By the light of the moon

pee.'
    Shepherd shuffled his feet. Another drop of perspiration slipped
off the tip of his nose. Perhaps the fierce summer heat was to
blame, but this seemed more like nervous sweat.
    'Some sweet little old lady came walking by here, you might up
and pee on her shoes with no warning,' Dylan said. 'Is that what I
have to worry about, Shep? Shep? Talk to me, Shep.'
    After nearly sixteen hours of intense association with the
O'Conner brothers, Jilly understood why sometimes Dylan had to
pursue an issue with firm – even obstinate –
persistence in order to capture Shepherd's attention and to make
the desired impression. Admirable perseverance in the mentoring of
an autistic brother could, however, sometimes look uncomfortably
like badgering, even like mean-spirited hectoring.
    'Some sweet little old lady and a priest come walking by
here, and before I know what's happened, you pee on their shoes. Is
that the kind of thing you're going to do now, Shep? Are you,
buddy? Are you?'
    Judging by Dylan's demeanor, this haranguing took as a high a
toll from him as it levied on his brother. As his voice grew harder
and more insistent, his face tightened not with an expression of
impatience or anger, but with pain. A spirit of remorse or perhaps
even pity haunted his eyes.
    'Are you, Shep? Have you suddenly decided to do disgusting and
gross things? Have you, Shep? Have you? Shep? Shepherd? Have
you?'
    'N-no,' Shep at last replied.
    'What did you say? Did you say no, Shep?'
    'No. Shep said no.'
    'You aren't going to start peeing on old ladies' shoes?'
    'No.'
    'You aren't going to do disgusting things in public?'
    'No.'
    'I'm glad to hear that, Shep. Because I've always thought you're
a good kid, one of the best. I'm glad to know you're not going bad
on me. That would break my heart, kid. See, lots of people are
offended if you fold in or out of a public place in front of them.
They're just as offended by folding as if you were to pee on their
shoes.'
    'Really?' Shep said.
    'Yes. Really. They're disgusted.'
    'Really?'
    'Yes.'
    'Why?'
    'Well, why are you disgusted by those little cheese Goldfish?'
Dylan asked.
    Shep didn't reply. He frowned at the sidewalk, as though this
abrupt conversational switch to the subject of Goldfish confused
him.
    The sky blazed too hot for birds. As sun flared off the windows
of passing traffic and rippled liquidly along painted surfaces,
those vehicles glided past like mercurial shapes of unknown nature
in a dream. On the far side of the street, behind heat snakes
wriggling up from the pavement, another motel and a service station
shimmered as though they were as semitransparent as structures in a
mirage.
    Jilly had only moments ago folded miraculously from one
place to another, and now here they stood in this surreal
landscape, facing a future certain to be so bizarre at times as to
seem like a stubborn hallucination, and yet they were talking about
something as mundane as Goldfish cheese crackers. Maybe absurdity
was the quality of any experience that proved you were alive, that
you weren't dreaming or dead, because dreams were filled with
enigma or terror, not with Abbott and Costello absurdity, and the
afterlife wouldn't be as chockfull of incongruity and absurdity as
life, either, because if it were, there wouldn't be any reason to have an afterlife.
    'Why are you disgusted by those little cheese Goldfish?' Dylan
asked again. 'Is it because they're sort of round?'
    'Shapey,' said Shepherd.
    'They're round and shapey, and that disgusts you.'
    'Shapey.'
    'But lots of people like Goldfish, Shep. Lots of people eat them
every day.'
    Shep shuddered at the thought of dedicated Goldfish
fanciers.
    'Would you want to be forced to watch people eating Goldfish
crackers right in front of you, Shep?'
    Tilting her head down to get a better look at his face, Jilly
saw Shepherd's frown deepen into a scowl.
    Dylan pressed on: 'Even if you closed your eyes so you couldn't
see, would you like to sit between a couple people eating Goldfish
and have to listen to all the crunchy, squishy sounds?'
    Apparently in genuine revulsion, Shepherd gagged.
    'I like Goldfish, Shep. But because they disgust you, I don't
eat them. I eat Cheez-Its instead. Would you like it if I started
eating Goldfish all the time, leaving them out where you could see
them, where you could come across them when you weren't expecting
to? Would that be all right with you, Shep?'
    Shepherd shook his head violently.
    'Would that be all right, Shep?