only through a dull medium."

Along shady paths I meandered toward the bamboo alley, which was like a
grove, in that it formed a high vaulted way under closely interwoven
branches, and its twilight was cool. Here I strode back and forth, sat
down, wandered on again, in physical discomfort and mental instability.
The old man had excited and aroused me; I pondered this and that, I
could not stick to any subject whatever, I hurried from the hundredth
to the thousandth thing and took some hurt from every one.

I sat down again, and again walked back and forth.

All at once I found myself at a cross path; I stopped involuntarily and
thought, "I have stood here before; what is there here?" So it was. Two
days before, I had here been struck by the fact that just above the
knot on the bamboo stem there was a broad ring of blue-white hoarfrost,
which blended imperceptibly with the greenish-yellow of the stem. In
this fine congealed breath, I had thought at that time, one ought to
write a secret message to one's sweetheart, in dainty characters, with
a feather from a humming-bird's wing! Since I could not find a
hummingbird, I had sharpened the end of a twig of bamboo, and with that
had scribbled in the fragrant circlet the words, "Where art thou,
beloved?"

Since then I had not again thought of the matter; but now I sought out
the thick stem once more, and thought I ought to have written a poem on
it, began to compose verses, and murmured:

_A saudade no coracao_
_mi e doce como o teu bejo--_

then I stood a long time with my head down, trying to formulate the
following verses; and finally I added:

_vivrei d'esta consolacao_,
_de ti, e se nunca te vejo!_

and once more looked for the stem bearing the inscription from the
previous visit. I found it, and was almost terrified when underneath my
words, "Where art thou, beloved," I read inscribed in the dainty hand
of a woman, "Here I am."

I was amazed; then I smiled with joy, and my heart beat violently, as
on the eve of an adventure. My Portuguese verses did not fit now, and I
meditated a jolly, German answer; but I was too unskilful in my
excitement and could not compose anything with any sense to it. I had
to think too much of the writer. Who was she, and what did she look
like?

Finally I took out my dagger, sharpened a twig of bamboo to the finest
of points, and after I ha