Cheerio

"Darling," Janet exclaimed,"don't you think our son is too small for       this toy?"

"But not at all," Adams broke in. "These automatic carbines are capable of firing about a thousand rounds a minute, with ten thousand cartridges packed into the magazine. Like seeds in a sunflower. Quite a sting! After ten minutes of uninterrupted firing the temperature of the barrel won't be even one degree higher than your offspring's body temperature, dear lady. The weapon is manufactured from special composite materials; the only metal part is the chamber, which is of alloyed steel. The stock is from genuine mahogany wood overlaid with walnut, and with two magazines this fantastic little object can be yours for less than five notes!"

Norton hefted the carbine and nodded appreciatively. Carefully he laid the weapon down on the counter. "Too heavy!" he said. "Our boy isn't twelve months old yet. Wouldn't you have something lighter?"

     The salesman promptly nodded and hung the rifle back in its wall-case.

     "Of course. What would you say to this anti-tank piece?"

He unhooked a miniature bazooka with a pear-shaped nose. The functionally-formed support was lined with soft foam. "It weighs only nine pounds, just right for your son's age category. We supply a set of fragmentation shells with the merchandise..." Adams lowered his voice. "I really shouldn't, but... I've got something quite exceptional here...!"

     He hunted about under the counter and brought forth an oblong package wrapped in waxed paper. A blue-eyed youngster smiled at Norton from the wrapping. Behind him a dark mushroom cloud was rising to the sky. There was a crater where jagged bits of welded tin were rolling about. The barrel of the gun, which was rammed deep in  the ground, protruded sorrowfully towards the sky. "Atomics," Adams whispered. "The latest hit from Westinghouse, nineteen ninety nine each!"

Norton's eyes narrowed. Janet vacillated. "Hm, hmmm... I don't know, Mr Adams! Couldn't it be dangerous?"

"Oh, but for whom, dear lady, for whom?" the salesman said, smiling. "For persons in the area where the projectile falls, almost certainly. The manufacturer guarantees one hundred per cent effectiveness to a range of one hundred and fifty metres from the explosion's epicentre!"

Adams shook his head cheerfully. "But don't have any fears for the safety of your offspring, madam. These intelligent toys have identification safeguards installed which react to the skin tone and biochemical aura of the weapon's owner. As well as that, they are capable of memorising the physical dimensions of parents and other relatives of the child, so that even if one of the close relatives happened to be at the site of an explosion, blocking mechanisms would automatically be activated. These clever little firecrackers are so new we haven't even advertised them yet!"

"You can see how solid they are at a glance. Just exactly like what my old pair gave me for my third birthday," Norton muttered. "Incredible how the maturing process is speeding up. We want something extra for our boy, Mr Adams, d'you get me?"

     Adams nodded. "We offer a very extensive choice of projectile and non-projectile weapons from the most renowned toy firms..."

From a shelf he took down a cardboard box containing cylindrical objects. The objects had grips made of genuine wood. "The contents of these bacteriological grenades, developed by HOMEO INC, are blended from highly infectious viruses, capable of attacking all known protein organisms. Nine ninety nine apiece: service reviews are guaranteed by the highly-qualified experts of the HOMEO firm. If the system proves unsatisfactory they will supply a re-fill free of charge. We sell slow and mutagenic viruses. Customers who want them can have ordinary flu viruses also, which develop incurable complications after a few hours. Jellifying the pulmonary alveolae, or with massive haemhorraging in the interior cavities," Adams explained. "The credo of HOMEO INC is high reliability and reasonable prices, Sir! I warmly recommend it!"

"The price doesn't matter to us," Norton replied indifferently. "It's just that this kind of toy isn't entirely clean – you understand?"

"Aha! I see you're a humanist, sir, right?" Adams remarked with understanding, and he returned the hand grenades to their box. In place of them he deposited a few small paper sacks. "Super offer, cheapest in town," he smiled. "Three dollars forty five cents per quarter kilo. I'm sure you won't guess what they're made of..."

He spilled out a little heap of coloured sweets.

"Cyanide?" Janet asked with a gasp. Adams, glowing, simply shook his head and pressed a hidden switch. A children's playground appeared on the telewall. Small children rolled in the sand; the bigger ones were swinging on wooden swings. The sandpit, protected by a transparent bubble of plastic, had a low barrier to keep out unauthorised visitors. A hidden camera homed in on little hands struggling clumsily with the cellophane wrapping of a sweet. At the moment when the child unstuck the last bit of wrapping from the dainty, the screen turned bright.

     The following stills showed only twisted metal railings and demolished swings. The protective polyamide bubble had been vaporised, and the surroundings were covered in flung sand and scraps of clothing. There were thick spatters of shit on the camera lens.

     Norton watched the telewall with interest. "Plastic explosive?" he asked.

