By Graham Greene
Querry, a world-famous architect, is the sufferer of a bad assault of indifference: he now not unearths which means in paintings or excitement in lifestyles. Arriving anonymously at a Congo leper village, he's clinically determined because the psychological an identical of a "burnt-out case", a leper who has passed through a degree of mutilation. even though, as Querry loses himself in paintings for the lepers his disorder of brain slowly methods a therapy. Then the white neighborhood unearths out who Querry is...
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Additional resources for A Burnt-Out Case (Classic, 20th-Century, Penguin)
You have a visitor. I've kept my word and defended you to the last ditch. I can do no more. " "I'm glad you came. I don't relish being alone with this. You see--the mail has caught up with me. How did anyone know I was here? " "Mme. " He picked up the envelope. "Do you see, she's even got the post box number right. What patience. " "She was once my mistress. I left her three months ago, poor woman--and that's hypocrisy. I feel no pity. I'm sorry, father. " "You haven't. It's Mme. Rycker who has done that.
In a village by the road stood a great wooden cage on stilts where once a year at a festival a man danced above the flames lit below; in the bush thirty kilometres before they had passed something sitting in a chair constructed out of a palm-nut and woven fibres into the rough and monstrous appearance of a human being. Inexplicable objects were the fingerprints of Africa. Naked women smeared white with grave-clay fled up the banks as the car passed, hiding their faces. Rycker said, "When Mme. " "Not unless you can see a jug of it on the sideboard.
He saw that many years ago this path must have been intended to lead somewhere, for in front of him were the remains of a bridge made from the trunks of trees that had long ago rotted. Two more steps and he would have fallen down the gap, not a great fall, a matter of feet only, into a shallow overgrown marsh, but for a man mutilated in hands and feet, far enough: the light shone on the body of Deo Gratias, half in the water, half out. He could see the tracks made in the wet and slippery ground by hands like boxing gloves which had tried to catch hold.