Herbie loved the car. With a car like this, he could go anywhere. With a car like this, no one would laugh at him. The boys on the street would stop and look at him. Even the girls would want to know him. He hunched over the wheel, his eyes intent on a spot just beyond the smooth curve of the hood. His foot pressed the accelerator, and he let his eyes flick across the instrument panel for an instant. Deep in his throat he made a rumbling sound to imitate the motor of the big car. Joy flooded through him. Vroom! Herbie heard the roar of the exhaust as he gunned the motor. This car could make him free! This car could take him-- "Herbie!" He yanked his foot from the gas pedal and slammed on the brake. He kept his eyes on the garage wall directly in front of him until his stepfather spoke again. "Get out!" Steve jerked the car door open and motioned angrily. His face was red, and Herbie knew Steve was mad. He stepped out onto the garage floor. He looked down, trying to wish himself someplace else, anywhere he wouldn't have to listen to Steve yell at him. "How many times have I told you to stay away from that car? I warned you last time. Stay away from that car, I said. You told me you understood, didn't you?" Herbie nodded. He had understood, too. And he'd meant it when he promised not to play in the car. But somehow he forgot again. He didn't want to make Steve angry or see the hurt look on Momma's face. More than anything, Herbie wanted everyone to be happy. Steve slammed the car door. "You and your promises. I should have known better than to believe you'd remember." He pulled open the basement door and shoved Herbie ahead of him. "Upstairs! We're going to settle this once and for all." Herbie stumbled and almost fell. He grabbed the rail, hoping Steve wouldn't notice and start yelling about how clumsy he was. It was just that when he got nervous, things seemed to go wrong. "Upstairs!" Steve ordered again. Herbie concentrated on his feet. Please, he begged his body, don't be clumsy. In the kitchen, Momma turned from the stove and smiled at him. He forgot about Steve for a second and felt warm and comfortable in his mother's love. Steve closed the basement door and came to stand next to him. The pleasant feeling disappeared, and Herbie felt heavy and cold. "Grace, we have to talk." Momma's smile faded. She looked at Herbie, then at Steve, and back at Herbie again. Herbie wanted to reach out and touch her to make her smile again, but he didn't dare. He stood very still and waited. "He was in the car again, Grace. After all the promises." Steve frowned at her. Momma didn't take her eyes from Herbie. "I've had it," Steve said in an ugly voice. "When I married you I said I'd try living with him around. I've tried for three months now, and it doesn't work. I can't stay in the same house with this--overgrown moron!" Momma's face went white. "How can you be so cruel?" "You're the one who's being cruel," Steve shouted. "Herbie should be put-- He should be with his own kind." Herbie's stomach tightened to a hard knot. He wanted to put his hands in his pockets, but his fingers felt big and clumsy and wouldn't find the openings. Momma looked like she was ready to cry. "Herbie, please go to your room. I'll come in a little while." Herbie started to obey, but Steve grabbed his arm. "Let him stay. He's got to know sooner or later." "I don't want to talk about it in front of him," Momma said. "You know how it upsets him." "What about the way he upsets me?" Steve demanded. "Do you care about that? I've told him time after time to stay away from that car, but it doesn't sink through that thick skull of his." "Steve!" "Face the truth, Grace. Herbie has the body of man twenty but the mind of a five-year-old kid--and not a very bright one at that. He should have been sent away years ago. Everyone would have been better off." There were tears running down his mother's cheek now, and Herbie felt somehow it was his fault because he forgot about the car. "Steve, please, let me talk to him. I think I can make him understand. I'll watch him so he doesn't play in the car again." She wiped at the tears quickly. "I'll keep the garage locked." Steve shook his head, but Momma went on. "Please? Give him another chance. You know I can't send him away." "You said the same thing last week. I gave him a chance, and it didn't work. It's no use Grace. He's got to go." "Please? It isn't as though he hurts anything. I mean he just sits in the car and pretends." Steve's face got red again. "That car is mine," he said. "I don't want him touching it!" "I'll watch him. I'll make him understand and promise--" "I promise," Herbie said quickly. Steve didn't seem to believe him, so Herbie repeated his offer. "I promise, Steve. I won't forget again, honest." He wanted Steve to be happy. The room was quiet for a long time. Herbie held his breath and waited. Finally Steve said, "Okay, but this is really the last time. Understand? The last time. If that -- If Herbie touches my car again, he goes or I go." He turned and stalked out of the kitchen. Herbie let his breath out. Momma