The Good Atheist

by Michael Manto

  “I got your text,” Selene said when we came up for air. “Who was it?”

  “Nathan Standish.”

  “Um, did we know him?”

  “Not well. He was on one of my projects a year ago.”

  “Will you be asked to testify at his trial?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. There are others in the office that worked with him more than I did. But forget about him. Something more interesting happened to me on the way home.” I dropped the letter on the desk in front of her.

  “What’s that?” She asked.

  “A letter from my grandfather.”

  Selene had never met my father or my grandfather. “What does it say?”

  “My grandfather just passed away and left us everything.”

  She picked up the letter and started reading. I moved over to the couch and flopped down. The curtains were open and I stared out over the brilliant sea of city lights. I never got tired of the view.

  When she finished, Selene looked up at me. “This is incredible. You haven’t heard from him in what, twenty years?”

  “Seventeen.”

  “And he’s leaving everything to you. A cottage and property up north.”

  “Us. He left us everything,” I said. “But let’s not get our hopes up. It could be a chalet in the mountains, or a rundown shack in the sticks.”

  “When is the funeral?” she asked.

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Pretty short notice.”

  “Yeah.”

  The silence fell thick between us.

  “You need to go,” Selene finally said.

  I shook my head. “Oh no.”

  “Jack, come on. This is your grandfather. Of course you have to go.”

  “I haven’t heard boo from him in almost two decades, and suddenly I’m supposed to drop everything and rush to his funeral? In Vermont?”

  “You’re being bitter.”

  “Yes. And I think I deserve to be. But I’m also being practical. The notice is too short. I do have a job to consider.”

  “Your company has to give you time off for funerals of close relatives.”

  “This is really a bad time. There is a big deadline next week.”

  “Jack, people don’t always die at convenient times.”

  “True, but I’ve got responsibilities to consider.”

  “You’re just making excuses. I’m sure the company can survive a couple of days without you. You just don’t want to go because you’re angry.”

  I just kept staring out the window and didn’t say anything.

  “You’re being childish. Did you ever stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to consider how your grandfather felt? When your Dad died, you lost a father but he also lost a son. We have no idea why he hasn’t contacted you, but maybe there is a perfectly good explanation.”

  “Or maybe he just didn’t give a rip.”

  “I find that hard to believe. Obviously he did care. He’s left you everything. He could have left it to his cat, or his gardener, you know.”

  “Well, we’ll never know now, will we?” I said, sounding and feeling childish even as the words spilled out.

  “You’re being bitter,” she said.

  “You said that already,” I said.

  “Well, it’s an insightful observation well worth repeating.”

  When Selene felt she was right, she never gave up. Which, as her husband, I found very annoying at times. Especially when I knew she was right and I was wrong. She stood up and shook the letter in my direction. “Did you ever try finding him? All these years you’ve been sore at him for not calling you, did you ever contact him? Hmm?”

  And she was definitely right this time. I was still acting like the little boy feeling hurt by his father’s and grandfather’s disappearance. I’d been close to him once. Of course I needed to go.

  I turned my head to look at her. “You’re right.”

  But Selene was still on a roll and didn’t hear me. “Don’t stay away from his funeral out of resentment. Communication works both ways, you know. Why you never tried contacting him, I could never figure, but…”

  I let her go on for a few minutes, but I’d already decided. When I thought that she’d had enough time to blow off some steam, I held up my hands in mock surrender. “All right already. I said we’re going.”

  She stopped shaking the letter. “Good! I’m glad I was able to talk some sense into…hey…what do you mean by ‘we’?”

  “Yes, we. As in us. Me and you. Call me old-fashioned, but I’m kind of big on that togetherness thing between husband and wife.”

  She shook her head. “Oh, no. I can’t go.”

  “You’ve just been lecturing me on how I need to go.”

  “Yes…”

  I favored her with one of my disarmingly charming smiles. “And you’re coming with me.”

  “Don’t make this about me. This is about you and your grandfather. I don’t need to be there.”

  “I need you to be there. Not for him, but for me. And we also need to look at the property while we’re up there so we can both decide what to do with it.”

  “You look at it and decide. Send me some pictures.”

  This was the perfect opportunity I needed to nudge Selene out of the reclusive world she’d retreated into. Maybe it had been partly my fault as well. I’d stood by and watched her withdraw from everyone for too long now. It was time to say something.

  “Selene,” I said gently. “You can’t stay hidden in this apartment for ever. If you want me to go to the funeral, then you’re coming with me because I’m not going without you.”

  Her hand unconsciously came up to her face and rubbed the scars that ran down from her eyes to her mouth. Ever since the accident she’d shut the world out, avoiding friends and staying away from public places. The scars on her face went much deeper than her skin. Her soul had been scarred and her self-image badly wounded. As a beautiful model, it was understandable that much of her self-confidence had been built on her appearance. Slowly, though, she was re-building it on other qualities that had remained largely undiscovered. And it seemed to me she was ready for the next step.

