There were daisies in the field where he lay, his shoulders and naked chest pressed to the earth. A gentle wind stirred the grass, and the flute-like warble of a song bird was repeated close to his ear, over and over with a tireless persistence.
Abruptly he sat up and stared about him. Running parallel to the field was a winding country road and down it came a yellow and silver vehicle on wheels, its entire upper section encased in glass which mirrored the autumnal landscape with a startling clearness.
The vehicle halted directly in front of him and a man with ruddy cheeks and snow-white hair leaned out to wave at him.
“Good morning, mister!” the man shouted. “Can I give you a lift into town?”
Moonson rose unsteadily, alarm and suspicion in his stare. Very cautiously he lowered the mental barrier and the man’s thoughts impinged on his mind in bewildering confusion.
He’s not a farmer, that’s sure … must have been swimming in the creek, but those bathing trunks he’s wearing are out of this world!
Huh! I wouldn’t have the nerve to parade around in trunks like that even on a public beach. Probably an exhibitionist … But why should he wear ’em out here in the woods? No blonds or redheads to knock silly out here!
Huh! He might have the courtesy to answer me … Well, if he doesn’t want a lift into town it’s no concern of mine!
Moonson stood watching the vehicle sweep away out of sight. Obviously he had angered the man by his silence, but he could answer only by shaking his head.
He began to walk, pausing an instant in the middle of the bridge to stare down at a stream of water that rippled in the sunlight over moss-covered rocks. Tiny silver fish darted to and fro beneath a tumbling waterfall and he felt calmed and reassured by the sight. Shoulders erect now, he walked on …
It was high noon when he reached the tavern. He went inside, saw men and women dancing in a dim light, and there was a huge, rainbow-colored musical instrument by the door which startled him by its resonance. The music was wild, weird, a little terrifying.
He sat down at a table near the door and searched the minds of the dancers for a clue to the meaning of what he saw.
The thoughts which came to him were startlingly primitive, direct and sometimes meaningless to him.
Go easy, baby! Swing it! Sure, we’re in the groove now, but you never can tell! I’ll buy you an orchid, honey! Not roses, just one orchid—black like your hair! Ever see a black orchid, hon? They’re rare and they’re expensive!
Oh, darl, darl, hold me closer! The music goes round and round! It will always be like that with us, honey! Don’t ever be a square! That’s all I ask! Don’t ever be a square! Cuddle up to me, let yourself go! When you’re dancing with one girl you should never look at another! Don’t you know that, Johnny!
Sure I know it, Doll! But did I ever claim I wasn’t human?
Darl, doll, doll baby! Look all you want to! But if you ever dare—
Moonson found himself relaxing a little. Dancing in all ages was closely allied to lovemaking, but it was pursued here with a careless rapture which he found creatively stimulating. People came here not only to dance but to eat, and the thoughts of the dancers implied that there was nothing stylized about a tavern. The ritual was a completely natural one.
In Egyptian bas-reliefs you saw the opposite in dancing. Every movement rigidly prescribed, arms held rigid and sharply bent at the elbows. Slow movements rather than lively ones, a bowing and a scraping with bowls of fruit extended in gift offerings at every turn.
There was obviously no enthroned authority here, no bejeweled king to pacify when emotions ran wild, but complete freedom to embrace joy with corybantic abandonment.
A tall man in ill-fitting black clothes approached Moonson’s table, interrupting his reflections with thoughts that seemed designed to disturb and distract him out of sheer perversity. So even here there were flies in every ointment, and no dream of perfection could remain unchallenged.
He sat unmoving, absorbing the man’s thoughts.
What does he think this is, a bath house? Mike says it’s okay to serve them if they come in from the beach just as they are. But just one quick beer, no more. This late in the season you’d think they’d have the decency to get dressed!
The sepulchrally-dressed man gave the table a brush with a cloth he carried, then thrust his head forward like an ill-tempered scavenger bird.
“Can’t serve you anything but beer. Boss’s orders. Okay?”
Moonson nodded and the man went away.
Then he turned to watching the girl. She was frightened. She sat all alone, plucking nervously at the red-and-white checkered tablecloth. She sat with her back to the light, bunching the cloth up into little folds, then smoothing it out again.
She’d ground out lipstick-smudged cigarettes until the ash tray was spilling over.
Moonson began to watch the fear in her mind …
Her fear grew when she thought that Mike wasn’t gone for good. The phone call wouldn’t take long and he’d be coming back any minute now. And Mike wouldn’t be satisfied until she was broken into little bits. Yes, Mike wanted to see her on her knees, begging him to kill her!
Kill me, but don’t hurt Joe! It wasn’t his fault! He’s just a kid—he’s not twenty yet, Mike!
That would be a lie but Mike had no way of knowing that Joe would be twenty-two on his next birthday, although he looked eighteen at most. There was no pity in Mike but would his pride let him hot-rod an eighteen-year-old?
Mike won’t care! Mike will kill him anyway! Joe couldn’t help falling in love with me, but Mike won’t care what Joe
