"I won't talk to her," James said.
"Your father is an intellectual of top caliber, and he went to Rutgers. You've brought many of his ideas and speculations to the Schoolhouse, which are stimulating and appreciated. In all fairness you should let him know how grateful we are to him."
"He wouldn't believe me."
"But at least you could speak to him."
"I won't speak to him. He's old, old, old and hidebound. He's a cube. He's trapped in a structured society."
"Where did you get that from?"
"From my father."
"Well, then. You see?"
"No, I don't," James said stubbornly. "I won't talk their language to them. They have to try Us first."
"In other words, you have opted for Us?"
"Yes, sir."
"To the exclusion of Them?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then there's nothing more to say."
"Connie," Constance said to Constantine, "we must have a serious talk."
"Now?"
"Yes."
"What about?"
"Jamie."
"What about Jamie?"
"He's a problem child."
"What's his problem?"
"He's arrested."
"Are you starting that again? Now come on, Connie. He's learned to walk. What more do you want?"
"But he hasn't learned to talk."
"Talk! Talk! Talk!" Constantine sounded as though he was cursing. "Words! Words! Words! I've lived my whole life with them, and I hate them. Do you know what most words are? They're bullets people use to shoot each other down with. Words are weapons for killers. Language should be the beautiful poetry of communication, but we've debased it, poisoned it, corrupted it into hostility, into competition, into a contest between winners and losers. And the winner is never the man with something to say; the winner is always the fastest gun in the West. These are the few simple words I have to say about words."
"Yes, dear," Constance said, "but our son should be shooting words by now, and he isn't."
"I hope he never does."
"He must, and we'll have to take him to a clinic. He's autistic."
"Autism," the Professor said, "is an abnormal absorption in fantasy to the exclusion of external reality. I have known many laboratory victims who have been driven to this deplorable state by fiendish experiments."
"Could you put that in mathematical terms?" Moe asked. "I can't follow your words."
"Ah, yes. Kaff Kaff. I'm having some slight difficulty myself. I'm sure our valued friend will be good enough to simplify."
"All right," the White Rat said. "He won't talk."
"Won't talk? Good heavens! We can't shut him up. Only yesterday he engaged me in a two-hour dispute over Robert's Rules of Order, and—"
"He won't talk human."
"Oh. Ah."
"The questo is can he?" the Chaldean Chicken said. "Many who are born under the Sign of Torso find it difficulto to—"
"Taurus! Taurus! And will you be quiet. He can talk; he just won't."
"What's a fantasy?" Moe asked.
"A hallucination."
"What's that?"
"Something unreal."
"You mean he's not real? But I only saw him yesterday, and he—"
"I have no intention of discussing the metaphysics of reality. Those of you who are interested may take my course in Thesis, Synthesis and Antithesis. The situation with James is simple. He talks to us in our language; he refuses talk to his parents in their language; they are alarmed."
"Why are they alarmed?"
"They think he's autistic."
"They think he's unreal?"
"No, Moe," the Professor said patiently. "They know he's real. They think he has a psychological hang-up which prevents him from talking human."
"Do they know he talks Us?"
"No."
"Then why don't we tell them? Then everything will be all right."
"Why don't you tell them?"
"I don't know how to talk Them."
"Does anybody here know how? Anybody?"
No answer.
"So much for that brilliant suggestion," the Professor said. "Now we come to the crux of the situation. They're going to send him to a remedial school."
"What's the matter with our school?"
"They don't know about our school, you imbecile! They want him to go to a school where he can learn how to speak English."
"What's that?"
"Them talk."
"Oh."
"Well, Kaff Kaff, as our most esteemed and valued scholar, surely you can have no objections to that program, my dear Professor."
"There's a dilemma," the White Rat said sourly.
"Name it, sir. I say, describe it and we shall, Kaff Kaff, we shall cope."
"He's so used to speaking Us that I'm afraid he won't learn to speak Them."
