corazón da escuridade

www.fdungan.com

"I shook hands with this miracle, and I learned he was the Company's chief accountant, and that all the bookkeeping was done at this station. He had come out for a moment, he said, 'to get a breath of fresh air.' The expression sounded wonderfully odd, with its suggestion of sedentary desk-life. I wouldn't have mentioned the fellow to you at all, only it was from his lips that I first heard the name of the man who is so indissolubly connected with the memories of that time. Moreover, I respected the fellow. Yes; I respected his collars, his vast cuffs, his brushed hair. His appearance was certainly that of a hairdresser's dummy; but in the great demoralization of the land he kept up his appearance. That's backbone. His starched collars and got-up shirt-fronts were achievements of character. He had been out nearly three years; and, later on, I could not help asking him how he managed to sport such linen. He had just the faintest blush, and said modestly, 'I've been teaching one of the native women about the station. It was difficult. She had a distaste for the work.' This man had verily accomplished something. And he was devoted to his books, which were in apple-pie order.

"Everything else in the station was in a muddle,—heads, things, buildings. Strings of dusty niggers with splay feet arrived and departed; a stream of manufactured goods, rubbishy cottons, beads, and brass-wire set into the depths of darkness, and in return came a precious trickle of ivory.

"I had to wait in the station for ten days—an eternity. I lived in a hut in the yard, but to be out of the chaos I would sometimes get into the accountant's office. It was built of horizontal planks, and so badly put together that, as he bent over his high desk, he was barred from neck to heels with narrow strips of sunlight. There was no need to open the big shutter to see. It was hot there too; big flies buzzed fiendishly, and did not sting, but stabbed. I sat generally on the floor, while, of faultless appearance (and even slightly scented), perching on a high stool, he wrote, he wrote. Sometimes he stood up for exercise. When a truckle-bed with a sick man (some invalided agent from up-country) was put in there, he exhibited a gentle annoyance. 'The groans of this sick person,' he said, distract my attention. And without that it is extremely difficult to guard against clerical errors in this climate.'

"One day he remarked, without lifting his head, 'In the interior you will no doubt meet Mr. Kurtz.' On my asking who Mr. Kurtz was, he said he was a first-class agent; and seeing my disappointment at this information, he added slowly, laying down his pen, 'He is a very remarkable person.' Further questions elicited from him that Mr. Kurtz was at present in charge of a trading post, a very important one, in the true ivory-country, at 'the very bottom of there. Sends in as much ivory as all the others put together. . . .' He began to write again. The sick man was too ill to groan. The flies buzzed in a great peace.

 Heart of darkness

Joseph Conrad

publicado orixinalmente na revista Blackwoods magazine en 1899 e
publicado como libro por Sun Dial en 1902

e posteriormente  traducido ao galego como
 Corazón da escuridade

 por Manuel Outeiriño

Edicións positivas, 1997

www.edicionspositivas.com

“Deille a man ó milagre aquel e souben que era o intendente xeral da compañía e que toda a contabilidade se facía na estación. Saíra un intre, dixo, « por respirar un pouco de aire fresco». A súa expresión soaba marabillosamente estraña, pola súa suxerencia de vida sedentaria de oficina. A este tipo nin volo mencionaría, de non ser porque dos seus labios escoitei o nome do home que está para min tan indisolublemente unido ás lembranzas daqueles tempos. Amais, respectaba a ese tipo. Respectábao, si. Respectaba os seus colares, os seus puños inmensos, o seu pelo cepillado. Abofé que o seu aspecto era o dun manequín de perruquería, pero en medio da desmoralización do país el mantiña a apariencia.Iso é ter costas. Os seus colares almidonados e as súas pecheiras tesas eran signos de carácter. Levaba alí case tres anos e, máis adiante, non me dei contido para non lle preguntar como se arranxaba para lucir aquela roupa branca. Arrubiou, só o mínimo, e dixo con modestia:« Ensineille a unha das nativas dos arredores da estación. Foi difícil. Disgustáballe face-lo traballo». Logo este home acadara verdadeiramente algo. E vivía dedicado aos seus libros, que estaban en perfecta orde.

“Todo o resto da estación estaba ensarillado –cabezas,cousas,edificios. Chegaban e volvían marchar cordas de negros poeirentos cos pés desfeitos, unha chea de obxectos manufacturados, refugallos de algodón, doas e arames de latón pechábanse na escuridade e, a cambio, chegaba un precioso pingoteo de marfil.

“Tiven que esperar na estación dez días –unha eternidade-. Vivía nunha cabana dentro do cercado, mais para saír do caos ía por veces á oficina do intendente. Estaba feita de táboas horizontais, pero tan mal xuntas que cando se inclinaba sobre o escritorio cruzábano do pescozo ós calcaños tiras estreitas de sol. Para ver non cumpría abri-la grande contraventá. Alí tamén ía calor, zoaban coma o demo moscas grandes e non picaban, acoitelaban. Eu adoitaba sentar no chan mentres, con aspecto impecable (e mesmo suavemente perfumado), el escribía e volvía escribir empoleirado nun tallo alto. Ás veces levantábase por facer exercicio. Cando lle meteron alí un catre cun doente (algún axente inválido que traballaba máis arriba) amosou certa discreta contrariedade. « Os laios deste enfermo », dixo, « distráenme. E sen atención élle estremadamente difícil evita-los erros propios dos oficinistas neste clima».

“Un día comentoume, sen ergue-la cabeza: « No interior ha atopar ó señor Kurtz, sen dúbida ». Ó preguntarlle quen era Mr. Kurtz, díxome que era un axente de primeira e, vendo a miña decepción por tal información, engadiu de vagar, deixando descansa-la pluma: « Élle unha persoa extraordinaria ». Con preguntas posteriores saqueille que Mr. Kurtz estaba naquel momento a cargo dun posto de comercio, dun moi importante, na verdadeira zona do marfil,     « alí, no mesmo fondo.Manda tanto marfil coma tódolos outros xuntos...» Volveu empezar escribir. O enfermo estaba adoecido de máis para laiarse. As moscas zoaban nunha grande paz.