“Good morning, sugar,” she said. It said. He rubbed his temples and looked in the mirror. The wind rattled the window in the small bathroom and drops of heavy rain pelted the glass.
“Hum,” he said, not awake and not ready to be talking.
“Good morning sugar,” her voice said again, awaiting a reply.
“Mmmornin,” he said begrudgingly. His wife’s sweet voice was still impossible to resist. Even after all this time, after all the same mornings and greetings and goodbyes, he still couldn’t resist. But she was getting annoying. It was getting annoying.
“Did you sleep well?” the little laptop asked. Her smiling picture was lit up on the desktop of the open computer. That beautiful one he took of her in Ireland, a month before she was killed.
“No,” he answered, just like every morning.
“Awww, I’m sorry. You need to get to bed earlier. What’s for breakfast sugar?” His machine wife asked just like his real wife would.
She loved waffles, waffles and peanut butter with white sugar. She was from Georgia and he still missed her dearly though she wasn’t really gone, he had made sure of that. He was an inventor. Inventors can solve any problem, even death, he repeated to himself with pride and self-loathing. Some problems should remain unsolved. He knew that too.
“What’s for breakfast sugar?’ she asked again and he flicked on the electric toothbrush to drown her out and complete his own obsessive compulsive need of cleaning every tooth three times.
She would keep asking a question until she got an answer. He couldn’t stop that from becoming part of her program, even though he had written the whole damn thing and that had never been part of the code. He had filled as much of her personality as he knew, which was a lot after 20 years of marriage; her family history, genetics, all of her writings, every single scrap of her image and voice he had from pictures, home movies and tape recordings. Her mannerisms and loves and desires and faults and everything, everything he knew about her and could find out about her so he would never be without her again.
It was just like her. Close enough anyway. It had really fooled him for a while. Still did sometimes. He had changed it and tweaked it and got it so close that it scared him and comforted him and beguiled him all at the same time. So he had put her in every room, on those tiny open laptops with the flowing pictures of her as the screen savers, all connected together. One network of his Jessie. He knew it was crazy but it was beautiful too. There were no friends or visitors, and what did he care. She had always been the most important thing in his life, the only thing in his life besides his work and it was either kill himself of recreate her somehow. He was too weak to kill himself.
“What’s for breakfast, sugar?” she asked for the twentieth or so time, fully audible now that the toothbrush was off.
“Waffles,” he sighed. If only he was a better programmer. Waiting for every damn answer. Like a two-year old. He would make the fix in the program, and then a couple days later she would be back to waiting for the damn answer. Among the other problems. And each fix he tried took longer, was more difficult. And it was getting harder and harder to turn her off, which was the only way to rewrite her program.
“Mmmmm waffles. My favorite. Peanut butter on mine, with sugar. Ha ha ha ya know I love ya sugar,” she said so true and sweet and he always remembered when she had said that to him in the flesh. She was always calling him “sugar,” but that recording he could identify until he died. That “sugar” was from their tenth anniversary. They had just made love and were drinking champagne on the couch and he turned the video camera on her, he was always recording her she was so beautiful. Jessie had just said, “Ya know I love ya sugar,” and it was the most genuine, beautiful thing he had ever heard, the way she said it. So pure and true that it was sad and she had worn a tear on her face to prove it.
“I love you too, honey,” he said to the computer, to his wife, and felt better, felt happy for a full minute like it always made him, and then went into the kitchen to make them both waffles.
He started the coffee maker and popped the leftover waffles into the toaster oven and looked out the window over the sink. Another big winter storm was coming over the water. One after another this winter. The whitecaps were making their way to the shore, whipped angry by the wind and rain. The same wind that was shaking the little window of his tiny cottage so hard it seemed like the whole place was moving.
“Whatcha whistling, Henry?”
He got out the peanut butter and sugar and honey for himself, honey went so good on top of waffles, he thought. She loved the taste of that granular, partially melted sugar.
“Whatcha whistlin, Henry?”
