I tripped him into revealing that he himself knows a very
great deal about them. Perhaps more than I do.

"I begin to suspect now that I didn't set my sights nearly high enough
in leading him on, but God alone knows where he could have learned. On
anything that could be related to the humanities he's very slow, but in
the physical sciences he's out of this world. His secluded life--unable
to mix with other kids, go to shows, games, or do anything that gets
him into crowds--gives him a very limited background for understanding
his environment, leaves him unboyish. He doesn't understand people. I
constantly have the impression that he is anxious to do the right thing,
but is simply baffled by problems in human relations."

"I know. He looks at me sometimes as though he's just desperate to reach
me somehow--a lonely, unhappy little soul. He gets plenty of affection
from both of us, but it isn't the answer--it just isn't the answer."

"Tell me, Helen, do you love your son?"

"Do I--! Well, now, really Phil--what kind of a question is that?"

"A simple one. Do you love Timmy?"

"Of course I do. He's very dear to me."

"_Do you love your son?_"

"Now look here--! I told you.... Phil, what are you getting at?"

"I'm wondering why you have no doubt that you love Timmy, but the
question of whether you love your son confuses you and throws you on
the defensive. You react strongly, evade answering, take refuge in
exclamations and unfinished sentences. A species of stuttering. Can it
be that you find it difficult to think of Timmy as your son? _Do you
doubt that he is your son?_ Here, sit down! I didn't think it would hit
you so hard."

"Phil, the only other moment like this in my life was when I first
admitted to myself years ago that Timmy was ... what he used to be.
An imbecile. Phil, it _can't_ be true! He _is_ my son! There's been
no substitution, no--"

"Easy, Helen, easy. I agree with you. I've checked back as fully as I
can, and I'm sure there's been no trickery of any sort. Timmy was born
to you eleven years ago, beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"But you've felt it too, haven't you? He's sweet and lovable in his
funny, confused way, talking like a comic-strip kid one minute and an
encyclopedia the next--so empty and faraway sometimes, then loving and
affectionate, as though to make up to us for being ... away. I'm sure he
loves us, Jerry and I, as much as we love him, but I feel that we've
failed him, that he wa