americanshortstories

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★ 178 Ray Bradbury “That sounds dreadful! Would I have to tie my own shoes instead of letting the shoe tier do it? And brush my own teeth and comb my hair and give myself a bath?” “It would be fun for a change, don’t you think?” “No, it would be horrid. I didn’t like it when you took out the picture painter last month.” “That’s because I wanted you to learn to paint all by yourself, son.” “I don’t want to do anything but look and listen and smell; what else is there to do?” “All right, go play in Africa.” “Will you shut off the house sometime soon?” “We’re considering it.” “I don’t think you’d better consider it any more, Father.” “I won’t have any threats from my son!” “Very well.” And Peter strolled off to the nursery. m I on time?” said David McClean. “Breakfast?” asked George Hadley. “Thanks, had some. What’s the trouble?” “David, you’re a psychologist.” “I should hope so.” “Well, then, have a look at our nursery. You saw it a year ago when you dropped by; did you notice anything peculiar about it then?” “Can’t say I did; the usual violences, a tendency toward a slight paranoia here or there, usual in children because they feel persecuted by parents con- stantly, but, oh, really nothing.” They walked down the hall. “I locked the nursery up,” explained the father, “and the children broke back into it during the night. I let them stay so they could form the patterns for you to see.” There was a terrible screaming from the nursery. “There it is,” said George Hadley. “See what you make of it.” They walked in on the children without rapping. The screams had faded. The lions were feeding. “Run outside a moment, children,” said George Hadley. “No, don’t change the mental combination. Leave the walls as they are. Get!” With the children gone, the two men stood studying the lions clustered at a distance, eating with great relish whatever it was they had caught.