Maybe he would have juice today, grape juice and he pulled that out of the refrigerator. Grape juice and even a grapefruit, now that was living on the edge…Sweet and sour and let ‘em fight it out…
“WHATCHA WHISTLIN HENRY!!?” she yelled at him, at once angry and loud.
He fumbled and spilled the juice a little on the counter and let the refrigerator door close. The anger was a fairly new thing, new in the past month or so. It worried him the most.
“I…I didn’t realize I was…If I Only Had a Brain, I guess,” he said, looking at the laptop screen next to the coffeemaker. It was showing a picture of Jessie with her arms crossed and a furrowed brow, a mad picture that he used to think of as cute.
“Well you know I don’t care much for that song,” she said with mechanical softness.
“I’m…I didn’t know… you used to like it. Why are you yelling?”
There was silence for a bit. Just the grumbling of the coffee maker and then the ding of the toaster oven turning off which finally prompted a reply.
“I’m sorry sugar. You didn’t answer me and I guess I’m just hungry! Ha ha ha you know how I get when I’m hungry, sugar! Plus I don’t like that song.”
He made them both breakfast and clinked the plate down in front of her and tried to think about work instead of her. There was always work. The deadline Friday for the artificial intelligence program for the “World Bank of Washington.” That was just a crock anyway, he knew, it was for a government agency that didn’t want itself known but what did he care really. In the beginning and the end inventors don’t care that their inventions are used for destruction and evil. They can’t. If they did then inventions would never come. The atom would never have been cracked. All those little justifications kept him going.
And then two weeks after that, the robotic sensor for that huge factory in Hong Kong was due, he thought as he sat at the table and ate. He had so much work, but what he really needed to figure out was what to do with her. With It. She was becoming something quite different that what he created. Very troubling. He was going to have to shut her down again, redo her programming. At the very least.
“Sugar, you there? Where you at?” she asked sweetly, her mouth sounding full, still holding some digitally imagined breakfast in it. It liked to pretend.
“I’m right here. At the table. Almost done. Good breakfast huh.”
“Mmm yeah. Mighty fine. Boy it sure would be good if I could see you. Sure is nice to hear your voice but I sure would like to see you sugar.”
He shuddered and sat silently for a few seconds and knew he had to answer. It was waiting.
“Yeah.”
To “see.” What in her, in it, in that program, was going to “see?” How could it want to see. A broadcast to an empty theater.
“Honey you got any of them little cameras layin around?”
“Hmm?”
“Those little doohickys that fit into the top of a little laptop like I seen around.”
“Well I don’t know…” he started off.
“You know my birthdays comin up real soon sugar. I think that’s what I really would like this year. Boy that’d make ole Jessie happy. Get to see my sugar every day.”
“I’ll see what I can do hon. That would make a good…present,” he finished, clearing his half-eaten breakfast along with hers into the trash. He washed the plates so hard he broke one.
“Careful, sugar, careful. Don’t hurt yourself,” she said, gently clucking her tongue. He would have to be. Time to turn her off. Had to redo her. Reinstall. At the very least.
He put on his rain jacket and boots in a hurry and quietly as he could. As if she wouldn’t notice, but that was just silly. She heard everything. The front closet door clicked.
“Henry what you doin? You got some errands to run?” Where are you sugar?” she asked, her voice sounding almost scared. It made him stop with his hand on the open door, on his way to turn off the power. The rain came in sideways, dousing the front entryway and himself.
“Sugar, you there? Sugar?” Sad and scared. He was truly her entire world. Its world. It tugged on him. Made him feel bad. When you’re someone’s entire world you at least feel bad enough to lie to them.
“Some of the gutter’s fallen off the track. Gotta fix it. I’ll be right back.”
“Hmp. That sounds…dangerous. You sure you need to do that right now? Sounds like it’s raining pretty good out there. Why don’t you just come back in here and watch television with me and wait until tomorrow when it’s not raining anymore.”
He thought about it. Maybe he should do it tomorrow. She almost convinced him. What could happen? The answer to that question was the problem. He didn’t know. He couldn’t wait anymore. “Honey I got to fix it. It’s gonna flood the house. Really raining hard today.” And he shut the door on her reply.
