"Lewis Padgett - When the Bough Breaks 1.0" - читать интересную книгу автора (Padgett Lewis)

"Oh, not yet," Bordent said. "We don't want to overwork him. There's a limit even to super brain power, especially in the very formative period. He's got enough to do, and his attitudes for social contacts won't need forming for a while yet."
Myra joined them. "I don't agree with you there. Like all babies, he's antisocial. He may have superhuman powers but he's subhuman as far as mental and emotional balance go."
"Yeah," Calderon agreed. "This business of giving us electric shocks-"
"He's only playing," Bordent said.
"And teleportation. Suppose he teleports me to Times Square when I'm taking a shower?"
"It's only his play. He's a baby still."
"But what about us?"
"You have the hereditary characteristic of parental tolerance," Bordent explained. "As I told you before, Alexander and his race are the reason why tolerance was created in the first place. There's no great need for it with homo sap. I mean there's a wide space between normal tolerance and normal provocation. An ordinary baby may try his parents severely for a few moments at a time, but that's about all. The provocation is far too small to require the tremendous store of tolerance the parents have. But with the X Free type, it's a different matter."
"There's a limit even to tolerance," Calderon said. "I'm wondering about a creche."
Bordent shook his shiny metallic-sheathed head. "He needs you."
"But," Myra said, "but! Can't you give him just a little discipline?"
"Oh, it isn't necessary. His mind's still immature, and he must concentrate on more important things. You'll tolerate him."
"It's not as though he's our baby any more," she murmured. "He's not Alexander."
"But he is. That's just it. He's Alexander!"
"Look, it's normal for a mother to want to hug her baby. But how can she do that if she expects him to throw her halfway across the room?"
Calderone was brooding. "Will he pick up more... more super powers as he goes along?"
"Why, yes. Naturally."
"He's a menace to life and limb. I still say he needs discipline. Next time I'll wear rubber gloves."
"That won't help," Bordent said, frowning. "Besides, I must insist... no, Joseph Calderon, it won't do. You mustn't interfere. You're not capable of giving him the right sort of discipline-which he doesn't need yet anyway."
"Just one spanking," Calderon said wistfully. "Not for revenge. Only to show him he's got to consider the rights of others."
"He'll learn to consider the rights of other X Free supers. You must not attempt anything of the sort. A spanking-even if you succeeded, which is far from probable-might warp him psychologically. We are his tutors, his mentors. We must protect him. You understand?"
"I think so," Calderon said slowly. "That's a threat."
"You are Alexander's parents, but it's Alexander who is important. If I must apply disciplinary measures to you, I must."
"Oh, forget it," Myra sighed. "Joe, let's go out and walk in the park while Bordent's here."
"Be back in two hours," the little man said. "Good-by."


As time went past, Calderon could not decide whether Alexander's moronic phases or his periods of keen intelligence were more irritating. The prodigy had learned new powers; the worst of that was that Calderon never knew what to expect, or when some astounding gag would be sprung on him. Such as the time when a mess of sticky taffy had materialized in his bed, filched from the grocery by deft teleportation. Alexander thought it was very funny. He laughed.
And, when Calderon refused to go to the store to buy candy because he said he had no money-"Now don't try to teleport me. I'm broke."-Alexander had utilized mental energy, warping gravity lines shockingly. Calderon found himself hanging upside-down in midair, being shaken, while loose coins cascaded out of his pocket. He went after the candy.
Humor is a developed sense, stemming basically from cruelty. The more primitive a mind, the less selectivity exists. A cannibal would probably be profoundly amused by the squirmings of his victim in the seething kettle. A man slips on a banana peel and breaks his back. The adult stops laughing at that point, the child does not. And a civilized ego finds embarrassment as acutely distressing as physical pain. A baby, a child, a moron, is incapable of practicing empathy. He cannot identify himself with another individual. He is regrettably autistic; his own rules are arbitrary, and garbage strewn around the bedroom was funny to neither Myra nor Calderon.
There was a little stranger in the house. Nobody rejoiced. Except Alexander. He had a lot of fun.
"No privacy," Calderon said. "He materializes everywhere, at all hours. Darling, I wish you'd see a doctor."
"What would he advise?" Myra asked. "Rest, that's all. Do you realize it's been two months since Bordent took over?"
"And we've made marvelous progress," Bordent said, coming over to them. Quat was en rapport with Alexander on the carpet, while the other two dwarfs prepared the makings of a new gadget. "Or, rather, Alexander has made remarkable progress."
"We need a rest," Calderon growled. "If I lose my job, who'll support that genius of yours?" Myra looked at her husband quickly, noting the possessive pronoun he had used.
Bordent was concerned. "You are in difficulty?"
"The Dean's spoken to me once or twice. I can't control my classes any more. I'm too irritable."
"You don't need to expend tolerance on your students. As for money, we can keep you supplied. I'll arrange to get some negotiable currency for you."
"But I want to work. I like my job."
"Alexander is your job."
"I need a maid," Myra said, looking hopeless. "Can't you make me a robot or something? Alexander scares every maid I've ever managed to hire. They won't stay a day in this madhouse."
"A mechanical intelligence would have a bad effect on Alexander," Bordent said. "No."
"I wish we could have guests in once in a while. Or go out visiting. Or just be alone," Myra sighed.
"Some day Alexander will be mature, and you'll reap your reward. The parents of Alexander. Did I ever tell you that we have images of you two in the Great Fogy Hall?"
"They must look terrible," Calderon said. "I know we do now."
"Be patient. Consider the destiny of your son."
"I do. Often. But he gets a little wearing sometimes. That's quite an understatement."
"Which is where tolerance comes in," Bordent said. "Nature planned well for the new race."
"Mm-m-m."
"He is working on sixth-dimensional abstractions now. Everything is progressing beautifully."