question, hoping that the trauma of acceptance was now behind us.
But next day, I found the mirror broken into half a dozen pieces, each one laid carefully facedown on the chest of drawers in his room. When 1 asked indignantly why he had done this, he explained patiently that it made better magic that way. And he proceeded to prop the pieces of glass above a drawing at angles which produced a strange, distorted maze of reflections.
"You see, Mama, you were wrong about mirrors," he said triumphantly. "You can make all sorts of magic with them. I wonder what they would show if I bent them? Do you think they would go soft enough to bend if I put them in the fire?"
"I've no idea!" I said with horror. "And don't you even think of trying such a silly trick! All you will succeed in doing is burning yourself. Erik… Erik, are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Mama," he said innocently. But he did not look at me as he said it, and I was immediately suspicious of such easy acquiescence. He did not normally give in so easily.
I would have taken the pieces of glass away from him on the spot, but I hesitated to provoke one of his terrible rages, which would only end in a savage beating. Perhaps I should be glad that he had overcome his irrational terror of such a simple everyday object. And if he burned himself… well, he would not do it again.
I decided to leave well enough alone.
"Madeleine."
Marie came into the kitchen, and as she closed the door behind her with a furtive gesture, I became aware that her earnest face was creased with anxiety.
"I think you should know," she continued uneasily, "that Erik has asked me to buy him some glass and tin… and a glass cutter. He gave me this and begged me not to tell you."
She held out her palm to display a hundred francs and I frowned.
"So that's where the money went… I had my suspicions. What did you say to him?"
She sighed. "Well, of course I knew the money couldn't possibly be his. I told him it was wrong to steal… and— and he just looked at me as though he didn't understand a word I was saying."
I nodded grimly. "He understands only what he wishes to understand. All he cares for at the moment is satisfying this morbid obsession with illusion and magic. And he knows how much it angers me—I told him last week he could not have that glass."
"What on earth does he want it for?"
"He wants to make mirrors—can you believe it? Magic mirrors that will show him only what he wants to see. For hundreds of years the Venetians kept the secret of their craft from the rest of the world and now this child—this
crazy
child—thinks he can start making mirrors in an attic bedroom. Thank God I never told him about the mercury or he would have demanded that, too, I suppose! What in God's name makes him behave like this?"
Marie laid the money on the table and looked at me thoughtfully.
"I think you must let him have this glass which is so very important to him," she said after a moment.
"Oh, really!" I retorted coldly. "Perhaps you think he should have the mercury, too, so that he can poison us all when the fancy takes him."
She shrugged uneasily. "Madeleine, if you don't give that glass to him he will simply find a way of taking it for himself. Do you want him to start breaking your windows?"
I stared at her in horror. "You think he is capable of such wickedness?"
She shook her head slowly.
"I don't think he would consider it wickedness, Madeleine—simply the next logical step toward his objective."
"The end justifies the means…" I said softly, looking inward. "That is the teaching of the devil."
She was silent, looking at the floor, and I knew that in her heart she was forced to agree.
At the end of the week, when I presented him with the glass and tin foil, I had to turn away from his cry of delight. He disappeared to his room for the rest of the day and that evening I found him rigid with fury at his failure.
"There must be a better way," he muttered, "I shall ask
But next day, I found the mirror broken into half a dozen pieces, each one laid carefully facedown on the chest of drawers in his room. When 1 asked indignantly why he had done this, he explained patiently that it made better magic that way. And he proceeded to prop the pieces of glass above a drawing at angles which produced a strange, distorted maze of reflections.
"You see, Mama, you were wrong about mirrors," he said triumphantly. "You can make all sorts of magic with them. I wonder what they would show if I bent them? Do you think they would go soft enough to bend if I put them in the fire?"
"I've no idea!" I said with horror. "And don't you even think of trying such a silly trick! All you will succeed in doing is burning yourself. Erik… Erik, are you listening to me?"
"Yes, Mama," he said innocently. But he did not look at me as he said it, and I was immediately suspicious of such easy acquiescence. He did not normally give in so easily.
I would have taken the pieces of glass away from him on the spot, but I hesitated to provoke one of his terrible rages, which would only end in a savage beating. Perhaps I should be glad that he had overcome his irrational terror of such a simple everyday object. And if he burned himself… well, he would not do it again.
I decided to leave well enough alone.
"Madeleine."
Marie came into the kitchen, and as she closed the door behind her with a furtive gesture, I became aware that her earnest face was creased with anxiety.
"I think you should know," she continued uneasily, "that Erik has asked me to buy him some glass and tin… and a glass cutter. He gave me this and begged me not to tell you."
She held out her palm to display a hundred francs and I frowned.
"So that's where the money went… I had my suspicions. What did you say to him?"
She sighed. "Well, of course I knew the money couldn't possibly be his. I told him it was wrong to steal… and— and he just looked at me as though he didn't understand a word I was saying."
I nodded grimly. "He understands only what he wishes to understand. All he cares for at the moment is satisfying this morbid obsession with illusion and magic. And he knows how much it angers me—I told him last week he could not have that glass."
"What on earth does he want it for?"
"He wants to make mirrors—can you believe it? Magic mirrors that will show him only what he wants to see. For hundreds of years the Venetians kept the secret of their craft from the rest of the world and now this child—this
crazy
child—thinks he can start making mirrors in an attic bedroom. Thank God I never told him about the mercury or he would have demanded that, too, I suppose! What in God's name makes him behave like this?"
Marie laid the money on the table and looked at me thoughtfully.
"I think you must let him have this glass which is so very important to him," she said after a moment.
"Oh, really!" I retorted coldly. "Perhaps you think he should have the mercury, too, so that he can poison us all when the fancy takes him."
She shrugged uneasily. "Madeleine, if you don't give that glass to him he will simply find a way of taking it for himself. Do you want him to start breaking your windows?"
I stared at her in horror. "You think he is capable of such wickedness?"
She shook her head slowly.
"I don't think he would consider it wickedness, Madeleine—simply the next logical step toward his objective."
"The end justifies the means…" I said softly, looking inward. "That is the teaching of the devil."
She was silent, looking at the floor, and I knew that in her heart she was forced to agree.
At the end of the week, when I presented him with the glass and tin foil, I had to turn away from his cry of delight. He disappeared to his room for the rest of the day and that evening I found him rigid with fury at his failure.
"There must be a better way," he muttered, "I shall ask
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