‘You okay there, Chrissie?’
The Mother pushed past Mr Capaldi and started down the steps, holding onto the rail. Midway down, she paused to push back her hair, then she came down the rest of the way.
‘So what do you think?’ Josie asked with anxious eyes.
‘It’s okay,’ the Mother said. ‘It’ll be okay. Paul, you want to see it, go ahead.’
‘Maybe in just a minute,’ the Father said. ‘Capaldi, I’d appreciate you getting finished with us quickly today. I want to take Josie out for a coffee and cake.’
‘That’s okay, Paul. We have everything under control. You sure you’re okay there, Chrissie?’
‘I’m fine,’ the Mother said, but she hurried to reach the black sofa.
‘Josie,’ Mr Capaldi said. ‘Just before we do this, what I’d really like is for Klara here to do me a little favor. I have a small assignment for her. I was thinking maybe she could be getting on with it while we took our photos. That okay?’
‘Fine by me,’ Josie said. ‘But you should ask Klara.’
But Mr Capaldi now addressed the Father. ‘Paul, maybe as a fellow scientist, you’ll agree with me. I believe AFs have so much more to give us than we currently appreciate. We shouldn’t fear their intellectual powers. We should learn from them. AFs have so much to teach us.’
‘I was an engineer, never a scientist. I think you know that. In any case, AFs were never in my territory.’
Mr Capaldi shrugged, and raising a hand to his beard, appeared to be checking its texture. Then he turned to me, saying: ‘Klara, I’ve been devising a survey for you. A kind of questionnaire. It’s up there on the screen ready to go. If you wouldn’t mind completing it, I’d be so grateful.’
Before I could say anything, the Mother said: ‘It’s a good idea, Klara. Give you something to do while Josie gets through her sitting.’
‘Of course. I’d be happy to help.’
‘Thanks! It’s nothing difficult, I swear. In fact, what I’d like, Klara, is for you to make no special effort. The whole thing works best if you respond spontaneously.’
‘I understand.’
‘They’re not even questions as such. But why don’t we just go up there and I’ll show you? Folks, Josie, this won’t take a minute. I’ll get Klara settled, then come right back down. Josie, you look so well today. This way, Klara.’
I thought he might take me also to the Purple Door, but we went to the opposite side of the room, where a different metal staircase climbed to its own section of balcony. Mr Capaldi went first up the steps, then I followed, taking each step carefully. When I glanced back down, I saw Josie, the Mother and the Father looking up at us, the Mother still seated on the black sofa. I waved towards Josie, but no one below moved. Then Josie called up: ‘Be good, Klara!’
‘This way please, Klara.’ The balcony was narrow, made from the same dark metal as the staircase. Mr Capaldi was holding open a glass door leading into a room smaller even than Josie’s en suite, dominated by a padded desk chair facing a screen. ‘Please sit down in there. It’s all waiting for you.’
I seated myself with a white wall at my shoulder. Beneath the screen was a narrow ledge offering three control devices.
The room wasn’t large enough for Mr Capaldi to come in too, so the glass door remained open while he gave me his instructions, reaching over sometimes to manipulate the devices. I listened to him carefully, even though I became aware that below, the Mother and the Father were once again using tense voices. Behind Mr Capaldi’s words, I heard the Mother saying: ‘No one’s insisting you stay, Paul.’
‘It’s not consistent,’ the Father was saying. ‘I’m merely pointing out the inconsistency.’
‘I’m not trying to be consistent. I’m just trying to find a way forward for us. Why make it harder than it is, Paul?’
Beside me, Mr Capaldi laughed, broke off from his instructions and said: ‘Oh my. Looks like I’d better go down there and referee! You all straight here, Klara?’
‘Thank you. Everything’s quite clear.’
‘I appreciate it. Anything puzzles you, please call down.’
When he closed the door it actually nudged my shoulder, but I could see sufficiently through its glass to watch Mr Capaldi descending beneath the balcony level. Then I allowed my gaze to go beyond, across the empty air, over to the opposite balcony and the Purple Door from which the Mother had recently emerged.
