Out of the corner of his frozen eye, Jasper could barely see the two lumps examining the food hatch. He struggled to move. He tried to make a sound, but he couldn’t even unclench his teeth.
He heard the voices of his friends. “I don’t know,” said Lily. “Nothing seems to open the hatch.”
“You’ve tried pulling?” said Katie. “Maybe the Dillirrillirrillum pulls.”
“Yeah, and I’ve tried pushing and sliding. You can probably only work the hatch from that button on the counter. If only there was some way to press it . . .”
Jasper strained. He was on the counter right next to the button. If he could only roll a little bit . . . before the Dirrillill got back . . . he could press it. . . . He could get them in to save him. . . .
With all his might, he tried to heave.
And there was a little motion. He actually wobbled.
Katie said, “Well, we’re going to have to look someplace else. Come on.”
Jasper heaved again. He rocked a little.
Lily said, “All right. Maybe there’s another door.”
No! Jasper thought at them. He rocked desperately. The Big Gulp drinks toppled to the side and spilled. Cheap soda pop crawled across the countertop.
He could see his friends starting to walk away, smooshed between the force field and the wall.
Argh! By the Teflon mines of Neptune! he swore. He couldn’t quite roll over. . . .
The screen clicked off.
He wanted to sob, but he couldn’t move his face.
The screen clicked on again. “Did you hear a sound?” Lily said. “It sounded like someone thumping over a loudspeaker.”
Slowly, deliberately, Jasper began trying to roll over again, tensing his dead arm, his half-thawed leg, and his wooden belly.
“I didn’t hear anything,” said Katie, shrugging. “Let’s go look around the other side.”
Jasper could hear his own ragged breathing through his clenched teeth. He tried not to panic. He tried to budge . . . wobbling his hips and shoulders as if he were doing disco. . . .
“Maybe we’ll have more luck over there,” said Lily miserably. She began to walk away.
Almost there . . .
(Katie had started to climb over a rock.)
Almost there . . .
(Lily had climbed over the rock and was outlined against the purple sky.)
Yes . . . Almost there . . .
With a final whap! Jasper flipped and hit the button!
Hurrah!
And then he kept on rolling . . . No! . . . off the counter and onto the floor. Ouch. He could not move as he lay there. He was behind the counter, smooshed next to the refrigerator.
But he heard the voices on the monitor. “The little door!” Lily cried out. “It just opened!”
Jasper panted with relief.
He heard someone clamber into the food elevator.
There was a hum as it rose.
And then he heard a distant noise: many footsteps.
The Dirrillill was coming down to demand a decision: Earth or Mom.
Jasper’s father-like-thing was coming back.I
I After Busby Spence’s father got home, he spent months walking from one chair to another chair and then sitting down again. He did not talk much with Busby or with Mrs. Spence. He didn’t seem to listen to much they said. He often cleared his throat.
Years later, Busby remembered his father always sitting slumped to one side during the last year of the war. Either his left shoulder was higher than his right, or his right shoulder was higher than his left. He sat unmoving, as if he had been paralyzed by some alien freeze ray while smoking a cigarette. His face was pale and large and he breathed smoke and watched people without speaking. He did not seem interested in anything Busby did—in baseball or in reading or in chasing away the raccoons from the tree house. Busby’s father didn’t seem very interested in anything.
Mr. Spence went out sometimes to try to get work, but they lived too far from cities and there were not many jobs at that point in the war. After a day of hunting for work, he would come home and walk slowly through the rooms, not saying much.
Busby and his mother learned to sort of ignore Busby’s father. They just went about their business. Busby set the table, and his mother made the supper, and then Mr. Spence arrived and sat down and ate silently, except when he cleared his throat. After supper he got up and went into a different room.
At first Busby tried talking to him sometimes. Busby’s father shrugged and said nothing. Busby felt then like he himself was the one who had been hit with the freeze ray and his face and even his heart had stopped working. His blood slowed down. He stayed standing right there, not moving—while his father walked away slowly.