“God, isn’t she the greatest?” Roy said dreamily.
Yak glanced towards the narrow corridor that had once
contained the woman. “Yes. Too great,” he said.
“What do you mean?” Roy said.
“A portion of eternity too great for the eye of man,” He quoted
and started inside.
“Where have you been all day?” Roy said to his friend’s long,
narrow back.
“Season’s changing. I wanted to see it.”
Roy turned back to the empty alley. Sometimes the man was
incorrigibly cryptic. There were only two real seasons in Los Angeles,
hot and cool, and they faded so imperceptibly into each other that it
was impossible to watch them change. Leaves didn’t turn red and fall,
snow didn’t come down, and no one could say when it might rain, as
it hardly ever did. Los Angeles seemed beyond the vicissitudes of
nature. Roy liked it that way. He bent his body back to embrace the
brilliant blue above, stretched his thin arms wide and pulled it over
him like a blanket.
ABYSSINIA
72
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