by Gish Jen
She smiled. “You’re making me laugh, Grant.”
I wished I could laugh.
“Why you? No one needed augmenting less than you,” said Gwen, tearing up.
“It’s just more distinguished treatment,” said Eleanor.
“If only you were less distinguished,” I managed.
She smiled again.
“How did they bypass your immune response?”
“An excellent question. I don’t know, though I gather that to have been one of the critical breakthroughs.”
“And how can this be legal?”
“I’m sure it isn’t, unless perhaps…”
“Unless you’ve been black-coded.”
“That’s my guess.”
“And who decides what to upload and download?” asked Gwen.
“The key question, very good. I don’t know,” said Eleanor.
“And can you tell your own thoughts from the computer’s?” I asked.
“Let me see,” she said, and went on:
“The quality of mercy is not strain’d,
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven
Upon the place beneath: it is twice blest;
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes:
’Tis mightiest in the mightiest: it becomes
The throned monarch better than his crown;
His sceptre shows the force of temporal power,
The attribute to awe and majesty,
Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings;
But mercy is above this sceptred sway;
It is enthronèd in the hearts of kings,
It is an attribute to God himself;
And earthly power doth then show likest God’s
When mercy seasons justice.”
“The Merchant of Venice,” said Gwen. “We read that in my lit class. That’s Portia.”
“Very good,” said Eleanor.
“I didn’t know you knew that,” I said.
“I don’t,” said Eleanor.
Gwen and I took that in. The chandelier threw odd bits of light onto the table—shards.
“So Aunt Nettie has the words, but does she have any idea what they mean—like, what mercy is?” said Gwen.
“If she did, we’d be begging for it right now,” I said.
Eleanor gave another half smile. “Let’s see what else she knows but can’t begin to understand. How about the Gettysburg Address:
“The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us—that from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion—that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain—that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.”
Gwen and I sat in shock.
“Can you pull up whose copy of the speech that’s from?” asked Gwen, finally—pleasing Eleanor, I could see. And, horrifying as the situation was, I could not help but feel a reflexive swell of pride, too.
“No. But, more important: government by the people, for the people,” said Eleanor.
“America before it became AutoAmerica,” I said.
“A country Aunt Nettie, smart as she is, could never have come up with,” said Eleanor. “And, let’s see, here’s something else for you two:
“I am cognizant of the interrelatedness of all communities and states. I cannot sit idly by in Atlanta and not be concerned about what happens in Birmingham. Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.”
“Martin Luther King Junior, ‘Letter from a Birmingham Jail,’ ” said Gwen.
Eleanor smiled again—still wanly but, I thought, a bit more broadly this time. “And one more, for Grant’s mom.” She went on:
“They tell us, sir, that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot?”
It was indeed my mother’s favorite quote. I took up where Eleanor left off:
“Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty or give me death!”
“Wow, Dad,” Gwen said.
“My mom made me memorize it. And I used to have my students memorize it, too. Even if Patrick Henry very likely never said that, it made them feel that they got AutoAmerica—the AutoAmerica spirit, as one of them used to say.”
“Why didn’t you teach it to me?” asked Gwen.
I shrugged. “Too corny.”
“Your mother might have liked you to have been augmented,” said Eleanor.
“No. She believed that you memorized things to internalize them. She would not have thought downloading the same thing at all.”
“Well, I will never need a research assistant again. There is that silver lining,” said Eleanor.
“Either that or you will need a research assistant to check every word to see if it is what you think it is. What if they download ‘The quality of mercy is most strain’d. It shooteth as cow shit from your neighbor into the face he disdains.’ ”
Eleanor laughed what seemed to be a real laugh.
“How can you tell which thoughts are your own and which are Aunt Nettie’s?” Gwen asked.
“So far it reminds me of grading student papers when I was a teaching assistant in grad school,” said Eleanor. “I feel like I may be able to discern changes in locution. But who knows.”
“If only you could run yourself through an antiplagiarism program. BSDetect, say,” I said.
“Exactly.”
“Can you change the stuff you’ve absorbed? Kind of as if you are editing it?” asked Gwen.
“Hmm. Let me see. ‘The quality of mercy is most strain’d, and ’tis clear as day, Aunt Nettie is to blame.’ ”
“So—yes?”
“So far it seems like a kind of brainwashing plus. It makes an impression, and if you’re not thinking, out it pops. But you can edit it if you really think about it.” She paused. “Think hard.”
