Leena Krohn: Collected Fiction

by Leena Krohn

  ‘Not true! Our entire universe is a result of neural activity,’ Håkan protested. ‘You think you live in the world. Wrong! You live in your mind, like everyone. The entire world is just a projection of our minds. You think everything can be explained! How idiotic!’

  ‘What do you mean by “our”?’

  ‘All you explain is things you have made up yourselves, not reality. The world is frightening, the world is inexplicable. We don’t even know whether it exists. And when it comes to the squirrel business . . . ’

  ‘Don’t ever mention it to me again,’ his brother said. ‘There has to be a limit.’

  ‘Forget the squirrel,’ Håkan said. ‘It was just an experiment.’

  ‘Absolutely,’ said his brother, with a half-smile.

  The squirrel they were talking about had died in a car accident. Around it there had developed an extraordinary project, in which Håkan had, in fact, taken part only through the internet.

  The aim of the project was to liberate the squirrel’s mind from the prison of its body, its small, graceful body, which had now been destroyed and cremated. The squirrel was to become a digital being.

  The squirrel was found immediately after the accident. Its skull had been crushed, but its body temperature had hardly begun to fall. This offered good conditions for the group’s plans. The squirrel was immediately transferred to a cryogenic state: it was frozen. Later, an autopsy was carried out and the body was preserved in alcohol. Next, it was dried and mummified.

  The mummified body was set on a conductive platform and given a 15,000-volt shock. This caused a convulsion and – so Håkan was told – brought the animus back into the body.

  ‘The animus?’ his brother asked.

  ‘You could call it the soul,’ Håkan said.

  ‘Why not,’ his brother said.

  During the electric shock, the animal’s neural activity was monitored. The information gained was decoded and reorganised into an algorithm which was transferred into a memory space that had been reserved for it.

  The mummified squirrel was ceremonially cremated in a wax-sealed sarcophagus. But the squirrel’s soul – so it was claimed – had already moved to the internet. The intention was to follow the process over the course of a year. Its current state was described on the Door homepage. To Håkan’s disappointment, no development was visible. The aim seemed to be slipping out of their hands.

  ‘When the Door is opened, the squirrel can go, if it wants to,’ Håkan said.

  ‘“If it wants”!’ his brother mocked.

  ‘Not long ago it was said that it was impossible to move faster than light. Now physicists and engineers are seriously talking about faster-than-light travel. Why should immortality be any different?’ Håkan asked.

  ‘It doesn’t fit the picture,’ his brother said.

  ‘Now, that I do understand,’ Håkan said. ‘Not your picture. You have cropped the picture to exclude reality.’

  Like the other members of the group, Håkan believed that the body is an imperfect and miserable object. It is imprisoned in its time and place, and has become what it is for spatial and physiological reasons. It can never be updated, and it is very short-lived.

  The mind, on the other hand, is a complex algorithm which can – if it is only given the opportunity – continue its existence outside the co-ordinates of time and space. All intelligence is of the same value and the same origin; there is no difference between artificial and natural intelligence.

  And Håkan thought about the squirrel, any squirrel, the light daredevil of the forests whose leaps make a mockery of the force of gravity. He remembered the squirrel’s bright eyes, its lightning-fast reactions, its ballet in the sighing treetops. What a merry game its life seemed, and nevertheless it was a matter of constant toil and gambling, eking out a living at the mercy of winter and hunger. Was it free now?

  Håkan wished the project’s squirrel immortality, digital or non-digital, wished from the bottom of his heart that it was still leaping somewhere, from branch to branch in the great forest of the world.

  ‘See you,’ his brother said.

  And Håkan went on writing his response. ‘Because we can offer individually wrapped cheese slices,’ he wrote.

  Think Again!

  It had not been a good day. When Doctor Fakelove went to lunch, he noticed an advertisement that covered a whole wall, taped to the gable of the bank. It read, ‘THINK AGAIN!’