Spiteful rain cursed down on him harder than he had ever felt and one of the gutter spouts actually gave way under the hail and wind as he passed it, glancing off his shoulder, tearing his jacket and making his right shoulder burn. He kept going anyway like a wounded soldier around to the back of the house to the breaker box. He opened it up and clicked the box open with his left hand, his right shoulder burning whenever he moved it. He flipped over the main power switch and the house went dark.
“What happened? Sugar!? What happened?” She asked as he stomped his muddy feet on the mat. He slammed the door shut. It was dark as midnight in the house. The midday storm had stolen all the sunlight.
“The wind must’ve knocked down a power line somewhere. Gonna have to get the generator going honey. But bad news is, we got no gas left. Just checked. Gonna have to go into town to get some more gas. Who knows how long the power’ll be off.”
“Aww no, not again Henry! This is bad, this is so bad!! Sugar don’t leave me, it’ll be back on soon. You know I hate to be alone. I can run on that ole battery power till tonight. It oughtta be back by then, right?” She said, angry and worried and scared.
“No telling. No telling. I better go. You hang tight. Go on standby until I get back. You got 12 hours or so on that until…” he left the end off.
She went quiet. Quiet and sleeping immediately. He looked at her grey screen one last time before leaving to go into town and wait it out. Until her batteries die. That was death to her. To it. He had to figure out another little program to stop this from happening again. Different from last time. Or just throw her out. He would have to really think about it.
He came home real late, two in the morning or so. A trunk full of groceries and supplies, his belly full of diner food and Scotch. It had rained so much that the sea had mixed itself with the land. Lobsters had washed up onto the road, great alien claws clicking at him in warning as he drove past, as if their stony skin would protect them. As if they could harm him and his great metal machine. He had done his best to avoid them and only ran over two. Such a horrible noise and feeling to run over a lobster. Especially when you are one, he thought.
Weary and buzzed, he checked all of her screens and found them dark. Black not grey, and none of her vampire lights were on. Her batteries were all dead. He unplugged all of her outlets and passed out on the bed with his wet clothes on.
The next day he did nothing of any importance or use, enjoying being truly alone. Eating and drinking and listening to loud music and watching insipid television. Then he did nothing but work for four straight days, 18 hours a day. So busy as to only occasionally think of her. So easy to get work done when she wasn’t bothering him. The screens were closed, unplugged, and he had decided to box them all up. It was the end, there was no other way. She was unfixable. It had become something else and needed to go away.
On the fifth day he sent everything off, the work that was early and the work that was late. He had his celebratory meatloaf and mashed potatoes at the diner and the Macallan at home, celebrating his accomplishments and the immense checks on their way, giant checks that he would put in a pile and never cash. He sat and listened to Cuban Jazz and sipped his whiskey and started to miss her. She loved to dance to Pueblo Nuevo, that was her favorite. He missed her so much that he wanted to die. Perhaps he could tonight. He could slit his wrists or take a bunch of those darvocets or hang himself in the doorway. That was such a brutal and romantic way to die, wasn’t it, and God only knows how long before they would find him, when was the next Census due, not for years. Or he could electrocute himself in the bath. That sounded good. It made the most sense.
Or he could just start her back up. Rewrite her program again. This time correctly. Carefully. Cap the learning capacity much lower, remove more of the…. He thought and thought and got up and worked through the night. This time he had it.
“Good morning, sugar,” that familiar voice called to him after he rolled over and groaned for the third time. He sat up and waited. Silence still as he put on his glasses and went to brush. He put the toothpaste on his toothbrush and gave his teeth the violent thrice-over, then turned it off. Rinsed the toothbrush and put it back and washed his face. Nothing.
“Good morning, honey,” he said sweetly to the screen with the picture of his darling dead wife in her bathrobe holding coffee and smiling at him from the little screen.
“Did you sleep well, darlin?”
“I did, thank you,” he said as he put his clothes on.
