Becoming Human, page 17
But there was an occasional surprise to brighten up my day even when it was raining outside. Susumu and David rigged up another camera behind me so I could take a look at my backside. I waited dismally for the ugly picture to come onto the screen. But it wasn’t ugly at all. It was beautiful! It looked much like a Jackson Pollock painting, only in black and white, with a dab of shiny color here and there. Perhaps the artist had something like me in mind as he was drizzling paint everywhere. Maybe I wasn’t so ugly after all, if you take everything into account! On top of that, I had so much precious metal in my wires—copper, silver, gold, titanium, and others—that I was worth a small fortune even if I were to short-circuit and become an idiot.
On the other hand, the incessant addition of more thinking power had slowed down, and Omar and Gladys were concentrating on adding more memory cells to my hippocampus. This was Henry’s idea. I was still growing, after all, and learning and experiencing more and more every day. Memory had to keep up or I would start to forget what I had learned.
One day, however, I actually felt more and more sluggish throughout the morning. There were things I couldn’t remember, calculations I couldn’t make. I would look at someone and have trouble figuring out who it was. The lab actually appeared darker than usual. When I tried to speak I couldn’t find the words. I was beginning to get worried, and I called out to David (Susumu was out at that moment, and D’Arcy was behind me).
“Yes, Oscar?”
“There’s something wrong.”
“What is it?”
“I can’t think right. If I were human, I would think I was having a stroke.”
He smiled happily, as he always does when an experiment turns out well. “It’s okay, big guy. We’ve disconnected some of your brain cells as an experiment. You’re feeling exactly like we thought you would. Okay, D’Arcy,” he yelled, “hook him back up!”
I immediately started feeling better. “You did this without telling me? Didn’t I ask you—”
“Yes, yes. We’ve discussed this before, fella. Sometimes we have to—”
“Damn it, David, I wish you wouldn’t do that. I’ve told you several times that I would always be honest with you with any experiment you want to perform. Don’t you trust me yet?”
“Of course we do, Oz. It’s just that there are certain things that must be done according to scientific guidelines. You know, like a control or a placebo. C’mon—you know about these things.”
“Yes, I do. But I’m not a guinea pig I can tell you things you need to know. I’m a human being! You should treat me like one!”
“All right, Ozzie, I see your point. We’ll reconsider some of our procedures.”
I was still peeved, but didn’t say any more. I wished they would get my skin done and stop screwing around with the puzzles and games. I couldn’t take this infernal waiting much longer.
33
The morning after that annoying little experiment, Henry came in early, before anyone else had arrived, to give me another surprise. Sixty Minutes, broadcast nationally every Sunday evening, wanted to do an interview with me. “You’re famous!” he squeaked in the falsetto voice he assumes when he is excited. “Not just at the university, but everywhere!”
The contracts had not yet been signed, however, and even if they were, it would be another few weeks before their interrogators and cameras would invade the laboratory. I was pleased, of course, as most people would be, and I was sure I would do all right as long as nobody pulled any of my plugs. I don’t know how Sixty Minutes found out about the project, and I wondered whether the whole thing was merely another attempt to put more pressure on the department chair to give us more space.
Something far more important happened right after he left, however. Robyn came into the lab by herself. I asked her where David was. “We split up,” she said matter-of-factly as she flung off her backpack. She didn’t seem at all distraught about this. I demanded to know if this was another “experiment” performed for my benefit. She assured me it was not. When I was convinced of that, I thought about asking her for the details so that I could comfort her and make sure she hadn’t been hurt by something David had said or done. On the other hand, I realized that it might bother her to talk about it, so I said nothing. For the moment I was content to imagine a future with Robyn free from encumbrances. Now, with David out of the way, she would have far more time for me. I hoped she might stay late sometimes, and we would talk about my sense of touch, especially after I got a penis. Of course, I couldn’t roll around on the floor with her, but I could daydream such a thing, nevertheless. It was one of the most thrilling days of my life.
The euphoria was short-lived. When David came in they huddled in the corner, murmuring and whispering. It was like it always was when they were alone together, except that there was no smiling or touching. I heard him say she “didn’t have to go,” and there was “no rush to move on,” and so forth. I thought they were talking about her moving out of his apartment, which I assumed she had already done. But it was far worse than that. She wanted to get another job, move out of the lab altogether, maybe to another university or perhaps to a biotechnology company. I noticed that she didn’t look him in the eye during the whole conversation, and when Omar came in they returned to their desks. I waited and waited, hoping to find her alone again, but there were others around all that day, and she left early. If I had a heart it would have been broken. It wasn’t the first time I thought seriously about how I might cause David significant pain.
As if that weren’t enough, D’Arcy, who was nominally in charge of the artificial skin program, or “ASP,” as they were now calling it, announced that the substance they were working on did not look as promising as he had thought, and he wanted to start over with another cell type. Susumu agreed, though they kept a few samples of the current material just in case nothing better could be found. After all, my nostril was something of a failure at first.
