I could use the measurements available, get the degree of intelligence, and in that way grasp the extent of my problem. A twenty point jump in I.Q. creates an entirely different set of problems. The 140 child lives in a world nothing at all like that of the 100 child, and a world which the 120 child can but vaguely sense. The problems which vex and challenge the 160 pass over the 140 as a bird flies over a field mouse. I must not make the mistake of posing the problems of one if she is the other. I must know. In the meantime, I must treat it casually. "That's called the Moebius Strip, Star," I interrupted her thoughts. She came out of her reverie with a start. I didn't like the quick way her eyes sought mine--almost furtively, as though she had been caught doing something bad. "Somebody already make it?" she disappointedly asked. She knew what she had discovered! Something inside me spilled over with grief, and something else caught at me with dread. I kept my voice casual. "A man by the name of Moebius. A long time ago. I'll tell you about him sometime when you're older." "Now. While I'm little," she commanded with a frown. "And don't tell. Read me." What did she mean by that? Oh, she must be simply paraphrasing me at those times in the past when I've wanted the facts and not garbled generalizations. It could only be that! "Okay, young lady." I lifted an eyebrow and glared at her in mock ferociousness, which usually sent her into gales of laughter. "I'll slow you down!" She remained completely sober. I turned to the subject in a physics book. It's not in simple language, by any means, and I read it as rapidly as I could speak. My thought was to make her admit she didn't understand it, so I could translate it into basic language. Her reaction? "You read too slow. Daddy," she complained. She was childishly irritable about it. "You say a word. Then I think a long time. Then you say another word." I knew what she meant. I remember, when I was a child, my thoughts used to dart in and out among the slowly droning words of any adult. Whole patterns of universes would appear and disappear in those brief moments. "So?" I asked. "So," she mocked me impishly. "You teach me to read. Then I can think quick as I want." "Quickly," I corrected in a weak voice. "The word is 'quickly,' an adverb." She looked at me impatiently, as if she saw through this allegedly adult device to show up a younger's ignorance. I felt like the dope! * * * * * _September 1st_ A great deal has happened the past few months. I have tried, a number of times to bring the conversation around to discuss Star's affliction with her. But she is amazingly adroit at heading me off, as though she already knows what I am trying to say and isn't concerned. Perhaps, in spite of her brilliance, she's too young to realize the hostility of the world toward intelligence.