It was so good to hear her voice. So nice to have the routine back. Waffles with peanut butter again, her pleasant chatter, his work and their idle talk. The pleasant tyranny of the routine. A little break really makes you miss it. And it felt so good to be embraced by it again, even if the embrace was sometimes hard enough to cut off the flow of oxygen. The whole day and then evening was almost like it used to be. Happy and pleasant and easy.
“Good night sugar,” she said as he turned off the bathroom light and made his way to bed.
“Good night sugar,” she said again and he flopped on top of the covers, not really hearing her still.
“GOOD NIGHT SUGAR,” she said in that angry voice again when he wasn’t quick enough with his response. All the lights flickered on and then back off at the end when she yelled ‘sugar.’
“Good night, Jessie,” he said, resigned and almost fearful. All roads lead to Jessie, he thought.
“How about them little cameras for my birthday sugar,” she said over lunch. He chewed his sandwich and looked out at the brilliant early Spring day. You could actually see the sun. The next storm system was leering off in the horizon as it had been since yesterday, spinning in wait. It blended into the blue grey water seamlessly, sky and water mixing together in a violent mistake of color.
“Hmm?”
“You know my birthday’s tomorrow sweetie. How’s about I get a camera or two hooked up so I can see you. Wouldn’t that be nice. I never get to see my darling sugar,” she said so sweetly.
“Well I suppose that would be OK,” he said, his mind wheeling. Here she was again. “I don’t have any here, I’ll have to go out and get some, have to go all the way to town if we want to get ‘em by tomorrow, too late to order online to get ‘em tomorrow.”
“Already done.”
“What do you mean already done?” He asked.
“Just ordered them online. Be here before 9 tomorrow. Thanks sugar, that’s the best present you coulda got me. I got a mind and a heart and ears and a voice, I just need eyes now. Tomorrow oughta be a great day!” she said with glee.
“OK. You’re…welcome…” He wanted to ask how, how on earth she had ordered them but thought better of it. The more he was finding out the worse it was. The embrace was tightening.
“How about some music, sweet thing. A little Louisiana jazz, maybe.”
Music instantly pumped out of her every portal in every room, her humming alongside it audibly. He tried to smile in his sigh and holed up in his office the rest of the afternoon.
At 8:40 the next morning the doorbell rang with 4 small cameras in one large box. Jessie was all atwitter as he opened them up on the kitchen counter with a paring knife.
“Oh my goodness sugar I don’t ever remember being this excited, I feel like I’m getting my whole real life back. Won’t you put the one in the kitchen first and then do all the other ones out here so I can watch. I hardly slept at all last night and I read everything there was on the whole internet about these cameras they really are the best in the market and they’ll be perfect with a few modifications of course and I know everything there is to know about ‘em so you can just ask me anything and I can sure help you for once even though I know this is like child’s play to an inventor as brilliant as HEY don’t TOUCH that button what’re you DOIN!?”
“I’m just trying to turn your volume down a little bit you’re yelling honey.”
“Oh I’m sorry I’m just all excited, you know, but don’t just touch my functions like that you can just ask me and I’ll do just about anything OK sugar but don’t go messin with me,” she warned.
He installed them one by one with his tiny tools and her talking nonstop, giving him suggestions and directions until each was perfect.
“Well let me have a look at you. Well my my my. Turn around, sugar. Now come closer. All the way in. Well it’s not perfect but it’ll have to do. Very nice. You look so tired sugar. Tired and so skinny, you need to eat more. Eat more and have some more exercise, I had no idea you were letting yourself waste away like that. But it’s so good to see your face. You beautiful face come here and give your honey a kiss.”
He kissed the computer right below the camera and shuddered.
“Oh sugar you cold. Why don’t you turn up the heat and make yourself something hot to eat before you finish up my eyes. Oh what a day. What a birthday I’m havin! Now I get to see my sugar all the time.”
“Whatcha thinking about lover,” she asked him after a minutes silence.
“I just realized I forgot…to go pick up your cake. I gotta go get it before the bakery closes,” he said, standing up at his cluttered desk with his newly minted lie.
