Сердце тьмы / Heart of darkness (адаптированный английский B1). Джозеф КонрадЧитать онлайн книгу.
and… well, let's not talk about that. But there was one left – the largest, the most unknown – that I wanted to visit.
"Of course, by then it wasn't unknown anymore. It was filled with rivers, lakes, and names. It wasn't a mysterious, empty place for a boy to dream about anymore. It had become a dark place. But there was one river, a huge river, that you could see on the map. It looked like a giant snake turning its head in the sea, its body curving across a huge country, and its tail disappearing into the depths of the land. When I saw it in a shop window, it attracted me like a snake attracts a bird – a silly little bird. Then I remembered a large company, a trading company working on that river. 'Well!' I thought, 'they can't trade without boats on all that water! Why shouldn't I try to get a job on one?' I walked down Fleet Street, but I couldn't forget it. The snake had attracted me."
You know that trading company was based in Europe; I have many relatives living there because it's affordable and not as bad as people say.
I’m sorry to say I started to bother them to get the job. This was unusual for me. I wasn’t used to doing things that way. I always did things my own way. I wouldn't have believed I'd do it, but I felt I had to get the job, no matter what. So I bothered them. The men said, "My dear friend," and did nothing. Then – believe it or not – I tried the women. I, Charlie Marlow, asked women for help to get a job. Amazing! The idea was very important to me. I had an aunt, a kind woman. She wrote, "It will be wonderful. I'll do anything for you. It's a great idea. I know the wife of a very important person in the government, and also a man who is very influential," etc. She was determined to help me become a steamboat captain, if that’s what I wanted.
I got the job – quickly. The company had heard that one of their captains had been killed in a fight with local people. This was my chance, and it made me even more eager to go. Months later, when I tried to find the captain's body, I learned the fight was about some chickens. Yes, two black chickens. Fresleven – that was his name, a man from Denmark – felt he’d been cheated, so he went on shore and hit the village chief with a stick. I wasn't surprised to hear this, especially since I was also told Fresleven was a very gentle and quiet man. He probably was, but he'd been there for two years working for the company, and maybe he felt he needed to show he was strong. So he hit the old man hard, while many people watched in shock. Then, someone – I think the chief's son – threw a spear at the white man, and it easily went between his shoulder blades. Everyone ran into the forest, scared, and the steamboat Fresleven was on also left in a panic, with the engineer in charge. No one really cared about Fresleven’s body until I arrived and took his place. I wanted to find him, but when I finally did, the grass was so high it covered his bones. Everything was there. The village was empty, the houses were broken. Something terrible had happened. The people had disappeared. Fear had driven them into the forest, and they never came back. What happened to the chickens, I don't know. But because of this event, I got my job before I even really hoped for it.
I got ready very quickly and within two days I was traveling to meet my employers and sign the contract. A few hours later I arrived in a city that always reminds me of a beautiful grave. I easily found the company’s offices. It was the biggest building in town, and everyone talked about it. They planned to control a large foreign area and make a lot of money through trade.
A narrow, empty street in deep shadow, tall buildings, many windows with blinds, complete silence, grass growing everywhere, and huge double doors slightly open. I went through one of the gaps, climbed a clean but not decorated stairs – as dry as a desert – and opened the first door. Two women, one heavy and one thin, sat on chairs, knitting with black wool. The thin woman stood and walked towards me – still knitting and looking down – and only when I was about to move aside, she stopped and look up. Her dress was simple, and she silently led me into a waiting room. I gave my name and looked around. A wooden table was in the center, simple chairs along the walls, and a large, bright map on one end, with many colors. There was a lot of red – good to see, as it means important work is done there – a lot of blue, some green, some orange, and a purple area on the east coast, showing where the ones enjoy their beer. But I wasn't going there. I was going to the yellow area, right in the middle. The river was there – interesting and dangerous – like a snake. A door opened, and a secretary with white hair, but a kind face, pointed to me to enter. The room was poorly lit, with a large desk in the middle. From behind it, I saw a slightly fat man in a suit. The important person. He was average height, and seemed very powerful. He shook my hand, said something briefly, was pleased with my French. "Bon Voyage," he said.
In about forty-five seconds I was back in the waiting room with the kind secretary, who, sadly, made me sign a paper. I think I promised not to reveal any trade secrets. And I won't.
I felt a little uncomfortable. The atmosphere was strange. It felt like I'd been let into a secret – something not quite right – and I was happy to leave. In the outer room, the two women knitted desperately. People were arriving, and the younger woman was showing them around. The older woman sat, her feet on a foot warmer, and a cat on her lap. She wore a white cap, had a small growth on her cheek, and her glasses were on her nose. She looked at me over her glasses. Her calm expression worried me. Two young men were shown in, and she gave them the same quick glance. She seemed to know everything about them and me. I didn't feel good about it. She seemed mysterious and powerful. Later, I often thought of them, guarding a mysterious place, knitting black wool, one introducing people to the unknown, the other watching the young faces with calm, old eyes. Many of those she looked at never saw her again.
I had another appointment with the doctor. "Just a formality," the secretary assured me, seeming very involved in my problems. A young man, probably a clerk – the office was very quiet – came from upstairs and took me to see the doctor. He was poorly dressed, with ink spots on his jacket and a big, loose tie. It was a little early, so I suggested a drink, and he relaxed and became friendly. Over our drinks, he praised the company, and I asked why he didn't go to work abroad. He immediately became serious. "'I'm not as stupid as I look,' he said, and finished his drink. Then we left.
The doctor checked my pulse. "Good, good," he said, and then suddenly asked to measure my head. I agreed, and he used a measuring tool to take measurements. He was wearing an old coat and slippers. I thought he was a bit strange. "I always measure the heads of those going abroad," he explained. "For science." "And when they come back?" I asked. "Oh, I never see them," he said. "The changes happen inside, you know." He smiled. "So you're going abroad. That's interesting." He looked at me carefully and made a note. "Any mental illness in your family?" he asked. I was angry. "Is that for science too?" "It would be interesting to study mental changes," he said, ignoring my anger, "but…" "Are you a psychiatrist?" I asked. "Every doctor should be, a little," he replied calmly. "I have a theory you men going abroad can help prove. That's my contribution to my country's gain from this important colony. I leave the wealth to others. Forgive my questions, but you're the first British man I've examined…" I quickly said I wasn't a typical British man. "If I were," I said, "I wouldn't be talking to you like this." "What you say is deep, and probably wrong," he laughed. "Avoid getting angry and avoid the strong sun. Goodbye. In the tropics, you must stay calm." He raised a finger. "Keep calm, keep calm."
I had one last thing to do: say goodbye to my wonderful aunt. I found her in high spirits. We had tea – the last decent cup I'd have for days – in her lovely drawing-room. We had a long, quiet conversation by the fire. During our conversation, I realized she'd told the wife of an important official, and probably many others, that I was extremely talented and a great asset to the Company – a rare find. Good heavens! And I was going to be in charge of a small river steamboat!
However, it seemed I was also considered one of the "Workers" – with a capital "W". Like a messenger of good news. There had been a lot of this kind of talk and writing around then, and my aunt, caught up in all the excitement, got carried away. She talked about "helping those wild people improve their lives," until I felt quite uncomfortable. I tried to point out that the Company was there to make money.
"'You forget, dear Charlie, that workers deserve their pay,' she said happily. It's strange how far from reality women can be. They live in their own world, a beautiful world unlike anything else. But if they tried to make it real, it would fall apart immediately. Some basic fact that men have always known would ruin it all.
Then