Their voices were a little grim. “We do not need to promise, Johnny. Our machine is broken and we cannot fix it. One of us is dying and the other soon will die.”
Johnny knelt there, with the words sinking into him, with the realization sinking into him, and it seemed more than he could bear that, having found two friends, they were about to die.
“Johnny,” they said to him.
“Yes,” said Johnny, trying not to cry.
“You will trade with us?”
“Trade?”
“A way of friendship with us. You give us something and we give you something.”
“But,” said Johnny. “But I haven’t…
Then he knew he had. He had the pocket knife. It wasn’t much, with its broken blade, but it was all he had.
“That is fine,” they said. “That is exactly right. Lay it on the ground, close to the machine.”