The landscape I emerged upon was never intended for fainthearted explorers. This was a realm that appeared virtually unscathed by civilization’s design. I now crossed a jungle’s terrain that teemed with scents and sounds nameless to all but the most courageous of adventurers. Only an ill-advised daredevil would’ve volunteered to pick and claw his was through such an exotic thicket. I suspected that the secrets of Earth’s taboo remedies existed within this flora, but who was brave enough to pluck it from Nature’s frugal clutches? This was a feral region where men and animals alike perished in anonymity beneath a boiling sun.
Despite the prevalent dangers masked within this backdrop, only an arrogant fool would’ve suspended a safari to admire his progress. Without an internal compass to impel me in one direction, I strode in a random pattern until the red soil softened beneath my shoes. Ahead of me, from my vantage point atop a bluff, I surveyed a column of cinnamon-colored water carving through the jungle’s steamy entrails. From afar, this passageway looked as if it uncoiled like an awakening python, but at closer range I detected its undercurrent’s ferocity. Whatever life existed here did so in large part because of this churning artery. Likewise, wherever my destiny lied within this habitat could’ve only been discovered by an accumulation of footsteps beside this river.
The heat smothered this tropical forest like an oppressive gas, causing vapors to rise off the surrounding vegetation as if it was slowly being seared. Although I remained immune to the sun’s blistering assault, I imagined that nothing foreign to this environment could’ve survived very long without camouflage. But while incubated by a sheath of dreamscape, I managed a dexterous jaunt through the heart of this savage wilderness.
Within a few hundred feet of progress, it seemed as though a funnel of wind had split the emerald canopy asunder. The narrow ledge of marshy land I walked upon opened to a clearing. A shortage of trees in this space was not a natural occurrence, but rather an obvious sign of man’s invasive encroachment on the backdrop. The coppice was meticulously hacked away with machetes or other tools tempered for such destruction. I assumed that the entailed labor to create such a blighted area was too much work for a sole inhabitant. But I observed only one other individual poised at the center of this scene.
The man I now stared at appeared as an anomaly to these surroundings. I even paused to rub the dappled sunlight from my eyes, hoping to erase a potential mirage. But no amount of resistance dissolved the figure from my line of sight. He approached me in a patchwork of motley-colored clothing. The skittish manner in which he walked made him look like a lost clown abandoned by an equally misguided circus. As he observed my presence, the brightly attired buffoon maneuvered toward me while standing akimbo. I sensed nothing malicious in his temperament, but he seemed animated by a much younger man’s energy.
Although I didn’t initially perceive him as a physical threat, the fact that this man existed in such a perilous environment gave me pause. After lending deeper concentration to the rainbow-colored patches stitched to his clothing, I determined that this jester was most likely a sort of outcast from a village close by.
The man’s accent sounded Ukrainian when he spoke. “You there,” he bellowed, despite the mere fifteen feet that separated us. “Where’s your crew?” He then glanced at the river stretching out beside a sloped wedge of earth we balanced upon. Apparently, others before me who navigated this far into the jungle’s interior had required the assistance of watercrafts. In truth, after studying the entwined underbrush, I imagined this waterway served as the only feasible route upstream.
“I don’t have any men with me,” I announced. To the harlequin’s ears, I must’ve sounded like a thief who had embarked upon a poorly devised ambush. He, of course, wasn’t patrolling this terrain to simply endure an African sun’s scorching rays. I presumed he had assigned himself the duty to protect what I now alleged to be the Inner Station’s perimeter. More importantly, his cult-like allegiance already belonged to another man who resided in a mud-plastered hut within a compound overlooking the Congo River.
“You’re a trader of ivory, is that right?” he asked, demandingly.
“No, sir. I haven’t any business ventures here.”
“Be honest with me,” he grinned impishly. I imagined that no clown, even one guised in full pancake makeup, ever looked so innocuous and menacing in the same instance as this joker. “You’ve come to filch what you can from my manager, haven’t you?”
If I even hinted to the affirmative in regard to this accusation, the harlequin would’ve made short work of my impromptu exploration. I soon realized, of course, that this clown’s insight, as amusing as it might’ve been, was not my primary intent. The success of this outing depended upon my ability to converse with this jungle’s most enigmatic character. In order to accomplish this goal, I first needed to secure my current confronter’s trust.
“I don’t deal in the commodities of this terrain,” I assured him.
“Why else would you risk your life by coming here alone?”
The only response that seemed remotely plausible was what I deemed as the truth, and so I forwarded it to this sycophant with a note of reserved confidence. “I’ve only come to talk to the man in charge of the Inner Station. Is he still here?”
The jester’s eyes widened into bloodshot ovals before he decried, “Where else would he be if not at his home?” After studying the sincerity beaming from this Russian’s face, I presumed that my arrival preceded the pursuit of Charles Marlow and his band of pilgrims.