  Fakelove stopped and stared at the notice, screwing up his eyes. It was a giant portrait, some kind of hologram; that was, he supposed, why it had captured his attention. The hologram was animated. Whose picture was it? It changed incessantly; first Fakelove seemed to recognise in it Comrade Stalin, then Hitler’s unnaturally large moustache. They were replaced by Pol Pot’s features, which melted and were then reconstituted as the face of Charles Manson, that demented American murderer.

  Good heavens! Fakelove shivered. What on earth were they trying to advertise, he wondered, shaking his head. Cigarettes? Shoes? Computers? Chocolate bars? He couldn’t make sense of it.

  When Fakelove returned, after some mediocre spaghetti, he was awaited by a new message from Håkan.

  ‘You would do well to take into account,’ Håkan wrote, ‘of the fact that we live on the threshold of great transformations. An enormous change will take place in the behaviour of oceans and oceanic currents in the near future. It is now unavoidable. The entire global climate will change radically. When the Gulf Stream no longer warms our latitudes, our region will become unfit for habitation. No human power or knowledge can halt this development, and to some extent, at least, we must blame ourselves for the disasters to come. On the other hand it must be admitted that sudden transformations such as these belong to the process of evolution. Bodies of land and water will change places. Europe and America will sink underwater, but perhaps Atlantis and Lemuria will rise again.’

  Håkan cited a number of names in support of his claim, many of which Fakelove had never heard of, such as Sananda, El Mory and Kuthumi. Håkan began to seem, to Fakelove, a little confused. This, of course, was not unprecedented among his clients.

  ‘As I have already mentioned, it appears that the question, in your case, is of something far more fundamental than fear of the end of the world,’ Fakelove wrote. ‘How is your sex life?’

  ‘Is there anything more fundamental than the end of the world?’ Håkan wrote. ‘Let us consider, for a moment, our neighbouring planet, Venus. As is well known, it is completely unfit for habitation, a terrible wandering star whose carbon dioxide levels are extremely high and on which the temperature rises to 450 degrees Celsius. The very thought! It is extremely likely that the same development awaits us. When the concentration of carbon dioxide in the atmosphere reaches a certain level – just one per cent is, in fact, sufficient – non-linear effects cumulate extraordinarily quickly. The temperature of the lower atmosphere and the Earth’s surface will rise to unprecedented levels, water will begin to evaporate and soon the seas of our planet will reaching boiling point.’

  Fakelove had a tough nut here. With increasing irritation, he wrote: ‘May I suggest you view your phobia from an entirely different angle. Think again.’ (Fakelove did not fail to note that he had immediately been influenced by the advertisement.) ‘Say to yourself: “Well, OK, the world will end; so what?” Think about everything you will no longer need to worry about: your therapy bills, car maintenance, growing old, your wife’s possible infidelity . . . Enjoy your life as long as you can. Go out, relax, spend time with your friends (if they have not already fled your apocalypses, Fakelove thought) and allow yourself to order a couple of beers in your favourite pub.’

  ‘Before long,’ Håkan replied to Fakelove’s advice, ‘all values, norms and standards will crumble. Have you ever thought that just two generations of badly brought-up children will be enough to corrupt the modes of culture and destroy the whole of Western civilisation. Just two! Think about it! We already have those gene
rations among us. As you know, crime has increased explosively. Cruelty, selfishness and greed flourish everywhere in society. Not to mention the most imaginative perversions which you, because of your profession, are no doubt all too closely acquainted with. The very thought!’

  ‘Don’t think so much,’ Fakelove wrote. ‘Act! Become a member of a society for the protection of children or of nature or a pacifist organisation or another institution of the kind, into which you can channel your extra energy.’

  ‘I will quote just one example: aircraft disturbance!’ Håkan continued. ‘In the near future, more and more planes will crash to the ground through troublemaking on board. Before long the entire world’s air traffic will be in complete chaos.’

  Fakelove coldly left this message unanswered.

