"It's supposed to help them work off their neuroses in a healthful way."
"I'm starting to wonder." He stared at the ceiling.
"We've given the children everything they ever wanted. Is this our reward--secrecy, disobedience?"
"Who was it said, 'Children are carpets, they should be stepped on occasionally'? We've never lifted a hand. They're insufferable--let's admit it. They come and go when they like; they treat us as if we were offspring. They're spoiled and we're spoiled."
"They've been acting funny ever since you forbade them to take the rocket to New York a few months ago."
"They're not old enough to do that alone, I explained."
"Nevertheless, I've noticed they've been decidedly cool toward us since."
"I think I'll have David McClean come tomorrow morning to have a look at Africa."
"But it's not Africa now, it's Green Mansions country and Rima."
"I have a feeling it'll be Africa again before then."
A moment later they heard the screams.
Two screams. Two people screaming from downstairs. And then a roar of lions.
"Wendy and Peter aren't in their rooms," said his wife.
He lay in his bed with his beating heart. "No," he said. "They've broken into the nursery."
"Those screams--they sound familiar."
"Do they?"
"Yes, awfully."
And although their beds tried very hard, the two adults couldn't be rocked to sleep for another hour. A smell of cats was in the night air.
"Father?" said Peter.
"Yes."
Peter looked a
t his shoes. He never looked at his father any more, nor at his mother. "You aren't going to lock up the nursery for good, are you?"
"That all depends."
"On what?" snapped Peter.
"On you and your sister. If you intersperse this Africa with a little variety--oh, Sweden perhaps, or Denmark or China--"
"I thought we were free to play as we wished."
"You are, within reasonable bounds."
"What's wrong with Africa, Father?"
"Oh, so now you admit you have been conjuring up Africa, do you?"
"I wouldn't want the nursery locked up," said Peter coldly. "Ever."