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Show Jeffries, Section 3, Page 2 time for happy abandon--loving the one he was near, making their small plans, and talking fondly under a summer moon. She'd move close to him in the small hours of the morning, and there would be a little gold glow on the gulf where the moon had gone down. But he had a summer school class, and you could usually locate Mr. Clayton at his Sergeant Fish Motel. Summer afternoons, moving to warm himself, moving in and out of light and shadow with the lizard. Nights, out his window it was the time for the long summer moon, there was gold moon and white moon and red, blood-red on the horns, and then came the old moon in the arms of the new, and he woke to taste the fast-fading spoor of the ghosts. They'd given him that summer school class, and of course that was bad apples and zombies and the Un-Dead. What Bram Stoker's Dr. Van Helsing had called the nosferatu. The lesson was The Highwayman and a girl said Mr. Clayton, what is plait? And into his head, as beautiful as the robber's woman, came a picture of February, plaiting a dark red love knot into her long black hair. That was the sort of little haunted mood they were in that day. |
