Rough Translation Part 4

"There isn't any room." The blue eyes studied the man, looking for a way to get permission to go with Mr. Easton.

"No room? What do you mean?"

Richie sighed. Obviously he'd have to explain first and coax later.

"Well, you know my school? You know my teacher in school? You know when my teacher was different?" He peered anxiously at Jonathan, and suddenly the man caught on.

"Of course! You mean when they split the kindergarten into two smaller groups because there were too many--"

His voice trailed off. Too many. Too many what? Too many Martians on Mars? Growing population? No way to cut down the birth rate? He pictured the planet with too many people. What to do? Move out. Take another planet. Why didn't they just do that? He put the question to Richie.

"Oh," said his son wisely, "they couldn't because of the framish. They _did_ go other places, but everywhere they went, they framished. And after you framish, you ain't--_aren't_ a Caroom any more. You're a Gunderguck and of course--"

"Huh?"

"--and a Caroom doesn't like to framish and be a Gunderguck,"

continued Richie happily, as though reciting a lesson learned in school. "He wants to be a Caroom _all_ the time because it's better and more fun and you know lots of things you don't remember after you get to be a Gunderguck. Only--" he paused for a gulp of air--"only there wasn't room for _all_ the Carooms back home and they couldn't find any place where they could be Carooms all the time, because of the framish. So after a long time, and after they looked all over all around, they decided maybe it wouldn't be so bad if they sent some of their little boys and girls--the ones they didn't have room for--to some place where they could be Carooms longer than most other places.

And _that_ place," Richie said proudly, "was right here! 'Cause _here_ there's almost as much gladdisl as back home and--"

"Gladdisl?" Jonathan echoed hoa.r.s.ely. "What's--"

"--and after they start growing up--"

"Gladdisl," Jonathan repeated, more firmly. "Richie, what is it?"

The forehead puckered momentarily. "It's something you breathe, sort of." The boy shied away from the difficult question, trying to remember what Allavarg had said about gladdisl. "Anyway, after the little boys and girls start to grow up and after they framish and be Gundergucks, like you and Mommy, the Carooms back home send some _more_ to take their places. And the Gundergucks who used to be Carooms here in the nursery look after the new little--"

"Wait a minute! Wait a minute!" Jonathan interrupted suspiciously. "I thought you said Allavarg looks after them."

"He does. But there's so many little Carooms and there aren't many Allavargs and so the Gundergucks have to help. You help," Richie a.s.sured his father. "You and Mommy help a little bit."

Big of you to admit it, old man, thought Jonathan, suppressing a smile. "But aren't you _our_ little boy?" he asked. He had a sudden vision of himself addressing the scientists at the Inst.i.tute: "And so, gentlemen, our babies--who, incidentally, are really Martians--_are_ brought by storks, after all. Except in those cases where--"

"The doctor brought me in a little black bag," said Richie.

The boy stood silent and studied his father. He sort of remembered what Allavarg had said, too. Things like You _mustn't ever tell_ and _It's got to be a secret_ and _They'd only laugh at you, Richie, and if they didn't laugh, they might believe you and try to go back home and there just isn't any room._

"I think," said Richie, "I think I better--" He took a deep breath.

"Here, Allavarg," he called in a soft, piping voice.

Jonathan raised his head. "Just what do you think you're doing--"

There was a sound behind him, and Jonathan turned startledly.

"Shame on you," said Allavarg, coming through the broken window.

Jonathan's words dropped away in a faint gurgle.

"I'm sorry," said Richie. "Don't be dipplefit."

"It's a mess," Allavarg replied. "It's a krandoor mess!" He waved his arm in the air over Jonathan's head. "And don't think I'm going to forget it!" The insistent hiss of escaping gas hovered over the moving pellet in his hand. "Jivis boy!"

Jonathan coughed suddenly. He got as far as "Now look here" and then found that he could neither speak nor move. The gas or whatever it was stung his eyes and burned in his throat.

"Why don't you just freeble him?" Richie asked unhappily. "You're using up all your gladdisl! Why don't you freeble him and get me another one?"

"Freeble, breeble," grumbled Allavarg, shoving the capsule directly under Jonathan's nose. "Just like you youngsters, always wanting to take the easy way out! Gundergucks don't grow on blansercots, you know."

Jonathan felt tears start in his eyes, partly from the fumes and partly from a growing realization that Allavarg was sacrificing precious air for him. He tried to think. If this was gladdisl and if this would keep a man in the state of being a Caroom, then--

"There," said Allavarg, looking unhappily at the emptied pellet. He shook it, sniffed it and finally returned it to the container at his side.

"I'm sorry," Richie whispered. "But he kept askin' me and askin' me."

"There, there," said Allavarg, going to the window. "Don't fret. I know you won't do it again." He turned and looked thoughtfully at Jonathan. He winked at Richie and then he was gone.

Jonathan rubbed his eyes. He could move now. He opened his mouth and waggled his jaws. Now that the room was beginning to be cleared of the gas, he realized that it had had a pleasant odor. He realized--

Why, it was all so simple! Remembering his sessions with Easton, Jonathan laughed aloud. So simple! The message? _Stay away from Mars!

No room there! They said I could come back if I gave you the message, but I have to come back alone because there's no room for more people!_

No room? Nonsense! Jonathan reached for the phone, dialled the Inst.i.tute and asked for Dr. Stoughton. No room? On the paradise that was Mars? Well, they'd just have to make room! They couldn't keep that to themselves!

"h.e.l.lo, Fred?" He leaned back in his chair, feeling a surge of pride and power. Wait till they heard about this! "Just wanted to tell you I solved the Easton thing. Just a simple case of hapsodon. You see, Allavarg came and gave me a tressimox of gladdisl and now that I'm a Caroom again--What? What do you mean, what's the matter? I said I'm not a Gunderguck any more." He stared at the phone. "Why, you spebberset moron! What's the matter with you? Don't you blikkel English?"

From the depths of the big chair across the room, Richie giggled.

--JEAN M. JANIS