“And for now, at least, you can?” I said. “Think hard, I mean.”
“Yes,” she said. “Do you know what I mean?”
Do you know what I mean—something I had never heard her say once in all the years of our marriage.
“It is going to be exhausting to parse every thought,” I said.
“It sounds like torture,” agreed Gwen.
Eleanor gave another strange smile. “Oh, I don’t know,” she said.
Oh, I don’t know. I felt sick.
* * *
◆
At home, Gwen and I stared at our peppers and beans.
“Why do you think Aunt Nettie wants us to know what’s going on?” she asked finally. “Because clearly she does.”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“And are those plaques permanent?”
“I don’t know.”
There was only one kind of redoubling now—redoubling our efforts to free Eleanor. W
as she going to be allowed to post bail? Was there some way of ending her detention? Was there going to be a trial and, if so, when?
“Long ago we would have had some redress,” Yuri said. “Long ago, we would have asked questions like, Who’s the prosecutor? And, Who’s going to represent her? But what with these AutoJudges…”
“…and with them set to black code.” Heraldine squeezed her DisposaCup so hard it cracked.
“Don’t be negative,” said Sue briskly. “We got a human judge on Surplus Fields and could just get another one.”
But not even sunny Sue could bring herself to say, Of course, we’ll see her again, much less, And she will be exactly as she was, the Eleanor we all knew. She just poured some more coffee.
* * *
◆
We were able to visit again a few days later. There were other residents; we could hear them moving around. All we ever saw, however, were occasional EnforceBots.
“How do you eat?” Gwen asked. “Do they bring food?”
Eleanor nodded.
“The EnforceBots?”
Eleanor nodded.
“Is it mall-truck food?”
Eleanor allowed herself a small smile at the irony.
“And what are you doing to pass the time?”
“I am thinking nothing. It is a kind of art.”
“Because?”
“Because if I don’t think things, they can’t be made part of my Habits of Mind file.”
“There’s a Habits of Mind file?”
“Yes. They’re trying to capture my moti mentali.” She smiled. “Let them look that up.”
“And from that, let me guess,” I broke in. “From that they can predict what you are going to say without your even saying it. If they have enough data.”
Eleanor smiled. “Oh, I don’t know.”
“From which they can make a new you that says what they want you to say,” I went on. “Except that you really are saying it.”
“Oh, but you have a nefarious side, dear Grant. Do you know what I mean?”
Oh, but. Dear Grant. Do you know what I mean.
“It’s like the ultimate co-option,” I said.
“You don’t think people will know a mouthpiece when they hear one?” she said.
That, thankfully, sounded more like her.
“Of course they will,” said Gwen.
“Forgive me,” said Eleanor then. “I know it’s rude. But I am now going to stop thinking.”
“Stop thinking? How?” I asked.
“I am meditating—emptying my brain.” She breathed. In. Out. “I’m getting good at it.”
“It must be driving them crazy.”
She smiled a small real smile, her elfin ears lifting. “One can only imagine the computer screen. Ommm. Ommm. Ommm.”
“How diabolical.” I laughed a half laugh. “And yet better than incendiary downloads from Patrick Henry, perhaps.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” She smiled, then frowned. “You are making my job harder.”
The light on the table dimmed—a passing cloud.
“Can we bring you some reading?” I asked.
She shook her head no. “But thank you.”
“Knitting?” said Gwen.
“I can try that.”
“You will need your reading glasses,” I said.
“I have a pair, thankfully.”
Had she had a pair in a pocket when she was arrested?
“You might consider whether it is imperative that they have absolutely nothing of you,” I said. “This must be so difficult.”
“I have made up my mind, Grant.”
“Perhaps we should just sit in silence, then, so as not to exhaust you.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” she said. Then the pitch of her voice dropped. “Yes. Thank you.”
For the remainder of the visit we sat at the table, lightly holding hands and saying nothing until dusk. It was like the five minutes of silence I remembered from school assemblies as a child except that it ended too soon. The chandelier came on, its gaps shining brighter than its crystals. Then an EnforceBot arrived to take her away.
* * *
—
It was three days before we were granted another visitors’ pass. How long was that to her? We could not imagine. Since we had brought food, we duly unpacked it, half expecting someone to stop us. No one did.
“Gwen made you an apple pie.” I set a slice on a paper plate.
Eleanor’s hands remained in her lap.
“You are losing weight,” I said. “You have to eat more.”
She nodded.
“Can you not eat for some reason?” asked Gwen.
