Let's Go Play at the Adams'

Frustrated, hurt, still incapable of telling them what he wished to say, he lay sobbing on the

floor. It was a heart-breaking sound, not simply that of a hurt child, but a sound of

abandonment, of having been abandoned by whatever supported him.

Dianne jumped up and ran over to him. Dianne usually moved with glacial calm, but this

time she flew with a child's movements, abrupt, clumsy, frightened. She rolled Paul over

and cradled his bead in her lap; she hurt for him, it was easy to see. And Paul, when be was

not spastic or twitchy, was a normal enough boy. He had pale brown hair that was thin and

curly: his eyes were brown and warm. Against the cotton of Dianne's short dress, he looked

adorable. And pleading, somehow.

Dianne stroked his head for the bump. "Are you hurt?"

"I

I

" h b

.

d

.

. . . . .. , e egan agam an agam.

"Paul! Paul, listen to me. Hush now." "I ... what?"

"Paul, you can do it." "What?"

"Kill her."

"Me?" , ''Kill her," Dianne said. "Just like we said." Paul was somewhat pacified. He slowed

his crying.

198

"You can tell us what to do, and do it- first. You understand me?"

"I can?" A clarifying light thinned the color of his eyes to amber-amber like that of a

cat's.

Dianne looked up at the other three. She had asked for very little in her life and didn't

know how. "He can be first, can't he?" she said. "It isn't fair, but he'd like it-',

''I ... I .... ''

"Be first at what?" Cindy said.

"Be first-kill her." Paul was still somewhat incoherent. He rolled over on his side and

pressed his face against his thin sister's stomach as if he wanted to crawl into her

womb. His legs curled up in the foetal position, be looked like something waiting to be

born.

"He can, can't he?"

"Wait a minute," Bobby said. "We were having a meeting about it. We never voted. We

never decided anything-"

John had to acknowledge this true, though it seemed to annoy him. "OK then, we'll

vote. For killing her, who?"

"Me." Paul (well who else?). "Me." Dianne.

"Me," John got in.

"Oh-I guess so." Cindy.

"No." Bobby. He had stopped crying, but he was

still dismayed.

"Well, you wanted the vote." "It isn't fair!"

"What isn't?"

"I'm the only one who doesn't want to--" "That's what voting is for."

"-and I have to do something stupid just because 'you don't have the sense to see it.

We're going to get caught. I'm telling you, they'll find out."

"The vote!"

"Wait a minute," Dianne said coolly. "We can go through the first part-get ready-and

then if it doesn't 199

look OK, we can stop. We can always let her go, even at the last minute."

"No hurting her until then?" "Of course not."

"We're not crazy, you know."

Bobby was not satisfied with the meeting at all, but they had voted fair and square, and

they meant to do what they said, if they could. That sort of brought it down to 'the inside

thing, the last question.

"Well," be said. "OK." He needed time to think.

The rest of the morning was somber even by Freedom Five standards. Paul was persuaded

to lie dOWJ!. and rest for a while, to give up his first swim of the day. No more than any other

kid did be willingly take naps while the sun was still shining, but this time he relented.

"If you go home hurt or cranky, Mother's going to wonder why," Dianne said.

"You could mess up everything," John said.

"F

lf t

"

or yourse , oo. . . .

Even Cindy, the slightest unselfish trace coming out in her, put a soft little hand on his

head. "We can play and swim after lunch," she said. "I'll go with you. If you want to. We can

build bridges and stuff."

Bobby nodded, and Paul reluctantly shut his eyes.

He was obviously in some lingering state of upsetpale, trembly, perspiry-but he tried to

obey, and they left him.

Even at the beach, however, the mood did not lighten. It was terrifically bot: the water felt

like lukewarm mud, and the sand flies with avenging appetite drove them down from place

to place.

"It's really going to do it this afternoon," John

said.

"Rain?" Bobby said. "Squall."

"Yeah," Cindy said.

"What do you know about it?" "I know ... !"

200

"Yeah, it is."

"Are we really going to do it?" Bobby said after a

bit

"What?"

"You know. Kill her.',

John sighed. They were sitting on the half-mud, half-sand bottom, about shoulder-deep in

the water to keep away the files. He picked up a cupped handful of water and let it dribble

through his fingers. "I guess so," he said. "Dianne's got it figured out pretty well."

"Why?"

"I dunno:" The fact that John said he did not know the reason in no way seemed to

undermine his determination to go ahead and do it.

"Do we have to? I mean, what if we went up there now and told her she had to promise not

to tell or she was going to get killed?"

"She'd promise."

"She'd fib!" Cindy said. "Shut up."

"I don't have to. It's my house as much as yours." "You ought to stop picking on her," John

said

gently. "She's got smarts, too. She's right. Barbara'd tell, anyhow."

"Yeah," Bobby conceded. "So we get a whipping, and it's all over. It's not going to kill us.

We had our fun."