“If Mr. Kurtz is here,” I resumed, “then I would like permission to see him.”
The harlequin chuckled at my naïve request. “No one sees Mr. Kurtz,” he tittered. “Not more than once anyway.”
“Once is all I’ll need.” I gathered that it was essential for me to feign my idolatry toward the clown’s leader so that he’d grant me clearance into the station.
“Do you understand what you’re asking for?” he inquired more intently. “If Mr. Kurtz even suspects for a second that you’re in quest for his ivory, he’ll have you slaughtered in a most horrible and unceremonious fashion.”
“I’m aware of that risk,” I returned. “But I’m told I can learn much from merely listening to this man. That is my only objective.”
“Yes,” the harlequin gushed, “listen to his words as you might savor fine poetry. He will expand your mind, and teach you to embrace all that you once feared.”
“If that should be the case, then I’ll eagerly anticipate his company.”
“Don’t expect the same hospitality in return, sir. Mr. Kurtz finds more use for dead men than he does when they’re alive.”
I may have claimed to be impervious to the perils of this habitat, but I didn’t yet know how Kurtz’s observations would’ve impacted my sensibilities. The clown suddenly appeared especially keen on directing me to his manager’s abode. He then pointed to a higher ridge beyond the coverage of dark green vegetation. From my current position, I discerned a muddy wall escalating from the jungle’s floor. Three windows of unequal size hinted to what awaited me behind this manmade façade. The inherent danger of my mission now seemed predestined.
Nevertheless, with the harlequin serving as my guide into a realm where few men escaped unscathed, I followed him through the underbrush. My chance to potentially interact with Mr. Kurtz fascinated me as much as he mesmerized his subservient followers. Before I changed my mind, a sickly odor of rotting flesh streamed into my nostrils. The fetid scent was as dense as this climate’s humidity. It almost caused me to retch. My flamboyantly garbed escort, however, seemed acclimated to the putrid fumes engulfing us. By now, both of us realized where this rancidness originated.
As we navigated a narrower pathway that ultimately unwound into the Inner Station, I witnessed the first row of stakes desecrating the infamous perimeter. The extent of Kurtz’s madness was never more evident upon witnessing this ghastly scene. For as far as my eyes penetrated the bush, I counted literally hundreds of wo
oden poles thrust upright into the sandy earth. The staffs themselves provided no great relevance, but what they impaled caused me to shiver with incalculable dismay. Blackened human heads, no doubt blistered and shrunken by the sun’s merciless rays, were on display like withered balloons in a carnival for the truly depraved. The insects of this domain had not ignored this repast of dead flesh still clinging to some of the skulls; centipedes, ants, and flies mantled these globs of oozing gore.
The trail of decay only intensified as we progressed farther into the village. No one alive was yet visible other than the clown, but I knew that hundreds of native eyes watched me with sharpened pikestaffs at the ready. Then, my host pointed one finger toward a hut where the demented chief of this post presided over his cannibalistic cult. From this point, I walked ahead alone. The clown had already retreated to the thicket before I demonstrated the courtesy to thank him. Regardless of my reservations, it was impractical for me to change direction now. I then walked through a hut’s primitive aperture, where I surveyed the shape of a lone figure in shadow. He didn’t emerge into the sunlight knifing through the windows, but instead remained hunkered in the darkness atop what I presumed to be a stretcher. Despite his obvious state of illness, he motioned for me to step farther into his domain.
Kurtz’s blanch skin shone through the blackness enveloping his frame. I couldn’t detect a single strand of hair on his exposed flesh; his head looked as if he was lacquered in rancid milk. This inscrutable leader now resembled the skeletal remains of a ravaged martyr rather than a worshipped demigod. Yet, as feeble as Kurtz’s façade presently appeared, I knew he brandished the luxury to slay any opponent with the utterance of a single command. As I lurched closer to him, my attention drifted to other distractions within his quarters. Stacks of pouched ivory consumed most of the floor space. Had I not known differently, I would’ve assumed that I stumbled upon an elephant graveyard. A smell of human decomposition lingered on all sides of me, but I had already committed too many footsteps to retreat from his company now.
At closer range, despite the intensity of his eyes, I couldn’t fathom how such a sickly man managed to wield total supremacy over his followers. He remained supine on the stretcher with both hands settled on his lap as if he had a keyboard balanced beneath his fingertips. Then, in an unusual display of theatrics, he manipulated his fingers as if playing cords on an imaginary piano. I’m certain a melodic song chimed inside his head, but I distinguished nothing but green flies buzzing around us in a macabre dance of death.