I began Mr Capaldi’s questionnaire. Sometimes a question would come on the screen as writing. At other times there were shifting diagrams, or the screen would darken and sounds with many layers emerge from the speakers. A face – Josie’s, the Mother’s, a stranger’s – would appear then vanish. At first, short responses of around twelve digits and symbols were appropriate, but as the questions grew more complex, I found myself giving longer answers, some running to over a hundred digits and symbols. All the time, the voices from below remained tense, but with the glass door closed, I could no longer hear their words.
Halfway through my assignment, I caught movement through the glass and saw on the opposite balcony Mr Capaldi leading the Father up onto it. I continued my assignment, but having grasped its central purpose, I no longer needed to give it much attention, and was able to watch the Father, nervously drawing the raincoat around him, approaching the Purple Door. He had his back to me and I was looking through frosted glass, so I couldn’t be sure, but he looked as though he’d become suddenly ill.
But Mr Capaldi, on the balcony beside him, seemed unconcerned, smiling and talking cheerfully. Then he reached up to the keypad beside the Purple Door. From inside my cubicle I couldn’t hear the unlocking hum, but the next time I glanced their way, the Father had gone inside and Mr Capaldi was leaning in through the doorway, saying something. Then I saw Mr Capaldi move suddenly backward, and the Father came out and, though I couldn’t be sure through the frosted glass, he looked no longer ill but filled with a new energy. He seemed not to mind that he’d almost knocked Mr Capaldi aside, and started down the metal steps at reckless speed. Mr Capaldi, watching him, shook his head as a parent would do when a child has a tantrum in a store, then closed the Purple Door.
The images on the screen were changing ever faster now, but my tasks remained obvious, and after several minutes, without losing focus, I pushed partially ajar the glass door beside me. I could then hear more clearly the voices below.
‘What you’re emphasizing here, Paul,’ Mr Capaldi was saying, ‘is how any work we do brands us. That’s your point, am I right? It brands us, and sometimes brands us unjustly.’
‘That’s a very smart way of misunderstanding my point, Capaldi.’
‘Paul, come on,’ the Mother said.
‘I’m sorry, Capaldi, if this sounds impolite. But frankly? I think you’re deliberately misconstruing what I’m saying.’
‘No, Paul, you’re genuinely not coming through here. There are always ethical choices around any work. That’s true, whether we get paid for it or we don’t.’
‘That’s very considerate of you, Capaldi.’
‘Paul, come on,’ the Mother said again. ‘Henry’s just doing what we asked him. No more, no less.’
‘It’s no wonder, Capaldi – Henry, sorry – a guy like you would struggle to understand what I’m saying here.’
I pushed back my chair on its castors, rose and passed through the glass door onto the balcony. I’d already established that the balcony was a rectangular circuit touching all four walls. Now, choosing the rear half of it, I kept close to the white wall, taking care not to cause the metal mesh to ring under my feet, or to cross spotlight beams in any way that could create moving shadows below. I reached the Purple Door unnoticed and keyed in the code I’d observed twice already. There came the usual short hum, but this too went unnoticed by those below. I was then inside Mr Capaldi’s studio and closed t
he door behind me.
The room was L-shaped, the section before me turning a corner into an extension beyond the normal boundary of the building. Leading towards this corner were two counters attached to each wall, busy with shapes, fabrics, small knives and tools. But I had no time to focus on these, and went on towards the corner, remembering to tread cautiously, because the floor was still of the same metal mesh.
I turned the corner of the L and saw Josie there, suspended in the air. She wasn’t very high – her feet were at the height of my shoulders – but because she was leaning forward, arms outstretched, fingers spread, she seemed to be frozen in the act of falling. Little beams illuminated her from various angles, forbidding her any refuge. Her face was very like that of the real Josie, but because there was at the eyes no kind smile, the upward curve of her lips gave her an expression I’d never seen before. The face looked disappointed and afraid. Her clothes weren’t real clothes, but made from thin tissue paper to approximate a T-shirt on her top half, loose-fitting shorts on the lower. The tissue was pale yellow and translucent and under the sharp lighting made this Josie’s arms and legs look all the more fragile. Her hair had been tied back in the manner the real Josie wore it on her ill days, and this was the one detail that failed to convince; the hair had been made from a substance I’d never seen on any AF, and I knew this Josie wouldn’t be happy with it.
