[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Fantastic February 1957.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
How I wish Faw-Faw were here! What joy to be a child again, and sit
once more in his strong wide lap, and rest my fevered cheek against the
cool metal surface of his chest, and let my sticky, stumpy fingers play
idly over the buttons of his back, and finally press down the one that
brought forth his soothing, smoothing, story-telling voice:
"There was once a shoe-maker who through no fault of his own had
become so poor that at last he had only leather enough for one pair of
shoes...."
Oh, Faw-Faw! What have they done with you?
Memory, memory. So sweet, so painful. What was the rhyme that Father
taught me? The rhyme that told me how Faw-Faw worked?
"Information, registration, consideration,
"MEMORY!
"Calculation, conversation, robots made by
"EMORY!"
My father.
A big man. A _brilliant_ man. And I was an Emory, too, and when I grew
up, GREAT THINGS were expected of me. For didn't I have Faw-Faw? What
child could hope for a better tutor?
Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY:
Oh, Faw-Faw! How could I have ever hated your cold, cruel chest, your
icy arms, your frozen mechanical affection! How could I have struck
your brain-housing with such fury, beating the heavy hammer in great
_gong! gong! gongs!_ Yes, Father, I _deserved_ your punishment. You
were right; I was wrong. Again, again! Only beat me again! How could I
feel such gross ingratitude? Again!
My mother....
"_He's only a child!_" Shrieking at him. "_He's only seven!_"
* * * * *
How soon his red anger died! Remorse, regret, eyes staring in
bewilderment at the thick brown strap in his hand.
"He could have destroyed him," he said, in a voice I didn't
know. "He could have smashed the work of a life-time. Forty-four
experiments--twelve years--and he could have--"
Oh, Father, how I wronged you! Again, again!
But how soon I learned. Cold steel or warm flesh--how little the
difference really mattered! My mother's sleepytime kiss, once so sweet
and comforting; my father's gruff hair-rumpling; how trivial these
childhood pleasures seemed after the lessons of Faw-Faw, the strength
of Faw-Faw, the quick thrilling response of Faw-Faw to every childish
command.
Oh, Faw-Faw! How well I learned your ways!
Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY:
"A whole year?" I said.
"Maybe a little less," said my mother.
"It's a very important assignment," said my father.
"A great honor," said my mother, stroking my hair. As if to comfort me.
"It's a government project, and very secret. Can you understand that?
Your mother and I will be living in very cramped quarters, and leading
greatly restricted lives. There won't be any playgrounds, or children
your own age, or anything."
"And besides," said my mother (was that a tear on her face?) "you'll
have Aunt Hulda, and Faw-Faw of course."
"You'll be all right," said my father, as if he really knew.
Was I happy? Was I sad? Faw-Faw, do you remember? What did I say to you
that night, in the aloneness of my room? Did I cry?
On the lap. Head against the chest. Press the button. Drowsy listening;
soothing, smoothing, story-telling voice....
"Now the Queen, having eaten Snow-White's heart, as she supposed, felt
quite sure that now she was the first and fairest, and so she came to
her mirror and said...."
Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY:
* * * * *
"Say that again!"
"You heard me!"
"I _dare_ you to say it again!"
"You're an orphan! I heard my mother say so. You ain't _got_ no father!"
"You're a liar!"
"Who's a liar? _Who's_ a liar? I'll show you who's a liar!"
A scuffle in the sand. A hard ball of fingers on my nose. Blood on my
shirt. Yelling, screaming, crying: "I'm _not_ an orphan! I'm not!"
"I'll learn you who's a (puff) liar! I'll show you (puff) little (puff)
snotnose stupid orphan!"
Hot tears, shameless. Screaming, screaming.
"Faw-Faw! Faw-Faw!"