Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Thenhemustfightoutthenight,wrestlingwithhissorrow,prayingsometimes,incoherent,hardlyconscious,asking“Why”ofthenightandofthestars.

           Suchanothernighthadcometohimnow.Untildawnheknewhemuststrugglewithhisgrief,tornwithmemories,hisimaginationassaultedwithvisionsofavanishedhappiness.Ifthisparoxysmofsorrowwastoassailhimagainthatnight,therewasbutoneplaceforhimtobe.HewouldgototheMission—hewouldseeFatherSarria;hewouldpassthenightinthedeepshadowoftheagedpeartreesintheMissiongarden.

           HestruckoutacrossQuienSabe,hisface,thefaceofanascetic,lean,brown,infinitelysad,settowardtheMissionchurch.InaboutanhourhereachedandcrossedtheroadthatlednorthwardfromGuadalajaratowardtheSeedranch,and,alittlefartheron,fordedBrodersonCreekwhereitranthroughonecorneroftheMissionland.Heclimbedthehillandhalted,outofbreathfromhisbriskwall,attheendofthecolonnadeoftheMissionitself.

           UntilthismomentVanameehadnottrustedhimselftoseetheMissionatnight.OntheoccasionofhisfirstdaytimevisitwithPresley,hehadhurriedawayevenbeforethetwilighthadsetin,notdaringforthemomenttofacethecrowdingphantomsthatinhisimaginationfilledtheMissiongardenafterdark.Inthedaylight,theplacehadseemedstrangetohim.Noneofhisassociationswiththeoldbuildinganditssurroundingswerethoseofsunlightandbrightness.