Near the same tree, two more thin figures sat with their legs pulled up. One stared ahead, and the other rested his forehead as if tired. Others lay around them in various painful positions, like a scene from a terrible accident or an epidemic. While I watched, scared, one of them crawled to the river to drink. He drank from his hand, then sat in the sun, and finally rested his head on his chest.
I didn't want to stay any longer, so I hurried towards the station. Near the buildings, I met a white man, dressed so nicely that at first I thought he was a ghost. He wore a high collar, a light jacket, white pants, a tie, and clean shoes. He had no hat, but his hair was neat, and he held a umbrella. He was amazing; he even had a pen behind his ear.
I shook hands with this man, and learned he was the company's chief accountant, and that all the bookkeeping was done at this station. He'd come outside for a few minutes, he said, "to get some fresh air." This sounded strange, as it suggested he had a desk job. I wouldn't have mentioned him, except he was the first person I heard mention the name of the man who is so important to my memories of that time. I respected him. I respected his clean clothes and neat hair. He looked like a model, but in this mess, he maintained his appearance. That shows strength. His high collars and clean shirts showed character. He'd been there almost three years; later, I asked him how he kept his clothes so clean. He flushed slightly and said modestly, "I've been teaching a local woman at the station. It was hard. She didn't like the work." He had really achieved something. And he was dedicated to his work, which was perfectly organized.
Everything else at the station was messy – people, things, buildings. Groups of local people came and went; a stream of goods – cheap cotton, beads, and wire – went into the jungle, and a small amount of ivory came back.
I had to wait at the station for ten days – it felt like forever. I lived in a cabin in the yard, but to escape the mess, I sometimes went to the accountant's office. It was made of wood, and poorly built, so sunlight streamed in between the gaps as he sat at his desk. It was hot, and big flies made noise around, bothering him. I usually sat on the floor while he, perfectly clean and even slightly smelling of perfume, sat on a high chair and wrote. Sometimes he stood up to stretch. When a bed with a sick man (an employee from distant area) was brought in, he showed mild anger. "This sick man's sounds," he said, "distract me. And it's hard enough to avoid mistakes in this climate."