Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Inallthoseyearshedidnotseemtohavegrownolderbyasingleday.Atthistime,Presleyknewhimtobethirty-sixyearsofage.Butsincethefirstdaythetwohadmet,theshepherd’sfaceandbearinghad,tohiseyes,remainedthesame.Atthismoment,Presleywaslookingintothesamefacehehadfirstseenmany,manyyearsago.Itwasafacestampedwithanunspeakablesadness,adeathlessgrief,thepermanentimprintofatragedylongpast,butyetalivingissue.PresleytoldhimselfthatitwasimpossibletolooklongintoVanamee’seyeswithoutknowingthatherewasamanwhosewholebeinghadbeenatonetimeshatteredandriventoitslowestdepths,whoselifehadsuddenlystoppedatacertainmomentofitsdevelopment.

           Thetwofriendssatdownupontheledgeofthewatering-trough,theireyeswanderingincessantlytowardtheslowmovingherd,grazingonthewheatstubble,movingsouthwardastheygrazed.

           “Wherehaveyoucomefromthistime?”Presleyhadasked.“Wherehaveyoukeptyourself?”

           Theothersweptthehorizontothesouthandeastwithavaguegesture.

           “Offthere,downtothesouth,veryfaroff.SomanyplacesthatIcan’tremember.IwenttheLongTrailthistime;along,longways.Arizona,TheMexicos,and,then,afterwards,UtahandNevada,followingthehorizon,travellingathazard.IntoArizonafirst,goinginbyMonumentPass,andthenontothesouth,throughthecountryoftheNavajos,downbytheAgaThiaNeedle—agreatbladeofredrockjuttingfromoutthedesert,likeaknifethrust.