Hot anger flashed in Dad's eyes. "It isn't enough to be sorry. Don't
you see what this means? Ronnie'll have to be memory-washed back to the
time of birth. He'll have to start life all over again."
"No, David, no!"
"And in my position I can't afford to have an eight-year-old son with
the mind of a new-born baby. It's got to be Abandonment, Edith, there's
no other way. The boy can start life over in a reformatory, with a
complete memory-wash. He'll never know we existed, and he'll never
bother us again."
Mom ran up to Dad. She put her hands on his shoulders. Great sobs burst
from her shaking body.
"You can't, David! I won't let--"
He slapped her then with the palm of his hand. The sound was like a
pistol shot in the hot, tight air.
Dad stood now like a colossus carved of black ice. His right hand was
still upraised, ready to strike again.
Then his hand fell. His mind seemed to be toying with a new thought, a
new concept.
He seized one of the books on the hassock.
"Edith," he said crisply, "just what was Ronnie reading? What's the
name of this book?"
"_The--The Adventures of Tom Sawyer_," said Mom through her sobs.
He grabbed the second book, held it before her shimmering vision.
"And the name of this?"
"_Tarzan of The Apes._" Mom's voice was a barely audible croak.
"Who's the author?"
"Edgar Rice Burroughs."
"And this one?"
"_The Wizard of Oz._"
"Who wrote it?"
"L. Frank Baum."
He threw the books to the floor. He stepped backward. His face was a
mask of combined sorrow, disbelief, and rage.
"_Edith._" He spat the name as if it were acid on his tongue. "Edith,
_you can read_!"
* * * * *
Mom sucked in her sobs. Her chalk-white cheeks were still streaked with
rivulets of tears.
"I'm sorry, David. I've never told anyone--not even Ronnie. I haven't
read a book, haven't even looked at one since we were married. I've
tried to be a good wife--"
"A good wife." Dad sneered. His face was so ugly that Ronnie looked
away.
Mom continued, "I--I learned when I was just a girl. I was young like
Ronnie. You know how young people are--reckless, eager to do forbidden
things."
"You lied to me," Dad snapped. "For ten years you've lied to me. Why
did you want to read, Edith? _Why?_"
Mom was silent for a few seconds. She was breathing heavily, but no
longer crying. A calmness entered her features, and for the first time
tonight Ronnie saw no fear in her eyes.
"I wanted to read," she said, her voice firm and proud, "because, as
Ronnie said, it's fun. The video's nice, with its dancers and lovers
and Indians and spacemen--but sometimes you want more than that.
Sometimes you want to know how people feel deep inside and how they
think. And there are beautiful words and beautiful thoughts, just like
there are beautiful paintings. It isn't enough just to hear them and
then forget them. Sometimes you want to keep the words and thoughts
before you because in that way you feel that they belong to you."
Her words echoed in the room until absorbed by the ceaseless, ticking
clock. Mom stood straight and unashamed. Dad's gaze traveled slowly to
Ronnie, to Mom, to the clock, back and forth.