  ‘And what about the new diseases, and the many old ones who have become immune to all treatment,’ Håkan wrote the following day. ‘Medical science cannot cope with them. The very thought. Perhaps you know that mesothelioma can, at any moment break loose to become a pandemic that will threaten the entire inhabited world. Let alone dengue, which has recently developed into a dangerous form of haemophilia. Black malaria is spreading from Calcutta, and even a new epidemic of the Black Death is to be expected within a few years, since rat populations have by no means been brought under control in cities. Health-care personnel will be completely helpless and, particularly among them, death will reap a rich harvest.’

  ‘Your disease, on the other hand,’ Fakelove wrote, ‘is called eschatophobia. It is not a completely harmless illness. It is difficult for me to predict its consequences for your personal life, because you have told me very little about that aspect of yourself.’

  ‘Various environmental poisons and the unpredictable combined effect of chemicals will weaken both Homo sapiens’ health and ability to reproduce, and its intellectual capacity,’ Håkan wrote. ‘Unless the level of ecological hygiene rises rapidly, we will see more and more helpless generations that can hardly engage in intellectual disciplines or maintain the infrastructure of society.’

  ‘Unless you, dear Håkan,’ Fakelove wrote, ‘quickly begin to care for your own mental hygiene, your prognosis is not sunny, that I can guarantee.’

  The very thought!

  The Society for Voluntary Extinction

  End the human race, save the world! Tonight at the café: Annual General Meeting of the Society for Voluntary Extinction. New members welcome.

  That was the message on the yellow note that Håkan, a second-year sociology student, happened to see on the notice board of the university’s lower lobby.

  Håkan felt as if the invitation were directed at him personally. That same evening, he went to the Society’s meeting, which was held in the back room of a small café, and filled out a membership form. It was the first and only society that Håkan had ever wanted to join.

  Håkan was a solitary boy who had always, from childhood, kept his distance from gangs and groups. He had not taken part in school trips or summer camps. He had not been invited to his classmates’ birthday parties. His mother had not been able to persuade him to join the scouts, even though she had cried. Håkan had left the church as soon as he turned eighteen.

  The Society for Voluntary Extinction appealed to both his logic and his sense of honour. Having looked around him for fifteen or sixteen years and seen the pitiable state of society and the environment, Håkan had, to his own surprise, come to the conclusion that it was the duty of humankind to destroy itself. And it was precisely this that was the leading ideology and basic principle of action of the Society for Voluntary Extinction, or SVE.

  The Society had adopted the aim of shaping the social climate in favour of voluntary destruction. It worked in secret for the complete elimination of the human race. It was possible to realise the aim by lowering the birth rate and, eventually, completely avoiding reproduction. The Society’s methods were absolutely non-violent. The SVE’s rules stated clearly that all actions were to be optional and voluntary.

  Håkan himself had heard rumours about a former member of the SVE, a prominent microbiologist. He and a couple of his supporters had begun to develop a virus that would kill the human race but leave the rest of creation untouched. This man, a genuine and true misanthropist, a rare example of his kind, had apparently been expelled from the Society soon after its inception.

  Håkan did not know how far the development of the killer virus had progressed.

  The Society believed in tenacious opinion-forming and indefatigable conversion work. Much had to be abandoned, but it was important to retain quality of life right up to the end. Suicide was considered an honourable act; homosexuality and abortions were openly encouraged. Håkan tried to cultivate deviant preferences within himself, but remained tepid toward them.

  ‘A new person is always a catastrophe,’ taught Téa, who was the SVE’s founding member and one of its most tireless workers. ‘His or her disappearance, on the other hand, will not cause any upset, for man is the last link in the food chain. On the contrary, the absence of the human race will be a great relief to the other life on the planet.’

  And Håkan agreed with Téa that collective rational suicide – that was what they called voluntary death – was both an ethically just and an unselfish choice, and the only final solution.

  ‘Consider this,’ said Téa. ‘One species leaves voluntarily in order that millions of others can live in peace. This is the last and greatest act of love.’