Having made my observations, my intention was to return to the cubicle before my absence from it was noticed. I walked carefully back past the two work counters and opened the Purple Door a small way. It made the usual humming noise, but I could tell from the voices below that no one had heard it. I could tell too that the mood was now even more filled with tension.
‘Paul’ – the Mother’s voice was almost shouting – ‘you’ve been determined to make this difficult from the start.’
‘Come on, Josie,’ the Father said. ‘Let’s go. Right now.’
‘But Dad…’
‘Josie, we leave right now. Believe me, I know what I’m doing.’
‘I don’t think you do,’ the Mother said, and Mr Capaldi said over her, ‘Paul, come on, take it easy. If there’s been a misunderstanding, I take full responsibility and I apologize.’
‘How much more information do you need anyway?’ the Father asked, and now he was shouting too, but that could perhaps have been because he was moving across the floor. ‘I’m surprised you’re not requesting a sample of her blood.’
‘Paul, be reasonable,’ the Mother said. The Father and Josie were saying something at the same time, but then Mr Capaldi said over them:
‘It’s okay, Chrissie, let them go. Let them go, it doesn’t change anything.’
‘Mom? Why don’t I go with Dad just now? Then at least you can all stop yelling. If I stay here, it’s just going to get worse.’
‘I’m not angry at you, honey. I’m angry at your father. He’s the child here.’
‘Come on, animal. Let’s go.’
‘I’ll see you later, Mom, okay? See you, Mr Capaldi…’
‘Let them go, Chrissie. Just let them go.’
When the entrance door closed behind them, its sound echoed all around the building. I remembered then that the car belonged to the Mother, and wondered if the Father had money for a taxi to take him and Josie to where he now intended them to go. It felt a little strange Josie hadn’t thought to take me with her, but the Mother was still here, and I remembered the day we’d gone to Morgan’s Falls.
I stepped out onto the balcony, now making no effort to conceal myself or to soften my footsteps. Leaning over the steel rail, I saw the Mother had sat down where earlier Josie had been sitting – on the metal chair in front of the charts. Mr Capaldi came across the floor till he was directly below me, and I could see the top of his bald head, but not his expression. He then continued to walk slowly towards the Mother, as if slowness were a mark of his kindness, and stopped beside the tripod-stand lamp.
‘I can see you’re having misgivings,’ he said in a new, soft voice. ‘Let me tell you. I’ve seen this kind of thing happen many times before. And it’s the ones who stick with it, keep faith, who win out.’
‘Damn right I’m having misgivings.’
‘You mustn’t let Paul sway you. Remember. You’ve thought this through and he hasn’t. Paul is confused.’
‘It’s not Paul. To hell with Paul. It’s that…that portrait up there.’
As she said this, she glanced up in my direction and saw me. She stared past the dazzle of the ceiling lights, then Mr Capaldi also turned and looked up at me. Then he looked at the Mother questioningly. The Mother continued to gaze at me, her hand now raised to her forehead.
‘Okay, Klara,’ she said finally. ‘Come on down.’
As I descended the metal steps, I was interested to see that instead of anger, the Mother showed anxiety. I crossed the floor but stopped while still several strides away. It was Mr Capaldi who spoke first.
‘What do you think, Klara? Am I doing a good job?’
‘She resembles Josie quite accurately.’
‘Then I guess that’s a yes. By the way, Klara, how did you get on with the survey?’
‘I completed it, Mr Capaldi.’
‘Then I’m grateful for your cooperation. And you stored the data safely?’
‘Yes, Mr Capaldi. My responses are stored.’
