The Short Life

by Francis Donovan

  III

  When he was almost four, Timmy spoke his first words. He said clearlyand matter-of-factly, "I want that one, Helen."

  His mother's mouth slowly opened while her face turned gray with shock.The buckling of her knees in cataplexy forced her to sit down heavilyon a kitchen chair not cushioned for such descents, but she was hardlyaware of it. Timmy, seated on the kitchen floor and surrounded byhalf-grown pups owned by a neighbor, screwed his head around to glanceat her impatiently over his shoulder.

  "I want that one," he repeated confidently, and pointed to the mostill-proportioned of an ill-conceived litter of mongrels. Helen raisedshaking hands to her face, and screamed.

  The quick scrape of a chair in the living room and the sound of hastyfootsteps glissading on the throw-rug in the hall heralded the approachof Timmy's father. The doorway filled with flexing muscles that flexedin vain, but somewhat at a disadvantage by the strictly static tableaux.Helen sat at the table, her staring eyes fixed on the child who lookedback in blank astonishment. Even the pups were motionless, havingcowered in alarm at Helen's scream.

  "What's the matter?" Timmy's father asked.

  His voice was a spur rudely galvanizing her into action, into an awkwardconvulsion that landed her on her knees beside Timmy. She gripped hislittle shoulders with fierce intensity and almost glared into his eyes.

  "Say it again, Timmy--_say it again_!" She looked around wildly."He spoke, Jerry, as clear as anyone! He said 'I want that one,' andpointed! Timmy ... darling ... _angel_ ... say it again!"

  Timmy's face twitched uncertainly, giving the effect of a confused playof expressions. For a moment he looked as though he would cry, but thenthe crumpled, puckered lines magically smoothed. The eyes, dull andblank, stayed dry. He made a senseless noise and slobbered in doing so.His jaw was slack, his chin wet.

  Jerry felt slightly sick.

  "Get up, Helen." He lifted her somewhat roughly to her feet, overrodeher babble. "You're frightening the ... the child."

  "He _talked_, Jerry ... you heard him! _Didn't_ you hear him!"

  "Come in the living room and sit down." She was half-carried, herprotests ignored. There was a certain grim determination in his actionsas he made her comfortable. "Now we're going to face it, Helen. It can'tbe put off. Timmy was heart-wrenching enough by himself, but I've had towatch the change in you in the past few months. You're getting ... well,we'll call it hysterical. I could cut off my arm for saying this, honey,but, if we keep Timmy any longer, you'll just have a breakdown, that'sall!"

  She moaned softly, rocking back and forth in misery's timeless attitude."I can't help it, Jerry. I ... just ... can't ... help it."

  "I know, I know. So I'm making the decision for both of us, here andnow, and on my head be it. Timmy will have to be put away this week,permanently."

  "No!" Her wail was more of anguish than of protest.

  "Yes! I can't stand coming home from work day after day to find you'vemanufactured some new evidence to delude yourself there's hope for him.One day he took the spoon in his hand to feed himself, another day hefocused his eyes and looked around the room as though he was reallytaking everything in--"

  "You said you believed me!"

  "So I did--at first. So I'd sit around all evening watching him,_willing_ him to do something intelligent. And did he? No. Hon, I don'twant to be unkind to you or to him, but I can't stand seeing you deludeyourself, making yourself sick. We've both taken more than is good forus. We're at the end of our rope. We've got to face it now and do whatshould have been done long ago. It's not as if Timmy will miss us. Hedoesn't even know us, after four years!"

  She gathered her forces, shut her eyes tight as if to deny hisexistence. "It's no use, Jerry, I won't do it. I am _not_ deludingmyself. I heard him speak. If that was illusion, it was so real to methat you may as well put us both away together!"

  "Hysterical hallucinations--"

  "Jerry, don't say that again. _I heard him say 'I want that one,Helen!_'"

  "You see! Already you're embroidering what you heard! Now he'scalling his mother by her first name. Honest, Helen, can't you see howridiculous you're being? If you'd thought he said da-da or goo-gooI could have gone along with the gag, but to have him jump the wholelearning stage and come out with a complete, concise, explicit littlesentence ending familiarly with your Christian name--"

  "I don't know how he did it, but he _did_ it."

  Jerry rose from his seat beside her, his lips tight. "I can't honestlysay I love my own child, hard as I've tried. But I can say that I lovehis mother. If I have to bankrupt myself to give Timmy proper care inan institution, then I'll do just that, and do it gladly. But I won'tfalsely place his interests above yours. He was born an idiot and hewill live and die an idiot. Nothing can change that. Timmy goes, andthat's final."

  He clamped his mouth shut and turned toward the kitchen where he knewhis son sat, a stupid lump that couldn't even crawl of its own volition.The stupid lump stood firmly in the doorway, an uncertain, placatingsmile on its lips, a pup cradled in the slender arms.

  "Jerry? I want _this_ one."