The car drew up in front of a familiar house. When they were inside, Ma said, ‘Could have died, Pa. Why on earth did you go and provoke Mr Wcz like that?’
‘Provoke — what in the world?’
‘Didn’t you see the scars? That man’s had his face lifted, more than once. He’s as old as we are, and you asking him about his dad! Honestly!’
‘My day for goofs, I guess. Anyway, our boy’s back. Safe and sound.’
‘And pig-ignorant,’ said Ma. She put both hands up to scratch her head, the way she always did when she was thinking hard. The green dandruff flew. ‘Can’t have him grow up thinking two and two is four,’ she said. ‘And there’s only one answer.’
VII
SOME LAWS OF ROBOTICS (I)
Robots are in comics but they are not real.
Robots are made of controls.
Robots are made of metal and iron and steel.
Robots kill.
They strangle.
They shoot people and destroy them.
They keep killing and killing.
Miss Borden had tan hair exactly matching her tan pants suit, and watery blue eyes exactly matching the scarf at her throat. A chain ran from the bow of her glasses to the back of her neck (to the knob of tan hair) and it exactly matched the chain running from her belt to a bunch of keys. He had never seen such a neatly-matched-up person; he stared while she selected a key and matched it to the door marked with her name: ELIZABETH BORDEN PRING—
‘Don’t dawdle,’ she said. Princess?
‘Don’t be shy, Roderick.’ Ma took his hand and led him into the business room.
‘Yes, I can see he’ll cause — have special problems, Mrs Wood. The handicapped and the disadvantaged are so often — but never mind, we’ll manage somehow. Now where have I put those forms?’
‘Handicapped? Well no, not exactly, he’s—’
‘Of course you don’t think of him as abnormal, glad to see that, admirable the way you parents — now let’s see, was it 77913 or 77923? — Yes, I always feel it’s best to treat them as normal, healthy children and just let them find their own level, sink or sw — find their own level. Achievementwise. After all, isn’t that pretty much the basis of our democratic… of course it is, and I’m sure little Robert will fit in just fine…’
‘Roderick. His name is—’
‘At the same time it’s best to find a way of keying him in, don’t you agree? Relating him to the system, here it is, 77913, just a few routine questions I have to ask—’
‘You mean how well does he read and write, things like that?’
‘Yes um but not exactly. We generally like to let reading and writing find their own lev — shall we begin?’ She fiddled with a brooch and suddenly unreeled another gold chain with a tiny ballpoint pen at the end. Her left hand ironed the pink form ready. ‘Has he any juvenile record?’
‘You mean criminal — why heavens no.’
‘Good, good. Any peculiar illnesses? Aside from his obvious handicap, that is.’
Ma cleared her throat. ‘Miss Borden, maybe I haven’t explained things too well. Roderick is—’
Miss Borden held up a hand. ‘Don’t mean to rush you but I’ve got a meeting with the school security personnel in a few minutes, suppose we just run right through these first and then after we can clear up any little discrep — Oh of course! You’re worried about giving out informa — oh but let me assure you this is strictly confidential, here, here’s a list of the agencies we’re legally entitled to a data-share with, see for yourself there’s nothing to worry about.’
She handed Ma a sheet of paper printed on both sides with names ranging from the Nebraska Welfare Investigation Bureau to the Presidential Committee on Population Control. ‘Okay, no history of illness then, how about chemotherapy?’
‘Chemo what?’
‘Medication, what kinds of medication will little Rodney require and how often? Tranquillizers, anti-depressants, enkephalides—’
‘Well, none. Nothing.’
After a moment’s hesitation, Miss Borden marked a box. ‘Now we’re getting somewhere. Has he been in analysis? If so for how long and which therapeutic method? No? Fine. How about his training. Pottywise, I mean.’
‘He doesn’t need — no trouble that way.’
‘Good, fine. Now for some details. How often does he have tantrums, Mrs Wood?’
‘Never.’
The pen poised. ‘There’s no place on the form for “never”, Mrs Wood. All children have tantrums. I’ll tick “seldom” if you like but I wish you’d try answering these questions a little more frankly. Now would you call him a hyperactive child?’
‘I’m not even sure I know what that m—’
‘Okay then he’s not. Epileptic fits? No? Screaming? No? Excellent. Aggression — does he get into fights with other kids a lot? Good. Ever started a fire? Tortured an animal to death? Maimed another child? Fine. Now is he what you might call introverted — moody? I imagine so, being handi — disadvantaged like that, better put Yes. Suicide attempts? None? Fine. Is he sexually advanced for his age? No? That seems to cover the basics. Think we’ll exempt him from sports for the time being, don’t you.?’
Miss Borden asked dozens of questions about the whereabouts of Mr Wood, family income, mortgage payments and health insurance plans, earnings-related benefits, history of colour-blindness and left-handedness, whether any grandparent was syphilitic or tubercular or a giant.
‘Fine, now just one more: can you think of any special experiences little Robin might have had which could affect him educationwise?’
‘Well… he was kidnapped by gipsies.’
‘Seriously Mrs — really kidnapped? Well then of course that alters his rating for sexual precocity doesn’t it? Fine, now I’ll just have my secretary key this into our data terminal and we’ll be ready for some tests. Might as well go home now Mrs Wood, this could take the rest of the day. We’ll call you.’
Roderick was whisked away by Miss Borden to another business room, where a kindly-looking man looked at him over his glasses.
‘The er Wood boy is it? I’m Dr Welby, heh heh, don’t be nervous boy, been a family doctor to your Ma and Pa for a good many years now, good many years.’ He stood Roderick up on his desk and looked him over. ‘Well well, yes, mmm, says here your regular doctor is a Dr Sonnenschein in Minnetonka.’ He applied a stethoscope here and there. ‘Heart seems fine, yes, I’d say—’ He looked at his watch. ‘I’d say we can give you a clean bill of health, Roger.’ Dr Welby stepped to the door. ‘Over to you, George. Kid’s clean, I’ll fill out the form later only just on my way to see Bangfield about that lakeside property thing…’
‘Check.’ A young man in white came in, lifted Roderick down to a chair, and said, ‘How are ya, Roger?’
‘Fine. I’ve got a clean bill.’ He noticed that Mr George had lots of wiry black hair and red pimples. ‘Only I like to be called Roderick.’
‘Oh?’ George stared at him. ‘Now why is that?’
‘Because it’s my name.’
‘Is it? Okay, Roderick, now don’t let this white coat make you nervous, we’re just here to play a few games. You like games, Roderick?’
‘Yes.’ But if the man didn’t want to make someone nervous with his white coat, why did he wear it?