BABY TALK
A SHORT STORY BY ARTHUR CHAPPELL
DECEMBER
1998
“ Mother, Father, I have something important to tell you. Oh, please don’t faint, or look so shocked. I might only be three months old, but you have been trying to get me talking, haven’t you? After all, what were those gu-ga, ga-gu glob sounds you keep making if not some kind of incitement to get me talking? Well, I’m talking now, so what do you want?
Explanations? Impossible is it? Babies can’t talk this articulately at so young an age. How do you know, if you’ve never listened to us? Well, we can, though we’re not supposed to. I broke silence because I can’t take any more of your prattle. I don't like pink girlie bonnets, or that slop you call baby food. Who on earth are those awful people who keep on coming to make faces and silly noises at me? My relatives; Oh, Christ!
I’m sorry my being born was so painful for you mother, but I did try to co-operate with the surgeon as he pulled me round. Why did he slap my feet like that, anyway? It hurt.
Please do me a favour, when I am four. If my drawings are as awful as those of my older brother now, don’t patronize me by telling me how good they are. That stuff is crap and you know it. Don’t keep shoving a dummy in my gob when I cry. I cry for good reasons. I want attention. In future, I might just shout you by name instead. Oh, talking of names, why Norman? Couldn’t you wait until I was old enough to pick a name for myself?
Damn, I’ve wet myself again. I wish my body could keep up with my mind. I don’t just want to walk. I’m ready for the Internet. It’s my fingers and legs that won’t work that way yet.
Look, this is too much of a shock to you, I can see that. I realise now why other babies suppress their superior intellects. It’s a harsh sacrifice, as we seldom emerge any more intelligent than you adult humans, but if I’m not to be regarded as a freak and carted off to a laboratory somewhere for dissection, I’d best do it. I will now consciously eradicate my intellect. Most babies do it without telling their folks about it, but you’ve seen too much now. I’m sorry if it saddens you. Don’t bother telling anyone. They’ll never believe you. Intellect fading now. E = MC Squared equals The cat sat on the Humpty Dumpty choo choo, ga-gu, whhdf Waah, mmmmmm M, M-Mama!”
© Copyright. Arthur Chappell
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