"I think we're moving," Jerry said.
We were. I said, "He's taking us away."
But ten minutes later the cabin was still again. We heard the splash of the anchor and Father fumbling with ropes. He muttered to Mother, but none of his words were clear.
As the sun faded in the cabin's cracks and the air grew cooler, we heard a plane overhead. It came in low, as loud as hair clippers, then there was silence.
Clover asked me why Dad was acting so funny, and April said she wanted a drink. They annoyed me with questions, until finally they went to sleep. I fell asleep too, but woke up in the dark. Why not take the dugout ashore?
Jerry was already awake and ready to do whatever I said.
We crept through the hatchway that Mr. Haddy had broken the night he gave me the spark plugs and gas. We were anchored across the wide river, a little above Guampu. We could hear the generator and see the Guampu lights. But even without the lights there was enough moonshine on the river for us to see that the dugout was gone.
Jerry put his mouth against my ear and said, "He's taken it."
"Maybe he just cut it loose," I whispered. "So we couldn't leave."
"Let's swim."
We slipped over the side and made for the far bank, frog kicking and floating with the current so we wouldn't splash. All the lights in the mission were burning in a friendly winking way. I had never thought I would see an electric light again in my life. The only sound we heard was the generator down below, its chugging.
We started toward the bungalows, staying in what shadows we could find, then duck-walked to the largest house, where we saw a flickering light. It was the Spellgoods' parlor. They were all inside, watching television in the hypnotized way the Indians had watched the church-service program. The Spellgoods were eating ice cream out of big bowls, lifting the spoons to their blue faces. Off and on, they laughed. The show was puppets — a green cloth frog and a rubber pig with silky hair — and a real man in a suit talked to them as if they were human — the sort of show that gave Father fits.
Emily Spellgood was stretched out on the floor. She was only a year older since I had last seen her, but she was much bigger and skinnier. She had short hair and wore blue jeans and sneakers. Seeing how well-dressed she was, I got worried. Jerry and I had long hair. We were covered in river mud. The only thing we wore was short pants, which were sopping wet. I felt like a savage. I did not want to stay.
The Spellgoods were enjoying the puppet show, and even Jerry laughed until I made him sit down under the window with me so we could figure out what to do next.
We stayed there, listening to the program and the Spellgoods' remarks. After about twenty minutes, the program ended. There was an argument then, and lots of suggestions.
"Let's play Space Invaders," one of the little Spellgoods said. "I want to send your module into hyperspace!"
"No, let's run The Muppets again. I liked the part about the singing babies. They're cute."
"What about Star Trek?" Emily said. "We can see if they got out of that time warp."
Gurney Spellgood said, "No. It's late. We want something wholesome."
He clapped a cassette into the black box, and a program with organ music and preaching came on, called World Crusade for Christ. Then they all had more ice cream and sang the television hymns.
"We'll be here all night," I whispered.
"I don't care," Jerry said. He looked like a wolf cub. "At least it's real. I wish Dad could see this. Where is he, anyway?"
I was just going to say I'm glad he's not here, when the screen door banged out front. There was a skid of sneaker soles on the piazza, like rubber erasers. Someone was outside. I crawled to the piazza and saw a boy about Jerry's age looking dreamily at the bugs clustering around the lights — one of the little Spellgoods.
He was so neat and clean, with his wiffle and his white T-shirt, that he gave me a good idea. I shook my hair loose — it was down to my shoulders — and crouched below the piazza in the shadows. I gave a low whistle. The little boy jumped.
"Who are you?" he said. But he wasn't worried.
"Soy una amiga de su hermana, Emily." By whispering, I could give myself a girl's singsong voice.
He said in English, "What's your name?"
"Rosa," I squeaked. "Emily a casa?"
"She's watching TV."
I told him, still in squeaky Indian Spanish, that I wanted to talk to her.
"You're not supposed to be here," he said. "Twahkas aren't allowed at night."
I pretended to whimper, then said sadly — and I was sad! — "Lo mucho siento, chico. Voy a mi kiamp," telling him I was very sorry and that I would go home.
"Aw, wait a sec," he said. He yelled "Emily!" and went into the house.
Emily came out a moment later, but while she was still looking for me in the dark, I stood up and said, "It's me, Charlie Fox, from the banana boat, the one who killed the seagull. Don't be worried, I won't hurt you. Remember me?"
She made a goofy face and said, "What are you doing here? Hey, this is weird!"
"That's Jerry," I said, because he had just come out from behind the house, like a wolf. "We're going upriver with my folks. We're kind of stuck."
She came near me and said, "Hey, what happened to you? You're all dirty. You got smaller. Is there something wrong? Your hair's gross!"
I shushed her and said, "Can we talk where no one will hear us?"
But it was too late. Gurney Spellgood was at the window. "Keep it down, Emily." And then he saw me. He said, "Your parents are going to be wondering where you are, young lady. There'll be plenty of time for talking tomorrow."
Only my head showed above the piazza, and a good thing, too, because I wasn't wearing a shirt. But I had an Indian girl's long hair.
"It's okay, Dad," Emily said. "It's just a couple of Twahkas who want to be baptized."
"God loves you," Spellgood said. "Take their names, sweetie, and give them a shower bath and some Kool-Aid."
"Follow me," Emily said. She giggled as she led us across the field to the church, which was in darkness. We went behind it and sat under a tree. "He thought you were Indians. So did I! Hey, are you in trouble or something?"
"Kind of," I said. "We got here this afternoon."
"We were holding a baptism in Pautabusna. It's real gross there. We all went in the plane. Did you see our plane? It's a Cessna Directorial, a nine seater! Dad's got a license. He's logged five hundred hours. It's real neat, with a radio and fans and everything."
"How did you get it?"
I meant how in the world, but she said, "Contributions. We bought it in Baltimore. Dad flew it here. We came back on the Unicorn. I thought you might be on it, too. I looked for you, I really did. Hey, the things that were going through my mind about you were really X-rated! Why is your hair—"
"Emily," f said, "is Baltimore okay?"
"It's sorta freaky now. They closed down Dad's drive-in church. They couldn't pay the taxes — not enough people. That's why they gave him the plane."
Jerry said, "Is America still there?"
"Are you nuts or something?" Emily laughed. "Hey, this kid's really strange!"
I said, "My father says America's been wiped out. There's no one left but us. Because we're here. That's what he said."
"That's stupid," Emily said.
A whole country rose up and began to shine the moment she spoke those simple words. And Father seemed tiny and scuttling, like a cockroach when a light goes on.
Jerry said, "Yeah!"
"Gee, I thought my dad was weird!"