Спрут: Каліфорнійська історія

           Thenightwasyoung,thedawnfardistant,andallaroundhimthefieldsofupturnedclodslaybareandbrown,emptyofalllife,unbrokenbyasinglegreenshoot.

           Foramoment,thelife-circlesofthesetwomen,ofsowidelydifferingcharacters,touchedeachother,thereinthesilenceofthenightunderthestars.ThensilentlyVanameewithdrew,goingonhisway,wonderingatthetroublethat,likehimself,drovethishardheadedmanofaffairs,untroubledbydreams,outintothenighttobroodoveranemptyland.

           Thenspeedilyheforgotallelse.Thematerialworlddrewofffromhim.Realitydwindledtoapointandvanishedlikethevanishingofastaratmoonrise.Earthlythingsdissolvedanddisappeared,asastrange,unnamedessenceflowedinuponhim.Anewatmosphereforhimpervadedhissurroundings.HeenteredtheworldoftheVision,oftheLegend,oftheMiracle,whereallthingswerepossible.HestoodatthegateoftheMissiongarden.

           AbovehimrosetheancienttoweroftheMissionchurch.Throughthearchesatitssummit,whereswungtheSpanishqueen’sbells,hesawtheslow-burningstars.Thesilentbats,withflickeringwings,threwtheirdancingshadowsonthepallidsurfaceofthevenerablefacade.

           Notthefaintestchirringofacricketbrokethesilence.Thebeeswereasleep.Inthegrasses,inthetrees,deepinthecalixofpunkaflowerandmagnoliabloom,thegnats,thecaterpillars,thebeetles,allthemicroscopic,multitudinouslifeofthedaytimedrowsedanddozed.