The sun was hot and the trees were soft-looking and blurred; moss drooped from some of them. But the autumn wind still blew and big clouds leaned across the sky. Accustomed to the Earth Mother's constant jabbering, Markel was perturbed because she had said very little since they had left the woods. She stared out at the road for hours or listened to the silent radio, and Markel did not like it.
The highway speared through faded wild-grain fields, through rusty meadows. The autumn death came soft to the land, not like the death that had come to the cities.
"Listen!" exclaimed the Earth Mother.
Startled, Markel turned. She was twisting the volume-knob on the radio. "Listen to that!" she said.
Markel heard only the burr of their tires on macadam and the wind against the windshield. "Listen to what?"
"This crazy music! Listen, doesn't it flip you?" Smiling, she stared dreamily at the radio. "Those saxes, ain't they the most?" She moved her head rhythmically.
Stopping the convertible, Markel grabbed the Earth Mother's arms. He said, "Stop it! There is no music! You're imagining things!"
"Those saxes, oh, are they swinging! Listen!" Her eyes were looking through Markel, looking into a world of music, and lights, and movies, and people.
"There's nothing, do you understand? You're hearing things! Stop it!" He shook her roughly. Her eyes clouded and she tried to push him away.
"Come out of it! There's no music. You don't hear music!"