Becoming Human, page 19
“I would like that.” She smiled her gorgeous smile and gave my frontside a circular rub. Even though I couldn’t feel it, it felt wonderful.
When everyone had finally left for the day I was glad to be powered down. I was exhausted.
Interjection
Despite Oscar’s protestations that he had made a mistake and would behave himself from then on, I nevertheless called the meeting of the crew to discuss what we thought might have gone wrong with him and to consider where we should go from there. No one believed he was truly contrite, or that he could be implicitly trusted. Indeed, the consensus was that he was so human in so many ways that no one could really tell what he was thinking. He was like an unruly teenager in the process of becoming an adult, testing what he could get by with and what he couldn’t. Lying and deviousness were no longer past him; he would probably say or do anything we asked while he came up with a plan to do whatever he wanted to do. In short, we all agreed that he needed to be supervised more closely, kept occupied, and assured that the program was on track, while at the same time carrying out whatever experiments we felt necessary to bring about his further development.
We also spent some time discussing whether it was our methodology that had changed him into something or someone we almost didn’t recognize, whether some wires had gotten crossed (so to speak), or whether this was a normal progression of events that would happen no matter when or where he had been created. It was decided that we would give him a thorough physical to determine whether something had been misconnected or overloaded before we attempted to further humanize him, for example by giving him the sense of touch.
At the same time, it was fully understood by everyone present that we were truly working in the dark with Oscar, that we were literally on the frontier of medical science, and that perhaps we should be prepared to expect whatever happened as normal progression in an artificial human brain. There was, after all, no guidebook.
On the other hand, David suggested the possibility that Oscar might, in fact, be an aberration. That another creation might behave entirely differently, just as every human being is different from every other. D’Arcy agreed with this assessment, pointing out that countless solid-fuel rockets had come crashing down before the first one got into orbit. Perhaps Oscar was that first defective rocket, full of errors which were, at present, unknown, and he was destined to crash in the desert, leaving us to learn from our mistakes and begin again. This didn’t help us much in deciding how to proceed and, in fact, we concluded that there was nothing to do other than to continue as originally planned, see how far we could take Oscar and accept whatever the results might be. He wasn’t, after all, a Frankenstein’s monster, capable of running amok through the campus swatting down students and disappearing into the woods.
Susumu, as always, recommended a more cautious approach: actually removing a portion of his neurons and replacing them with new ones to see whether this would result in a different Oscar from the one we had. Theoretically a useful suggestion, but impossible to undertake under the current funding system, which rewarded results and their publication rather than careful experimentation. In any case we all, including Susumu, agreed that there was very little danger in proceeding with the present program as long as we kept an eye out for trouble.
With that spadework out of way, we discussed what to do about the upcoming Sixty Minutes interview. We could certainly make a list of topics we might like them to cover, and suggest to Oscar what we would like him to say, but there was no guarantee that he would comply with any of this. D’Arcy remarked that we ought to consider calling off the interview, that it might do us more harm than good. But the fact is, we needed the exposure. If we could get the American people to talk about Oscar, about the need for advancements in medical science, and the sciences in general, it would not only help us to get our grant renewal funded, but perhaps also produce an increase in the total NIH budget. After all, he did all right in his discussion with the NIMH committee that had visited us, as well as the interview for the student newspaper. Of course he was younger then, and still trying to do what he thought was the right thing for all of us, rather than only himself. This time it could be different. But there was no doubt that if Oscar put his mind to it, he could make a significant contribution to medicine and to the world in general. Again we were in the dark, and would simply have to trust him on this.
Moreover, what would the NIMH think if we cancelled the interview? Would they suspect the obvious, that maybe something had gone wrong with Oscar? I was certain that we would get a call very soon after such a decision to ask us what the hell was happening in the lab. Maybe they would even want to speak with Oscar, to get his input on that question. In a way he had us by the balls, just as (to mix a couple of metaphors) we had him over a barrel. As I have said earlier in this report, nothing is ever easy in the matter of scientific research.
Adding to all these difficulties was the threat, which was becoming more certain by the day, that we might have to pack up and move to an entirely different laboratory halfway across the country. None of us wanted to do this, but Frank Wilkes and the university were sticking to their ancient policies regardless of what was best for everyone concerned, especially for Oscar. There was no way to tell what this would mean for him, or how difficult it would be to get him back together again in exactly the same way he was before. We all hoped it wouldn’t come to that, though no one had any suggestions as to how to avoid it.
One final point was made in that meeting. Omar suggested that David go back to Oscar and apologize for telling him that there was no chance he would get a penis. This wasn’t strictly true—though it wouldn’t be possible for years, perhaps many decades, it would nevertheless happen eventually—and his mind should be put to rest on the matter. It might improve his mood significantly, even if it wouldn’t happen for a considerable length of time. Another thing about an artificial brain: as far as we knew, and unlike the rest of us, he theoretically might well have all the time in the world. Presumably, as he himself had surmised, he wouldn’t rust or wear out or get Alzheimer’s or any other disease.
