The next time the dinner hour arrived, they gave him nothing to eat. There had been no food in the cell since, and that was probably two weeks ago. He was not sure just how long, for during part of the second week his memory had become garbled. He dimly remembered something that might have been delirium, which could have lasted more than one day.
Perhaps the military who wanted the antitoxins for germ warfare were waiting quietly for him either to talk or die.
onny got up from the grass and went into the kitchen, stumbling in his walk like a beginning toddler.
"Choc-mil?" he said to his mother.
She poured him some and teased gently, "What's the matter, Ronny—back to baby-talk?"
He looked at her with big solemn eyes and drank slowly, not answering.
In the cell somewhere distant, Dr. Purcell, famous biochemist, began waveringly trying to rise to his feet, unable to remember hunger as anything separate from him that could ever be ended, but weakly wanting a glass of water. Ronny could not feed him with the chocolate milk. Even though this was another himself, the body that was drinking was not the one that was thirsty.
He wandered out into the backyard again, carrying the glass.