As I expected, the manager didn’t let his words soar from his tongue in purposeless flight. While studying his eyes, which seemed colorless from the pupil to iris, I sensed him contemplating my demise. Beyond this moment, if I ever imagined the form of evil at its most cunning and curious, Kurtz’s visage would’ve certainly dominated my thoughts. After concluding his silent ensemble, Kurtz lowered his hands and enlaced his fingers. The man’s clothing appeared yellowed and oversized, underscoring his rapid emaciation. I didn’t know whether to feel pity or hatred toward him in these seconds. In another unexpected demonstration of his faculties, Kurtz parted his lips and spoke in a sonorous voice that belied his infirmity.
“You are an Englishman,” he discerned. His bleached eyes still followed me like a hyena scavenging for prey. “What is your name?”
I responded to his question with no pretense, but sheer nervousness caused me to stammer over the syllables of my name as if I pronounced it for the first time. Kurtz’s pretzel-thin fingers twitched slightly, but he kept them enlaced. “I want you to answer everything I ask candidly,” he then told me. After I nodded in agreement, he continued. “It is my understanding that I’ve created quite a commotion at this post. It seems inevitable that contracts have been levied to remove me from this station.”
Kurtz paused to gauge my reaction. I now felt like a wingless bird ensnared in the silken entrails of a tarantula’s burrow. Perhaps Kurtz had an uncanny acumen for detecting deception. His albino eyes shredded my defenses like a machete hacking through underbrush, leaving me at the mercy of a maniacal invalid. He proceeded to speak in measured beats, almost as if reciting from a volume of poetry.
“Do you perceive me as a wicked man, Mr. Cobbs?”
“Who am I to label you as anything?” I replied, forgetting that my response wasn’t really an answer. “I’ve only been in your presence a few minutes. How can I speak accurately on your motivations?”
“Surely, rumors of my iniquity were relayed to you at some point before your decision to venture here. Maybe it’s more proper for me to ask if you believe in all those terrible stories connected to my name.”
A man would’ve had to been a dull-witted imbecile to ignore the obvious signs of inhumanity flourishing within this encampment. Anyone deemed as sane couldn’t have possibly rated him as anything less than a sinister force. Of course, to confess as much to Kurtz would’ve assured that my head became an enduring fixture in this region’s gruesome décor. “I don’t think my opinion of you matters very much,” I offered. This reply seemed to pacify the ivory trader momentarily, so I advanced my theory. “You do not exist as an average man in this jungle. Therefore, it’s impossible to compare your habits to those who practice a conventional lifestyle.”
No matter how clever I thought I was while averting Kurtz’s inquiries, my tactics didn’t fool him. By now he must’ve recognized my reserved deference to his position. “It’s too predictable to brand me as a lunatic,” he muttered. “Amateurish minds might hypothesize as much, but they’re disregarding an infallible point. The boundaries that subsist in the dead civilizations from which you come from do not apply here. Can’t you see the irony in it all, Mr. Cobbs? There’s more life here in death’s presence than in all of the little cities sprouting up throughout the world.”
“I’m afraid I don’t really understand what you’re doing here, Mr. Kurtz.”
“Ah, that makes you less impressive than I would’ve preferred. But nevertheless, since you have not yet revealed a tendency to filch my ivory, I will presume that your journey is more spiritual in nature.”
“No,” I declared. “My mission, if I may call it that, is purely secular. In truth, I think I’ve questioned my own sanity at times. I’m just struggling to find my way through this world before worrying about the next one.”
Kurtz wasn’t the type of man who liked being corrected, but he remained tolerant of my position thus far. “They tell me a fever has besieged this village,” he continued, “and as you can plainly see, I am not immune to its flitting attack. Now, as they say, it’s just a matter of time.” I had already noted the visible indicators of Kurtz’s deterioration, and also estimated that Marlow’s expedition to retrieve him wasn’t more than a couple days from now. Only Kurtz’s robust voice remained impervious to the malarial fever devouring him.
The dreaded mosquitoes swarmed hungrily around us as I stood in observance of Kurtz’s demise. It seemed as though the scent of spoiled blood had already permeated from the manager’s flesh. But despite his moribund condition, he was undisturbed by this infestation. He didn’t even bother to swat the pesky vectors of yellow fever from his exposed limbs.
“Since you are neither a thief nor a pursuer of faith,” he resumed, “there must be some other motive for your visitation. I’d rather not speculate on such matters. But I do wish to ask you another question, Mr. Cobbs.”
“You may ask me whatever you want, sir.”
“Very well,” said he. His eyes looked increasingly watery around the edges when he continued. “When do you suppose is the ideal time to murder another man?”
I gulped, thinking that I had overstayed my welcome. But I still sought to satisfy Kurtz’s query as earnestly as possible. “There may never be a right time for that action,” I stated.
“Oh, stop spoon feeding me the grizzle that’s been forced down your gullet by those who’ve defined morality for you. I ask for an uncensored reply or none at all.”