It was also decided that we should all encourage Robyn (who wasn’t present at the meeting) to stay at least until the Sixty Minutes interview. This, too, could make a significant difference in the way he felt about the situation. D’Arcy suggested further that perhaps we should suggest to her that she might show more warmth toward him, even try to make him think she had genuine feelings for him. In the interest of science and humanity, of course.
38
Ten days have gone by since I last added to this memoir. During that period I have had little to record, partly because I have been spending a lot of time researching the fundamentals of skin anatomy and physiology. Did you know that your skin is the largest organ in your body? Yes, it is an organ, just like a liver or kidney. And a remarkable one at that. It protects the rest of the body from injury and the extremes of cold and heat and ultraviolet radiation, and, when injured, can heal itself. The outer layer, the epidermis, is a tough membrane that sheds old cells, which are continually replaced by the underlying dermis. It is the latter, permeated by countless blood vessels, where new growth occurs and to which nerve endings (receptors) are attached. It is this attachment to the nerves of the skin, which allows touch to be felt, that was the crux of the problem facing the crew and myself.
The other reason I haven’t added anything to this account lately is that, frankly, I have been depressed. Not clinically, just a normal reaction for any human being when things have gone to hell. An interesting question: if I were clinically depressed, would a psychiatrist be able to treat me, and if so, how? Presumably through hours and hours of psychoanalysis. Certainly not with drugs. But I was merely having a garden-variety depression, which I am coming out of on my own. After all, I only want to be happy, to love and be loved, just like everyone else.
For a few nights I was having bad dreams. All kinds of things that any shrink would find easy to explain. Being kicked around by bullies, eaten by bears, none of which I’ve ever even seen except on television programs. Of course, they all express my unconscious feelings about being rebuffed in my attempts to win Robyn and get rid of David, as well as my underlying concern about being torn apart and transported to a faraway place.
Not to worry, though—I am feeling better now. One reason for this is that Gerry returned for a visit yesterday. In case you have forgotten, she was the student reporter who did an interview with me for the campus newspaper. She is a pretty girl. Not as lovely as Robyn, but cute and energetic and friendly, with great boobs. Even David has said these things. But she didn’t come to see David, the handsome one. She came to see me. She told me that after the interview she had never forgotten me. She wondered how I was doing, whether I could taste things yet, and so on. She liked my sense of humor.
Although she doesn’t have a boyfriend, I have learned not to have false illusions about her (or anyone) falling in love with me; one thing about the human mind is that it learns from its mistakes. As with Robyn, we are just friends. Anyway, we had a nice chat, and she promised to come again soon. And, no, I didn’t ask to see her pubic hair. I have learned that that is not a good thing to do until one’s relationship with another person develops a bit further.
Another reason that my spirits have lifted is that David and D’Arcy have found a life-size cardboard cutout of Leonardo DiCaprio. From a movie theater, I think. They haven’t put it in front of me yet, but they will do so later today. They wanted to get the mirror back first so I can see how handsome I look. Leonardo’s eyes don’t wink and his lips won’t move when I speak, but they promised to work on that. It’s a start. I wish Gerry had come later so she could have seen the real me. When she comes back, though, I will have a surprise for her.
Yet a third reason that I have pulled out of my funk is that I have simply grown up a bit more. I finally came to understand that everyone goes through periods in his life when he realizes that he has to learn to settle for what he can get. That is where I am now. If I can’t have the woman I want, I’ll bide my time until I have the necessary attributes to attract someone else. From all my reading and watching, I have learned that there is no such thing as “the only girl in the world.” There are thousands, maybe millions, of potential partners. All you have to do is find them. I toyed around with signing up for an Internet dating service, but finally rejected that stupid idea. No one would want me in my present condition. As with almost everything else, that will just have to wait awhile.
I helps that Robyn and I are good friends. In fact, now that Ed doesn’t have time for me, she is my best friend. She doesn’t have to be aloof and objective anymore, so we speak more often, kid around, and just enjoy each other’s company. Since I know her better, and still love her a little, she has promised to show me her pubic hair sometime when no one else is in the laboratory. I’ve seen it already, but this time it will be for me only.
I’m getting along better with David now, too. Omar was right: he’s done a lot for me in the past, and if he angered me by rejecting Robyn in favor of some slut, that’s his affair. We even talked a little about the kinds of questions the Sixty Minutes people might ask. Not to program me into giving safe, conservative answers, just to get me to think about what to expect. He tells me jokes sometimes, too, some of which are actually funny. Like: “I don’t have any children, as far as I know.” That only works for men, though. Or: How does someone know if he snores? Answer: he will have bruises all over his body where his wife has kicked him.
But I have digressed. As I said above, the unresolved issue of giving me touch is that nerve cells need to be attached, or at least come into contact with, the living dermal layers of human skin. The problem so far has been that the crew has been trying to grow several layers of skin on wet surfaces. After considerable thought, I came up with the idea of letting the nutrient liquids drain through from the epidermis, leaving the exposed (moist, not wet) dermal layers available for attachment to my wires. We don’t know yet whether this will work, but they’ll be giving it a try very soon. It might take a long time to go from there to fully-formed arms and legs, but, like the Leonardo cutout, it could be the beginning of something wonderful.
