Peter looked at his shoes. He never looked at his father any more, nor at his mother. «You aren't going to lock up the nursery for good, are you?»
«That all depends.»
«On what?» snapped Peter.
«On you and your sister. If you intersperse this Africa with a little variety — oh, Sweden perhaps, or Denmark or China ―»
«I thought we were free to play as we wished.»
«You are, within reasonable bounds.»
«What's wrong with Africa, Father?»
«Oh, so now you admit you have been conjuring up Africa, do you?»
«I wouldn't want the nursery locked up,» said Peter coldly. «Ever.»
«Matter of fact, we're thinking of turning the whole house off for about a month. Live sort of a carefree one-for-all existence.»
«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.
«Am 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 constantly, but, oh, really nothing.»
They walked down the ball. «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.
«I wish I knew what it was,» said George Hadley. «Sometimes I can almost see. Do you think if I brought high-powered binoculars here and ―»
David McClean laughed dryly. «Hardly.» He turned to study all four walls. «How long has this been going on?»
«A little over a month.»
«It certainly doesn't feel good.»
«I want facts, not feelings.»
«My dear George, a psychologist never saw a fact in his life. He only hears about feelings; vague things. This doesn't feel good, I tell you. Trust my hunches and my instincts. I have a nose for something bad. This is very bad. My advice to you is to have the whole damn room torn down and your children brought to me every day during the next year for treatment.»
«Is it that bad?»
«I'm afraid so. One of the original uses of these nurseries was so that we could study the patterns left on the walls by the child's mind, study at our leisure, and help the child. In this case, however, the room has become a channel toward-destructive thoughts, instead of a release away from them.»
«Didn't you sense this before?»
«I sensed only that you bad spoiled your children more than most. And now you're letting them down in some way. What way?»
«I wouldn't let them go to New York.»
«What else?»
«I've taken a few machines from the house and threatened them, a month ago, with closing up the nursery unless they did their homework. I did close it for a few days to show I meant business.»
«Ah, ha!»