Another thing that wasn’t working out was Gladys. She was smart enough, but she was becoming bored and made mistakes, and it took most of Omar’s time just to examine and adjust the dozens of new neurons she had constructed. My plan to get her together with Susumu also seemed doomed to failure, as they seemed to have little to say to each other, and didn’t even seem to like each other very much. I couldn’t ask her why because she was still uncomfortable talking to me. The lab was going to hell, and it was at least partly my fault.
But I didn’t care about Gladys, really, or much of anything else, including the interview with Sixty Minutes. All I cared about was Robyn and when she would be leaving. I didn’t even know how much time I would have left to try to get her to stay. I was encouraged, though, when she went home early that day, because she made a point of saying goodnight to me. She didn’t touch me, though, just smiled as she said it. I noted that she didn’t say goodnight to David.
I responded, in the voice of Cary Grant, “Goodnight, Robyn. Have a nice evening.” She didn’t thank me, and I don’t think she even heard it. Perhaps she was preoccupied with something.
I wanted to talk to someone about my feelings, but Ed only stepped in for a minute to say hello, leave the recording device, and shine his light around. “Can you come in for a bit after work?” I asked him.
“I’m sorry, Oscar, I can’t tonight. Maybe some other time. I’ll be back to pick this up, later, though.” He was the only real friend I’ve ever had, and now I didn’t even have him anymore.
When they created me, the crew didn’t tell me that life was hard. Apparently this is something everyone has to learn for himself. I spent some time trying to think of a way to get Robyn to stay in the lab, or to get David to leave it instead. I still wanted to kill him, though I realized that was impossible without an accomplice. But I was too sleepy to figure out how to find one.
For the rest of the night I hibernated, but the first thing I thought of when I came awake was Robyn. Robyn, Robyn, Robyn. It was such a beautiful name, like a bird. Such a beautiful face, such a beautiful figure. Why didn’t she love me? Was it just the penis thing, or my whole façade, or was it even more than that? I knew she liked me. If only we could spend more time alone together… .
On my outside monitor I could see the sun coming up, and that was beautiful too, though I didn’t much care. I gazed mindlessly at the pale, yellow-green grass brightening in its warming rays. How does anyone get someone to love him or her? I can’t invite her out, or give her a box of candy, unless I got someone to do it for me, and then she might fall in love with whoever did that. Maybe I should write a song for her. I ran a few notes through my mind, along with some words to go with them. I was still doing that when Omar came into the lab and powered me up. I was very disappointed; I had hoped it would be Robyn. I realized then that she didn’t really care about me. If she did, she would have been first in the lab.
Maybe it wasn’t David she was running away from. Maybe it was me. The problem with love between human beings is that you never know where you stand. You can only fumble around, make assumptions that could be wrong, say this, try that. Maybe I should ask someone else how Robyn feels about me. Another problem: they might get it wrong, too.
There were only two possibilities: (1) she cared about me but didn’t know how to overcome the difficulties, or (2) she didn’t. Either way, I needed to change my approach. I remembered Leonardo DiCaprio. Maybe someone could paste his face on my frontside so it would seem I was more human, more normal. Or anyone’s face. Anything but mine.
34
Later, when D’Arcy came in, I asked him why he thought the skin type they had been building hadn’t performed the way everyone expected. Theoretically, it should have worked, he mumbled, almost apologetically. He told me that they couldn’t get a good grip on it with the wires that led to my neurons, so they wanted to try something heavier. I asked him about the possibility of adding another layer to the ones we already had. He said the crew was already at three layers of the material, and that’s what they thought ought to work. But they would try adding a fourth. This didn’t make up for the loss of Robyn, but it made me feel better to think that I might have contributed something to the ASP, to my own growth and development, to get me a step closer to being human, with arms and legs and maybe even a face and certain other body parts.
Small consolation. When she came in I forgot all about skin layers, and even penises. She waved at me as she took her seat, her desk covered with the usual piles of books and papers surrounding her pale blue notebook computer with a bitten apple on the cover, which some people think is a close relative of mine. But computers can’t love and be disappointed and even hurt by human feelings, or the lack thereof. I think all human beings, even those who pretend otherwise, need love. There are those—many throughout human history, both real and imaginary—who have committed suicide because of unrequited love. Romeo and Juliet, for example, and thousands of other theatrical and opera figures. How to explain the way love happens, why it comes and why it departs? As Robyn herself put it, some little thing attracts another person, and that creates a desire to find some other little thing that further attracts, and it feeds on itself until it becomes love. No one knows where the line is between love and not-love, but it is crossed by millions of people every day. And one day the person does something that disgusts or angers the other person, and that feeds and grows until the not-love overcomes the love, and they come apart and go their separate ways. Or a person finds another person who seems more attractive or kind or smart, and that love grows at the expense of the other one, like a spider sucking the life out of a fly. Who knows what causes these feelings? The only thing that is certain is that there is a need for it. A need for love and, sometimes, a need for not-love. Even the smartest of us can’t explain this.
