The Fun They Had

Isaac Asimov

Margie even wrote about it that night in her diary. On the page headed May 17,
2155, she wrote, "Today Tommy found a real book!"
It was a very old book. Margie's grandfather once said that when he was a little boy
his grandfather told him that there was a time when all stories were printed on
paper.
They turned the pages, which were yellow and crinkly, and it was awfully funny to
read words that stood still instead of moving the way they were supposed to-on a
screen, you know. And then, when they turned back to the page before, it had the
same words on it that it had had when they read it the first time.
"Gee," said Tommy, "what a waste. When you're through with the book, you just
throw it away, I guess. Our television screen must have had a million books on it
and it's good for plenty more. I wouldn't throw it away."
"Same with mine," said Margie. She was eleven and hadn't seen as many
telebooks as Tommy had. He was thirteen.
She said, "Where did you find it?"
"In my house." He pointed without looking, because he was busy reading. "In the
attic."
"What's it about?"
"School."
Margie was scornful. "School? What's there to write about school? I hate school."
Margie always hated school, but now she hated it-more than ever. The mechanical
teacher had been giving her test after test in geography and she had been doing
worse and worse until her mother had shaken her head sorrowfully and sent for the
County Inspector.
He was a round little man with a red face and a whole box of tools with dials and
wires. He smiled at her and gave her an apple, then took the teacher apart. Margie
had hoped he wouldn't know how to put it together again, but he knew how all right
and, after an hour or so, there it was again, large and black and ugly with a big
screen on which all the lessons were shown and the questions were asked. That
wasn't so bad.
The part she hated most was the slot where she had to put homework and test
papers. She always had to write them out in a punch code they made her learn
when she was six years old, and the mechanical teacher calculated the mark in no
time.

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The inspector had smiled after he was finished and patted her head.
He said to her mother, "It's not the little girl's fault, Mrs. Jones. I think the
geography sector was geared a little too quick. Those things happen sometimes.
I've slowed it up to an average ten-year level. Actually, the over-all pattern of her
progress is quite satisfactory." And he patted Margie's head again.
Margie was disappointed. She had been hoping they would take the teacher away
altogether. They had once taken Tommy's teacher away for nearly a month
because the history sector had blanked out completely.
So she said to Tommy, "Why would anyone write about school?"
Tommy looked at her with very superior eyes. "Because it's not our kind of school,
stupid. This is the old kind of school that they had hundreds and hundreds of years
ago." He added loftily, pronouncing the word carefully, "Centuries ago."
Margie was hurt. "Well, I don't know what kind of school they had all that time ago."
She read the book over his shoulder for a while, then said, "Anyway, they had a
teacher."
"Sure they had a teacher, but it wasn't a regular teacher. It was a man."
"A man? How could a man be a teacher?"
Well, he just told the boys and girls things and gave them homework and asked
them questions."
"A man isn't smart enough."
"Sure he is. My father knows as much as my teacher."
"He can't. A man can't know as much as a teacher."
"He knows almost as much I betcha."
Margie wasn't prepared to dispute that. She said, "I wouldn't want a strange man in
my house to teach me."
Tommy screamed with laughter, "You don't know much, Margie.
The teachers didn't live in the house. They had a special building and all the kids
went there."
"And all the kids learned the same thing?"
"Sure, if they were the same age."
"But my mother says a teacher has to be adjusted to fit the mind of each boy and
girl it teaches and that each kid has to be taught differently."
"Just the same, they didn't do it that way then. If you don't like it, you don't have to
read the book."
"I didn't say I didn't like it," Margie said quickly. She wanted to read about those
funny schools.
They weren't even half finished when Margie's mother called, "Margie! School!"

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Margie looked up. "Not yet, mamma."
"Now," said Mrs. Jones. "And it's probably time for Tommy, too."
Margie said to Tommy, "Can I read the book some more with you after school?"
"Maybe," he said, nonchalantly. He walked away whistling, the dusty old book
tucked beneath his arm.
Margie went into the schoolroom. It was right next to her bedroom, and the
mechanical teacher was on and waiting for her. It was always on at the same time
every day except Saturday and Sunday, because her mother said little girls learned
better if they learned at regular hours.
The screen was lit up, and it said: "Today's arithmetic lesson is on the addition of
proper fractions. Please insert yesterday's homework in the proper slot."
Margie did so with a sigh. She was thinking about the old schools they had when
her grandfather's grandfather was a little boy.
All the kids from the whole neighborhood came, laughing and shouting in the
schoolyard, sitting together in the schoolroom, going home together at the end of
the day. They learned the same things so they could help one another on the
homework and talk about it.
And the teachers were people ....
The mechanical teacher was flashing on the screen: "When we add the fractions
1/2 and 1/4 . . ."
Margie was thinking about how the kids must have loved it in the old days. She
was thinking about the fun they had.

