|
NEW BOOK
Graffs bestselling book ready to publish worldwide. Read more.
 |
Caring for one's computer
It was a gray, rainy day in a not too distant future when she finally gave up. The pregnancy test had turned out negative again. The automat on the corner had given a little beep and spit out a red strip of paper. She’d been trying to have a baby for several years but now she realized it was useless. When she got home she felt exhausted. Her husband was waiting by the door. He studied her expression silently, shrugged his shoulders and smiled understandingly.
“Don’t be sad,” he said. “I have a little surprise for you.”
“What?” She attempted a smile.
He took her coat, hung it up and led her to the sofa in the living room. There was a package on the table, wrapped up with a ribbon and a bow.
“There!” he said when she sat down at the table.
“What is it?” she asked, pulling the ribbon.
“Open it up – I promise you’ll like it.”
She unwrapped the package and looked at it. She could see it was from the computer shop. A little printed label read: “The programmable child – guaranteed to cure the strongest of parental instincts!”
She clutched her head, looked at him, and said: “You promised we’d never have an synthetic child. Why have you changed your mind?”
“Well …” He looked a little embarrassed. “I know how much becoming a mother means to you. It’s too hard on our relationship, your unhappiness” - he pointed at the box – “and this new version has fixed all the shortcomings the old ones had. For example, they have randomized its crying-, regurgitating- and peeing function. This means it doesn’t do things at predictable hours of the day. So what’s in the diaper will be much more of a surprise. You can change the sex, hair-, skin- and eye color by pressing the buttons in its neck. It can babble in a whole lot of different languages and dialects. It’s bowel movements are so life-like that it can make the most callous sewer workman grab his gas mask, and you can …”
“Okay – you needn’t say more,” she said, and began opening the box.
It all sounded so nice. The baby gave a little squeal as she pulled it out of the box. Her husband fetched a pair of scissors and cut the umbilical cord that was attached to a portable and recyclable placenta. They looked more closely at the little child. It was pre-set to be a boy, but this could easily be changed. After a brief discussion they agreed to leave it as a boy. They gave him a name and fondled him. Now he was lying in her arms and kicking very realistically - God, was he cute!
Feelings were curtailed the first few days, as there was so much to learn and understand. As an extra feature they’d gotten a periodic colic function so they could lie in bed, enjoying being kept awake all night. It was nice having a child in the house. She loved him more and more as time went by. She was jubilant when he started to crawl and she shed tears of joy the first time he called her “Mommy”. She was so happy when he sometimes fell asleep against her belly that she was positive that nothing would ever come between her and her wonderful son.
But then it happened. On morning she woke up feeling nauseous – she knew her period was late, but was convinced she couldn’t be pregnant. Later the same day she was standing once again by the automat, only this time it spit out a green strip of paper on which was written: “Congratulations! You’re going to be the mother of a girl with blond hair and green eyes.” After that came a long list of the child’s genetic characteristics and all the illnesses the child would catch during the first couple of years.
That evening, as she was sitting with her little boy in her arms, she gave the news to her husband. He was beside himself with joy.
“Finally!” he cried. “It’s precisely what we’ve always dreamed of! Are you absolutely certain?”
“Yes, of course,” she said and showed him the strip.
He smiled as he gave her a hug. Then, with one quick movement he snatched the little boy out of her arms and went out to the garbage can to throw him away.
“What are you doing?!” she screamed and jumped to her feet.
“What does it look like? Now that we have a real baby we don’t need this one anymore!”
He held the boy by one leg and waved him around indifferently. The little boy squalled like a beast. She lunged forward and grabbed her son out of his hands. When she put him to her breast he settled down a bit.
Again she turned to her husband. “What were you thinking?” she yelled. “How can you be so cruel?”
“But, why are you angry? It’s just a robot – it wasn’t even expensive. Besides, we don’t need it anymore.”
He reached out to take the boy, but she retreated backwards to the opposite end of the room.
“You’re insane – and don’t you dare call my son a robot!” she cried. “What were you going to do? Throw a child in the garbage can? I hate you! Are you tempted to do it with our next one, too?”
He approached her cautiously. “Can’t you see it’s the best thing to do? We can’t have a child growing up with a brother that’s only a computer. He’s not real – when he cries it’s only because he’s programmed to. When he smiles or babbles it’s only because industrial designers have invented a system that makes him respond when you stimulate him the right way. It’s artificial and unreal.”
She looked up, full of anger and hatred, and asked: “What’s the difference between really crying and being programmed to do it? Your entire childhood has been a process of programming to become the person you are. How should I know if you’re really feeling something when you’re unhappy? How can I know you’re not a robot?”
They stood like this for a long time, facing each other like gunfighters in a duel. Is it wrong to care for your computer?
|
|
QUICK LINKS
 IDENTITIES
SCHOOLS SATIRE
ANGER DIALOGUE
FUTURE DOCTOR
WASTING MONEY
WASTING TIME
INFORMATION
EDUCATION
CONVERSATIONS
CARING
FUTURE HOME
RIDDLES
COMPLEXITY
PIPE CLEANER MAN
WORKING HOME
THE WEIGHTLESS MEDIA
THE TEXTBOOK
|
