He cannot cut into it because he knows he will fail and he is afraid.
"He forgot already," said Frank.
"It don't stick." He wants it to stick.
He frowns and tries to remember: first you start to cut off a piece.
Then you roll it out into a ball.
But how does it get to be a roll like the ones in the tray? That's something else.
Give him time and he'll remember.
As soon as the fuzziness passes away he'll remember.
Just another few seconds and he'll have it. He wants to hold on to what he's learned—for a little while.
He wants it so much.
"Okay, Charlie," sighs Gimpy, taking the cutter out of his hand. "That's all right. Don't worry about it.
It's not your work anyway."
Another minute and he'll remember.
If only they wouldn't rush him.
Why does everything have to be in such a hurry?
"Go ahead, Charlie.
Go sit down and look at your comic book.
We got to get back to work."
Charlie nods and smiles, and pulls the comic book out of his back pocket.
He smooths it out, and puts it on his head as a make-believe hat.
Frank laughs and Gimpy finally smiles.
"Go on, you big baby," snorts Gimpy.
"Go sit down there until Mr. Donner wants you."
Charlie smiles at him and goes back to the flour sacks in the corner near the mixing machines.
He likes to lean back against them while he sits on the floor cross-legged and looks at the pictures in his comic book.
As he starts to turn the pages, he feels like crying, but he doesn't know why.
What is there to feel sad about?
The fuzzy cloud comes and goes, and now he looks forward to the pleasure of the brightly colored pictures in the comic book that he has gone through thirty, forty times.
He knows all of the figures in the comic—he has asked their names over and over again (of almost everyone he meets)—and he understands that the strange forms of letters and words in the white balloons above the figures means that they are saying something.
Would he ever learn to read what was in the balloons?
If they gave him enough time—if they didn't rush him or push him too fast—he would get it.
But nobody has time.
Charlie pulls his legs up and opens the comic book to the first page where the Batman and Robin are swinging up a long rope to the side of a building.
Someday, he decides, he is going to read. And then he will be able to read the story.
He feels a hand on his shoulder and he looks up.
It is Gimpy holding out the brass disc and chain, letting it swing and twirl around so that it catches the light.
"Here," he says gruffly, tossing it into Charlie's lap, and then he limps away….
I never thought about it before, but that was a nice thing for him to do.
Why did he? Anyway, that is my memory of the time, clearer and more complete than anything I have ever experienced before. Like looking out of the kitchen window early when the morning light is still gray.
I've come a long way since then, and I owe it all to Dr. Strauss and Professor Nemur, and the other people here at Beekman.
But what must Frank and Gimpy think and feel now, seeing how I've changed?
April 22
People at the bakery are changing.
Not only ignoring me. I can feel the hostility.
Donner is arranging for me to join the baker's union, and I've gotten another raise.
The rotten thing is that all of the pleasure is gone because the others resent me.
In a way, I can't blame them. They don't understand what has happened to me, and I can't tell them.
People are not proud of me the way I expected— not at all.
Still, I've got to have someone to talk to.
I'm going to ask Miss Kinnian to go to a movie tomorrow night to celebrate my raise.