PRIDE

By Frederick Karinthy

My Baby

YOU want me to show you my son? Well, here he is—just a four months old baby, nothing to show about him, really. I know very well that most young fathers are prejudiced, their first child, you know, think the world of him, handsomest child in the world, cutest child in the world, and all that sort of rot. I can’t understand them at all. I’m perfectly aware that my baby’s no different from any other.

The most I can say is that he’s better developed than most, but that’s all. He’s a healthy kid, just that and no more. Sound in wind and limb. Sound as a bell. But I see nothing extraordinary in that. He’s a perfectly normal child, and if there's anything abnormal about him, or almost abnormal, it is the fact that he has no defect of any kind. I often say to the missus, Gertie, I say, there’s something queer about this child; most other children have something the matter with them, one has six fingers on each hand, another has two heads, and so on, the medical press is full

of it, and this child’s got everything in the right place, so that it’s almost strange. Isn’t that extraordinary? That’s what I say to the missus, because you see, that’s the only thing, otherwise the child is no different from any other.

Except, of course, that I’m afraid he’s developing a bit too fast. Just see the way he looks. He looks straight at you, doesn’t he.

What? So do other babies? Of course they do. I know that. And that’s not really what I mean. But it seems to me that this child has a different look from other babies. He looks straight at you, straight into your face, if you know what I mean. He looks at you with his eyes—

Eh? What else should be look with? Why, don’t be silly, I know he can’t look with his ears because he can’t see with them. But that isn’t what I mean. What I mean is that he’s never tried to see with his ears like other children, he looked with his eyes from the first, don’t you know. I beg your pardon, how could he know when

LILLIPUT

he came into the world what he should look with? He was born with legs, wasn’t he, yet he still doesn’t know that they’re for walking, and it’ll take a long time before he does. I’m not at all prejudiced in favour of my own child, but just look at the way he follows me with his eyes when I walk away from him. Just watch. (The child does not look after him.)

You see, what did I tell you? He doesn’t look after me because he doesn’t want to. Isn’t it wonderful that the little beggar should have a will of his own at four months? He doesn’t wish to look, so he doesn’t. Will power! Isn’t it strange?

And he can hear, old chap, he can hear. He hears every word and takes notice. I don’t mean that he just hears the sounds; oh, no, he can distinguish the words. Don’t misunderstand me, I don’t mean he can understand everything, I’m not so prejudiced, of course he can’t understand, it would be ridiculous for a four months old baby to understand, what I really mean is that he can distinguish the words, and he knows what each word means.

You don’t believe it? Well, what do you think of this—whenever I say ootsie-wootsie he looks up

and laughs. Eh? Why should he laugh when I say that, unless he understood what it means? What?

You say you don’t understand, either? Well, that’s what’s so wonderful about it. You don’t understand and the child does. Watch. Ootsie-wootsie, ootsie-wootsie. . . . (Baby does not look up and does not laugh.)

Did you see that? The way his little mouth twitched? You see the idea, don’t you? He was amused, but he suppressed his laughter. Other babies laugh like mad when they feel like it, but this one contracts his eyes, compresses his lips and holds it back. I’m not at all biased, mind you, but I must say this child’s got self-respect, or shall I call it modesty or tact? It’s happened that he didn’t laugh until I went away, then when he thought I couldn’t see he began to laugh quietly to himself, a quiet, well-bred laugh, you know. Isn’t that curious?

I’m not at all biased, but I really think heredity has a great deal to do with it. You know, these are mysterious things that few people understand, but some children are born with all sorts of things.  For instance my grandfather was a peculiar sort of man,

he could hypnotise other people, not that he put them to sleep, but when they asked a question he would just look into their eyes and they would know at once what answer was in his mind. Peculiar, isn’t it?

What I mean by it? Why, I’ve noticed some peculiar things with this child. Sometimes, when I hold him in my arms like this, you see, like this, and I speak to him . . . well, of course, he doesn’t reply, how could he, but he looks at me as though he wanted to say something. I do think if I tried very

hard to understand. . . . Tell you what, I’m going to make a test. Watch me.

Ootsie-wootsie . . . look at me . . . (You see, he’s looking at me, see the concentration in his eyes?) Tell daddy . . . ootsie-wootsie . . . tell . . . daddy . . . what you . . . think . . . of . . . modern . . . statesmen?

Nurse! Nurse! Take this brat away . . . . Damn it all, my new suit . . . .

Well . . . come to think of it, old chap, that was quite an intelligent reply. . . . Wasn’t it, now?