"Now don't tell me it was just a coincidence. Timmy hadn't seen that problem before and it should have been miles over his head anyway, yet he gave it a quick glance, spotted the error, changed the limits of an integration and put Jerry on the right track. Just like that." * * * * * Phil carefully massaged a dry plate even drier. "So I stagger back and gasp, 'I can't believe it!' or something insane but appropriate. The disturbing thing to me is that I not only _can_ believe it, I do believe it. Completely. I may as well tell you now what I haven't yet told anyone else, that I've been methodically tricking Timmy for some months past--in fact, ever since I began to suspect that his knowledge of the sciences was, to say the least, unusual for a boy his age. I probably led him into making that slip with Jerry, identifying the curve. By giving him the impression that any boy his age would know far more chemistry, math and physics than is actually the case, 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--"