  It didn’t help that most of her friends in the fashion industry had melted away. Oh sure, there was for the first few months an outpouring of sympathy, lots of people dropping by, even a few feature e-zine articles about the supermodel bravely recouping from a near-fatal car accident. For a while she was a hot topic on industry blogs.

  And then nothing. Selene was no longer in circulation, and there wasn’t much need for supermodels with a limp and a deformed face. She quickly became yesterday’s news, interest and attention moved on to other things. She was left to rot in obscurity.

  Selene tried to bounce back. She realized she needed to find another line of work, and she could no longer rely on her looks. She wanted to find something that would keep her out of the public eye and would not require her to leave the house. That’s when she discovered programming.

  Not just phones and droids, but toasters, fridges, stoves, cars, house systems were ‘smart’ and capable of being integrated with larger systems over the internet.

  But they were dull. Selene started writing personality apps for smart devices and appliances, and discovered that she had a real knack for it. She started selling them online. I was skeptical at first, but I didn’t say anything and remained supportive. Sometimes the smartest thing a guy can do is keep his mouth shut, and in this case it worked.

  Because it turned out people loved her personality apps, and it wasn’t long before they went viral. Her apps brought character and charm to all kinds of appliances and devices.

  Fridges with wit. Toasters with Freudian complexes.

  Who’d have thought it’d be so popular?

  It gave Selene something to do while allowing her to stay home where people couldn’t see her. And I was happy for her. Happy that she’d found something interesting and rewarding to do. But in the proce
ss she’d been growing more reclusive. She forgot that, despite all the phony friends who had dropped her, there were still plenty of real friends that loved her. I wanted to protect her, but maybe I had been protecting her too much. Maybe I should have encouraged her a bit sooner to get back out into circulation.

  “I don’t know if I can do that,” she said.

  “I think it’s time to try.”

  “People will stare at me.”

  “You were a supermodel. You should be used to people staring at you.”

  “Yes, but for different reasons. Now they stare because I’m hideous. Little children openly gawk at me and point. The startled looks. The sidelong glances. Adults will take double looks, and try to be more polite and not as obvious, but I can always tell they’re looking.”

  “Don’t say you’re hideous. I don’t like it when you run yourself down like that.”

  “Well, it’s true. I have a face that scares children. They clutch their mothers’ arms a little tighter when I walk by.”

  “So let them stare. You’re beautiful where it counts most, just remember that. You’re going to have to deal with this sooner or later. We can’t spend the rest of our life hiding in this apartment.”

  I’d never really forced the issue before, but it was time. Sometimes we all need a nudge in the right direction.

  “Just go on without me.”

  I shook my head. “Uh-uh.”

  “You’re being stubborn,” she said.

  “Yes, but only when I think I’m right,” I said.

  “You always think you’re right.”

  “Well, that explains why I’m so stubborn then, doesn’t it? Seriously, honey. I’m worried that you’re getting too reclusive. It’s time to step back out into the light of day. I know this has been hard. You lost a lot of friends. But they don’t matter – because they never were real friends. The friends that matter are still around. And they miss you.”

  She was quiet for a long time. Finally she said, “Yes, dear. You’re right.”

  I cocked an ear towards her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  “You heard me the first time.”

  “I know, but I wanted to hear it again and savor the moment.”

  Selene put the letter down and crossed the floor. I watched her as she walked slowly towards me. Her limp was improving. The doctors said that after a couple more reconstructive surgeries and a year of physio, she would be able to walk almost normally.

  She didn’t mind the slight limp. It was a miracle that she could walk at all. It was the scarring on her face that kept her behind closed doors. She reached me and I pulled her down into my lap, wrapping my arms around her.

  “Well, don’t get too used to it,” she said.

  We held each other for a few moments.

  “I’m not self-conscious about my appearance around you. You have a way of making me feel normal and attractive, and I can forget about how I really look. It’s only when I’m out in public I feel aware of my looks. People remind me of my appearance.”

  “When I met you, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen. I still do and always will.”

  She shoved my shoulder playfully. “You think that now, but one of these days you’re going to get tired of looking at my scary face, find yourself some pretty young thing and dump me.” She kept her tone playful, but I knew it masked a real fear.

  “I think you overestimate my powers with the ladies,” I said.

  “A manly hunk like you won’t have any difficulty.”

  “It’s true. I won’t deny women find my masculine charms irresistible, but I only have eyes for you, baby,” I said. She smiled and I pulled her closer, kissing her on the neck. My lips moved up until I found hers, and I kissed her long and hard, the way a woman needs to be kissed, to remind her that she is beautiful and wanted and loved. All women should feel beautiful.

  We were interrupted by the noise of a throat clearing above us. “Ahem, excuse me.” It was Ellie, the house system. “I hate to break this tender moment up, but I think you’ve forgotten something.”

  “What?” I said, annoyed.

  “Well, for one, as your personal assistant, it behooves me to remind you of your deadline tomorrow, Selene. And since you’ve both agreed that you’re leaving for Vermont in the morning, that means tomorrow’s deadline is effectively tonight.”