"But why should he want to, my learned friend?"
"Because he's got Rutgers before him."
"Ah, yes. To be sure. Your beloved alma mater. But I still can't quite fathom, I say, perceive the difficulty."
"We've got to turn him off."
"I beg your pardon?"
"We've got to stop speaking to him. We got to break his Us habit so he can learn Them. Nobody can speak both."
"You can't mean Coventry, Professor?"
"I do. Don't you understand? No matter where he goes, there will be others of us around. We must break the habit. Now. For his sake." The Professor began to pace angrily. "He will forget how to speak Us. We'll lose him. That's the price. My best pupil. My favorite. Now he may never make Phi Beta Kappa."
The Debutantes looked despairing. "We love that boy," they said. "He's a real swinger."
"He is not," the Senior Rabbit stated. "He is trustworthy, loyal, helpful, friendly, courteous, kind, obedient, cheerful, thrifty, brave, clean and reverent."
"He told me all about E equals MC two," Moe said. "It gave me an insight. It will change the world."
"Aquarium" Miss Leghorn said profoundly.
"He is a pest, a bore, a nuisance, a—a human," the Professor shouted. "He doesn't belong in our Schoolhouse. We want nothing to do with him; he'll sell us out sooner or later. Coventry! Coventry!" Then he broke down completely. "I love him, too, but we must be brave. We're going to lose him, but we must be brave for his sake. And somebody better warn the Princess."
James James Morrison Morrison shoved the barn door a little wider and swaggered into the Schoolhouse. There was no mistaking his pride in his walk. In an odd way it was a reflection of the Chairman's strut.
"Ladies and gentlemen, good evening," he said, as courteous as ever.
The Debutantes sniffled and departed.
"What's the matter with them?" James asked curiously. He turned to the mole. "Uncle Moe, I just heard something up at the house that'll interest you. it seems that Newton's model of the universe may break down. Time is not reversible from the mathematical standpoint, and—"
Here Moe broke down and went underground.
"What's the matter with him?" James asked.
There was no answer. Everybody else had disappeared, too. The long sad silence had begun.
The pheasant strutted, accompanied by his harem, and he ignored James. Martha W. Woodchuck, who had taken on George's surveying duties (she was his daughter-in-law), ignored James. Neither the Professor nor the Scoutmaster were to be seen. The does and the fawns hid in the woods. Moe Mole decided on an early hibernation. Jack Johnson went south for the winter, and His Eminence suddenly moved his residence to Paula's territory. The crows could not resist the challenge of an art nouveau scarecrow on a farm a mile off and left. James James was abandoned.
"Would you like to read my palm?" he asked Miss Leghorn.
"Cluck," she replied.
"Princess," he said, "why doesn't anybody want to talk to me?"
"Aeiou," she replied.
James was abandoned.
"Well, at least he's lea
rned how to walk,"' Dr. Rapp said, "and that's a favorable prognosis. What beats me is how he can be autistic in such an articulate home. One would think that—stop. An idea. Is it possible that the home is too articulate, that his autism is a refusal to compete with his betters?"
"But there's no competition in our home," one of the two Connies said.
"You don't grasp the potential of the idea. In our society, if you don't win, you have failed. This is our contemporary delusion. James may well be afraid of failure."
"But he's only three years old."
"My dear Mrs. Dupree, competition begins in the womb."
"Not in mine," Connie said indignantly. "I've got the fastest womb in the West."
"Yes. And now if you will excuse me, the first lesson will begin. That door out. Thank you." Dr. Rapp buzzed the intercom. "Sherbet," he said. A chalice of orange sherbet was brought to him.
"James," he said, "would you like some orange ice? Here." He proffered a spoonful. James engulfed it. "Good. Would you like some more? Then tell me what this is." Dr. Rapp held up a striped ball. "It's a ball, James. Repeat after me. Ball."
"Da," James said.
"No more orange ice, James, until you've spoken. Ball. Ball. Ball. And then the goody."
