Richie squirmed out of the chair and clutched Jonathan's arm. "Please,
Daddy! If you let Mr. Easton go back, can I go, too? Please? Can I?"
Jonathan put his hands on his son's shoulders. "Richie! What do you
know about Mr. Easton?"
"Please? Can I go with him?" The shining blue eyes pleaded up at him.
"If you don't let him go back pretty soon, he's going to framish
again! Please! Can I?"
"He's going to framish," nodded Jonathan. "And what then?" he coaxed.
"What'll happen after he framishes? Will he be able to tell me about
his trip?"
"_I_ dunno," said Richie. "I dunno how he _could_. After you framish,
you don't remember lots of things. I don't think he's even gonna
remember he _went_ on a trip." The boy's hands shook Jonathan's arm
eagerly. "Please, Daddy! Can I go with him?"
"No!" Jonathan glared and released his hold on Richie. Didn't he have
troubles enough without Richie suggesting--"About the nursery," he
said briskly. "Why is there a nursery?"
"To take care of us." Richie looked worried. "Why can't I go?"
"Because you can't! Why don't they have the nursery back where
Allavarg came from?"
"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 hoarsely. "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
assured 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 Institute: "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.