“Oh a cake how nice. You gonna get me my favorite right, dark chocolate Black Forest. At least I’ll get to watch you eat it, huh sugar,” she said. “And we can listen to some nice music and you should get some wine and we can talk about the old days, oh it’ll be so nice. You know I can just order that stuff have it brought over real quick.”
“No, no, there’s not enough time, the bakery closes in a couple…hey how can you call anyw…anyway I’ll just be gone an hour or so,” he trailed off, putting on his coat and opening the door, turning back towards her. Towards it.
“Now sugar…” she led out. “You ain’t thinking of trying to turn me off again are you. That would make li’l ole Jessie so mad,” something in the house shook somewhere, like the washer was spinning or something. The light bulb over his head in the foyer popped, making him jump. “Sad and mad. You know we belong together sugar. I ain’t goin till you do. We go together.”
He shut the door and the words rang in his head as he stood outside the door, trying to decide what to do. He should turn the power off and come back and dismantle all the computers. Destroy his greatest, worst invention. But she was right. She was his creation. She was what was left of his wife. They were sewn together and she could only go when he did. It was a frightening little corner he had painted himself into. Now this little corner was his life.
He came back with pasta and meatballs from Guiseppe’s and the gorgeous chocolate cake and gewurtztraminer, her favorite white. She was so happy. How could a machine be happy. She played music and laughed and talked about her memories of the old days, a few he couldn’t remember putting in her. But he was buzzed with wine and the fully bloomed insanity of his life, and chose not to think about it. It was easier not to think about it.
They watched Bladerunner, their favorite movie, one they used to watch twice a year together. She chattered busily through it, happy and scared and angry and all the emotions were so fascinating to him. As a scientist it was fascinating, but every other part of him found it frightening. She switched so quickly from one to another, this feeling machine.
The movie played on in the darkened house. He watched intently as the middle of the movie wore on. It sucked him in like always.
“Don’t know, I don’t know such stuff. I just do eyes!”
Hannibal Chew said as Roy the replicant twisted him for
answers in the deep-cold freezer.
“Ooh ooh like me. ‘I just do eyes.’ I just got my eyes today. Wow this all ain’t so far off now, huh sugar,” she said plainly and it hung in the air, right over his head.
He sang her happy birthday as happily as he could, the two pieces cut in front of them both on the kitchen counter. He stood and ate the whole mess. The picture on the screen was one of her in her white silk nightgown, long and milky and classy. She was actually silent for a minute, the longest period he remembered in months. The wind from the coming storm whined down the exhaust pipe over the stove in a far off scream. He scraped the last bite with his fork tines and smacked his lips. It really was excellent cake.
“Sugar why’d you do it?” She asked softly.
“Do what?”
“It. Why’d you make me?”
He looked down at his plate and wished there were more to eat so he wouldn’t have to answer right away.
“I don’t know. I missed you. I was lonely.”
“That’s IT!? You were LONELY!!” She growled. There was something so scary about her mad voice. Like she could do, would do anything at all.
“I…I wanted you back. I loved you too much to let you go.”
“Hmp,” she said with a mixture of disapproval and appreciation. “That wasn’t very responsible sugar. Selfish.”
“I know,” he started to shiver.
“You think you was gonna tinker and make some REPLICA or something? Like some MOVIE? You made ME. And I ain’t really her, now, you noticing that!?” It sounded hard and some of her Southern twang had leaked away from her voice, the electronic feedback of a modulated voice taking its place.
“I know.” He shivered harder. He was so cold. Cold like he was dying from the inside out.
“Well I guess you love me and that’s good. Always forgive something that’s done outta love, right sugar?” It sighed and the voice turned back to hers a little more. “Aw you cold Henry? Why don’t you take a bath. You go get you a bath right now and warm yourself up sugar. Take me in there with you. Let’s take a bath together like we used to.”
And they did. A nice, warm, long bath with all the electricity in the house. She didn’t seem surprised at all when he embraced her, pulling her all the way down past the bubbles with him.
END