I ascended the hill with the root of a white rose—believing in the Nippon idea that blossoms for the dead should be white—and set it by the grave.
Then I stole into the canyon.
I amassed the dead leaves of redwood by the brook for a camp-fire.
The smoke rose like a soul unto heaven.
I watched its beautiful confusion.
When I left, a snake obstructed my path, flashing its needle of a tongue.
Snake, one of my greatest foes! (The others being cheese and mathematics.)
I turned pale.
But I bravely faced it, hoping that it would speak a word or two, as one did to Eve. I placed my eyes on it, though in fear. Perhaps it wasn’t as intelligent as the one in the garden of Eden. Maybe it thought it nothing but a waste of time to address a Jap poorly stored in English. It crept away.
I ran down the hill.