Спрут: Калифорнийская история
Chapter III
Vanameewasaspotinitall,atinydot,asingleatomofhumanorganisation,floatingendlesslyontheoceanofanillimitablenature.
Thetwofriendsatetogether,andVanamee,havingsnaredabraceofquails,dressedandthenroastedthemonasharpenedstick.Aftereating,theydrankgreatrefreshingdraughtsfromthewater-hole.Then,atlength,Presleyhavinglithiscigarette,andVanameehispipe,theformersaid:
“Vanamee,Ihavebeenwritingagain.”
Vanameeturnedhisleanasceticfacetowardhim,hisblackeyesfixedattentively.
“Iknow,”hesaid,“yourjournal.”
“No,thisisapoem.Youremember,Itoldyouaboutitonce.’TheToilers,’Icalledit.”
“Oh,verse!Well,Iamgladyouhavegonebacktoit.Itisyournaturalvehicle.”
“Yourememberthepoem?”askedPresley.“Itwasunfinished.”
“Yes,Irememberit.Therewasbetterpromiseinitthananythingyoueverwrote.Now,Isuppose,youhavefinishedit.”
Withoutreply,Presleybroughtitfromoutthebreastpocketofhisshootingcoat.Themomentseemedpropitious.Thestillnessofthevast,barehillswasprofound.Thesunwassettinginacloudlessbrazierofredlight;agoldendustpervadedallthelandscape.Presleyreadhispoemaloud.Whenhehadfinished,hisfriendlookedathim.
“Whathaveyoubeendoinglately?”hedemanded.Presley,wondering,toldofhisvariouscomingsandgoings.
“Idon’tmeanthat,”returnedtheother.“Somethinghashappenedtoyou,somethinghasarousedyou.Iamright,amInot?Yes,Ithoughtso.