"Semtex!" Adams declared. "The wrapping on the sweet is a detonator. You only need to activate it and... cheerio!"

Norton gaped at the salesman. "What?" he asked, uncomprehendingly.

"Well, that's what I'm saying, isn't it?" and Adams flung his arms wide to convey the scale of the blast. "These thingies come from UNITED CZECH CHEMICAL. For a purchase of more than five kilograms, we offer a three per cent discount. Bulk buyers, needless to say, do not have to pay VAT... "

Norton's gaze slid over the salesman's radiant face, and almost imperceptibly he grimaced. He turned to his wife.

"Pchah-ah-ah!" Janet exclaimed.

Silence prevailed in the store.

"I understand that you want only the very best for your child," Adams said. He looked at the youngster in the pram. "A most beautiful piece of work, dear lady, from Oberhauser & Son, isn't it?"

"The pram, of course!" he added hastily, after meeting Janet's rigid stare. Janet relaxed.

"Naturally," Norton confirmed.

Together they admired the beautiful child. The boy lay under a protective covering of shatter-proof glass. Looking up at the faces of his parents, he smiled. "The pram has built-in indicators for poisonous gases with a capability of identifying even a few molecules per cubic metre of air, plus back-up reproducers of the basic functions of life," Norton listed off on his fingers. Adams smacked his lips admiringly. "The chassis was made in Krupp's works in Essen. The vehicle can withstand an explosion with an equivalent of five kilotons of tritol. Nuclear elements are triply screened by molecularly re-patterned leaded plastic. Twenty five thousand dollars," Norton added nonchalantly.

He turned away from the salesman. "With tax!" he specified, caustically.

"An outstanding investment," the red-faced Adams declared, stowing the sweets away in a drawer and coming round the counter. He gave the pram a wide berth. "Have you seen the latest model of our remote-controlled helicopter?" he asked, and when Norton shook his head, swiftly strode to the large glass display window.

There was a low buzz of serro-motors. Adams looked round. A small rocket left its hanging system and only narrowly missed the salesman. It flew through the display window and vanished down the street. An angry childish jabber mixed with the shivering of falling glass. From hidden apertures a poisonous green gas was released, and Norton and his wife expertly pulled on lightweight breathing masks. A further rocket homed in on the salesman. Adams saved himself by leaping behind the counter.

     Extractor fans whirred in the floor and the gas was drawn off into grilled outlets. The sound of two mild explosions reached the salesroom from the street. "Dear child," Adams murmured with a crooked smile, as he raised himself from the floor. His grey gabardine suit was begrimed with dust, and tears streamed from his eyes. He pulled out a large handkerchief with a pattern of cubes and blew his nose resoundingly. "These helicopters are fully automated, with three gallons of napalm on board. They are armed with rockets of the air-to-surface type and two machineguns. The combat flight range is ten kilometres; this range may be increased on demand by fitting auxiliary tanks. One hundred combat flights without a single malfunction, Mr..."

"Norton! And this is my wife," Norton said.

"Mr Norton..."

Adams bowed. "Pleased to meet you, Mrs Norton," he mumbled in Janet's direction.

"Under no circumstances!" Janet made for the back of the shop.

"These machines appear to have the habit of blowing up when you start them, and I don't intend moving to a new flat every few days."

"But... Toshiba Corporation's products? Never!" the salesman protested, outraged. "The junk you have in mind was made by General ICC, and the microchips from Tesla Monoline, which form the basis of the processing equipment of their toys' computer systems, have never been reliable! General is now, thank God, on the verge of bankruptcy, and I trust that products of such dubious quality will not cause a nuisance in our markets for long more. Our toys, dear lady..."

     "No!" Janet pronounced resolutely. Adams drew back. Norton smiled under his moustache and looked with interest at a set of throwing stars, their cutting edges impregnated with nerve-paralysing poison. He ignored Adams's impotent gaze.

Adams silently exhaled. "Is this your first child, Mr Norton?" he asked, and when Norton nodded, stretched out his hand, as if he wished to stroke the little round head covered in soft downy curls.

     A thin stream of concentrated acid came hissing out, under high pressure. Adams's hand, brutally severed from the wrist, fell on the floor. Norton shook his head, tore open a first-aid package and by means of a surgical clamp he closed the pulsing artery, which was squirting blood like a small fountain. Methodically he cauterised the other exposed veins with a small device from Adams's medical kit. The pale-faced salesman eventually bandaged the stump of his hand with his handkerchief, using his good hand and helping out with his teeth.

"I'm very sorry about that," Norton apologised, pouring a little medical spirit on a piece of gauze. He cleaned his hands thoroughly and threw the used gauze into the wastebasket. "The boy cannot yet distinguish between a potential attacker and a harmless bystander. Really, it was not deliberate..."