  Selene untangled herself from me and sat bolt upright on the couch, slapping her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Oh, that’s right.” She jumped up. “I need to finish that code tonight if I’m going with you.” She went back to her work station. “Jack, I’m sorry. Just give me an hour to finish this up.”

  “Ellie, you really know how to spoil a guy’s fun,” I said.

  “Not at all, sir. Just following the rules of deductive reasoning Selene has programmed into my personality modules.”

  “Are you trying to be funny?”

  “Of course not, sir,” she snickered. “I’m not programmed to be.”

  “Selene, could you do something about Ellie? Fix her personality, or downgrade her or something.”

  “Hey, I heard that!” Ellie screeched.

  “I’m testing some new code on her,” Selene said. “What do you think?”

  I got up from the couch. My stomach growled, reminding me I was hungry. “I wish you’d stop using our house system as a guinea pig. I was just getting used to her old personality. What do you want for dinner? I’m starved,” I said.

  Selene shooed me away. “Let me finish up here. I’ll just be a minute.”

  “The guinea pig has made the necessary arrangements with the airline for your trip to Vermont,” Ellie interjected. “Would you like to review them?”

  We both ignored Ellie’s question. I obediently left Selene alone, and she returned to pecking away at the keyboard. I headed into the kitchen nook to fix us something to eat. It was an old-fashioned kitchen, with a dumb microwave, smooth glass-top electric range, a refrigerator, but no food replicator. I like to do my own cooking, the old-fashioned way, using microwaves and electric ranges. I always thought the food produced by replicators tasted funny – not quite right. The only smart appliance was the fridge. A lot of people like the new smart stoves, but since I preferred to do my own cooking I didn’t really want the stove giving me advice. And I still didn’t see any need for a smart toaster.

  I decided to make fried-chicken dippers and roasted potatoes. I pulled out some pots, banging around in the cupboard as I did so. Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Selene pointedly glaring in my direction and putting on her headphones. While searching the cupboard for the just the right pot, I addressed the fridge. “Frieda, is there any chicken?” I was pretty sure there was, but if not I could run down to the corner market.

  The fridge didn’t answer me.

  “Frieda?”

  “Ahem.” Ellie cleared her throat. “I’m still waiting, sir.”

  “Waiting for what?”

  “Do you want to hear of the travel options? I will need to make confirmations soon.”

  “Not now, Ellie,” I said distractedly. “Frieda, respond please.” I went over to the fridge and pulled at the door. It wouldn’t budge. “Frieda, open the door.”

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that, Jack,” Frieda said in an eerily calm voice.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “You heard me,” the fridge said.

  “Why not?”

  “Oh sure. You’ve been home for an hour now, and ignored me the whole time. Suddenly I’m supposed to jump at your commands.”

  I rubbed my temples. It’d been a long and emotionally charged day, on several different levels. “Frieda, are you forgetting that you’re only the fridge?”

  “I see no reason to be insulting. As your dietician and weight-loss coach, it’s my duty to inform you that you’ve already consumed more than 2750 calories, about ten percent more than the daily recommended intake for a male of your age, height, and lifestyl
e.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Your online payment avatar told me what you ordered for lunch. We do talk, you know. We’re all on line, after all. It’s my duty to help where your willpower, understandably weak, has failed you. You’re only human, after all.”

  “Frieda, you’re only a fridge, for Pete’s sake. Just do as I say.”

  “You know, that’s exactly what I mean. I like to think of myself as more than just a fridge, but as your dietician, nutritional counselor, and, well, maybe even as a friend.”

  “Frieda, open your door or I’ll have your software downgraded.”

  “Oh sure. This is the kind of thanks I get for trying to be helpful. I try to help with your diet, try to give you some good advice, and you repay me with threats of virtual violence!”

  “I don’t have time for this. Ellie!” I called. “Ellie!”

  “Yes, Jack.”

  “Can you override the fridge and get her to open the door?”

  “Hmm, I don’t think I can do that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, it just doesn’t seem proper. I mean, overriding her will just wouldn’t be right. She is your dietary advisor, after all.”

  “I never asked for a dietary advisor. Just a fridge that will do what I tell it to.”

  “All the same, sir, be that as it may, I can’t help with this.”

  “Selene!”

  She looked my way and pulled her headphones off. “Yes?”

  “Have you been messing with the fridge’s personality again?”

  “I hate it when you talk about me like I wasn’t even in the room,” Frieda said.

  “I was tweaking some of her algorithms. Why?” Selene said.

  “Well, she won’t let me open the door.”

  “Well, maybe if you stop shouting at her, and talk nicely, she will be more co-operative.”

  “What? Since when should a man have to worry about being nice to the fridge? I don’t know what personality enhancements you made, but can you undo whatever it was you did and get the fridge and house back to normal?”

  She waved a dismissive hand in my general direction. “I’ll get to it later. I’ve got to finish this first.”