39
David and D’Arcy set up the cardboard Leonardo in front of me and brought in the mirror, which they placed in its usual place against the wall. As a joke, they had stuck a Goucho mustache and horn-rimmed glasses to his face, but once everyone had a good laugh, they took them away. I was immediately transfixed. In fact, I could not take not my eyes off him (myself). It wasn’t just that he softened my inhuman appearance. With him there, no one noticed my dull, ugly, gray façade at all. All eyes focused on Leonardo. Even I forgot the thing squatting behind him. From that point on I became someone else. Not Leonardo, but me, who now looked like Leonardo. It was like getting an ugly growth removed from your face. I was no longer the elephant man. I was a man!
“Oz! You are one gorgeous guy!” David gushed.
“He’s right, man. You’re the best-looking dude around here!” D’Arcy added.
I knew they were only trying to cheer me up, but it worked. I could feel my confidence grow by the minute. I wanted to show Henry how I had changed—I think he would be pleased—but he was away trying to sell our project to a couple of other universities. It angered me a little that he had to spend his valuable research and teaching time doing this. What a waste, all because of some petty misunderstanding on the part of his boss and former friend, Frank Wilkes.
Possibly because of the large dose of new-found confidence, an idea popped into my head. Perhaps I could speak with Dr. Wilkes, and to Dr. Sherman, the university president, as well. Separately, or maybe in a telephone conference. I asked Susumu about this. Just as I expected, he wouldn’t give me permission until he had conferred with Henry about it. I asked him whether he needed to ask Henry’s permission to take a leak. He stared at me (only now he was looking at Leonardo), and began to giggle. It was a kind of little girlish laugh that I had not heard from him before. I suppose he had seen the humor in what I had said, but it also seemed likely that he had seen a larger truth in it, and perhaps he, himself, had been thinking about taking a more active role in the lab or even in seeking his own professorship elsewhere, as I had suggested to him on a couple of earlier occasions. His credentials, after all, were impeccable, and he would surely have obtained high recommendations from Henry and many other colleagues, as well as the junior faculty members David and D’Arcy.
“All right, Oscar, I’ll give you my decision, and it’s the same one Henry would give you if he were here: no, that’s not a good idea.”
“Why not?”
“Because Sherman and Wilkes are both well aware of the situation. Wilkes is being a jerk, and there’s nothing Dr. Sherman can do about it. The president would also be loath to change the pecking order around here because Dr. Wilkes gets a lot of grant money himself, and he’s also the editor of a prestigious journal.” He leaned closer to Leonardo (me). “I’ll tell you a secret,” he whispered. I waited. “Henry is not that popular in the medical school. Some of the faculty members think that the ‘Oscar’ project is a little radical. Even a bit nuts.”
“Even with the Sixty Minutes interview?”
“They consider it a publicity stunt.”
“Do you consider it a publicity stunt?”
“Of course not. But even if it is, they came to us, not the other way around.”
“All right, Susumu. Thank you. I won’t upset the apple cart.”
“Good. Things are tough enough already.”
A little later Robyn came up to me and gazed lovingly into my (new) eyes. “If you were any handsomer, I don’t think I could take it.”
“But I still don’t have a penis.”
“Not yet, Oscar. But it might not be long now. Let’s see how the next round of skin experiments turn out. Henry and Susumu are quite pleased by your input on that, and they think it might work. So do the rest of us.”
“When will we try it?”
“Maybe tomorrow. Henry will be back tonight. Maybe he has found a lab with plenty of space for you to roam around in, and lots of new people for you to meet.”
“Oh, boy. I hope so.”
“Me, too. Someone as attractive as you should have a girlfriend.”
“You’re the only girlfriend I want.”
“I know, Oscar. And the way you look now, I might have to change my mind.”
“Will you think about it?
“Yes. I’ll think about it.” She came up and kissed me (Leonardo) on the mouth.
It was thrilling, but I knew there are all kinds of meanings to a kiss, and I didn’t get too excited. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” I blurted, in my best Bogart voice. This made her smile, and she gazed at me for a little while before leaving for the night. I watched her go with love, but without an iota of hope.
Nevertheless, I couldn’t wait to see her again. And Gerry, too. There’s always hope even when there is no hope. What can I tell you? I’m only human.
40
The crew didn’t power me down that night. Before everyone left, Susumu told me they had obtained some good results with the skin permeation experiments, and everyone was coming back that evening except for Robyn and Omar. They wanted to do a preliminary experiment with me to see whether the new material showed any promise using a receptor (not me) to test the electrical conductivity of the dermis. What I didn’t expect was that Henry, just back from his job-hunting tour, would also be there.
He came in with his brisk stride, so I knew he was feeling good about something. Before he said anything, though, he stopped short and gazed at my new façade. He nodded and smiled. “I have to admit your appearance has improved considerably, Oscar.”