There was a silence, while the Mother continued to stare at me from her chair and Mr Capaldi from beside his tripod light. I realized they were waiting for me to say something further, so I continued:
‘It’s a pity Josie and the Father have left. Mr Capaldi’s work on the portrait may be temporarily impeded.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘Not a serious setback.’
‘I need to hear,’ the Mother said. ‘I need to hear, Klara, what you think. About what you saw.’
‘I apologize for examining the portrait without permission. But in the circumstances, I felt it best to do so.’
‘Okay,’ the Mother said, and again I saw she was fearful rather than angry. ‘Now tell us what you thought. Or rather, tell us what you think you saw up there.’
‘I’d suspected for some time that Mr Capaldi’s portrait wasn’t a picture or a sculpture, but an AF. I went in to confirm my speculation. Mr Capaldi has done an accurate job of catching Josie’s outward appearance. Though perhaps the hips should be a little narrower.’
‘Thank you,’ Mr Capaldi said. ‘I’ll bear that in mind. It’s still a work in progress.’
The Mother suddenly lowered her face into her hands, letting her hair hang over them. Mr Capaldi turned to her with an expression of concern, but didn’t move from his spot. The Mother wasn’t crying though, and she said through her hands, her voice muffled:
‘Maybe Paul’s right. Maybe this whole thing’s been a mistake.’
‘Chrissie. You mustn’t lose faith.’
She brought her head back up and her eyes were now angry. ‘It’s not a matter of faith, Henry. Why are you so fucking sure I’ll be able to accept that AF up there, however well you do her? It didn’t work with Sal, why will it work with Josie?’
‘What we did with Sal is no comparison. We’ve been through this, Chrissie. What we made with Sal was a doll. A bereavement doll, nothing more. We’ve come a long, long way since then. What you have to understand is this. The new Josie won’t be an imitation. She really will be Josie. A continuation of Josie.’
‘You want me to believe that? Do you believe that?’
‘I do believe it. With everything I’m worth, I believe it. I’m glad Klara went in there and looked. We need her on board now, we’ve needed that for a long time. Because it’s Klara who’ll make the difference. Make it very, very different this time round. You have to keep faith, Chrissie. You can’t weaken now.’
‘But will I believe in it? Whe
n the day comes. Will I really?’
‘Excuse me,’ I said. ‘I’d like to say there’s a chance you’ll never need the new Josie. The present one may become healthy. I believe there’s a good chance of this. I’ll need, of course, the opportunity, the chance to make it so. But since you’re so distressed, I’d like to say this now. If ever there comes such a sad day, and Josie is obliged to pass away, I’ll do everything in my power. Mr Capaldi is correct. It won’t be like the last time with Sal because this time you’ll have me to help. I now understand why you’ve asked me, at every step, to observe and learn Josie. I hope the very sad day will never come, but if it does, then I’ll use everything I’ve learned to train the new Josie up there to be as much like the former one as possible.’
‘Klara,’ the Mother said in a firmer voice, and suddenly she’d become partitioned into many boxes, far more than at the Friend’s Apartment when the Father had first come in. In several of the boxes her eyes were narrow, while in others they were wide open and large. In one box there was room only for a single staring eyeball. I could see parts of Mr Capaldi at the edges of some boxes, so I was aware that he’d raised his hand into the air in a vague gesture.
‘Klara,’ the Mother was saying. ‘You’ve made your deductions well. And I’m grateful for what you’ve just said. But there’s something you need to hear.’
‘No, Chrissie, not yet.’
‘Why not? Why the hell not? You said yourself we need Klara on board. That she’s the one who’ll make the difference.’
There was a moment of silence, then Mr Capaldi said: ‘Okay. If that’s how you want it. Tell her.’
‘Klara,’ the Mother said. ‘We came here today, the main reason. It wasn’t so Josie could sit more. We came here because of you.’
‘I understand,’ I said. ‘I understood about the survey. It was to test how well I’ve come to know Josie. How well I understand how she makes her decisions and why she has her feelings. I think the results will show I’m well able to train the Josie upstairs. But I say again, it’s wrong to give up hope.’
Klara and the Sun Page 19