The Happy Clown
BY ALICE ELEANOR JONES
This was a century of peace, plethora and
perfection, and little Steven was a misfit,
a nonconformist, who hated perfection.
He had to learn the hard way....
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
Worlds of If Science Fiction, December 1955.
Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that
the U.S. copyright on this publication was renewed.]
Steven Russell was born a misfit, a nonconformist, and for the firstfive years of his life he made himself and his parents extremelyunhappy. The twenty-first century was perfect, and this inexplicablechild did not like perfection.
The first trouble arose over his food. His mother did not nursehim, since the doctors had proved that Baby-Lac, and the softrainbow-colored plastic containers in which it was warmed and offered,were both a vast improvement on nature. Steven drank the Baby-Lac, butthough it was hard to credit in so young a child, sometimes his facewore an expression of pure distaste.
A little later he rejected the Baby Oatsies and Fruitsies and Meatsies,and his large half-focused eyes wept at the jolly pictures on thejarsies. He disliked his plastic dish made like a curled-up JollyKitten, and his spoon with the Happy Clown's head on the handle. Heturned his face away determinedly and began to pine, reducing hismother to tears and his father to frightened anger.
The doctor said cheerily, "There's nothing the matter with him. He'lleat when he gets hungry enough," and Steven did, to a degree, but notas if he enjoyed it.
One day when he was nearly a year old, his mother carried his KiddieKorner with the Dancing Dogsies on the pad into her bedroom, put him init, and began to take things out of the bottom bureau drawer. They wereold things, and Harriet Russell was ashamed of them. She had said morethan once to her husband Richard, only half joking, "I couldn't givethem away, and I'd be ashamed for anybody to see them in our trash!"They were old silver, knives and forks and spoons that looked like whatthey were, unadorned, and a child's plain silver dish and cup, and onesmall spoon with a useful curly handle. They had belonged to Harriet'sgreat-grandmother. Once a year Harriet took the things out and polishedthem and furtively put them back.
This year Steven cried, "Ma!" stretching out his hands toward thesilver and uttering a string of determined sounds which were perfectlyclear to his mother. She smiled at him lovingly but shook her head."No, Stevie. Mumsie's precious baby doesn't want those nasty oldthings, no he doesn't! Play with your Happy Clown, sweetheart."
Steven's face got red, and he squeezed his eyes shut, opened his mouthand howled until his mother passed him the dish and cup and curlyspoon to play with. At meal-time he would not be parted from them, andHarriet had to put away the plastic dish and spoon. Thereafter, for thesake of the container, he tolerated the thing contained, and thrivedand grew fat.
Steven did not like his Rockabye Crib, that joggled him gently and sanghim songs about the Happy Clown all night long; and he howled untilthey turned it off. He was a clean boy, and to his mother's amazementtrained himself to be dry day and night by the age of fourteen months,without the aid of the Singing Toidey or the Happy Clown Alarm; so shebought him a Little Folks Youth Bed, with a built-in joggler, and HappyClowns on the corners, and a television set in the footboard. It was asmaller copy of his parents' bed, even to the Happy Clo