On his side, drawing his knees up, he pushed himself along the floor a few inches at a time. He made it to his mattress and slid under the comforter. Changing positions was painful, he could sleep for only a few minutes at a time. By evening he was too thirsty to stay where he was. He pushed himself to the front of the kitchen sink and got to his knees, gasping. Holding on with one hand, he reached for his mug with the other and filled it with water. He drank and then refilled it and placed it on the floor. He opened the cabinet under the sink and pulled out an old pie plate. He lowered himself to the floor and rested before he pushed himself back to the bed, dragging along the water and the pie plate. He was able to pee into the plate while he lay on one side. He made it through the night, moving as little as possible. Music would be nice, he thought in the morning. Forget it. It was all he could do to lie still and not panic. "It's all right, Batman," he called to the lanai. He thought about crawling to the telephone and knocking it to the floor with the broom, but who would he call? When the pie plate filled, he inched along the floor, dragging it into the bathroom, spilling some, but managing to reach up and pour most of it into the toilet. He shoved himself into the kitchen for more water. Holding to the chair by the table, he was able to reach a bunch of bananas. Two bananas and water got him through the second day. On the third day, hanging on to the bedroom door frame, he pulled himself slowly to his feet. He was able to limp to the bathroom, supporting himself with the sponge mop. He took aspirin and shuffled back to his mattress with bread and a piece of cheddar cheese. He ate like a king, wishing that he'd turned on the radio. The pain was less intense in the morning. Aspirin had helped him sleep for four or five hours. He was able to stand up slowly, turn on the radio, and reassure Batman. He leaned against a wall and stared at a shaft of sunlight falling on the carpet. He remained there motionless, without words. Pain had emptied him completely. The disk jockey played a Cyril Pahinui cut. Familiar notes cascaded into the sunlight, ringing and humble, celebrating and accepting the only life we know. It's all right, Joe thought, as his isolation broke down. "For thine is the kingdom," he said to a presence in the sunshine. Thankful tears rolled down his cheeks. Three days later he made it down the hill to the store and back.