I left it until the following Saturday afternoon. Then, when Mary had taken away the tea things, and Polly, too, Matthew and I had the verandah to ourselves. I picked up a pencil and scribbled on a newspaper margin:
YNYYNNYY
`What do you reckon that means, Matthew?’ I asked. He glanced at It.
`A hundred and seventy-nine,’ he said.
`It seems complicated when you can just write 179,’ I said. `How does it work?’
Matthew explained the binary code (*) to me, much as Trimble had.
`But do you find that way easier.?’ I asked.
`Only sometimes – and it does make division difficult,’ Matthew told me.
`It seems such a long way round. Wouldn’t it be simpler to stick to the ordinary way?’ I suggested.
`Well, you see, that’s the way I have to use with Chocky because that’s the way she counts, ‘Matthew explained. She doesn’t understand the ordinary way, and she thinks it’s silly to have to bother with ten different figures just because you’ve ten fingers, when all you really need is two fingers.’
I continued to look at the paper while I thought how to go on. So Chocky was in on this – I might have known…
`You mean when Chocky counts she just talks Ys and Ns,’ I enquired.
`Sort of – only not actually What I mean is, I just call them Y and N for Yes and. No, because it’s easier.’
I was still wondering how best to handle this new intrusion of Chocky, but apparently I looked merely baffled, for Matthew went on to explain, patiently.
`See, Daddy. A hundred is YYNNYNN an d because each one is double the one on its right that means, if you start from the right hand end 1 – No, 2 – No, 4 – yes, 8 – No, 16 – No, 32 – yes, 64 – yes. You just add the Yesses together, and it’s a hundred. You can get any number that way. .
I nodded.
`Yes. I see, Matthew But, tell me, where did you first come across this way of doing it?’
`I, just told you, Daddy. It’s the way Chocky always uses.
Once more I was tempted to call the Chocky bluff, but I checked myself. I said, reasonably:
`But she must have got it from somewhere. Did she find it in a book, or something?’
`I don’t know. I expect somebody taught her,’ Matthew told me, vaguely.
I recalled one or two other mathematical queries that Trimble had raised, and put them, as far as I understood the m. I was scarcely surprised to learn that they, too, were devices that Chocky was accustomed to use.
So there we were, at a dead end. I was just about to close the rather fruitless session when Matthew stopped me, disturbingly He emerged from silent reflection, as if he had made up his mind to something. With a somewhat troubled expression, and his eyes fixed on mine he asked:
`Daddy, you don’t think I’m mad, do you?’
I was taken aback. I think I managed not to show it.
`Good heavens, no. What next? What on earth put such an idea into your head?’
`Well, it was Colin, really.’
`You haven’t told him about Chocky.?’ I asked, with a quickening concern.
Matthew shook his head.
`Oh, no. I haven’t told anyone but you, and Mummy – and Polly , he added a little sadly.
`Good,’ I approved. `If I were you I’d keep it that way. But what about Colin?’
`I only asked him if he knew anyone who could hear someone talking inside himself. I wanted to know,’ he explained seriously. `And he said no, because hearing voices was a well known first sign of madness, and people who did hear them either got put in asylums or, burnt at the stake, like Joan of Arc. (*) So I sort of wondered…’
`Oh, that,’ I said, with more conviction than I was feeling.
`That’s something quite different.’ I searched hurriedly and desperately for a valid-sounding difference. `He must have been thinking of the kind of voices that prophesy, tell of disasters to come, and try to persuade people to do foolish things so that they get muddled over what’s right and what’s wrong, and what’s sensible and what isn’t. You’ve no need to worry about that – no need at all.’
I must have sounded more convincing than I felt. Matthew relaxed, and nodded.
`Good,’ he said, with satisfaction. `I think I’d hate to go mad. You see, I don’t feel at all mad.’
When I reported on our session to Mary I suppressed any reference to the last part of it. I felt it would simply add to her anxiety without getting Us any further, so I concentrated on my enquiries into Y an d N business.
`This Chocky affair seems to get more baffling,’ I confessed. `One expects children to keep on making discoveries-well, that’s what’s education’s all about – but one also expects them to be pretty pleased with themselves for making them. There seems to me to be something psychologically unsound when all progress is attributed to a sort of friend instead of to self. It just isn’t normal yet we’ve got to admit that his interests have widened. He’s taking more notice of more things than he used to. And lately he’s been gaining a – a sort of air of responsibility. had you noticed that?…’
`Oh, that reminds me,’ Mary put in, `I had a note today from Miss Toach who takes him for geography It’s a bit confused, but I think it is meant to thank us for helping to stimulate his interest in the subject while at the same time suggesting tactfully that we shouldn’t try to push him too much.’
`Oh,’ I said. `More Chocky?’
`I don’t know, but I rather suspect he’s been asking her the sort of awkward questions he asked me – about where Earth is, and so on.
I thought it over for some moments.
`Suppose we were to change our strategy – hit out at Chocky a bit… ?’ I suggested.
`No,’ she told me. `I don’t think that’s the way. probaby go underground – I mean, he’d lose confidence in us, and turn secretive. And that’d be worse really, wouldn’t it?’
I rubbed my forehead.
`It’s a very difficult. It doesn’t seem wise to go on encouraging him; and it seems unwise to discourage him. So what do we do?’
4
We were still trying to make up our minds the next Tuesday.
That was the day I stopped on the way home to take the new car. It was a station-wagon (*) that I’d bee dreaming of for some time. Lots of room for everyone, and for a load of baggage i the back as well. We all piled in, ad took it out for a short experimental run before supper. I was pleased with the way it handled and thought I’d get to like it. The others were enthusiastic, and by the time we returned it was generally voted that the Gore family was entitled to tilt its chins a degree or two higher. (*)
I left the car parked in front of the garage ready to take Mary and me to a friend’s house later on, and went to write a letter while Mary got the supper.
About a quarter of an hour later came the sound of Matthew’s raised voice. I couldn’t catch what he was saying; it was a noise of half-choked, inarticulate protest. Looking out of the window I noticed that several passers-by had paused and were looking over the gate with expression of uncertain amusement. I went out investigate. I found Matthew standing a few feet from the car, very red in the face, and shouting incoherently. I walked towards him.
`What’s the trouble, Matthew?’ I inquired.
He turned. There were tears of childish rage running down his flushed cheeks. He tried to speak, but choked the words, and grabbed my hand with both of his. I looked at the car which seemed to be the focus of the trouble. It did not appear damaged, nor to have anything visibly a miss with it. Then, conscious of the spectators at the gate, I led Matthew round to the other side of the house, out of their sight. There I sat down on one of the verandah chairs, and took him on my knee. I had never seen him so upset. He was shaking with anger, half-strangled by it, and still with tears heavily streaming. I put an arm round him.
`There now, old man. Take it easy. (*) Take it easy,’ I told him.
Gradually the shaking and the tears began to subside. He breathed more easily. By degrees the tension in him relaxed, and he grew quieter After a time he gave a great exhausted sigh. I handed him my handkerchief. He plied it a bit, and then he blew.