I’m going back much relaxed. I got on a terrible tension--not a tennis court on the island! Just day after day in the heat and the house. Now I shall get a fresh view of what I have written and have still to write--and with an internal glow which is hard to describe. Silly of me to say so--but life can be gorgeously kindly at times. -- -- -- -- 263: TO WALDO FRANK [_Isle of Pines_] _Sept. 5th_ Caro Hermano: Estoy en casa ayer de madrugada. No dormaba la noche a bordo mar. Mucha calor, y pensaba en el carinoso A---- y los calles blancas Habaneros, de consigniente dulces con Mi Bien. Encontreremos de nuevo en Deciembre.... Busco en diccionario y gramatica, sudo, raspo pelo de suerte que el tierno Cubano-Canario (Parentela los Canarios) mi carta apprendera. Tell me if any of it is sensible. I am now, more than ever anxious to learn the most beautiful language in the world. And I suddenly conceive it as a necessary preparation for my next piece of work just apprehended in the form of a blank verse tragedy of Aztec mythology--for which I shall have to study the obscure calendars of dead kings. If I have the leisure for this study I shall certainly go to Spain sometime in the next five years.... In fact I must manage this anyhow. Your letter, awaiting my return, conveyed much goodness, the sense of “wholiness”--of a complete return to yourself, from which I hope much; in fact, I’m _sure_ of much therefrom. I am so glad that my progress has meant so much to you. --/--/ 264: TO CHARLOTTE RYCHTARIK _New York_ _Nov. 1_ Dear Charlotte: --/--/ I have no idea of just what the situation is at present with my mother, but I have been terribly worried about it for many, many weeks. The result has been that there was only about four weeks on the Isle of Pines that I managed to accomplish any work at all; my mother’s unrestrained letters, the terrific heat and bugs, etc., nearly killed me. But I’ve managed to come through, at least with my skin. What has been done of _The Bridge_ is superb, according to what those few who have seen it say. The rest I hope to finish up here or in the country. I haven’t decided exactly where I am going to stay as yet. I don’t want to do anything to hurt _anyone’s_ feelings, but I think that unless I isolate myself somewhat (and pretty soon) from the avalanche of bitterness and wailing that has flooded me ever since I was seven years old, there won’t be enough left of me to even breathe, not to mention writing. If I could really do anything to help the situation it would be different. But it’s a personal problem, after all. I’m doing my best--and I’m grateful to you for appreciating it. I’ll write you more later.