  In his proselytizing work, Håkan had heard the same, constantly repeated questions from doubters and mockers. But, doubters often said, wouldn’t irretrievable things be lost from the world along with humankind? Are you intending to throw all human things away, like rubbish: Bach and Lao Tse, Jesus and jazz, squash and gastronomy?

  ‘All that you mention, yes, there are of course many fine and even noble things,’ Håkan said. ‘But they are mere shadow theatre and mind-games compared to real life, nature, the biosphere. We must finally concede that what is called culture, but which is really only a product of humankind’s desire for enjoyment and comfort, cannot continue for long. Civilisation will destroy both itself and all organic life if we do not ourselves first end it.’

  And he continued for a long time, presenting statistical figures, speaking passionately, gesticulating and gazing unblinking into the eyes of his partners in conversation.

  As yet, the SVE still had fewer than thirty members, but there were several study groups. Håkan had many reasons for participating extensively in the work of the study groups. One of them was Téa herself. She was the director of the Path to Progressive Knowledge group, or PPKG.

  The PPKG met every Thursday evening. Little by little, through study and deepening of their vision, Téa said, human consciousness would develop to the point where humans would understand the necessity of their own disappearance.

  Téa was some years older than Håkan. Some considered her a fanatic, but Håkan admired her sense of purpose and her broad, unsentimental intelligence. Her short, dark hair gleamed healthily, a suggestion of firm breasts was detectable beneath her long-sleeved flannel shirts, which were always buttoned up to the neck.

  Sometimes it happened that no one but Téa and Håkan turned up to the PPK group meeting on Thursday night. On one such evening, Téa had been quieter than usual. Their conversation had finally drawn to a halt. A rainstorm had been beating at the window, and Téa had pressed her mouth against Håkan’s neck and Håkan had wrapped his arms round her shoulders and pressed her against him.

  After that evening, he and Téa met from time to time outside the SVE. But their meetings were not a matter of public knowledge; no one in the SVE knew about them.

  ‘Håkan, I have something to tell you,’ Téa said in the autumn. They had not met during the summer holiday, and there had also been a break in the SVE’s program, for Téa had been at home in the north, writing her dissertation.

  Håkan felt that Téa had changed. She was pale, and a ra
sh had appeared on her cheeks, like a kind of cradle cap.

  ‘I can’t come to next Thursday’s meeting,’ Téa said.

  ‘You’re not, ill, are you?’ Håkan asked anxiously. ‘You look ill.’

  ‘No, I’m not ill. But something has happened that should not have happened.’

  Håkan waited. His heart missed a beat.

  ‘Håkan, I’m expecting a baby.’

  ‘You? A baby?’

  The words were incomprehensible. They sounded like a stupid prank, but Téa was a serious person; she never played games. She was also an honest person who never lied. Now, however, she must either be joking or lying. The founding member of the SVE, and in particular the convener of the PPKG, could not possibly be expecting a baby.’

  ‘We’re expecting a baby,’ Téa corrected herself.

  We? But Håkan could not be the father. How could a man who considered becoming a father a serious crime against the whole planet be a father?

  ‘Why do you say that? Suddenly invent such a thing?’ Håkan said in a whining, fretful vice.

  ‘Håkan, don’t you understand? It’s true, we’re expecting a baby.’

  Håkan froze. There was a ringing in his ears as he tried to comprehend the meaning and consequences of Téa’s words.

  ‘I will of course have to resign from the SVE,’ said Téa. ‘There is no alternative. And probably you too,’ she added, after a moment’s thought.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Håkan asked. ‘You can’t resign from a society you founded yourself. You’re the soul of the SVE. And I’m not going to resign, in any circumstances.’

  How could this have happened to them? Had they not been scrupulously careful about contraception? He should have had himself sterilized ages ago, but he had put the procedure off, more out of shyness than fear.

  Håkan whimpered loudly, so that someone on the next table turned to look at them.