by Robert Mills
A couple of months ago I had another visitor. Liv was grim faced when she arrived. “Why did you have to tell him?” she said, blinking furiously. “Didn’t you think about how it would affect me? Now my only son thinks I’m some kind of loose woman.”
“I don’t think he sees you like that,” I said, shocked by the anger in her voice. “In fact, he speaks very highly of you. You’ve been a good mother to him.”
“I’ve done my best and he’s been a wonderful son to me,” she said with tears in her eyes. “I don’t know how I’d have got through the bad times if he hadn’t been with me.”
“I’ve enjoyed getting to know him more than you can imagine,” I said gently. “I only wish I had more time ahead of me so I could see him married with a child of his own.”
By now tears were streaming down Liv’s face. When she had composed herself she added, “I’m sorry I was sharp with you when I arrived. This isn’t easy for me.”
“I do understand,” I said. “I hadn’t been planning to tell him the truth. Charlet was the one who decided he should know. You mustn’t be angry with her. It’s my fault; if I hadn’t told her about you and I she wouldn’t have been able to tell him. Still, I’m glad she did, from my own selfish point of view.”
We sat together in silence for a while. I looked at her; she is still a very beautiful woman. At least she is to me. I couldn’t help thinking that if I’d been courageous enough to seek her out when she and Marvin divorced we might have been happy together. If only I hadn’t been such a coward.
There was something that I’d never understood and I decided to broach the subject. “I hope you won’t mind me asking this, Liv,” I said. “Why was it that you and Marvin split up? It was four years after you and I stopped seeing each other.”
She sighed. “I suppose there’s no harm in you knowing now,” she said. “I had an affair. After you left the company things between Marvin and I were difficult for a while but in the end he seemed to come to terms with the circumstances of Graydon’s conception. I was afraid that he wouldn’t take to him because he wasn’t his, but he was thrilled when he arrived. It really seemed that everything was going to be OK. Then the company got into difficulties and he was under a lot of stress. I think he wished you were still with him to share the burden, though he never actually said anything like that to me. Anyway, whatever the reason was, he seemed to blame me for what was happening to him and we had some awful rows. I was very unhappy. I took a part-time job in one of the shopping malls to bring in a little extra money and I got involved with a co-worker. He was charming and quite good looking and he made it very clear that he wanted me. Normally I’d have given him the brush-off but things got so bad with Marvin that eventually I gave in and started sleeping with him. Inevitably Marvin found out and this time he said he wouldn’t forgive me. So we parted. Graydon and I moved in with Marcel – that was his name – after the divorce. It was alright at first, but it soon became clear that I’d made a terrible mistake. I wasn’t really in love with him and despite his superficial charm he wasn’t an easy man to live with. After a year we separated and I found a place of my own. Graydon and I have been on our own ever since and now he’s getting married, I’ll be completely alone.” She wiped away a tear.
“Oh Liv,” I said, “I’m so sorry; I wish there was something I could do.”
With great difficulty I rose from my chair and covered the short distance between us. I put an arm around her shoulder and kissed her clumsily on the forehead. We remained in that position for a while and then she said, “I didn’t really want to come today, but I’m glad I did. I’d better be going now. I’ll come again if you’d like me to.”
“I’d like that very much,” I said.
The following morning my breathing seemed worse than usual, but I felt happier than I had in years. I was finally part of my younger son’s life and I had been able to make my peace with his mother. I knew that I still loved her but I wasn’t sure whether I should tell her so. By the time she came again I’d made my mind up to be honest about my feelings for her. I could still speak then but it was difficult to form the words, “I still love you”, because of my natural reticence when expressing my feelings. She looked troubled.
“I’d like to be able to say I love you too, but I can’t,” she said. “At any rate I’m not angry with you anymore and I feel able to be a little bit fond of you. Is that enough?”
“Of course I’d like more than that but after all I’m not much use to you in my current state. If you’ll go on visiting me when you can you’ll make me very happy.”
“Of course I will,” she said.
She has been as good as her word. We don’t talk much about the past; it’s too painful for both of us. We talk about our children and what’s happening in the worlds of mankind. When it’s time for her to leave she kisses me on the cheek and I feel a rush of excitement. I cannot be Liv’s lover in the physical sense but I value her friendship and greatly enjoy her company.
