americanshortstories

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ 176 Ray Bradbury neurotic: mentally or emotionally disturbed hair. The African veldtland was gone. The lions were gone. Only Rima was here now, singing a song so beautiful that it brought tears to your eyes. George Hadley looked in at the changed scene. “Go to bed,” he said to the children. They opened their mouths. “You heard me,” he said. They went off to the air closet, where a wind sucked them like brown leaves up the flue to their slumber rooms. George Hadley walked through the singing glade and picked up something that lay in the corner near where the lions had been. He walked slowly back to his wife. “What is that?” she asked. “An old wallet of mine,” he said. He showed it to her. The smell of hot grass was on it and the smell of a lion. There were drops of saliva on it, it had been chewed and there were blood smears on both sides. He closed the nursery door and locked it, tight. In the middle of the night he was still awake and he knew his wife was awake. “Do you think Wendy changed it?” she said at last, in the dark room. “Of course.” “Made it from a veldt into a forest and put Rima there instead of lions?” “Yes.” “Why?” “I don’t know. But it’s staying locked until I find out.” “How did your wallet get there?” “I don’t know anything,” he said, “except that I’m beginning to be sorry we bought that room for the children. If children are neurotic at all, a room like that—” “It’s supposed to help them work off their neuroses in a healthful way.” “I’m starting to wonder.” He stared at the ceiling. “We’ve given the children everything they ever wanted. Is this our reward—secrecy, disobedience?” “Who was it said, ‘Children are carpets, they should be stepped on occa- sionally’? We’ve never lifted a hand. They’re insufferable—let’s admit it. They I don’t know anything,” he said, “except that I’m begin- ning to be sorry we bought that room for the children. If children are neurotic at all, a room like that—”