The excuse did
not ring sound, but he dismissed the doubt by deciding that in such heat
it was not possible to take serious questions seriously. In the fact
that, to those about him, the thought of death was ever present, he
found further excuse for much else that puzzled and shocked him. At
home, death had been a contingency so remote that he had put it aside as
something he need not consider until he was a grandfather. At Matadi, at
every moment of the day, in each trifling act, he found death must be
faced, conciliated, conquered. At home he might ask himself, "If I eat
this will it give me indigestion?" At Matadi he asked, "If I drink this
will I die?"
Upsher told him of a feud then existing between the chief of police and
an Italian doctor in the State service. Interested in the outcome only
as a sporting proposition, Upsher declared the odds were unfair,
because the Belgian was using his black police to act as his body-guard
while for protection the Italian could depend only upon his sword-cane.
Each night, with the other white exiles of Matadi, the two adversaries
met in the Cafe Franco-Belge. There, with puzzled interest, Everett
watched them sitting at separate tables, surrounded by mutual friends,
excitedly playing dominoes.
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