I got the job – quickly. The company had heard that one of their captains had been killed in a fight with local people. This was my chance, and it made me even more eager to go. Months later, when I tried to find the captain's body, I learned the fight was about some chickens. Yes, two black chickens. Fresleven – that was his name, a man from Denmark – felt he’d been cheated, so he went on shore and hit the village chief with a stick. I wasn't surprised to hear this, especially since I was also told Fresleven was a very gentle and quiet man. He probably was, but he'd been there for two years working for the company, and maybe he felt he needed to show he was strong. So he hit the old man hard, while many people watched in shock. Then, someone – I think the chief's son – threw a spear at the white man, and it easily went between his shoulder blades. Everyone ran into the forest, scared, and the steamboat Fresleven was on also left in a panic, with the engineer in charge. No one really cared about Fresleven’s body until I arrived and took his place. I wanted to find him, but when I finally did, the grass was so high it covered his bones. Everything was there. The village was empty, the houses were broken. Something terrible had happened. The people had disappeared. Fear had driven them into the forest, and they never came back. What happened to the chickens, I don't know. But because of this event, I got my job before I even really hoped for it.
I got ready very quickly and within two days I was traveling to meet my employers and sign the contract. A few hours later I arrived in a city that always reminds me of a beautiful grave. I easily found the company’s offices. It was the biggest building in town, and everyone talked about it. They planned to control a large foreign area and make a lot of money through trade.
A narrow, empty street in deep shadow, tall buildings, many windows with blinds, complete silence, grass growing everywhere, and huge double doors slightly open. I went through one of the gaps, climbed a clean but not decorated stairs – as dry as a desert – and opened the first door. Two women, one heavy and one thin, sat on chairs, knitting with black wool. The thin woman stood and walked towards me – still knitting and looking down – and only when I was about to move aside, she stopped and look up. Her dress was simple, and she silently led me into a waiting room. I gave my name and looked around. A wooden table was in the center, simple chairs along the walls, and a large, bright map on one end, with many colors. There was a lot of red – good to see, as it means important work is done there – a lot of blue, some green, some orange, and a purple area on the east coast, showing where the ones enjoy their beer. But I wasn't going there. I was going to the yellow area, right in the middle. The river was there – interesting and dangerous – like a snake. A door opened, and a secretary with white hair, but a kind face, pointed to me to enter. The room was poorly lit, with a large desk in the middle. From behind it, I saw a slightly fat man in a suit. The important person. He was average height, and seemed very powerful. He shook my hand, said something briefly, was pleased with my French. "Bon Voyage," he said.