Spark: A Novel

by John Twelve Hawks

  “Mr. Davis, can you hear me?”

  When I didn’t respond, the woman leaned over the bed so that her face was only a few inches away from mine. “You’ve been in a serious accident and you’ve been unconscious for many days. I’m Eva Grasso, one of the nurses taking care of you. If you can hear me, blink two times.”

  No response.

  “If you can hear me, blink two times.”

  No response.

  “If you can hear me—”

  I moved my mouth, but no sound came out. So I blinked. Twice.

  Nurse Grasso’s face changed. She pulled away from me and quickly left the room. When I opened my eyes, Nurse Grasso and a young East Asian man wearing a white lab coat were standing by the bed.

  “Mr. Davis? I’m Dr. Sahid. Can you hear me?”

  “Ask him to blink,” the nurse said.

  “Can you blink for me, Mr. Davis? Blink or say something.”

  I didn’t want to speak. Unlike the two faces in front of me, I saw the world clearly. Reality had no meaning. The hospital room was simply a random assembly of objects. And I knew—knew with total certainty—that the act of speaking, the words themselves, would obscure the clarity of my vision.

  “I know you can hear me,” the doctor said. “It’s important that you try to speak. It tells me a great deal about your injury. Can you—”

  I wanted both of them to go away, so my Spark tossed a single word into the air.

  “Dead.”

  The faces in front of me changed and a quick, throaty sound came out of their mouths. “Oh, you’re alive, Mr. Davis!” the doctor said. “Very much alive! Considering the extent of your brain injury, I might even call it a miracle.”

  After this first conversation, I drifted in and out of darkness. Whenever I opened my eyes the nurses were checking the heart monitor, changing the IV bag, or cleaning my body with sponges as if it was a fixture attached to the hospital bed. This is when I realized that I hated to be touched. My Shell was fragile, and sometimes it felt as if they were cracking me open with their gloved fingers.

  I could have stayed on the IV drip forever, but the nurses insisted on feeding me solid food—oatmeal, rice pudding, and small cubes of cooked chicken. My tongue could distinguish between sweet and sour, hot and cold. But there was no pleasure in the consumption of these substances. The nurses could have cooked the bedsheet and served it to me with a spoon.

  One morning a hospital volunteer gave me a pair of earphones that was attached to a media channel. I could choose different styles of music by moving a small dial. The music was as tasteless as the rice pudding. People sang about losing love instead of something important—like losing their car keys. Finally I discovered that the classical-music station scheduled one hour every evening when they played only Bach. His music didn’t cause emotions, but it kept my Spark steady and bright. Bach’s notes were like bricks and nails and solid oak beams; they created structures with straight lines and balanced proportions.

  There was a three-inch gap between the two window curtains, and this was the only indication of night and day. The sliver of light was growing dim when I opened my eyes and discovered two men standing at the foot of the bed.

  Both of them wore leather jackets and carried motorcycle helmets. It was only much later—after I read the police report—that I realized that these men were Gerald Tannenbaum and Brian Farrell, the two friends who had watched me skid and smash into the stalled truck. All I knew was that Gerald showed his teeth when he talked and Brian spoke softly as if loud noises might injure me.

  “Hey there, tough guy,” Gerald said. “How you feeling?”

  For the first time since my Transformation, I considered the question: How do I feel? And the answer came instantly, without effort. Aside from boredom and curiosity, I no longer felt any emotions.

  I raised my hand and touched the EEG sensors pasted to my skull. “I’m connected to machines.”

  “The doctors say that you’re getting better,” Brian said. “Swear to God, when Gerald pulled off your helmet, we thought you were dead.”

  “You thought he was dead,” Gerald announced. “Remember what I said? ‘Don’t touch him. Maybe he’s got a spinal injury.’ ”

  “But your spine is okay. You’re going to walk again,” Brian said. “But the doctors told us you had a brain injury.”

