Becoming Human, page 13
“Well, I’ve heard that you’re made in the image of a human brain. Actually, I didn’t know much about you until I read the article in the student newspaper today. Have you seen it?”
“No. I didn’t know it was out yet.”
“I should have brought it with me. Uh, you can read, can’t you?”
“Sure. To at least the college level.”
“I’ll bring it tomorrow.”
“Thank you, but one of the crew will probably bring it to the lab.”
“I’ll bring it anyway, just in case.” He flashed his light into the corners. I could see that he was about to leave. For some reason, I didn’t want him to go. “How’s the lock on the door?”
“Like new. Actually, it is new.”
I assumed this comment was an attempt at humor, so I took a chance and chortled softly.
He smiled back, so I suppose I was right. “What else do you do? Chess? Bridge? I don’t suppose you play golf.”
I chuckled again. “Not yet. But maybe I could learn chess and bridge. I presume you play them?”
“Never have, no. I just wondered what you like to do. I’ve never known an artificial brain before.”
I rumbled again. Part of understanding humor, I think, is to know the person you’re talking to. Some people, like David, try for it on almost every occasion. Ed, not so much, but often enough that I should look out for it. “I’ve never known a night watchman before, either. What’s your last name?”
He shone his flashlight around for the third time. I think he was stalling, too. “O’Reilly. Well, Oscar, I’d better be on my way. Places to go, things to do.”
“I’m sorry you can’t stay. Stop by again anytime.”
“No problem. I’ll be here every night except Sunday. And I’ll bring you the recorder every night at the beginning of my rounds, and pick it up again when I leave for the night. Okay?”
“Thank you, Ed. Remember, it’s a secret.”
“I hear you.”
“Does this mean we can be friends?”
“Absolutely. Stay well, Oscar. I mean—”
“I know what you mean. You stay well, too. Lot of colds going around.”
“I will. Ciao.”
“Ciao.” I watched him go out and close the door. For the first time, I had made a friend. After he had gone I was left with a nice feeling. Maybe that’s what friends are for. They make your wires feel good.
25
When the crew came in the next morning, a big group of students were waiting outside the lab. Robyn and David were first to arrive, but they didn’t want to let them in without Henry’s permission. I didn’t think that would be a problem because Henry, himself, brought some of his own students around from time to time. But in view of the break-in, everyone had become a bit nervous about opening the lab to the public. So David called Henry, but wasn’t able to reach him. Then he called Susumu, who said he was already on his way and would be here in a few minutes. David opened the door and explained this to the students. There was a chorus of groans, but they were an orderly chorus.
Susumu arrived five minutes later. He told them they could come in if they got permission from Security, whom he called immediately. He was assured that someone would be there shortly. Susumu opened the door again and explained that to the group. There was some additional grumbling, but most of them agreed to wait.
D’Arcy and Omar arrived before Security did. “What the hell is going on?”
David, who was gurgling with the thick phlegm produced by his cold, handed him a copy of the campus newspaper. “I think it’s this.”
D’Arcy took it, read something in the article about me, I presumed. “Well, Oscar, it looks like you’re famous. At least around the university.”
“Does this make me a BMOC?”
David roared, which started him coughing. “That’s exactly what you are, big guy. Only they should call you a BGOC.”
I roared back. “I like the sound of that.”
“I’m not sure Henry will,” D’Arcy said. “It’s going to be damn hard to get any work done if a bunch of students are barging in all the time.”
“It’s probably just a one-time thing,” Robyn countered. “Once they’ve seen him, their interest will dwindle.”
David took out a soiled handkerchief and blew voluminous amounts of phlegm into it. “She’s right. People always want to see something unusual, but it’s a fad that soon fades away.”
“You mean I’m like a freak of nature?”
“Something like that, Oz, but of course you’re not natural. You’re kind of man-made.”
“Same idea, though,” D’Arcy suggested. “A freak of man, maybe.”
Susumu tried Henry again. Apparently his cell phone was off. In another couple of minutes, two security officers arrived, one male, one female. “Who’s in charge here?” the woman asked as soon as they came through the door.
“Dr. Justasson,” Susumu informed them. “But in his absence, I am.”
“So what do you want to do with the students outside? Do you want to let them in?”
“Do you see any problem with that?”
“Not really. They should have come to us first, or sent a letter to Dr. Justasson. It’s only a problem if they’re interrupting your work. But if you let them in now, you’ll probably be done with it. I’ll explain to them that they would need permission next time.”
“Okay,” Susumu replied. “Anyone else have an objection?” No one did. “What about you, Oscar?”
“I suppose I have a certain responsibility, as a BGOC, to cater to their needs.” I laughed loudly so that they would all know it was an attempt at humor. Everyone found this amusing except Security.
“Ten minutes okay?” the policeman asked Susumu.
“Fine.”
“Okay, we’ll take care of it.” He opened the door. “All right, folks, you’ve got ten minutes to see the brain. Agreed?” Murmurs of agreement and, one at a time, they filed in.
