I had one last thing to do: say goodbye to my wonderful aunt. I found her in high spirits. We had tea – the last decent cup I'd have for days – in her lovely drawing-room. We had a long, quiet conversation by the fire. During our conversation, I realized she'd told the wife of an important official, and probably many others, that I was extremely talented and a great asset to the Company – a rare find. Good heavens! And I was going to be in charge of a small river steamboat!
However, it seemed I was also considered one of the "Workers" – with a capital "W". Like a messenger of good news. There had been a lot of this kind of talk and writing around then, and my aunt, caught up in all the excitement, got carried away. She talked about "helping those wild people improve their lives," until I felt quite uncomfortable. I tried to point out that the Company was there to make money.
"'You forget, dear Charlie, that workers deserve their pay,' she said happily. It's strange how far from reality women can be. They live in their own world, a beautiful world unlike anything else. But if they tried to make it real, it would fall apart immediately. Some basic fact that men have always known would ruin it all.
Then she hugged me, told me to wear warm clothes and write often, and I left. In the street, I felt like a fraud. It's strange, because I'd always been ready to go anywhere at a moment's notice, but now, facing this ordinary task, I hesitated for a moment. I felt like I was going to the center of the earth, not just to the center of a continent.
I sailed on a French ship, and it stopped at every single port along the way. It seemed the only reason was to drop off soldiers and customs officials. I watched the coast line. Watching a coast go by is like trying to solve a mystery. It's beautiful, ugly, inviting, impressive, or scary – and always silent, as if saying, "Come and find out." This coast was almost without features, like it was still being formed, with a constant, dark look. A huge, dark green jungle, almost black, bordered by white waves, stretched far away along a blue sea. The sun was strong, and the land looked hot. Here and there, you could see small, grey and white spots near the waves, with flags maybe. Villages, hundreds of years old, yet tiny compared to the not touched land around them.