The Bad Seed Page #2

- He meant to do it. I know Leroy.

It was no accident, Christine.

It was deliberate,

the spiteful act of a neurotic child.

He meant to do it.

You watched out of the corner of your eyes.

- Rhoda, I want you...

- You made up your mind in one second.

I never. I never. I'm just clumsy.

Leroy, my patience is at an end,

and you might as well know it.

Get about your work.

Oh, well, it's much too lovely a morning

for such tirades.

Now, don't forget our luncheon

with Reggie Tasker.

Dear me. I haven't put in my order yet.

What do you feed a criminologist?

Prussic acid, blue vitriol, ground glass.

- Ha, ha. Hot weather things.

- Nothing would hurt Reggie.

He thrives on buckets of blood

and sudden death.

Goodbye, dear.

Have a wonderful, happy day.

Goodbye, Aunt Monica.

That know-it-all Monica Breedlove.

Don't think nobody

knows anything but her.

Well, she ain't got long to go anyway.

Old heifer's about ready for the canners.

But that young,

trough-fed Mrs. Penmark...

...she might get kind of lonesome

with that soldier boy of hers gone.

Yes, sir, she might.

Yeah, that Rhoda's a real smart one.

That's a smart little gal.

She's almost as smart as I am.

She sees through me

and I see through her.

Swallow me a frog, but she's smart, huh?

- Jenny, you come back here.

- I wanna see...

You're not to go near the water.

Now, remember, everybody.

You are not to go out on that pier...

...or near the boathouse.

- Oh. Why, Mrs. Penmark. How splendid.

- Good morning, Miss Fern.

- Good morning, Miss Fern.

- Good morning, Rhoda.

- That was a perfect curtsy.

- Thank you, Miss Fern.

You run along with the others now.

I wanna speak to Miss Fern for a minute.

- Yes, Mother.

- That is, if you have a minute.

Well, we're rather rushed this morning,

but, of course, Mrs. Penmark.

Shall we talk while I place

the favors on the tables?

Oh, yes, of course.

Oh, by the way, Miss Fern...

...I have the check here for

the last quarter. Here it is.

Oh, why, thank you.

Now, about Rhoda, naturally, uh...

Tell me frankly, Miss Fern...

...is she always as perfect in everything

as she was in her curtsy?

She does everything extremely well,

as you must know better than I.

And as a person,

does she fit in well at the school?

Let me think. In what way, Mrs. Penmark?

Well, Rhoda's been...

I don't quite know how to say it...

...but there's a mature quality about her

that's disturbing in a child...

...and my husband and I thought

that a school like yours...

...where you believe in discipline

and the old-fashioned virtues...

...might, well, perhaps teach her

to be more of a child.

Yes. Yes, I know what you mean.

Do the other children like her?

Is she popular?

The other children? Oh.

Well, of course, Mrs. Penmark. Um...

Well, I really should get things started.

- Will you excuse me, please?

- Oh, yes, of course, and thank you.

Morning bells are ringing

Ding, dang, 70179

Ding, dang, 70179

- But I did meet him.

- Ha-ha-ha.

But I did meet Freud.

Nobody ever believes me when I tell them

that I met Sigmund Freud.

They don't believe

that you're old enough, little sister.

Anyway, it wasn't Dr. Freud

who analyzed me.

It was Dr. Kettlebaum in London.

Monica's been spread out on couches

from New York to Los Angeles.

And what was Kettlebaum's verdict?

He said my whole trouble

was associating ideas...

...with words and names.

My marriage to Fred Breedlove,

for example.

He said I married Fred

because of the combination of ideas...

...suggested by his name.

The last syllable, "love,"

romantic, eternal...

...and the first syllable...

Hmm. That is rather obvious, isn't it?

And the result of the analysis?

- It broke up my marriage.

- Oh. Ha, ha.

When I explained it

to Mr. Breedlove, he became so confused...

...between his first syllable

and his last syllable...

- ...that he just gave up.

- Ha-ha-ha.

Let's sit over there,

where we can get away from analysis.

At least be comfortable.

Yes, come on, Reggie.

Entertain us with your latest work.

What is your bloodthirsty scribbling

about to disclose now?

I've been making a collection of data

on Mrs. Allison.

News Budget wants an article on her.

You mean that practical nurse

who killed all those people?

- Mm-hm.

- My, yes.

That simply fascinating

paranoidal female.

Listen, Christine.

Oh.

Oh, yes, Mrs. Allison was

a quite definite personality.

She did away with nine patients...

...for the life insurance,

with almost as many different poisons.

But you read about her in the papers,

didn't you, Mrs. Penmark?

Oh. Only hastily, I must say. I'm afraid

I shy away from reading about such things.

Now, that's an interesting psychic block.

Why would Christine

dislike reading about murders?

I don't know. I just have an aversion

to violence of any kind.

I even hate the revolver

Kenneth keeps locked in the house.

Oh. Do you dislike the revolver

more than the poison?

- Ooh, I just hate them both.

- Hmm.

Maybe if you try saying the first thing...

...that comes into your mind,

we can get at the root anxiety.

Just say it,

no matter how silly it seems to you.

Tell your story, Reggie,

and Christine will associate.

- What nonsense.

- What do you mean?

Just speak up, because any idea

that comes into your mind...

...will be an associated idea.

Oh.

Well, they finally caught on

to Mrs. Allison...

...when she poisoned

her 80-year-old father...

...with arsenic in his buttermilk.

- There, say anything quickly.

- But what?

Well, I'll be a middle-aged Mongoloid

from Memphis.

Sweetsie, little lovebird.

Now, you play your little cards right

and instead of a piece of cuttlebone...

...Uncle Emory will get you

a piece of Dr. Kettlebaum.

Emory, shh.

- Go on, Christine, no matter how silly.

- Oh.

What I was thinking

at that very moment was...

...well, that outside of Kenneth, my father

is the dearest man in the whole world.

- Is that silly?

- No, certainly not.

- Isn't your father Richard Bravo?

- Yes, uh-huh.

- There's a man that can write.

- Mm.

Those pieces from the Pacific

during the war.

I'm very proud of him.

The whole country is,

but we've disclosed nothing yet.

- Go on with your story, Reggie.

- I think we can afford a change of subject.

All right, then, there.

What does that suggest to you?

Well, it doesn't suggest anything

because I'm still thinking about my father.

- What about him?

- Oh, well...

No editing, no skipping.

Well, what I was thinking that time

was even sillier. I...

I've always had the feeling

that I was an adopted child...

...and that the Bravos

weren't my real parents.

Oh, you poor, innocent darling.

Don't you know

that the changeling fantasy...

...is the commonest of childhood?

Why, I once believed

that I was a foundling...

...with royal blood.

Plantagenet, I think it was.

And Emory, let's see. Emory was, um...

I was a chipmunk.

You really always

have had this suspicion...

- ...that you were adopted?

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