"Da."
"Perhaps he prefers the lemon flavor," Dr. Rapp said the next week. He buzzed the intercom. "Lemon sherbet, please." He was served. "James, would you like some lemon ice?" He proffered a spoonful which was absorbed. "Good. Would you like some more? Then tell me what this is. It's a ball, James. Repeat after me. Ball. Ball. Ball."
"Da," James said.
"We'll try ice cream," Dr. Rapp said a week later. "We can't permit him to fall into a pattern of familiarized societal behavior. He must be challenged." He buzzed the intercom. "Chocolate ice cream, please."
James relished the ice cream but refused to identify the striped ball by name.
"Da," he said.
"I'm beginning to dream that confounded expression," Dr. Rapp complained. "A Roman centurion comes at me, draws his sword, and says, 'Da.' Stop. An idea. Is it a phallic symbol? Sexuality begins with conception. Is the child rejecting the facts of life?"
He buzzed the intercom.
"James, here is a banana. Would you like a bite? Feel free. Good. Good. Would you like another? Then tell me what this is. A ball. Ball. Ball. Ball."
"Da."
"I am failing," Dr. Rapp said despondently. "Perhaps I had better go back to Dr. Da for a refresher—What am I saying? It's Dr. Damon. Stop. An idea. Damon and Pythias. A friendship. Can it be that I have been too clinical with James. I shall establish fraternality.
"Good morning, James. It's a beautiful October day. The autumn leaves are glorious. Would you like to go for a drive?"
"Da," James said.
"Good. Good. Where would you like to go?"
"To Rutgers," James said, quite distinctly.
"What did you say?"
"I said I would like to go to Rutgers."
"But—good gracious—You're talking."
"Yes, sir."
"Why haven't you talked before?"
"Because I damn well didn't want to."
"Why are you talking now?"
"Because I want to see the banks of the Old Raritan."
"Yes, yes. I see. Or do I?" Dr. Rapp buzzed the intercom. "Please get me Dr. Da, I mean Dr. Damon, on the phone—Tell him I think I've made an important discovery."
"Discovery," James said, "is seeing what everybody else sees but thinking what no one else has thought. What's your opinion? Shall we discuss it on the way to Rutgers?"
So the second summer came. James and his father were strolling the lawns in a hot debate over the bearded irises which, alas, James pronounced iritheth. He had developed a human lisp. The issue was whether they should be picked and vased or left alone. James took the position that they were delicate ladies who should not be molested. His father, always pragmatic, declared that flowers had to justify their existence by decorating the house. Father and son parted on a note of exasperation, and the senior Dupree went to inspect the peach trees. James James Morrison Morrison sat quietly on the lawn and looked around. Presently he heard a familiar Kaff Kaff, and the Chairman appeared from under the lilac bush.
"Well, if it isn't my old friend, the Sex Maniac. How are you, sir?"
The cock pheasant glared him.
"And how are Phyllis and Frances and Felice and all the rest, Mr. Chairman?"
"Their names are, I say, the nomenclature is, Kaff Kaff, Gloria, Glenda, Gertrude, Godiva, and—" Here the Chairman stopped short and looked hard at James. "But you're the Monster."
"Yes, sir."
"My, how you've grown."
"Thank you, sir."
"Have you learned how speak Them?"
"Not very well, sir."
"Why not?"
"I've got a lisp. They say because I have a lazy tongue."
"But you still speak Us."
"Yes, sir."
"Amazing! I say, unheard of!"
"Did you all think I'd ever forget? I'm the Professor's best pupil, and I'd die for dear old Rutgers. Can we have an emergency meeting right away in the Big Red Schoolhouse, Mr. Chairman? I've got a lot to tell you about the crazy, mixed-up human creatures."