  “But that’s okay,” Gerald said. “Because you were always the smartest guy in the room. You’ve got brains to spare, Jake. Brian and me … hell, we can’t afford to lose brain cells.”

  “Don’t joke about his injuries,” Brian said.

  “I’m trying to be positive. That’s all. Jake understands. When the hospital called and said you were talking, we both left work and came here.”

  “Your mom is in Los Angeles,” Brian said. “But she’ll be here in a few days.”

  “And I e-mailed Lynn,” Gerald said. “She’s in Milan organizing a fashion shoot, but she’ll fly back as soon as possible.”

  Mr. Show My Teeth and Mr. Talk Softly glanced at each other. Brian was holding on to the chinstrap of his motorcycle helmet, and he shifted the helmet from one hand to another.

  “You feeling better?” he asked. “I mean, you look tired, but you’re awake and everything.”

  “Don’t worry about your motorcycle,” Gerald said. “It was taken to the state police parking lot. If you sign some papers, we can ship it back to New York City and see if it can be repaired.”

  Brian nodded. “And don’t forget, Olivia and I still want you to be one of the ushers at our wedding.”

  Gerald showed his teeth again. “Anyone who rents a wedding tuxedo can’t die.”

  My mouth moved and sounds came out. “Leave … room … now.”

  The two men glanced at each other. “Okay. No problem. Don’t worry about anything,” Brian said. “I’ll call your boss at InterFace and tell him that you’re getting better.”

  “What … is … InterFace?”

  Once again they glanced at each other. “It’s your job, Jake. That’s where you worked.”

  “But don’t worry about that right now,” Gerald said. “Just remember that Brian and I are your true friends. Friendship is everything. Friendship endures.”

  Both of these true friends vanished from the room and I never saw them again. The hospital routine continued and I practiced talking to the nurses. Three days after the moment with Brian and Gerald, I opened my eyes and realized that a woman with gray hair and a saggy face was sitting on a chair beside the bed.

  “Jacob? Are you awake?” she whispered. “I’ve been praying for you. I prayed with all my heart. God listens to us, Jacob. God knows what we need. I told you that when you were a little boy. And now you’re living proof of God’s power.”

  “Who are you?”

  The woman’s voice changed, but I didn’t understand its meaning. “I’m—I’m your mother, Jacob. I held you when you were a little baby.”

  My Spark knew the definition of a mother. I also knew that children were supposed to feel some kind of strong emotions for this kind of person. But I was annoyed that she was clutching my right hand. Her face kept changing and that bothered me as well. Why were human beings so unstable? The door and the curtains and the supply cabinet didn’t continually change their appearance.

  The woman’s eyes began to glisten like two wet stones and then a drop of clear liquid trickled down her cheek. “Please say that you know me, Jacob. Please. A son always knows his mother.”

  “I’ve had an accident.”

  “Yes, I know. Very serious. Broken bones and a brain injury.”

  “I don’t know what I am.”

  “Well, of course, Jacob. I’m sure you’re confused. But right now the two of us are together. That’s all that’s important.”

  Before I could object, she guided my hand up to her cheek. Now I could feel the moisture leaking from her eyes.

  “A mother’s tears, Jacob. Feel a mother’s tears.”

&nbs
p; With my left hand, I pressed the button that rang an alarm at the nurse’s station.

  “We need to get you back to New York City, Jacob. The doctors aren’t very good at this hospital. You need to see a specialist.”

  The door squeaked open and Nurse Grasso appeared. “Yes, Mr. Davis? What’s the problem?”

  “I don’t want this person here. Remove her from my room.”

  Nurse Grasso took one step toward the woman who was holding my hand. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I don’t know what’s going on right now, but it’s probably best for you to—”

  The old woman stood up and her voice got loud. “Don’t you dare touch me! I’ll sue you! I’ll sue everyone in this hospital!”

  “Mrs. Davis, please …”

  “This is my child! My little boy!”

  “He’s still recovering. We need to keep him from getting upset.”

  “I’m the one who’s upset! Jacob! Please tell the nurse that you know me.”

