Спрут: Калифорнийская история

           Therewasnoplacetositdown;butonethingwasleft,walk.

           Ah,thatviadolorosaofthedestitute,thatchemindelacroixofthehomeless.Ah,themileaftermileofgranitepavementthatMUSTbe,MUSTbetraversed.Walktheymust.Move,theymust;onward,forward,whithertheycannottell;why,theydonotknow.Walk,walk,walkwithbleedingfeetandsmartingjoints;walkwithachingbackandtremblingknees;walk,thoughthesensesgrowgiddywithfatigue,thoughtheeyesdroopwithsleep,thougheverynerve,demandingrest,setsinmotionitstinyalarmofpain.Deathisattheendofthatdevious,windingmazeofpaths,crossedandre-crossedandcrossedagain.Thereisbutonegoaltotheviadolorosa;thereisnoescapefromthecentralchamberofthatlabyrinth.Fateguidesthefeetofthemthataresettherein.Doubleontheirstepsthoughtheymay,weaveinandoutofthemyriadcornersofthecity’sstreets,return,goforward,back,fromsidetoside,here,there,anywhere,dodge,twist,wind,thecentralchamberwhereDeathsitsisreachedinexorablyattheend.

           SometimesleadingandsometimescarryingHilda,Mrs.Hoovensetoffuponherobjectlessjourney.Blockafterblockshewalked,streetafterstreet.Shewasafraidtostop,becauseofthepolicemen.Asoftenasshesomuchasslackenedherpace,shewassuretoseeoneoftheseterriblefiguresinthedistance,watchingher,soitseemedtoher,waitingforhertohaltforthefractionofasecond,inorderthathemighthaveanexcusetoarresther.

           Hildafrettedincessantly.

           “Mammy,where’rewegowun?Mammy,I’mtired.