     The reclining baby jabbered contentedly. He fluttered his eyelids uncontrollably at the salesman. From under an embroidered cushion a mechanical arm reached out and carefully wiped the spittle from the corners of the child's mouth with a white handkerchief. The boy thrashed the air with his arms and gripped the mechanical nurse in his little fists. A dry sound of breaking metal was emitted from the microphones. The child began stuffing the handkerchief into his mouth. "Phoo-ee!" said Norton and tried to remove the spittle-soaked rag from his son's mouth. He skilfully avoided the snapping milk teeth.

"Jack?"

Janet was standing by a display case with ordered rows of children's potties. She took one and pressed the sitting part with her palm. From the apparently smooth bottom pincers emerged. Jagged-toothed jaws snapped. From a hidden transmitter came the sound of a child crying in pain.

Janet flushed with enthusiasm. The potty was blue and the colour harmonised admirably with Mrs Norton's violet eyes. She returned to her husband and, looking compassionately at Adams's hand, "Couldn't we get one for that howling brat of the neighbours?" she asked quietly.

"Proper order," Adams mumbled, compelling himself to smile. "A delightful toy, dear lady, nineteen dollars apiece... We offer a discount for twins, and for purchases more frequent than once in two years..."

The boy began to cry miserably. He pouted, and Janet put away the potty and bent over the pram. She began to coo softly to the boy. Norton meanwhile was browsing a heap of brochures. "What kind of toy is this?" he asked.

Adams pulled himself together. "The Last Judgement, Mr Norton. Universal Electronic's latest hit. We've already sold over 4,000."

     He took down an attache case from a shelf and unlocked it with a small magnetic key. Norton looked on attentively. "We have confirmed orders for a further 20,000 others. This immaculate product will almost certainly be nominated for Toy of the Year..." Adams opened the case and pushed it along the counter to Norton. 

A tiny screen of liquid crystals was installed on the lid of the case. The interior was taken up by a miniature keyboard. Under a transparent cover there was a shining button with a reassuring green colour. The cover was fixed to the bottom of the case with plastic brackets. "By means of this micro-computer the child develops his visual imagination and tries to find the right combination in order to remove this protective covering," Adams explained. He pointed to the lead-lined green button. Forgetting himself, he banged the stump of his bloodied hand on the case. He let out a hiss of pain. "There is one possibility, one chance in a billion – whoever manages that, he'll press the button and... cheerio!"

Adams's face flushed. He flung his arms wide. A drop of blood wafted off the salesman's saturated sleeve and landed on Norton's jacket. "One, you say?" Norton said, suddenly fascinated, and looked at his wife.

Janet's eyes came alight. Snuggling up to her husband, she looked covetously at the case, open-mouthed. "The computer has long-range connections to NATO's command positions in Nebraska, the Imperial Army in Honshu, the Bundeswehr in Bonn and the Red Army in Kazachstan," Adams panted, with encouraging nods. He moistened his lips with his tongue. Purple blotches, signs of traumatic fever, appeared on his cheeks; his skin was dry and tensed. "A signal from this toy can activate the circuits of the military computers guarding the commands for retaliatory nuclear strikes: the leaden layers melt away and..."

     "Cheerio?" Norton grinned. Janet laughed aloud. The boy meditatively observed Adams. His angry face began to brighten.

"A weight on the scale of history!" the salesman avouched happily. "Look..."

He tapped out a few data on the keyboard. The computer screen came to life. Polite electronic laughter sounded from the case.

"Good!" Norton said, looking on attentively. "Excellent, Mr Adams. And just by the way – has anyone ever succeeded?"

"I shouldn't think so," the salesman replied. "Actually... no, or we wouldn't be here any more, what?"

Norton looked at Janet. She nodded. He gave the salesman his credit card. Adams slotted it into the cash register. "For Universal Electronic products we give a two-year guarantee. In the event of any malfunction whatever, you have the right to a new toy of the same kind..."

     The salesman withdrew the card from the register and handed it back to Norton with a bow. "Thank you for your visit, dear lady," he said, with a slightly deeper bow to Janet also.

Norton took the case and put it into the pram.

"Cheerio!" gurgled the boy. His mother smiled fondly.

"We thank you too, Mr Adams," Norton replied politely, and used his mobile to call a taxi. The armoured vehicle roared up, hurling pedestrians from the pavement, and came to a halt with its open doors jarring against the salesroom. The child went silent, gripped the synthetic protective cover with both hands and pressed his feet firmly against the pram floor.

"Watch out!" the salesman shouted.

     The brackets on the transparent cover burst and the leaden layers melted with a hiss. A little fist with delightfully-dimpled knuckles hung motionless over the naked button blinking its blood-red warning light.

"Dada?" lisped the infant endearingly.

Translated by John Minahane