I didn’t think they would all fit in the space between me and the desks, but most of them did and the rest sprinkled themselves around the laboratory, gawking at the equipment. I expected them to ask me a few questions, but they only whispered among themselves. The closest ones wanted to touch me, to know what a synthetic brain felt like. “Is that all there is to it?” “It’s just a big metal box with things sticking out.” “Kind of ugly, isn’t it?” These were mildly derogatory comments, but I could tell that they were a camouflage to cover up their uncertainty about being in the presence of something they didn’t understand. Finally a young man said, “Is someone in there?”
“Just us brains,” I responded cheerfully.
There were titters, but I could see the expressions on their faces change: they had made contact, and were therefore a bit less wary.
“Who is your leader?” I asked, and then giggled so they would know I was joking.
No one spoke. One young lady, who figured out that the cameras were my eyes, looked into them. “Where is the brain part?”
“What you see is a façade that protects my brain from dirt and flying objects and the like, just as your skull does for yours. If you ask one of the crew nicely, they might open my backside for you and let you take a look. Would this be agreeable?”
There were several nods.
At this, David took over. Wiping his reddening nose, he said, “Okay, guys, follow me, three at a time. The rest of you can wait your turn, okay?”
I waited too as they paraded in single file around to the back and, after a minute or two, came back out to find a security guard ushering them to the door. Those who were waiting asked me simple questions, like “Are you warm inside? How do you breathe? Do you have a heart?”
I told them what they saw was what they got, and snort-winked a couple of times. For some reason, this elicited gales of laughter, even from Robyn. I was hurt and embarrassed, so I stopped and did my imitation of Lyndon Johnson, instead. “Mah fella Murkins,” I intoned. Unfortunately, none of the students knew who Mr. Johnson was.
When they had all left the lab and dispersed to wherever their lives took them, the crew went back to work as if nothing had happened. And nothing had, actually. I had been the main attraction in a freak show, and once I had been seen there wasn’t any further interest. I was yesterday’s newspaper. In a world of surprises I wasn’t a BGOC, but just another oddity in a long line of things one encounters through a lifetime of experience. I didn’t even get fifteen minutes of fame, only ten. The crew would probably forget all about me when they moved on to new positions in their own labs. It’s rather like when someone dies—the living go on. It’s a chilling thought, but understandable. Being human means being mortal. The only question is “when?” It’s a sobering thought, one that almost everyone confronts at some point in their lives. It is at once frightening and, in a funny sense, comforting. We’re all in the same boat.
Before hibernating that night I thought again about being a “freak of man.” I understood this phrase, and its relationship to “freak of nature,” as I did at the time it was uttered. But I realized now that, whichever I was, I was still a freak. On the other hand I was, for the moment, a famous freak, among the student body, at least.
Did I want to be famous? It seems a very human desire. I think perhaps most people want fame because we all want to be more important and influential than we really are. Fortunately, we can do that vicariously through the fame of others. That’s probably why there are so many interviews with celebrities in magazines and on television, despite the fact that most of these interviews are pretty inane. Famous people are often rather dull and have little or nothing to say. Am I dull enough to be famous? If so, would I want a cameo role in a movie, perhaps one about myself? The bright lights shining on my ugly façade?
Another reason people want to be famous is the same reason they want to have children: their fame and their children outlive them, which creates the illusion that they can live forever. Do I want to live forever? Do I want to be famous and have children? Is it possible for me to somehow have one? I think I would like that. But I don’t have any DNA to pass on. Perhaps I should speak to Henry or Susumu about this. I don’t know if it is possible to really understand what it is to be human without having children to carry on your feelings and beliefs.
I was about to drift off when I remembered that many of those students found me ugly. Maybe they were joking. I had never seen myself, front or back. I don’t know what I look like! I decided to ask whoever came in first that morning to set up a mirror on the wall opposite my eyes. I went to sleep both fearing and anticipating this vision.
26
Ed came in during the night, and I expected a nice, friendly chat. But we didn’t talk much. Right after he got there he was paged about a “situation” somewhere else in the building. Before he left, though, he propped up an inexpensive voice-activated recorder (“It’s an old one,” he informed me. “No charge for using it.”) and the newspaper interview for me to read. Just before he left for the night he picked them up again. I thanked him, hoping he would stay longer, but he was meeting “the guys” at the local tavern for a couple of beers before going home. I wished I could go with him.
As soon as Susumu came in the next morning I asked him about installing a mirror. He looked puzzled for a moment and pointed out that I would need one almost as big as the entire wall in order to view myself in my entirety. I told him that would be fine. He didn’t say anything, only shook his head. I assumed he would speak to Henry about giving me one, even if it only covered part of the wall. Before I could confirm this, however, he cautioned, “I’m not sure you really want one, Oscar.”