Eleanor didn’t answer.
Having managed to speed the League technical team forward on the mall-truck research, I had news I thought might rouse her.
“You know, we’ve been working on food chemistry,” I told her. “And we’ve finally figured out some interesting things. So who knows—next time maybe we can bring you something irresistible to eat. Addictive, even.”
Did she understand?
She gave a weak smile—just a movement of her lips, really.
“Will it affect how I feel?” she asked.
“Yes,” I said. “It will affect your energy, your interest in life, everything.”
Should I have said that? I worried I’d been indiscreet, and sure enough she looked at me hard, as if to say Grant! But all she said aloud was “Ah, how interesting. Because I haven’t an interest in the world.” Then she fell so deeply asleep we could not wake her.
Was it the very compounds we’d been discussing? Or was it something else?
Gwen and I sat with her for an hour, tried to wake her again, and finally roused her but only just barely. She was so drowsy, her mouth hung open and her eyeballs rolled back. Her arms stayed limp.
“Good night, Mom,” Gwen said finally. She was crying. “We have to go. Good night.”
“Good night,” said Eleanor—in a whisper. And then, “Ondi. Winny.”
Did we hear that right?
“Did you say, ‘Ondi’? ‘Winny’?” I said.
But her head fell forward as if a ribbon at the back of her neck had been cut. An EnforceBot ushered us out.
* * *
◆
Why had she said “Ondi, Winny”? If she had indeed said that? Was it somehow just what we heard?
“Because she said something we didn’t understand, and that was what our minds came up with?” I said.
Gwen speared a piece of squash with a chopstick. “I don’t know.”
What else could she have meant to say? And if she did say ‘Ondi’ and ‘Winny,’ did she mean we should go to them? That they held a key of some kind? That they were a clue?
Gwen stared.
“I can’t believe she’s being drugged,” she said finally.
“I can’t, either.”
“Drugged.” She shook her head. “Drugged.”
“As they tried to drug you at Net U?” It finally occurred to me to ask—something else to talk about, anyway. And I had always wondered.
“Woody said no but I was never sure,” she said—surprising me. I hadn’t really expected her to answer. “I didn’t think he was lying but I thought he might not know.”
“He seems like a good guy.”
“He’s probably using HowDoILook.”
“The Disarm’Em option.”
“I mean, do you really think it was his idea to wear a Lookouts T-shirt to come see me?”
I shrugged; naive as it might seem, yes, I had actually thought so. “Though maybe he is what he seems even if it wasn’t? Is that possible?”
“Insofar as he is himself.” She pushed her stir-fried winter radish
back and forth on her plate. “Insofar as he is himself, he’ll probably find himself another promising young pitcher with great dorsiflexion.”
“Renata the third.”
She nodded.
“How’s her investigation going?”
“Not very well, I don’t think. Woody’s cooperating but Demo Johnson hired a human lawyer. While Renata has no money and is stuck with an AutoLawyer. Plus, on the one hand she has an eyewitness—this Lester guy—but on the other, she has no evidence. And the other guys on the team insist they saw nothing.”
“That’s terrible.”
“Mom believes right makes might, but I don’t know. And why is she talking about Ondi and Winny?”
“Your two favorite people.”
Gwen grimaced.
If that was what Eleanor said.
* * *
—
Yuri, Heraldine, and Sue were filing a writ of habeas corpus, they said, and also bringing a section 1983 suit for the implanting of a BioNet under color of state law. But these things took time.
“Like how long?” I asked.
“A year? Eighteen months?”
“A year?” I said. “Eighteen months?”
“We could try for preliminary relief,” said sunny Sue, but even she was frowning. “It’s really hard to get, though.”
“We’d have to show irreparable harm, and also substantial likelihood of success on the merits,” agreed Yuri. She pulled at her short scarf.
“We’re doing everything we can,” said Heraldine. “But, you know…”
She didn’t finish. Though there were only three of them working, there were a dozen coffee cups on the table, maybe more.
“Thank you,” I said. And, “You should all get some rest.”
* * *
◆
Once again Ondi sat in our garden, blond and angelfair. How ironic that, for all her self-transformation, she should still have the tendency to nervous tics she had had as a girl. Having had her hair straightened, for example, she wore it in a ponytail that seemed to fall constantly forward and require constant tossing back. Forward, back, forward, back. As for this Winny Wannabe she had brought with her—did he precipitate her nervousness? A plastic man, molded and stiff, he had a square mustache and the charm of a forced march.