Эд Макбейн - Robert

“What is it, Dad?” the boy asked.

Eddie didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily. He didn’t want to put anything on his son’s memory tapes which might upset him. “Nothing at all, my boy. Thought you had a scratch near your eye.” He clapped him on the shoulder, the plastic as smooth and resilient as any living flesh. “You’re as sound as a dollar. Now beat it and let me read a while.”

Of course they taught the boy to do only good. Recorded on Robert’s memory tapes were the careful teachings of a mother and father who believed faithfully in honesty, truth, love. Nor were they worried about outside influences corrupting their son. They knew that he would only record their own teachings until they had his mechanism adjusted to accept outside offerings. They would do that when he started school. And by that time, they felt the boy’s personality would be thoroughly shaped. They were quite proud of themselves, Eddie and Mary. They had raised a fine boy thus far, and they looked back on their purchase as the real beginning of their lives.

They shared their love for the boy with the entire neighborhood, boasting about him, showing him off, wearing their pride in him like a warm cloak. Mr, Jeffries, Mr. Anderson, the young Clark couple, the D’Allessio’s, McCarthy the cop, the tailor, the baker, everyone knew of Robert, and everyone smiled amiably whenever Robert and Eddie walked down the street.

Eddie forgot all about the twinkle behind Robert’s right eye, because it was hardly noticeable anyway. He told it to Mary, but she accepted it and then forgot it, and they continued to educate the boy through his memory tapes, making him into the upright person they wanted their only son to be.

They were surprised to discover their boy had learned to do evil.

It was Eddie who made the discovery.

He was coming home from work, walking up the street to his small home. He nodded at Josie D’Allessio hanging out her wash, said hello to McCarthy as he swung by on his beat, waved to Mr. Jeffries next door. He came into his own front yard, closing the gate gently behind him.

“Mary?” he called. There was no answer. He shrugged and tucked his newspaper under his arm. “Robert?” This time, when he got no answer, he was slightly alarmed. Until he heard the noises coming from behind the garage. A smile expanded over his face as he recognized Robert’s voice. Quietly, he put his paper down on the front stoop and tiptoed around the house.

He could hear Robert’s voice more clearly now. He could hardly keep from laughing as he moved closer. And then he heard what Robert was saying.

“Kill it! Kill it! Kill the living thing!”

A shock ran up his spine, and he froze motionless, blinking his eyes. Robert was holding a frog on the ground, blood spilling from its punctured body. With a knife he’d taken from the kitchen drawer, he kept stabbing at the green and crimson mass beneath his spread fingers, intoning his hateful chant.

“Kill it! Kill the living thing!”

Eddie turned away, revulsion crawling through him like a horde of slimy insects.

He went to the bathroom and washed his hands, and then he sat down to wait for Mary. When she came home from the beauty parlor, he told her about it.

“I... I don’t know what to do,” he said. “He... where did he pick that up?”

“Did... did you scold him?”

“Scold him? No, no — of course not.”

“Someone’s been tampering with him,” Mary said. “They’ve fixed his insides so that he can record outside impressions. Someone taught him that.”

“Someone taught him to kill,” Eddie said in a dead voice. “To kill... living things.”

“Who?” Mary asked.

“Who?” Eddie echoed.

When Robert came in to supper that night, his hands were clean, and he bore an angelic smile on his face.

“Hello, son,” Eddie said. “Where have you been hiding all day?”

Robert smiled and took his place at the table. “Down to the ball park,” he said. “Few of the fellows got a game going.”

Eddie’s eyes opened in horror, and he looked at Mary. Mary’s face almost crumpled. This was her twelve-year old son speaking. This was her son lying.

That night, they decided to do something about it.

But the questioning had to be very tactful.

They didn’t want anyone to know that Robert was a robot, and; yet they wanted to find out just who had fed his memory tapes such poison.

They took different sections of the neighborhood, dividing all the houses and shops between them.

Everyone was most co-operative. They answered all the questions that were put to them. No, they hadn’t seen any of the neighbors behaving strangely with Robert. No, they hadn’t even seen any of them alone with Robert. Why, what was it all about?

Eddie moved from house to house, from store to store. Something was troubling him. Something about the way they’d looked at him, with pity was it? Or what? Just what? He didn’t pinpoint it until he spoke to Mr. Jeffries next door.

“So you’re worried about the boy, eh?” Mr. Jeffries asked.

“Yes. Yes, I am. I feel... I think someone has been... been corrupting him.”

Mr. Jeffries chuckled. “Now, now, Eddie, that’s silly.”

“No,” Eddie insisted. “Someone has been twisting his mind. Someone is teaching him to... to kill.”

Mr. Jeffries opened his eyes wide, and Eddie looked deep into their pupils.

“Y-yes,” Eddie stammered.

“To kill, you say?”

Eddie kept looking into Mr. Jeffries’ eyes. “To... to kill living things,” he said.

Mr. Jeffries laughed loudly. “Well, now, we’re all living things.” He paused. “Aren’t we?”

Eddie turned and ran. He had seen it there, deep in Mr. Jeffries’ eyes; he had seen it and he knew what it was now. He threw open the front door.

“Mary,” he shouted. “Mary! Oh my God, Mary!”

His wife was sitting on the couch, her head buried in her hands. She had just returned from covering her half of the neighborhood, and she was still wearing her coat. She looked up when Eddie came into the room.

“Mary,” he said, “we’ve got to get out of here. Mr. Jeffries, the D’Allessio’s, the Clarks—”

“And McCarthy the cop, and the Steins, and the grocer, and—” She buried her face in her hands. “It’s no use, Eddie. It’s no use. We can’t run away.”

“The flicker,” he said. “Behind the right eye. The flicker.”

“Yes... yes.” Mary’s voice was broken and toneless.

“Robots,” Eddie said flatly. “All robots. Every last one of them. Robots.”

He fell to his knees at Mary’s feet, burying his head in her lap.

Neither of them heard Robert as he came into the room with the pair of shears clutched tightly in his fist, his eyes flickering.