"Y-yes, sir."
"And your birthday is February 13, and you had an ear infection about a year ago. Right?"
''Yes, sir."
"Do you know how I know all these things?"
"It's on the card, Ithink, sir."
"That's right." The doctor looked up at George for the first time and smiled. He showed even teeth and looked much younger than George's father. Some of George's nervousness vanished.
The doctor passed the card to George. "Do you know what all those things there mean, George?"
Although George knew he did not he was startled by the sudden request into looking at the card as though he might understand now through some sudden stroke of fate. But they were just marks as before and he passed the card back. "No, sir."
"Why not?"
George felt a sudden pang of suspicion concerning the sanity of this doctor. Didn't he know why not?
George said, "I can't read, sir."
"Would you like to read?"
''Yes, sir.''
"Why, George?"
George stared, appalled. No one had ever asked him that. He had no answer. He said falteringly, "I don't know, sir."
"Printed information will direct you all through your life. There is so much you'll have to know even after Education Day. Cards like this one will tell you. Books will tell you. Television screens will tell you. Printing will tell you such useful things and such interesting things that not being able to read would be as bad as not being able to see. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Are you afraid, George?"
No,sir.''
Good. Now I ll tell you exactly what we ll do first. I m gomg to put
these wires on your forehead just over the corners of your eyes. They'll stick there but they won't hurt at all. Then, I'll ~ on something that wifi make a buzz. It will sound funny and it may tickle you, but it won't hurt. Now if it does hurt, you tell me, and I'll turn it off right away, but it won't hurt. All right?"
George nodded and swallowed.
"Are you ready?"
George nodded. He closed his eyes while the doctor busied himself. His parents had explained this to him. They, too, had said it wouldn't hurt, but then there were always the older children. There were the ten- and twelveyear-olds who howled after the eight-year-olds waiting for Reading Day, "Watch out for the needle." There were the others who took you off in confidence and said, "They got to cut your head open. They use a sharp knife that big with a hook on it," and so on into horrifying details.
George had never believed them but he had had nightmares, and now closed his eyes and felt pure terror.
He didn't feel the wires at his temple. The buzz was a distant thing, and there was the sound of his own blood in his ears, ringing hollowly as though it and he were in a large cave. Slowly he chanced opening his eyes.
The doctor had his back to him. From one of the instruments a strip of paper unwound and was covered with a thin, wavy purple line. The doctor tore off pieces and put them into a slot in another machine. He did it over and over again. Each time a little piece of film came out, which the doctor looked at. Finally, he turned toward George with a queer frown between his eyes.
The buzzing stopped.
George said breathlessly, "Is it over?"
The doctor said, "Yes," but he was still frowning.
"Can I read now?" asked George. He felt no different.
The doctor said, "What?" then smiled very suddenly and briefly. He said, "It works fine, Geoge. You'll be reading in fifteen minutes. Now we're going to use another machine this time and it wifi take longer. I'm going to cover your whole head, and when I turn it on you won't be able to see or hear anything for a while, but it won't hurt. Just to make sure I'm going to give you a little switch to hold in your hand. If anything hurts, you press the little button and everything shuts off. All right?"
In later years, George was told that the little switch was strictly a dummy; that it was introduced solely for confidence. He never did know for sure, however, since he never pushed the button.
A large smoothly curved helmet with a rubbery inner lining was placed over his head and left there. Three or four little knobs seemed to grab at him and bite into his skull, but there was only a little pressure that faded. No pain.
The doctor's voice sounded dimly. "Everything all right, George?"
And then, with no real warning, a layer of thick felt closed down all about him. He was disembodied, there was no sensation, no universe, only himself and a distant murmur at the very ends of nothingness telling him something-telling him-telling him- He strained to hear and understand but there was all that thick felt between.
Then the helmet was taken off his head, and the light was so bright that it hurt his eyes while the doctor's voice drummed at his ears.
The doctor said, "Here's your card, George. What does it say?"
George looked at his card again and gave out a strangled shout. The marks weren't just marks at all. They made up words. They were words just as clearly as though something were whispering them in his ears. He could hear them being whispered as he looked at them.
"What does it say, George?"
"It says-it says-'Platen, George. Born 13 February 6492 of Peter and Amy Platen in. . .' "He broke off.
"You can read, George," said the doctor. "It's all over."
"For good? I won't forget how?"
"Of course not." The doctor leaned over to shake hands gravely. "You will be taken home now."
It was days before George got over this new and great talent of his. He read for his father with such facility that Platen, Senior, wept and called relatives to tell the good news.