a question of latitude-第3章
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do to…day。 The excuse did not ring sound； but he dismissed the
doubt by deciding that in such heat it was not possible to take
serious questions seriously。 In the fact that； to those about him；
the thought of death was ever present； he found further excuse for
much else that puzzled and shocked him。 At home； death had been a
contingency so remote that he had put it aside as something he need
not consider until he was a grandfather。 At Matadi； at every
moment of the day； in each trifling act； he found death must be
faced； conciliated； conquered。 At home he might ask himself； 〃If I
eat this will it give me indigestion？〃 At Matadi he asked； 〃If I
drink this will I die？〃
Upsher told him of a feud then existing between the chief of police
and an Italian doctor in the State service。 Interested in the
outcome only as a sporting proposition； Upsher declared the odds
were unfair； because the Belgian was using his black police to act
as his body…guard while for protection the Italian could depend
only upon his sword…cane。 Each night； with the other white exiles
of Matadi； the two adversaries met in the Cafe Franco…Belge。
There； with puzzled interest； Everett watched them sitting at
separate tables； surrounded by mutual friends； excitedly playing
dominoes。 Outside the cafe； Matadi lay smothered and sweltering in
a black； living darkness； and； save for the rush of the river； in a
silence that continued unbroken across a jungle as wide as Europe。
Inside the dominoes clicked； the glasses rang on the iron tables；
the oil lamps glared upon the pallid； sweating faces of clerks；
upon the tanned； sweating skins of officers； and the Italian doctor
and the Belgian lieutenant； each with murder in his heart； laughed；
shrugged； gesticulated； waiting for the moment to strike。
〃But why doesn't some one DO something？〃 demanded Everett。 〃Arrest
them； or reason with them。 Everybody knows about it。 It seems a
pity not to DO something。〃
Upsher nodded his head。 Dimly he recognized a language with which
he once had been familiar。 〃I know what you mean；〃 he agreed。
〃Bind 'em over to keep the peace。 And a good job； too！ But who？〃
he demanded vaguely。 〃That's what I say！ Who？〃 From the
confusion into which Everett's appeal to forgotten memories had
thrown it； his mind suddenly emerged。 〃But what's the use！〃 he
demanded。 〃Don't you see；〃 he explained triumphantly； 〃if those
two crazy men were fit to listen to SENSE； they'd have sense enough
not to kill each other！〃
Each succeeding evening Everett watched the two potential murderers
with lessening interest。 He even made a bet with Upsher； of a
bottle of fruit salt； that the chief of police would be the one to
die。
A few nights later a man； groaning beneath his balcony； disturbed
his slumbers。 He cursed the man； and turned his pillow to find the
cooler side。 But all through the night the groans； though fainter；
broke into his dreams。 At intervals some traditions of past
conduct tugged at Everett's sleeve； and bade him rise and play the
good Samaritan。 But； indignantly； he repulsed them。 Were there
not many others within hearing？ Were there not the police？ Was it
HIS place to bind the wounds of drunken stokers？ The groans were
probably a trick； to entice him； unarmed； into the night。 And so；
just before the dawn； when the mists rose； and the groans ceased；
Everett； still arguing； sank with a contented sigh into
forgetfulness。
When he woke； there was beneath his window much monkey…like
chattering； and he looked down into the white face and glazed eyes
of the Italian doctor； lying in the gutter and staring up at him。
Below his shoulder…blades a pool of blood shone evilly in the
blatant sunlight。
Across the street； on his balcony； Upsher； in pajamas and mosquito
boots； was shivering with fever and stifling a yawn。 〃You lose！〃
he called。
Later in the day； Everett analyzed his conduct of the night
previous。 〃At home；〃 he told Upsher； 〃I would have been
telephoning for an ambulance； or been out in the street giving the
man the 'first…aid' drill。 But living as we do here； so close to
death； we see things more clearly。 Death loses its importance。
It's a bromide；〃 he added。 〃But travel certainly broadens one。
Every day I have been in the Congo； I have been assimilating new
ideas。〃 Upsher nodded vigorously in assent。 An older man could
have told Everett that he was assimilating just as much of the
Congo as the rabbit assimilates of the boa…constrictor； that first
smothers it with saliva and then swallows it。
Everett started up the Congo in a small steamer open on all sides
to the sun and rain； and with a paddle…wheel astern that kicked her
forward at the rate of four miles an hour。 Once every day； the
boat tied up to a tree and took on wood to feed her furnace； and
Everett talked to the white man in charge of the wood post； or； if；
as it generally happened； the white man was on his back with fever；
dosed him with quinine。 On board； except for her captain； and a
Finn who acted as engineer； Everett was the only other white man。
The black crew and 〃wood…boys〃 he soon disliked intensely。 At
first； when Nansen； the Danish captain； and the Finn struck them；
because they were in the way； or because they were not； Everett
winced； and made a note of it。 But later he decided the blacks
were insolent； sullen； ungrateful； that a blow did them no harm。
According to the unprejudiced testimony of those who； before the
war； in his own country； had owned slaves； those of the 〃Southland〃
were always content； always happy。 When not singing close harmony
in the cotton…fields； they danced upon the levee； they twanged the
old banjo。 But these slaves of the Upper Congo were not happy。
They did not dance。 They did not sing。 At times their eyes； dull；
gloomy； despairing； lighted with a sudden sombre fire； and searched
the eyes of the white man。 They seemed to beg of him the answer to
a terrible question。 It was always the same question。 It had been
asked of Pharaoh。 They asked it of Leopold。 For hours； squatting
on the iron deck…plates； humped on their naked haunches； crowding
close together； they muttered apparently interminable criticisms of
Everett。 Their eyes never left him。 He resented this unceasing
scrutiny。 It got upon his nerves。 He was sure they were evolving
some scheme to rob him of his tinned sausages； or； possibly； to
kill him。 It was then he began to dislike them。 In reality； they
were discussing the watch strapped to his wrist。 They believed it
was a powerful juju； to ward off evil spirits。 They were afraid of
it。
One day； to pay the chief wood…boy for a carved paddle； Everett was
measuring a bras of cloth。 As he had been taught； he held the
cloth in his teeth and stretched it to the ends of his finger…tips。
The wood…boy thought the white man was giving him short measure。
White men always HAD given him short measure； and； at a glance； he
could not recognize that this one was an Everett of Boston。
So he opened Everett's fingers。
All the blood in Everett's body leaped to his head。 That he； a
white man； an Everett； who had come so far to set these people
free； should be accused by one of them of petty theft！
He caught up a log of fire wood and laid open the scalp of the
black boy； from the eye to the crown of his head。 The boy dropped；
and Everett； seeing the blood creeping through his kinky wool；
turned ill with nausea。 Drunkenly； through a red cloud of mist； he
heard himself shouting； 〃The BLACK nigger！ The BLACK NIGGER！ He
touched me！ I TELL you； he touched me！〃 Captain Nansen led
Everett to his cot and gave him fizzy salts； but it was not until
sundown that the trembling and nausea ceased。
Then； partly in shame； partly as a bribe； he sought out the injured
boy and gave him the entire roll of cloth。 It had cost Everett ten
francs。 To the wood…boy it meant a year's wages。 The boy hugged
it in his arms； as he might a baby； and crooned over it。 From
under the blood…stained bandage； humbly； without resentment； he
lifted his tired eyes to those of the white man。 Still； dumbly；
they begged the answer to the same questio