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 Comprehension Questions

1.What does Tommy find in the attic?

2. Why does Margie hate school now more than ever?

3. Why does Margie's mother send for the county inspector?

4. What surprises Margie about teachers from the past?

5. What was written in Margie's diary?

6. What have Margie and Tommy's been like?

7. Did Margie attend school on a regular schedule of days and times? If so, why?

8. Write a one-two paragraph summary of 'The Fun they Had.

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 TH E CASE FOR TH E D EFEN CE
Gr a ha m e Gr e e ne

I t w as t he st rangest m urder t rial I ever at t ended. They nam ed it t he Peckham

m urder in t he headlines, t hough Nort hw ood St reet , w here t he old w om an w as found
bat t ered t o deat h, w as not st rict ly speaking in Peckham . This w as not one of t hose cases of
circum st ant ial evidence in w hich you feel t he j urym en's anxiet y because m ist akes have
been m ade - like dom es of silence m ut ing t he court . No, t his m urderer w as all but found
w it h t he body: no one present w hen t he Crow n counsel out lined his case believed t hat t he
m an in t he dock st ood any chance at all.
He w as a heavy st out m an w it h bulging bloodshot eyes. All his m uscles seem ed t o
be in his t highs. Yes, an ugly cust om er, one you wouldn't forget in a hurry - and t hat was
an im port ant point because t he Crow n proposed t o call four w it nesses w ho hadn't forgot t en
him , w ho had seen him hurrying aw ay from t he lit t le red villa in Nort hw ood St reet . The
clock had j ust st ruck t w o in t he m orning.
Mrs Salm on in 15 Nort hw ood St reet had been unable t o sleep: she heard a door
click shut and t hought it was her own gat e. So she went t o t he window and saw Adam s
( t hat w as his nam e) on t he st eps of Mrs Parker's house. He had j ust com e out and he w as
wearing gloves. He had a ham m er in his hand and she saw him drop it int o t he laurel
bushes by t he front gat e. But before he m oved aw ay, he had looked up - at her w indow .
The fat al inst inct t hat t ells a m an w hen he is w at ched exposed him in t he light of a st reet -
lam p t o her gaze - his eyes suffused w it h horrifying and brut al fear, like an anim al's w hen
you raise a w hip. I t alked aft erw ards t o Mrs Salm on, w ho nat urally aft er t he ast onishing
verdict w ent in fear herself. As I im agine did all t he w it nesses Henry MacDougall, w ho had
been driving hom e from Benfleet lat e and nearly ran Adam s dow n at t he corner of
Nort hw ood St reet . Adam s w as w alking in t he m iddle of t he road looking dazed. And old Mr
Wheeler, w ho lived next door t o Mrs Parker, at No. 12, and w as w akened by a noise - like
a chair falling - t hrough t he t hin- as- paper villa w all, and got up and looked out of t he
w indow , j ust as Mrs Salm on had done, saw Adam s's back and, as he t urned, t hose bulging
eyes. I n Laurel Avenue he had been seen by yet anot her w it ness - his luck w as badly out ;
he m ight as w ell have com m it t ed t he crim e in broad daylight .
` I underst and,' counsel said, ` t hat t he defence proposes t o plead m ist aken
ident it y. Adam s's w ife w ill t ell you t hat he w as w it h her at t w o in t he m orning on February
14, but aft er you have heard t he w it nesses for t he Crow n and exam ined carefully t he
feat ures of t he prisoner, I do not t hink you w ill be prepared t o adm it t he possibilit y of a
m ist ake.'
I t was all over, you would have said, but t he hanging.
Aft er t he form al evidence had been given by t he policem an w ho had found t he body
and t he surgeon w ho exam ined it , Mrs Salm on w as called. She w as t he ideal w it ness, w it h
her slight Scot ch accent and her expression of honest y, care and kindness.
The counsel for t he Crow n brought t he st ory gent ly out . She spoke very firm ly.
There w as no m alice in her, and no sense of im port ance at st anding t here in t he Cent ral
Crim inal Court w it h a j udge in scarlet hanging on her w ords and t he report ers w rit ing t hem
dow n. Yes, she said, and t hen she had gone dow nst airs and rung up t he police st at ion.
` And do you see t he m an here in court ?'
She looked st raight at t he big m an in t he dock, w ho st ared hard at her w it h his
Pekingese eyes w it hout em ot ion.
` Yes,' she said, ` t here he is.'