I don’t know how long I have left; it’s now eight months since the diagnosis was made, so time is running out. However, while my mind still functions life is worthwhile.
Chapter Thirty-One
And now my story is coming to an end: the moment I’ve been dreading has arrived at last. Yesterday I could move my right hand a little but today I can’t. Admittedly the movement in question was tiny but at least there was some part of my body that was still under voluntary control. It was enough to make me feel that I wasn’t completely at the mercy of the machines that keep me alive, even though I knew perfectly well that is the case. My heart continues to beat as strongly as ever, as far as I can judge, and most of my other bodily functions continue as before. I would be able to swallow if I was able to push food into my gullet but of course I can’t, because my tongue and the muscles of my throat no longer work. The doctors explained that all this is because the degenerative process from which I suffer affects the so-called ‘voluntary’ muscle of my body but the heart and the digestive tract have a different kind of muscle, one which is unaffected by the disease. While this is very interesting, it doesn’t alter the fact that I’m completely paralysed and utterly helpless. Surprisingly, I even miss playing an active part in the process of excretion, something I never thought about before my illness. The loss of voluntary control over my body has left me feeling helpless and impotent.
Impotent. That’s one bodily function that remains active. From time to time my sexual organ becomes engorged with blood and rises above the useless carcass that is incapable of moving it in the manner required to perform the physical act of love. Sometimes it’s when I am thinking about sex, which I often do, sometimes it occurs during erotic dreams but there are also occasions when it does so for no obvious reason. Still, it was never under voluntary control, stiffening when there was no need and failing to respond when the need was great.
This is the end point of the disease process, according to the experts; I will remain like this until something else goes wrong. This is, of course, inevitable; some other part of my ageing body will fail and while, if I was otherwise healthy, medical science would intervene to correct the abnormality, in my case I’ll be allowed to relinquish my tenuous grip on life.
Keeping me alive must be costing a fortune, though of course care carried out by machines is cheaper than employing a human attendant for more than a few weeks. Since the legal framework that covers situations like this decrees that I must be kept alive until nature takes its course, I’m receiving all the care that modern science can offer. It’s strange in this so-called age of reason that this should be the case, but it is. The law clearly states that anyone who isn’t brain dead (and this can be determined with more accuracy than in times gone by) must be kept alive, unless they themselves request that their own life be terminated. For some reason this is an option that isn’t often chosen by people in my situation as often as one might expect, but th
en I suppose we are by nature creatures that cling to life. Looking at it another way, I do have one privilege that human beings of the past were denied: the right to choose the time of my own death. So far, however, I’ve chosen to remain alive and for the moment I see no reason to change my mind. Be that as it may, I’m at the mercy of the machines that work tirelessly to keep my body functioning at a basic level.
My day began early; as soon as it’s light outside the disposable clothing which I’ve been wearing for the previous twelve hours is removed, my body is cleaned and I am moved into a sitting position so that I can see my smartscreen. After my midday meal has been delivered directly into my stomach I am moved back into a lying position so that I can take my afternoon nap during which I’ll be turned from back to side and side to side at regular intervals. I usually don’t sleep during this period; rather my mind ranges freely, unimpeded even by the few distractions that exist within my environment.
When the appointed time arrives, I am cleaned, redressed and settled down for the night. During the ‘night period’ on Europa a low level of lighting compatible with sleep is maintained in my room but when daytime returns the lights are switched up to an optimal level.
Overseeing the functions of the less intelligent machines involved in my care is my highly sophisticated care-bot, in this case a Global Robotics MC832. Having spent much of my working life in the robot maintenance business, I’m interested in robots. Though I didn’t work on the technical side of the business myself, I inevitably picked up quite a bit of knowledge about them working in the office of the Piper and Shaw Robot Maintenance Company. Of course the MC832 wasn’t on the market when I was in the business, I think the last model we handled was the 784, but the latest version is based on its predecessors with some refinements and additional functionality. The care-bot’s role is to ensure that my feeding system is supplied with the ingredients for a balanced diet suitable for someone who expends minimal energy on his daily activities and to remove and dispose of the products of excretion. It also performs routine maintenance on the other machines responsible for my wellbeing, as well as monitoring the heating of the flat to ensure that an optimal environmental temperature is maintained.