must have been holding her breath too because he heard it escape like a small gust of wind against a window screen. "Herbie, do you really understand," she asked. "Steve was very angry. You mustn't touch the car ever again." "I just sat in it, Momma. I didn't break anything." I know, dear, but you mustn't ever go in the garage again. You don't want to make Steve angry, do you?" Herbie shook his head. So many things made Steve angry, but the car was the worst, he knew that. This time he wouldn't forget. For three days he remembered. Each day Momma reminded him about the car and the garage before he went outside. She told him again at lunch and again at supper. Every time Herbie passed the locked garage he remembered his promise. On Saturday, Momma was talking on the telephone when Herbie finished his breakfast. He carefully scraped the bread crusts and a few crisp edges of fried eggs into the garbage and placed the dirty dishes in the sink. Then he put on his heavy jacket, zipping it carefully, and pulled the hood over his ears. He went out the back door. The air was cold and felt stiff as he breathed it. He walked around the block counting the cracks in the sidewalk. They zigged and zagged and cut across the sidewalk in straight lines, and they reminded him of the maze of wires under the hood of Steve's car. He got mixed up when he got to fifteen, but it didn't matter. He just began again. Once he stopped to look into a yard where a cat huddled on a step. She looked cold, and Herbie wanted to pick her up and slip her inside his jacket to warm her, but the cat stared at him with eyes that seemed to go right through him. Somehow they reminded him of Steve's eyes when he was angry, and Herbie hurried home. Herbie stopped in front of the big garage door. From inside he heard the running motor and the clink of Steve's tools. But the garage door wasn't locked. Instead of touching the driveway, it was open a few inches, resting on a large hose. Herbie had never seen a hose that big before, but he knew it shouldn't be under the door that way. Steve would get mad at Momma if he knew she forgot about keeping the door locked. Carefully he slipped his fingers through the handle and lifted. With his shoe he kicked the hose until it disappeared behind the door. Then he let the big door down gently. It made only a tiny noise as the lock clicked in place. Herbie stood up and smiled. Now Steve wouldn't get mad at Momma. Herbie had remembered. He went to his room and looked at his collection of stones for a long time. They were pretty, some round and smooth, some rough and sharp. Herbie thought those were like people--scowling and angry, their sharp edges ready to slash him. He set these in the bottom of the box. Gradually he covered them with happy rocks that curved in smiles. When Herbie heard Momma call, he pushed the box into the closet and went downstairs. The table was set for lunch. "Herbie, will you please go downstairs and tell Steve that lunch is ready?" Herbie frowned. "I don't want him to get mad at me. I haven't been near the car at all, honest." Momma patted his arm. "All right," she said. "I'll go." She started down the stairs and Herbie followed her. He stayed in the doorway when she opened the garage door. The air smelled warm and dry, almost sweet. "Lunch is ready, Steve," she called. There was no answer except the steady throb of the engine. Herbie saw Steve bent over the engine under the open hood, but he wasn't working. A wrench lay on the fender just beyond his fingertips and his other hand dangled loosely. "Steve!" Momma screamed. She ran around the car and grabbed his shoulder. He slid sideways and Herbie saw his face. It was dark red--redder than Herbie had ever seen it before. Herbie backed out of the doorway. Steve was mad because he'd come down here. But he hadn't touched the car! He'd kept his promise! He heard his mother moving quickly in the garage. The engine stopped and she came back to the basement. She held the piece of hose in her hand. Her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't go in, honest. Tell Steve I didn't go in." "Herbie--" "Don't let him get mad, Momma. I closed the door so he wouldn't get mad. Tell him I remembered." Herbie's hands felt cold and his legs shook. Tears ran down Momma's cheeks as she took his hand and started upstairs. Her voice sounded hollow when she spoke. "Steve isn't mad at you. He's… Steve won't get mad anymore, Herbie." Herbie looked at her. He didn't understand. His mother blinked at the tears and said, "Steve's…going away." Herbie still didn't understand, but he believed her. He thought about his stepfather going away. "Will he take the car?" he asked. She shook her head and pressed her hand against her mouth. She made Herbie sit on a chair, and she picked up the telephone. Herbie waited until she hung up before he spoke again. "Momma, if Steve doesn't take the car, will I be able to play in it now?" Momma didn't answer because she was crying again. ### Copyright. All rights reserved Originally published in Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine.