James White: Un-Birthday Boy

Every morning he tried very hard not to waken into his unhappy world, but the wall beeper would only get louder until he turned it off to let his mother know that he was awake and would be out for breakfast as soon as he had washed and dressed. The voices of the three other children came through the adjoining wall, louder and more excited than usual because today was Danal’s birthday and there would be a party and presents. He especially hated waking up on a birthday because those days were the unhappiest of all for him since he had never had one.

He was the only member of the family with his own room, he thought as he cleaned himself all over with the special sponge that was supposed to help take away the smell that they all said came from his body, then he deliberately looked out of the window while he dressed. Not so long ago he had needed his mother or one of the other children to help him with his fastenings, but now he was able to dress and look outside at the same time. Even his father, while visiting his room to do nasty things to him, had said that he was showing a change for the better and that it was about time. But there was never any change in the view from his window, just the same haze of stars moving past like banks of bright speckled fog and the sun-shadows moving slowly along the metal framework that held their house to the rim of the spacestation.

All at once the other room became quiet and empty. He waited for as long as he could then followed the others into breakfast before his mother could come in to ask him if he was feeling sick again.

It was the fourteenth birthday party that he had attended, five for each of the two older children and four for the youngest one who was his favorite, although there might have been others that he had been too young to remember. They always began at breakfast time so that his father could join in and distribute the presents before dressing for work. Because it took so long to get into and out of a spacesuit and to check everything, the children would not see him again until it was nearly bedtime. His father spent the last hour of the day playing with the children in their rooms, but some of the things he did to him when they were alone together were not nice so that he would have been pleased not to have a father at all.

“Since this is another birthday,” said his father, smiling at everyone in turn, “we have again been given permission to let you spend today playing in the Center. Your mother will stay with you until 1 finish for the day and we come back for another party. This time the area of wall netting has been extended and the metal projections padded so that there is no risk of you injuring yourselves. But don’t get overexcited or jump off too fast because a collision at speed with the net supports or each other will hurt and would certainly spoil the rest of the birthday for you. And if someone was to be seriously injured you might not be allowed to play in the Center again. So be very careful, all of you.”

Why, he thought, does he always look at me when he says things like that?

“And now,” his father went on, “the presents…”

Danal, the birthday boy, was given his present first. It was a large box wrapped in used computer paper, and while he was opening it his younger brother Cawn and sister Wana were given smaller presents so that they would not feel bad because it wasn’t their birthday. It wasn’t his birthday, either, it was never ever his birthday, so he was given a present as well. It turned out to be a well-worn, animal soft toy, a castoff that had been given to Wana when she had been only two.

He said “Thank you,” like the others, and put it down beside his bowl even though he wanted to pull its legs off and throw it at them. When he saw the nice things that the others were getting he tried not to speak, but the angry words came out anyway.

“Why don’t I get presents like that?” he said, waving his arms and almost knocking over the food bowl as he tried to point at all of them at once.

“This thing is for, for babies! Why don’t you give me toys and games that light up and make noises and do things? You don’t want me here. You don’t love me, not like the way you do the others. I heard them talking about it. You, you don’t even give me nice things to eat!”

This time it was little Wana who pointed. She was the youngest and smallest of the children and she always talked to him as if he wasn’t stupid. With her tiny hand almost touching his face she said, “Why are your eyes all wet?”

“Of course we love you like the others,” said his mother. “It is just that—”

“—It isn’t easy to have toys sent ’way out here,” his father joined in. “There are weight restrictions on non-essential supplies for personal use, and we have to take good care of them. If you promise to be very careful and not lose your temper if the game is too difficult, Danal or Cawn will let you play with one of their old ones until you’re able to—”

“No!” said Danal in a very loud voice. “I let him play with a game last year, remember? It was a flight simulator, an old one but still working, and he smashed it into bits before bedtime. He has hands like clumsy feet and he talks funny and he’s got a big head with no brains in it. I won’t do it, 1 won’t.”

“Me, too,” said Cawn in a quieter voice. “He always breaks things. He’s rough and he’s not like us and we don’t like him. Why don’t you just send him away?”

“Stop talking like that, right now,” said his father, “and listen to me. He can’t help what he does and maybe he will learn not to break things one of these years. Maybe it was the accident when he was a baby, or being so long in that survival pod with not enough food in the dispenser that made him slow-witted. He was nearly dead when we found him. You have to make allowances for him not being…”

An argument started between his mother and father and the two boys; the same argument that happened at every birthday party for as long as he could remember. It made him feel very bad. He was wiping his eyes with his fingers when Wana leaned sideways in her chair towards him.

“ I like you,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to go away. I think you’re nice and fat and cuddly, and you’ve got a big, funny head.”

All at once he felt a warm, sad, glad feeling that made his eyes get wet again, but he could not find the words to tell her about it. The argument was still going on between Danal, Cawn, and his parents, but it stopped when his father stood up.

“Enjoy your presents,” he said. “It’s time I left for work.”

“Coward,” said his mother, rising to go to the door with him. The boys stopped arguing and went back to exploring their presents and deliberately ignoring him. He was staring down at the old soft doll when he felt Wana’s fingers poking into his arm.

When he looked at her he saw that she was watching the two older boys and pushing her bowl sideways towards him. It was still half-filled with big, flat, pieces of yellow and red fruit floating in thick juice and his mouth watered just looking at it.

“Thank you. Wana,” he said, reaching for the bowl. “Would you like some of mine?”

She looked down at the gray, lumpy contents of his bowl and said, “Yuk.”

“Me, too,” he said.

He had succeeded in making one of the pieces of soft, slippery fruit stay on the spoon and was lifting it carefully to his mouth when his mother came back and started scolding everybody except him.

“Don’t let him eat that!” she said. “How many times have I told you not to give him any of your food? He has an allergy to fruit and practically everything else in this place. Don’t ask—an allergy means that certain things make him sick or brings him out in itchy spots. Wana, don’t ever give him your breakfast again. And you boys are old enough to know better. Why didn’t you stop her? Go into the living room and play with your toys. Leave the door open so I can hear what you’re doing…