"Holy Christmas! _Holy_--"
Revenge, Faw-Faw, _revenge_!
"Ma! Ma!"
Hold him, Faw-Faw! Punch him, Faw-Faw! Bloody nose, Faw-Faw!
Bloodier than mine! Revenge! Revenge! Faw-Faw, revenge! Information,
registration, consideration ... MEMORY:
* * * * *
"Oh, he's been a good boy, Mr. Emory," said Aunt Hulda.
"But he broke the nose of the Brown boy," she added.
"He did _what_?" said my father.
Would the thick brown strap, the sudden red anger, appear again? I
cringed. But Father laughed.
"Well, well, _well_!" He laughed again, and squeezed my upper arm. I
had pleased him! (Oh, Faw-Faw, I love you best, but that moment was
sweet, sweet!) "He's a real Emory," my father said. "A real Emory! But
don't tell his mother, Hulda. She wouldn't understand."
"It was Faw-Faw," I said. The honesty of childhood!
"Of course it was." My father smiled with pleasure at my robot. "He's a
better teacher than I imagined. Now I don't feel so bad about leaving
again."
My mother came in.
"Leaving again?" I said to her. Was I sad, Faw-Faw? Did I cry?
"The experiments aren't completed," my mother answered. "Your father
and I will have to stay at least another six months."
Father said: "But it's worth it, son. There may be a whole army of
Faw-Faws some day!"
"A whole army...." My mother looked frightened. "It's dreadful,
Richard, dreadful...."
"Laura--"
"Metal soldiers. Robot killers--"
My father looked displeased. "This is no time for that kind of talk.
You knew full well what my assignment was about. I'm not ashamed of
it." He looked at me sternly. "And don't you be either. Some day you
may be carrying on my work. Do you know that?"
My mother's face went white.
"My robots will do all the world's work," my father said. "Not just the
fighting. But they know a lot about that, too." He turned his eyes on
me again, significantly, and he smiled.
In the middle of that night, awakening suddenly, hearing an unexpected
sound. My mother, sobbing, sobbing. My father, whispering, harshly, so
close to red anger:
"Oh, shut up, Laura! For heaven's sake, SHUT UP!"
Oh, Faw-Faw, quick! Tell me a story!
The wide lap, the cool chest, the soothing voice:
"Once upon a time there lived a king and a queen, very peacefully
together...."
Information, registration, consideration ... MEMORY: Only a rhyme
but....
* * * * *
"Sick, sick! With what? Tell me that. With what?"
My mother, drawn and pale. The plump hand that could touch so gently
now thin and bony, clutching the sheet.