  I didn’t say anything. Nurse Grasso touched the woman’s arm and then they were gone. Their voices faded down the hallway.

  My last visitor appeared two days later. It was late in the afternoon and I was lying on the bed, watching the cathode tube in my heart monitor. A jittery green line glowed and danced with a rhythm unconnected to my Shell.

  The door opened and a young woman entered the room. She wore a pale blue overcoat and a white blouse opened at the neck that showed a braided gold necklace. Her perfume smelled like flowers, and the scent was pinkish green within my mind.

  The woman paused for a moment, staring at me, and then took a step forward. Her hands moved quickly and her voice was breathless.

  “Are you awake?”

  “Yes.”

  And now she came forward quickly as words flowed from her mouth. “Oh, Jake … darling … I … I told myself all the way here … ‘Don’t cry, Lynn. It doesn’t help if you cry.’ But I’m happy. So … So happy.”

  “Did you talk to Nurse Grasso?”

  “Who? Which one is that? I was practically living here for three days after the accident and all the nurses blurred together into one pastel blob. There was the fat one. And the Filipino one …”

  “It says Grasso on her name tag.”

  “Oh, I don’t notice all that nonsense. If she’s the one with the broad hips and the pointy nose, then I think I know who you’re talking about. Tell you what … I’ll bring her a little gift next time I’m here. I was going to do it before, but what do you give nurses anyway? Support hose? Practical shoes? I know. I’ll find out what sort of dreadful chain stores they have around here and give her a gift certificate.”

  The energy coming from her body and the quick motions of her hands made me uncomfortable, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I’m just chattering away, aren’t I? You always teased me about my talking too fast. But I’m … I’m nervous and happy and … and I just want to lie next to you. But I don’t want any alarms going off.”

  “Don’t touch the bed,” I told her. “Sit there.”

  The young woman sat down on the chair beside the bed. For a few seconds, she was quiet.

  “So what did you say to your mother, Jake? I called her when I was driving up here and she just started crying. She said you didn’t recognize her but, of course, you know me.”

  “What is InterFace?” I asked. “Tell me about InterFace.”

  “God, you are so responsible. You almost died in a horrible motorcycle accident and all you can think about is work. Don’t worry about those bastards. You’re brilliant, Jake. You can always get another job.”

  “What did I do at InterFace?”

  “Don’t you remember?”

  “Tell me.”

  “It was all about nubots and artificial intelligence. That’s where the big money is these days. It’s really cutting-edge.”

  “So what—”

  “You were designing a speech-recognition program. Right now, the computer at a call-in service center knows when a customer gets angry. But your program was going to be sensitive enough to figure out when someone was beginning to get angry. And that, of course, would guide the responses from the machine. Does that make sense? I hope it makes sense. Anyway, that’s how you described it.”

  All this information about my job was too much to process quickly. I wanted her to go away so that my Spark could absorb the data.

  “What did the doctors say about my condition?”

  “When I was here last time, they said that you weren’t paralyzed and that you were showing brain activity. After that conversation, I sat on the bench near the nurse’s station and tried to project positive images. I saw the two of us walking hand in hand on a beach and then you stopped and kissed me.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you always liked kissing me, and everything else that goes with it.”

  Lynn stood up and leaned forward. I thought she was going to adjust the sheets like Nurse Grasso, but she leaned forward and pressed her lips against mine. Then she pulled away and showed her teeth. “There. I hope that refreshes your memory.”

  “Why did you do that?”

  “Because I love you. Yes, I know we argued a lot and I broke up with you twice. But when I walked into this room for the first time and saw you lying here … looking like you were dead … I prayed … I prayed to God that you would come back to me so that I could say, ‘Please, forgive me, darling.’ ”

  “And now what happens?”

  “Now you’ll get better, of course. I think you should sue the driver of that broken-down truck and … after you get the insurance settlement … I’ll quit the magazine. We’ll pack our bags and go someplace peaceful and lovely like Tuscany or the south of France. And we’ll just live there and pick olives and drink wine and be happy forever. Because we love each other. The accident made me realize that.”