/> A protracted pause indicated my feelings, but Kurtz became unsettled by what struck him as cowardice. He leaned further upright on his stretcher before proclaiming, “I shall tell you when the time is right. I grant you this favor because I believe you’re close to discovering the truth for yourself.”
“Why do you presume this?”
“Men have died painfully trying to stand where you do now,” he said. “You’ve seen the grim reality of my station, and yet you still remain intact. Those who’ve underestimated the darkness brewing in mankind’s heart will always find a similar fate.”
“Is this how you want people to remember you, Mr. Kurtz?”
“What was your first impression of my compound?”
I hesitated in my response, perhaps to digest my impulsive urge to classify him as a madman. But Kurtz didn’t want another canned reply from me. I decided to convey my thoughts to him without spouting any euphemistic language. “I believe the horrors of this world are inestimable, sir.”
“Indeed, Mr. Cobbs. You can say that twice for good measure.”
“Maybe you’ll soon say it in my place,” I returned.
Kurtz snickered at my rebuttal, but there was nothing jovial about his grin when he spoke again. “Is the delivery of death so outlandish when it’s thrust upon those who’ve betrayed you?”
“For a murderer, I think the answer is evident. But I’m not an assassin, Mr. Kurtz.” Even though I neglected to stutter on this occasion, Kurtz didn’t accept the validity of my pledge. I then tried to clarify my meaning, but not so much for him as for myself. “I think every man has contemplated revenge at one time or another, but such feelings are always fleeting. In the end, a man’s good nature usually conquers his darkest impulses.”
“It must be that way if you hope to be included in the civilized populace. After all, could you envision a society where every man satisfied his savage instincts? Would it look dissimilar to what I’ve created at this post?”
“Is that your purpose here? Do you feel better about yourself when you see others as nothing more than a marauding band of thieves? Are we all just base creatures vying for status at the expense of the weaker of our species?” Kurtz remained quiet for a spell so that I had a chance to mull over my own rant. “I don’t want to become the man who destroys lives and surrenders his humanity.”
“Mr. Cobbs, a day will come, and perhaps such a day has already arrived, where your survival will depend upon your ability to erase all those who’ve mocked your existence. Too many of us lie in dark quarters, praying for a sliver of light to slip through the cracks of our sepulchers. Is it more agreeable to glut yourself with what has been given or what you have taken?”
Kurtz’s perverse insight into human nature was more contaminated than the parasitic disease that afflicted his bloodstream. Yet despite the cruelty of his convictions, I couldn’t honestly interpret them as merely the ravings of a nonsensical man. I may have even despised myself for agreeing with his philosophy at times, albeit in the silence of my nightmares.
“In this jungle,” Kurtz continued, “unlike the glitz-laden habitat in which you were born, there is no veneer masking the truth. This land is perilous from its fringes to merciless core in every conceivable direction. So I’ve come to call this uncultivated domain my home, and I do so without reservation or regret. This realm, this air, and all that there is to fear within this wild expanse shall thrive long after you and me are reduced to dust in our graves. Once it becomes a part of you, you invariably become inseparable from it. I, therefore, have recognized that in spite of the allegiance I’ve gained here among my disciples, my life is no more or less significant than the native creatures conceived on this soil. Should you leave here, Mr. Cobbs, it would be a wise choice on your part if you incorporated a piece of my instruction into your own.”
Perhaps Mr. Kurtz could’ve extended more information to me, and I was already resigned to listen to all the knowledge he wished to exchange. But the leader of this doomed station had already grown weary of my company. He reclined against his stretcher and closed his eyes as if in preparation for a prolonged sleep. He made no gesture to anyone watching outside the hut, but within seconds after Kurtz stopped talking, the harlequin reappeared in a plume of red dust.
“You’re the lucky one,” the cerulean-eyed clown lauded me. Oddly, I didn’t feel fortunate in any capacity as I stared upon Kurtz’s sleeping body. “He’s opened your mind, hasn’t he? Tell me it is so.”
“I’m not so sure,” I whispered.
“Oh, it’s already assured,” the patched zealot insisted. “I’d find your severed head on a stick if the facts were otherwise. I hoped you thanked him. Appreciate the knowledge he’s offered you. Such wisdom isn’t likely to be heard twice in your lifetime.”
As I departed Mr. Kurtz’s Inner Station, a feeling of remorse consumed me. Was it the menacing echo of his words that impelled me to walk so lethargically? Or was it something much closer to my own heart? The condemned leader’s notions haunted my head as I trounced aimlessly through the underbrush in search of the home I left behind. But no matter where I awakened, I couldn’t return as the man I was before this encounter. The Congo’s darkness dripped like beads of oil into my raw wounds. A liniment of death now traversed my bloodstream, and I savored this poison in the same manner that I relished Kurtz’s deleterious breath upon my ear.
Chapter 61
3:50 P.M.
The Classic Crusade of Corbin Cobbs Page 61