It’s hard to believe that only two months ago I was able to walk into this flat. Admittedly it was only the few steps from the transit vehicle to the elevator of this apartment building and then the short distance to the flat itself, but I managed it with minimal assistance. During my early days here I was able to move about, though the slightest exertion exhausted me. This is a measure of how rapidly my condition has deteriorated since I returned to Europa. At first I only needed the support of my artificial breathing machine at night; now I need it all the time. As one muscle after another has ceased to function I have become increasingly more dependent on technology.
How, you may be wondering, do I pass my time when I’m alone in this benign prison? On the wall in front of me there is a multi-function smartscreen. It provides me with news and entertainment and is my means of communication with the outside world. It also allows me to modify the temperature in my room and the level of lighting but in practice I seldom need to override the settings ordained by the care-bot.
When I still had a voice, the smartscreen was controlled by oral commands. Since the paralysis of my laryngeal muscles and tongue has left me speechless, a thought-controlled model has been installed. The technology is new and not quite perfected, but it serves me well enough. The problem with such a device is that the random wandering of the mind can play havoc with its functions. It’s therefore important to have an on/off mechanism. This is achieved by means of a ‘password’, a word that is not likely to arise in normal thought processes that can be voluntarily inserted into one’s stream of consciousness at the appropriate moment. Mine is ‘heresy’, a subject that I have no reason to think about in the normal course of my mental meanderings. Once I’ve thought it, I must concentrate hard to think the appropriate commands to control the device without the intervention of random thoughts that might confuse it. If I think the word ‘message’ while the screen is active it goes into communication mode and I can think whatever it is I want to say to whomever it is I want to get in touch with. The list is short: my children, my doctor and the few friends I have left. Among these is Liv and I must confess that I feel my heart leap when a comms channel opens up on my smartscreen and her face appears. I also look forward to her visits with great anticipation. She doesn’t come as often as I would like; I think the truth is that she finds my condition distressing. In any case, communicating with me is now a laborious process; my response to any question must be relayed through my communication system, eventually being voiced in its synthetic tones. Alternatively it may simply be that she has little desire to spend time with me; after all, I’m not exactly stimulating company.
Unfortunately, for some unimaginable reason, the word ‘heresy’ sometimes pops into my mind unbidden. When this happens the screen starts up and sometimes responds to a number of unintended commands before I realise what’s happened. On one occasion a call had been put through to Liv before I became aware that I’d activated the screen. She was taking a bath and was none too pleased to be disturbed, though she soon calmed down when she realised it was me who was calling.
As I lie here in the semi-darkness I am in essence part of the machines; I lie cradled in a contraption which adjusts the pressure applied to my body surface constantly so that I don’t develop pressure sores. My doctor says I’m lucky, yes lucky, that I am living in a microgravity environment. This is because it’s easier to prevent pressure necrosis of the skin when the patient has a fraction of the body weight he or she would have on Earth. Another of the machines gently compresses and expands my chest at regular intervals, effectively breathing for me. A third provides me with regular meals while a fourth deals with excretion; I will spare you the details but I am sure you can imagine what this involves. Every bodily function is also monitored and the data is relayed to my doctor’s office. That’s why I’m able to remain in my own home, without the need for regular human care. This is a mixed blessing, since I have few visitors.
I am, of course, fortunate to have more than one child to share the burden of visiting me. My daughter Charlet is my most regular visitor and a great comfort to me. My elder son, Richmond, comes to see me when he can spare time from his busy life and Graydon continues to visit as well. The chance to get to know him is one of my reasons to continue living. But it is Liv whose visits I value most. She is the one who is keeping me alive.
My world is now the world of the mind. Sometimes I think about the future and what lies in store for me after death. Since no one has returned to tell us what lies beyond the grave, this is a matter of speculation. In the past religions offered us explanations of the nature of the afterlife but since they ceased to have a significant influence on human thought we’ve been left to our own intellectual devices. Personally, I like the idea of an eternal sleep punctuated by lucid dreams, but I doubt that this is what awaits me. It’s more likely that I will be plunged into a great nothingness and will cease to exist. Since this is not a pleasant thought, I prefer to think about the past.
My life may not have amounted to much, but I have been part of what I believe to be the next stage in the evolution of the human race. Although I’ve only been one of the many who have chosen to live on a planet other than Earth, I consider myself to have been a pioneer. I know that others will follow us in the years to come, to the moons of Jupiter, then to Saturn and beyond.
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