
and
water
,
and
silence
.
And
this
stillness
of
life
did
not
in
the
least
resemble
a
peace
.
It
was
the
stillness
of
an
implacable
force
brooding
over
an
inscrutable
intention
.
It
looked
at
you
with
a
vengeful
aspect
.
I
got
used
to
it
afterwards
;
I
did
not
see
it
any
more
;
I
had
no
time
.
I
had
to
keep
guessing
at
the
channel
;
I
had
to
discern
,
mostly
by
inspiration
,
the
signs
of
hidden
banks
;
I
watched
for
sunken
stones
;
I
was
learning
to
clap
my
teeth
smartly
before
my
heart
flew
out
,
when
I
shaved
by
a
fluke
some
infernal
sly
old
snag
that
would
have
ripped
the
life
out
of
the
tin-pot
steamboat
and
drowned
all
the
pilgrims
;
I
had
to
keep
a
lookout
for
the
signs
of
dead
wood
we
could
cut
up
in
the
night
for
next
day
's
steaming
.
When
you
have
to
attend
to
things
of
that
sort
,
to
the
mere
incidents
of
the
surface
,
the
reality
--
the
reality
,
I
tell
you
--
fades
.
The
inner
truth
is
hidden
--
luckily
,
luckily
.
But
I
felt
it
all
the
same
;
I
felt
often
its
mysterious
stillness
watching
me
at
my
monkey
tricks
,
just
as
it
watches
you
fellows
performing
on
your
respective
tight-ropes
for
--
what
is
it
?
half-a-crown
a
tumble
--
"
"
Try
to
be
civil
,
Marlow
,
"
growled
a
voice
,
and
I
knew
there
was
at
least
one
listener
awake
besides
myself
.
"
I
beg
your
pardon
.
I
forgot
the
heartache
which
makes
up
the
rest
of
the
price
.
And
indeed
what
does
the
price
matter
,
if
the
trick
be
well
done
?
You
do
your
tricks
very
well
.
And
I
did
n't
do
badly
either
,
since
I
managed
not
to
sink
that
steamboat
on
my
first
trip
.
It
's
a
wonder
to
me
yet
.
Imagine
a
blindfolded
man
set
to
drive
a
van
over
a
bad
road
.
I
sweated
and
shivered
over
that
business
considerably
,
I
can
tell
you
.
After
all
,
for
a
seaman
,
to
scrape
the
bottom
of
the
thing
that
's
supposed
to
float
all
the
time
under
his
care
is
the
unpardonable
sin
.
No
one
may
know
of
it
,
but
you
never
forget
the
thump
--
eh
?
A
blow
on
the
very
heart
.
You
remember
it
,
you
dream
of
it
,
you
wake
up
at
night
and
think
of
it
--
years
after
--
and
go
hot
and
cold
all
over
.
I
do
n't
pretend
to
say
that
steamboat
floated
all
the
time
.
More
than
once
she
had
to
wade
for
a
bit
,
with
twenty
cannibals
splashing
around
and
pushing
.
We
had
enlisted
some
of
these
chaps
on
the
way
for
a
crew
.
Fine
fellows
--
cannibals
--
in
their
place
.
They
were
men
one
could
work
with
,
and
I
am
grateful
to
them
.
And
,
after
all
,
they
did
not
eat
each
other
before
my
face
:
they
had
brought
along
a
provision
of
hippo-meat
which
went
rotten
,
and
made
the
mystery
of
the
wilderness
stink
in
my
nostrils
.
Phoo
!
I
can
sniff
it
now
.
I
had
the
manager
on
board
and
three
or
four
pilgrims
with
their
staves
--
all
complete
.
Sometimes
we
came
upon
a
station
close
by
the
bank
,
clinging
to
the
skirts
of
the
unknown
,
and
the
white
men
rushing
out
of
a
tumble-down
hovel
,
with
great
gestures
of
joy
and
surprise
and
welcome
,
seemed
very
strange
--
had
the
appearance
of
being
held
there
captive
by
a
spell
.
The
word
ivory
would
ring
in
the
air
for
a
while
--
and
on
we
went
again
into
the
silence
,
along
empty
reaches
,
round
the
still
bends
,
between
the
high
walls
of
our
winding
way
,
reverberating
in
hollow
claps
the
ponderous
beat
of
the
stern-wheel
.
Trees
,
trees
,
millions
of
trees
,
massive
,
immense
,
running
up
high
;
and
at
their
foot
,
hugging
the
bank
against
the
stream
,
crept
the
little
begrimed
steamboat
,
like
a
sluggish
beetle
crawling
on
the
floor
of
a
lofty
portico
.
It
made
you
feel
very
small
,
very
lost
,
and
yet
it
was
not
altogether
depressing
,
that
feeling
.
After
all
,
if
you
were
small
,
the
grimy
beetle
crawled
on
--
which
was
just
what
you
wanted
it
to
do
.
Where
the
pilgrims
imagined
it
crawled
to
I
do
n't
know
.
To
some
place
where
they
expected
to
get
something
.
I
bet
!
For
me
it
crawled
towards
Kurtz
--
exclusively
;
but
when
the
steam-pipes
started
leaking
we
crawled
very
slow
.
The
reaches
opened
before
us
and
closed
behind
,
as
if
the
forest
had
stepped
leisurely
across
the
water
to
bar
the
way
for
our
return
.
We
penetrated
deeper
and
deeper
into
the
heart
of
darkness
.
It
was
very
quiet
there
.
At
night
sometimes
the
roll
of
drums
behind
the
curtain
of
trees
would
run
up
the
river
and
remain
sustained
faintly
,
as
if
hovering
in
the
air
high
over
our
heads
,
till
the
first
break
of
day
.
Whether
it
meant
war
,
peace
,
or
prayer
we
could
not
tell
.
The
dawns
were
heralded
by
the
descent
of
a
chill
stillness
;
the
wood-cutters
slept
,
their
fires
burned
low
;
the
snapping
of
a
twig
would
make
you
start
.
Were
were
wanderers
on
a
prehistoric
earth
,
on
an
earth
that
wore
the
aspect
of
an
unknown
planet
.
We
could
have
fancied
ourselves
the
first
of
men
taking
possession
of
an
accursed
inheritance
,
to
be
subdued
at
the
cost
of
profound
anguish
and
of
excessive
toil
.
But
suddenly
,
as
we
struggled
round
a
bend
,
there
would
be
a
glimpse
of
rush
walls
,
of
peaked
grass-roofs
,
a
burst
of
yells
,
a
whirl
of
black
limbs
,
a
mass
of
hands
clapping
.
of
feet
stamping
,
of
bodies
swaying
,
of
eyes
rolling
,
under
the
droop
of
heavy
and
motionless
foliage
.
The
steamer
toiled
along
slowly
on
the
edge
of
a
black
and
incomprehensible
frenzy
.
The
prehistoric
man
was
cursing
us
,
praying
to
us
,
welcoming
us
--
who
could
tell
?
We
were
cut
off
from
the
comprehension
of
our
surroundings
;
we
glided
past
like
phantoms
,
wondering
and
secretly
appalled
,
as
sane
men
would
be
before
an
enthusiastic
outbreak
in
a
madhouse
.
We
could
not
understand
because
we
were
too
far
and
could
not
remember
because
we
were
travelling
in
the
night
of
first
ages
,
of
those
ages
that
are
gone
,
leaving
hardly
a
sign
--
and
no
memories
.
