Heart of Darkness Joseph Conrad (novels in english txt) đ
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- Author: Joseph Conrad
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was dangerous to inquire too muchâ âbut mostly his expeditions had been for ivory. âBut he had no goods to trade with by that time,â I objected. âThereâs a good lot of cartridges left even yet,â he answered, looking away. âTo speak plainly, he raided the country,â I said. He nodded. âNot alone, surely!â He muttered something about the villages round that lake. âKurtz got the tribe to follow him, did he?â I suggested. He fidgeted a little. âThey adored him,â he said. The tone of these words was so extraordinary that I looked at him searchingly. It was curious to see his mingled eagerness and reluctance to speak of Kurtz. The man filled his life, occupied his thoughts, swayed his emotions. âWhat can you expect?â he burst out; âhe came to them with thunder and lightning, you knowâ âand they had never seen anything like itâ âand very terrible. He could be very terrible. You canât judge Mr. Kurtz as you would an ordinary man. No, no, no! Nowâ âjust to give you an ideaâ âI donât mind telling you, he wanted to shoot me, too, one dayâ âbut I donât judge him.â âShoot you!â I cried. âWhat for?â âWell, I had a small lot of ivory the chief of that village near my house gave me. You see I used to shoot game for them. Well, he wanted it, and wouldnât hear reason. He declared he would shoot me unless I gave him the ivory and then cleared out of the country, because he could do so, and had a fancy for it, and there was nothing on earth to prevent him killing whom he jolly well pleased. And it was true, too. I gave him the ivory. What did I care! But I didnât clear out. No, no. I couldnât leave him. I had to be careful, of course, till we got friendly again for a time. He had his second illness then. Afterwards I had to keep out of the way; but I didnât mind. He was living for the most part in those villages on the lake. When he came down to the river, sometimes he would take to me, and sometimes it was better for me to be careful. This man suffered too much. He hated all this, and somehow he couldnât get away. When I had a chance I begged him to try and leave while there was time; I offered to go back with him. And he would say yes, and then he would remain; go off on another ivory hunt; disappear for weeks; forget himself amongst these peopleâ âforget himselfâ âyou know.â âWhy! heâs mad,â I said. He protested indignantly. Mr. Kurtz couldnât be mad. If I had heard him talk, only two days ago, I wouldnât dare hint at such a thing.â ââ ⊠I had taken up my binoculars while we talked, and was looking at the shore, sweeping the limit of the forest at each side and at the back of the house. The consciousness of there being people in that bush, so silent, so quietâ âas silent and quiet as the ruined house on the hillâ âmade me uneasy. There was no sign on the face of nature of this amazing tale that was not so much told as suggested to me in desolate exclamations, completed by shrugs, in interrupted phrases, in hints ending in deep sighs. The woods were unmoved, like a maskâ âheavy, like the closed door of a prisonâ âthey looked with their air of hidden knowledge, of patient expectation, of unapproachable silence. The Russian was explaining to me that it was only lately that Mr. Kurtz had come down to the river, bringing along with him all the fighting men of that lake tribe. He had been absent for several monthsâ âgetting himself adored, I supposeâ âand had come down unexpectedly, with the intention to all appearance of making a raid either across the river or down stream. Evidently the appetite for more ivory had got the better of theâ âwhat shall I say?â âless material aspirations. However he had got much worse suddenly. âI heard he was lying helpless, and so I came upâ âtook my chance,â said the Russian. âOh, he is bad, very bad.â I directed my glass to the house. There were no signs of life, but there was the ruined roof, the long mud wall peeping above the grass, with three little square window-holes, no two of the same size; all this brought within reach of my hand, as it were. And then I made a brusque movement, and one of the remaining posts of that vanished fence leaped up in the field of my glass. You remember I told you I had been struck at the distance by certain attempts at ornamentation, rather remarkable in the ruinous aspect of the place. Now I had suddenly a nearer view, and its first result was to make me throw my head back as if before a blow. Then I went carefully from post to post with my glass, and I saw my mistake. These round knobs were not ornamental but symbolic; they were expressive and puzzling, striking and disturbingâ âfood for thought and also for vultures if there had been any looking down from the sky; but at all events for such ants as were industrious enough to ascend the pole. They would have been even more impressive, those heads on the stakes, if their faces had not been turned to the house. Only one, the first I had made out, was facing my way. I was not so shocked as you may think. The start back I had given was really nothing but a movement of surprise. I had expected to see a knob of wood there, you know. I returned deliberately to the first I had seenâ âand there it was, black, dried, sunken, with closed eyelidsâ âa head that seemed to sleep at the top of that pole, and, with the shrunken dry lips showing a narrow white line of the teeth, was smiling, too, smiling continuously at some endless and
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