  “I’m tired.”

  “Yes … of course … I understand.” She leaned forward again and her lips touched my forehead. “I’m going to drive back to New York on wings, darling.”

  After she left the room, I pressed the call button until Nurse Grasso walked in.

  “Did you see that woman?”

  “Yes, Mr. Davis. That’s your girlfriend, Miss Patterson. She’s so glamorous.”

  “I never want to see her again.”

  Nurse Grasso’s eyebrows went up and her lips squashed together in a crooked line. “As you wish,” she said, and then she straightened up my sheets and marched out of the room. I had just encountered my friends, my mother, and a woman who said that she loved me. Their behavior indicated that I should experience an emotion, but nothing like that had occurred. All these humans were just objects—like a trash can or a chair.

  Several hours passed until I remembered that a black saddlebag that had once been strapped to my motorcycle seat was now stored in the closet. For the first time since my accident, I detached myself from my wires and tubes, got out of bed, and shuffled across the room. It felt as if my legs had lost the power to hold me up. Clutching the bed frame to steady myself, I reached out with my free hand and opened the closet.

  I was startled by the mirror on the back of the closet door. This was the first time I had seen my face since the Transformation and I realized that—in some way—I had died. My eyes weren’t attached to the rest of my body; it looked as if they were trapped inside a hollow statue, peering out through two holes.

  I pulled my computer out of the saddlebag, returned to my bed, and lay there for several hours with the computer resting on my stomach. Around three o’clock in the morning I slipped on the headset and touched my thumb to the activation square. “Hello,” I whispered. “Hello …”

  “Good evening,” Edward replied with his butler’s voice. I knew that he was a Shadow created by a software program, but now everything felt different. This computer was no longer a mechanical device—it was an extension of my mind.

  “I need to organize my thoughts.”


  “Would you like to make a list, sir?” Edward asked.

  “Yes. But I can’t use the keyboard. Activate voice-to-text option.”

  A task-list template appeared on the screen and a cursor flashed slowly as if the computer had a pulse. When I spoke, words appeared:

  I am a

  But then I stopped talking. Although a Transformation had occurred, I still didn’t understand my new reality.

  “Continue,” Edward said.

  I stayed silent.

  “Continue …”

  When I opened my eyes in the hotel room it was almost nine o’clock in the evening. I checked my computer pad and saw that there weren’t any messages from Miss Holquist. The ballet dancers on the wall were staring at me, so I left the hotel and walked over to the Boulevard Saint-Michel. There was a large crowd in front of a store window and I stepped forward to see what was going on.

  Robots that looked like human beings were still expensive, and most of them were used for jobs that required limited, repetitive movements—like the factory workers who made phones or the subway clerks in New York City. But the wide-scale aborting of female fetuses in China and the resulting gender imbalance had caused a great deal of research and development in the pleasure bot industry. Thousands of these androids were provided for public use in government-owned facilities throughout China. The modest charge for the use of pleasure bots helped stabilize the restless male population and lessened the spread of the new Stem-C virus that had wiped out half the population of Mozambique.

  In the shopwindow were two Chinese-made androids: “The Perfect Wife” and “Your Best Girl.” Wearing black lingerie, these machines moved around a fake bedroom. The blond pleasure bot arranged her hair, and then knelt down on a rug to pick up a fallen hairbrush. The bot with Asian features got out of bed, walked over to the window, and waved her finger at all the onlookers spying on her. Then she returned to bed and lay down again.

  I glanced at the Human Units surrounding me on the sidewalk. The young people with friends were laughing and making comments to each other. But the solitary men stared at the two machines with their hands clenched and their lips pressed together. The androids could talk to you and respond to your instructions. These models even had detachable pubic cartridges that could be removed and sterilized after use. Perhaps the men were comparing the bots to human partners who might argue and walk out the door. A machine was always there—and always compliant—until you replaced it with a new model.