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steamer was ready to start for Leopoldville。 Of the two places he
was assured Matadi was the better； for the reason that if you still
were in favor with the steward of the ship that brought you south；
he might sell you a piece of ice。
Matadi was a great rock； blazing with heat。 Its narrow；
perpendicular paths seemed to run with burning lava。 Its top； the
main square of the settlement； was of baked clay； beaten hard by
thousands of naked feet。 Crossing it by day was an adventure。 The
air that swept it was the breath of a blast…furnace。
Everett found a room over the shop of a Portuguese trader。 It was
caked with dirt； and smelled of unnamed diseases and chloride of
lime。 In it was a canvas cot； a roll of evil…looking bedding； a
wash…basin filled with the stumps of cigarettes。 In a corner was a
tin chop…box； which Everett asked to have removed。 It belonged；
the landlord told him； to the man who； two nights before； had
occupied the cot and who had died in it。 Everett was anxious to
learn of what he had died。 Apparently surprised at the question；
the Portuguese shrugged his shoulders。
〃Who knows？〃 he exclaimed。 The next morning the English trader
across the street assured Everett there was no occasion for alarm。
〃He didn't die of any disease；〃 he explained。 〃Somebody got at him
from the balcony； while he was in his cot； and knifed him。〃
The English trader was a young man； a cockney； named Upsher。 At
home he had been a steward on the Channel steamers。 Everett made
him his most intimate friend。 He had a black wife； who spent most
of her day in a four…post bed； hung with lace curtains and blue
ribbon； in which she resembled a baby hippopotamus wallowing in a
bank of white sand。
At first the black woman was a shock to Everett； but after Upsher
dismissed her indifferently as a 〃good old sort；〃 and spent one
evening blubbering over a photograph of his wife and 〃kiddie〃 at
home； Everett accepted her。 His excuse for this was that men who
knew they might die on the morrow must not be judged by what they
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 〃w