The meeting was attended by most of the regulars, plus a few newcomers. There was a Plymouth Rock hen who had become close friends with Miss Leghorn, perhaps because her only reply to the Chaldean harangues was, "Ayeh." The holdout mockingbird had at last joined up now that Jack Johnson seemed to be remaining in the Florida Keys . . . his (the mockingbird's) name was Milton. There was one most exotic new member, a little Barbary ape who was very friendly but extremely shy. James shook hands and asked his name.
"They called me . . . well, they called me The Great Zunia. Knows All. Does All."
"Who's 'they', Zunia?"
"The Reson and Tickel Circus."
"You were in the circus?"
"Well. . . yes. I . . . did tricks. Knows All. Does All. I was what they. . . what they call a headliner. You know. Rode a motorcycle with the lights on. But I. . . I. . ."
"Yes?"
"But I cracked up when we . . . were playing Princeton. Totaled the bike. I got. . . well. . . I split when they were picking up the pieces."
"Why did you run away, Zunia?"
"I. . . I hate to say this. . . never blow the whistle on another man's act. . . but. . . well . . . I hate show business."
"Zunia, we're all delighted that you're here, and you know you're more than welcome, but there's a problem."
"Well . . . gee . . . just a little fruit now and then, apples and—"
"Not food. The weather. Winters can be damn cold on Red Hill farm. Don't you think you might be more comfortable farther south?"
"Well. . . if it's all the same to . . . well, I'd rather stay here. Nice folks."
"If that's what you want, great for us. My parents are going to have fits if they ever see you, so stay under cover."
"I'm a night-type anyway."
"Good. Now stand up, please. All the way up, and we'll stand back to back. Professor, are we the same size?"
No answer.
"Professor?"
Moe Mole said, "The Professor is indisposed."
"What?"
"He couldn't come."
"Why not?"
"He's not feeling so good."
"Where is he?"
"Up in his study."
"I'd better go and—No, wait. Are we the same size, Zunia and me? Anybody? Everybody." It was agreed that James and Zunia were an approximate match. James promised to pinch some of his sweaters and wooly underwear for Zunia to wear during the winter months.
"If you .. . well, I'm not asking .. . but I'd love a sweater with Boston on it."
"Boston! Why Boston?"
"Because they hate show business."
James shinnied up one of the rough oak columns that supported the barn roof, walked across the hea
vy beam above the empty hay loft as casually as a steelworker (his mother would have screamed at the sight), came to a small break in the loft wall and knocked politely.
A faint voice said, "Who is it?"
"It's the Monster, sir. I've come back."
"No! Really? Come in. Come in."
James poked his head through the break. The Professor's study was lined with moss. There were fronds of dried grass and mint leaves on the floor on which the Professor lay. He looked very ill and weak, but his albino red eyes were as fierce as ever.
"Well, James, you've come back," he panted. "I never thought—Do you still speak Them?"
"Yes, sir."
"And you still speak Us. I would never—Phi Beta Kappa and cum laude for you. No doubt of it."
"I visited Rutgers, sir."
"Did you. Did you, now. And?"
"It's beautiful, just like you said," James lied. "And they still remember you."
"No!"
"Yes, sir. They can't understand how you escaped. They think you probably bribed the lab attendant, but a few claim you had something on him. Blackmail."
The Professor chuckled, but it turned into a painful hacking.
After the spasm subsided James asked, "What's wrong, sir?"
"Nothing. Nothing. Probably a touch of the Asiatic flu. Nothing serious."
"Please tell me."
The Professor looked at him.
"Science is devotion to truth," he said. "I'll be truthful. I'm badly wounded."
"Oh, sir! How?"
"An air rifle. A couple of farm boys."
"Who are they? From the Rich place? I'll—"
"James! James! There is no room for revenge in science. Did Darwin retaliate when he was ridiculed?"
"No, sir."
"Did Pasteur?"
"N-no, sir."
"Will you be true to what I've taught you?"
"I'll try, sir, b-but those damn boys .. ."
"No anger. Reason always; anger never. And no crying, James. I need your courage now."
"If I have any, sir."