That shocked me. Why wouldn’t I want to see what I look like? Doesn’t everyone want to know that? Suddenly I understood what he was getting at. What if I’m even more grotesque than I thought? Would I want to know it? And what could I, or anyone, do about it? It occurred to me immediately that, if necessary, I could request a false front to “represent” me in case there were more interviews or visits by groups of students. I had noticed that people who talked to me often didn’t know what to look at. They aren’t used to talking to someone without human eyes, or any other parts of a face except for a nostril, and even that is stuck somewhere in my backside. I thought of a joke: If a butt has a mouth and cheeks, is it a face? But I didn’t tell Susumu. I supposed he wouldn’t think it was funny.
It would be better if I had something like the representations of real people one finds displayed in wax museums. The figure could be placed in front of me and I could respond to questions from behind it, like the wizard of Oz. Whose body would I want to represent me? Leonardo DiCaprio, maybe? Or a young Robert Redford? I had been thinking the other night about who are the most human of all humans, and I decided it was newscasters and politicians. They seem to be the most ordinary, the most average of all people in any line of work, kind of a summary of all of us. Would I want to be embodied by one of the local TV newsmen? Or a member of the House of Representatives? The latter seemed to exhibit the best and worst traits of human beings everywhere.
But that scenario would have to wait. There were too many other things going on to worry about a personification of myself. This morning, while Omar was making more of the endless neurons that added daily to my brainpower, Henry strode in. (I say “strode” because he tries hard to show his leadership by being confident in his every move.) I thought he had come to see about providing me with a mirror. But he wasn’t alone. He introduced me to the president of the entire university—a portly, nearly-bald gentleman in an expensive-looking suit. Dr. Sherman strode even more confidently than Henry, who pointed to my eyes and remarked, “He sees as well as you do,” stating the obvious.
Dr. Sherman looked from one eye to the other, finally settled on my right one. “Hello, Oscar,’ he said, in a surprisingly pleasant voice touched with a bit of obsequiousness. “I read the article about you in the student newspaper. I’m pleased to meet you.”
Perhaps I was a bit miffed at not being told that the president was coming. In any case, I found myself replying, “To what do I owe this enormous pleasure?”
Sherman glanced at Henry, who shrugged. “Well, sir, to tell you the truth, I just wanted to meet you. Everyone on campus is talking about you, and I just wanted to see for myself what all the excitement was about.”
I noticed that Henry was frowning at me. I was pretty sure he was asking me to tone it down a bit. I came back with, “Thank you. I hope you’re not disappointed.”
“Not at all. You’re an amazing creation. Dr. Justasson has been telling me about your capabilities. Will you answer a question for me? What can the university do to make your development even faster and more comfortable for you?”
I thought about winking at Henry, but decided against it. “I think everyone would be happy if we had more space to work in. As you can see, we’re pretty crowded in here.”
Sherman nodded slowly but silently. After a moment he nodded more briskly. “We’ll see what we can do.”
“And,” I added, “ask Henry to give me a penis.”
Henry grimaced and Sherman’s mouth fell open for a moment. Suddenly he burst into a hearty laugh, which went on for several seconds. Henry laughed too, though less heartily. I added a few sniggers of my own. The president gave my façade a once-over. “Yes, I see what you mean.” He turned back to Henry. “Well, it’s been interesting,” he told him. And back to me: “Good-bye, Oscar. We’ll see what we can do about getting more room for you and your, uh, penis.” He turned to go.
“Thank you. It was nice to meet you.”
Sherman nodded and walked out with Henry, his arm around his shoulders. I couldn’t hear what they were murmuring about, but I assumed they were discussing the possible ramifications of my having a sexual organ.
After they were gone I asked Susumu if he could give me some notice whenever someone was coming to visit me. His reply seemed a bit testy to me. I realized, if I didn’t know it before, that he was as human as everyone else. “I will, if someone gives me some notice first.”
“Susumu, do you think I was too glib or disrespectful to the president?”
“I think you should be whoever you are.”
“You don’t think I came on too strong? I sensed that he was a busy man who would appreciate a no-nonsense approach, but I could have been wrong.” He merely shrugged his shoulders, leaving me to make my own conclusions.
A little while later he told me that there were a couple of candidates coming later to interview for a job as laboratory assistant, someone to help Omar build the memory and other thinking devices that I would need to grow and develop. This was part of the new grant money and it needed to be spent, along with that for two more post-doctoral fellows and a lot of new equipment and supplies. Otherwise it would be lost, even if the renewal application were successful.
After lunch the applicants came, one at a time, to talk to Susumu and the others in the crew and, finally, to me. There were three of them. One was a young “black” man, the second an attractive young Oriental woman just out of college, and the third a very nice thirtyish lady, also of Asian heritage. I chatted with them, learned that neither of the women was married, though the latter had been divorced. When they had gone I told Susumu that I liked her best, even though she seemed considerably more timid than the others, at least toward me. He nodded and conferred with the rest of the crew. What I didn’t tell him was that I was hoping he would hit it off with her and that both their lonely lives could be made a little happier.
“And what about my mirror?” I reminded him. “Did you ask Henry about that when he was here?”
