MY ROBOT

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!"

Pounding on my ribs. Then—

"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.

Softly: "I don't know, Richard...."

"The doctors should know, Laura. The hospital should know. Do you doubt what they said?"

"No. I don't doubt them."

Faw-Faw, why was I so frightened?

"They've seen cases like yours before, those Army doctors. They have an ugly word for it in the Army, Laura."

"Richard, I'm sorry...."

Anger, red anger. Would he take the thick brown strap to her? Oh, never, Faw-Faw, never!

"Two years of work! Two years—and now that pip-squeak Morgan is 'filling in' for me! It's just not fair, don't you see that? And all because you think you're sick."

"Richard...."

"Never mind, never mind. I've stood by your bedside long enough. Hulda can take care of you; you don't need me. You'll have what you want. You'll be home to smother that boy with sticky love. You'll be happy. But I must get back to work!"

Why did I cry, Faw-Faw? What frightened me so?

"Richard, please—"

"What is it?"

"Don't go back!"

"What?"

"Don't go back there. Don't help them make those monsters!"

My mother, up on her feet, following him to the door. She looked so small! Why, my mother was small!

"Don't be a fool, Laura."

"It's a sin to make them! A mortal sin—"

"Getting awfully religious aren't you? This isn't like you, Laura."

Clutching at him, tugging, pulling.

"Richard, don't go!"

"You're hysterical. Let go of me and get back to bed. That's the only place you feel important, isn't it?"

"I won't let you go. I won't!"

Tugging, pulling. Oh, Faw-Faw, why did I have to watch?

"Stop it, Laura!"

Shrieking, crying!

"Richard, Richard!"

Oh, Faw-Faw! Did it really happen? The upraised arm, that hard flat palm? The sharp, cracking noise? The moan of shock and pain? Oh, Faw-Faw! Did it really happen?

Revenge, Faw-Faw!

What have they done with him? Dismantled him, fused him, melted him, battered him, crushed him? Has his metal become bullets, gunbarrels, bombshells? Or were the bars on the window of my room once his strong cool chest, his sturdy legs, his comforting arms?

Oh, Faw-Faw, my robot. How I wish you were here!

THE END