That must be what happened with Robyn and David. I think she loved him when I first knew her, when I was younger, a baby. They couldn’t get enough of each other. They kissed and touched and even had sexual intercourse right in front of me at night, not knowing or caring that I was watching them. But something must have happened later that killed that desire for love between them. More for Robyn than for David, I think, because he doesn’t seem to want her to go. I wonder what could have come between them. Could it have been her love for me? She must know I love her, though I have never actually told her so. That’s why they haven’t had sex in the lab for so long—she didn’t want me to see them doing it. Of course the surveillance camera might have had something to do with that, but they could have covered it up in some way, or done it where the lens couldn’t find them. She’s simply confused, torn between David and myself. And she’s only running away because she doesn’t know what to do!
How can I get her to stay? What if I made it crystal clear that I love her and wouldn’t want to live without her—would that change her mind? Of course I have to admit the possibility that she doesn’t find those little things in me that would make her fall in love. The fact is, I don’t know how she really feels about me. I think I will have to ask her. Otherwise I could go crazy not knowing.
The other possibility: to get David to leave. How can I do that? Maybe I could start a rumor that he is stealing equipment from the lab or something like that. Or convince Henry that he isn’t pulling his weight and should be replaced. Suddenly I understood why people go to war. It has nothing to do with justice or righting wrongs, as everyone likes to believe. It’s about hate. I gazed at the SOB, but he was oblivious to my stare. He seemed contented even though he had lost Robyn. In fact, he paid little attention to her. What kind of person could he be? Maybe if I killed him no one would care.
On the other hand, if you kill someone, can you still go to paradise? I think so, if the justification is sufficient. There is an edict in the Ten Commandments against killing, but it is commonly assumed that this can be overridden, for example in times of war, or for a lawful execution. God himself smote various people when it became necessary, and even encouraged others to do so, and one assumes He nevertheless resides in heaven. So all I need is sufficient justification to do away with David and I still might get there. Could I perhaps justify killing him if he were a threat to Robyn’s well-being? I think that might do it. If there is no paradise, of course, there is no need for justification. I could take him out and Robyn would stay here and fall in love with me and we would live happily ever after.
Aside from my soul going, or not going, to heaven, there is the more immediate issue of what would happen to me here on Earth if I were found out, even if there were justification for my action. Would there be a trial? If I were found guilty, would I be killed? Or incarcerated for the rest of my life? And if they killed me, how would they do it? Just unplug me? If they did this, would I see my whole life flash before my eyes, and then the darkness would come and I would never wake up again? That thought alone would certainly make me want to think twice about whether the justification could ever be enough. If I got rid of David I could lose her anyway!
But Robyn has already left him, so there is no justification for killing him unless that would be the only way I could get her to stay here. Regardless of the consequences, is that reason enough? It all depends on whether she does, or can, learn to love me. Before she left I asked her if I could speak with her alone at the earliest opportunity. She frowned at me, but said she would come back after work. Before she left she asked the crew to leave me powered up. I was both relieved and nervous. This was my big moment; I didn’t want to screw it up.
35
She came in and turned on the lights. “I’ve been thinking,” I began. I’ve learned that everyone pays attention to that opening—it’s what’s called a “grabber.”
“I’d like to hear what you’ve been thinking,” she assured me, but she wasn’t smiling. Had I made a mistake? Maybe she was only humoring me, or even being sarcastic. In any case, she brought her chair over and sat down facing me.
I cleared my throat. She smiled graciously. “There’s something I need to know,” I said, as softly as I could.
“Okay.”
“That was an act, wasn’t it? You and David were faking that breakup just to see how I would react to it, weren’t you?” I was lying. I believed her the first time. I just wanted to speak with her again, hoping I could change her mind about leaving me.
Her jaw actually dropped. She frowned and looked away, obviously guilty as charged. She seemed to be trying to formulate some sort of answer that would appease me. Finally, she looked right into my eyes and said, “No. David and I aren’t together anymore. Is that why you asked me to come back tonight? To ask me that?”
I regretted immediately having asked her that stupid question. “I’m sorry, Robyn. Please forgive me for doubting you. It’s just that I’m so mixed up about everything. I just wanted to talk to you. I’m truly sorry if you’re unhappy.”
Her demeanor abruptly changed. “Thank you, Oscar. Somehow that makes me feel better.”
“I’m glad.”
“But I’m not really unhappy. We’ll both get over it.” She turned away again and murmured, “These things happen. It’s just a part of life. Of being human.”
She might not be unhappy, but she nevertheless looked it. I said, “I don’t want you to leave.”
She stiffened a little, and I could tell that she was trying again to come up with a diplomatic response. Why do humans have to be so subtle all the time? “Oscar, I don’t really want to stay here in the same place where David is. I know that may be hard for you to understand, but there are too many bad memories for that.”