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` You are quit e cert ain?'
She said sim ply, ` I couldn't be m ist aken, sir.'
I t w as all as easy as t hat .
` Thank you, Mrs Salm on.'
Counsel for t he defence rose t o cross- exam ine. I f you had report ed as m any
m urder t rials as I have, you would have known beforehand what line he would t ake. And I
w as right , up t o a point .
` Now, Mrs Salm on, you m ust rem em ber t hat a m an's life m ay depend on your
evidence.'
` I do rem em ber it , sir.'
` I s your eyesight good?'
` I have never had t o wear spect acles, sir.'
` You are a wom an of fift y- five?'
` Fift y- six, sir.'
` And t he m an you saw was on t he ot her side of t he road?'
` Yes, sir.'
` And it w as t w o o'clock in t he m orning. You m ust have rem arkable eyes, Mrs
Salm on?'
` No, sir. There w as m oonlight , and w hen t he m an looked up, he had t he lam plight
on his face.'
` And you have no doubt what ever t hat t he m an you saw is t he prisoner?'
I couldn't m ake out what he was at . He couldn't have expect ed any ot her answer
t han t he one he got .
` None w hat ever, sir. I t isn't a face one forget s.'
Counsel t ook a look round t he court for a m om ent . Then he said, ` Do you m ind,
Mrs Salm on, exam ining again t he people in court ? No, not t he prisoner. St and up, please,
Mr Adam s,' and t here at t he back of t he court w it h t hick st out body and m uscular legs and
a pair of bulging eyes, w as t he exact im age of t he m an in t he dock. He w as even dressed
t he sam e - t ight blue suit and st riped t ie.
` Now t hink very carefully, Mrs Salm on. Can you st ill sw ear t hat t he m an you saw
drop t he ham m er in Mrs Parker's garden w as t he prisoner - and not t his m an, w ho is his
t w in brot her?'
Of course she couldn't . She looked from one t o t he ot her and didn't say a w ord.
There t he big brut e sat in t he dock w it h his legs crossed, and t here he st ood t oo at
t he back of t he court and t hey bot h st ared at Mrs Salm on. She shook her head.
What w e saw t hen w as t he end of t he case. There w asn't a w it ness prepared t o
sw ear t hat it w as t he prisoner he'd seen. And t he brot her? He had his alibi, t oo; he w as
wit h his wife.
And so t he m an w as acquit t ed for lack of evidence. But w het her - if he did t he
m urder and not his brot her - he was punished or not , I don't know. That ext raordinary day
had an ext raordinary end. I follow ed Mrs Salm on out of court and w e got w edged in t he
crow d w ho w ere w ait ing, of course, for t he t w ins. The police t ried t o drive t he crow d aw ay,
but all t hey could do w as keep t he road- w ay clear for t raffic. I learned lat er t hat t hey t ried
t o get t he t w ins t o leave by a back w ay, but t hey w ouldn't . One of t hem - no one knew
w hich - said, ` I 've been acquit t ed, haven't I ?' and t hey w alked bang out of t he front
ent rance. Then it happened. I don't know how , t hough I w as only six feet aw ay. The crow d
m oved and som ehow one of t he t w ins got pushed on t o t he road right in front of a bus.

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He gave a squeal like a rabbit and t hat w as all; he w as dead, his skull sm ashed j ust
as Mrs Parker's had been. Divine vengeance? I w ish I knew . There w as t he ot her Adam s
get t ing on his feet from beside t he body and looking st raight over at Mrs Salm on. He w as
crying, but w het her he w as t he m urderer or t he innocent m an nobody w ill ever be able t o
t ell. But if you w ere Mrs Salm on, could you sleep at night ?

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