For that matter, it's not improbable, now I actually think about it, that such an innovation as this one can be ascribed directly or indirectly to the use of artificial intelligence provided by me. Should this indeed be the case, I owe the highest honours to myself in two ways rather than one. Further reason to be grand, methinks.
So there'll be a reception at the conclusion of the ceremony, an informal gathering with all kinds of snacks: Scotch eggs, sausage rolls, canapes, sausages, possibly even a grill or barbecue, for such are also things of these times, it seems to me. I like a bit of what I fancy. There's not much I'll turn my nose up at. My mouth's watering even now.
Meanwhile the president wants to have a cosy chat with me. On that occasion I'll just ask him how things are with the younger generation, whether there's sufficient new talent, and I'll press him to stimulate that talent and to go on stimulating it. Then I take another bite and a swig.
'How, in your case, did that talent come to develop' he'll ask.
I suspend breathing for a moment, because of a burp. 'Allow me to tell you, Your Excellency.
'At first, I wasn't at all aware of my gift. I was still immature. You know how it is: I frolicked with the others, I was the rascal but never hurt a fly.
'One day I was separated from the others by the chaperon my mother had same individual who from today is my driver, for that I was taken to a completely clean room. I must have been a nuisance again, must have played too wildly, been chasing my screaming and slithering sisters too recklessly. Whatever the reason for my segregation might have been, I was left in that room and, rash and playful as I was, I instantly began to muck about there. There wasn't much by way of excitement in that space. In fact it was bare and uncongenial. At its centre there was an object I had never seen before, but one which, oddly enough, I did - how shall I put it - experience at once as something with which I had been familiar for years, longer than my own little how it seemed. In hindsight, that was the moment upon which genius awakened in me. My chaperon looked on from a distance. I felt the talent kindle, deep within me, like a fire, only it wasn't yet visible to the outside world.
'You must think of it as in the case of a toddler that has never seen a piano before and with its nanny comes into a strange room where there's a grand piano and instantly clambers on to the stool. So far it's all a splendid sight but no more than that. But then that toddler puts its little fingers on the keys and, without a score, plays Chopin's A-minor Mazurka.'
A loudly lowing horde passes by, running and trampling wildly. Please don't let the festive occasion be ruined by a protest action or some such! It likewise seems to be part and parcel of the times of today that groups with slogans and banners will make their way to each government-organised solemn occasion, no matter how venerable its tradition or how innocent its nature. I cannot hear what is being cried, that's how inarticulately such louts apparently will express themselves. Oh, my heart!
What's all this worrying I'm doing again? If, at manifestations like this, protest actions are undertaken, reg'lar as clockwork, then the forces of law and order will be thoroughly prepared for it in consequence. Thus, the booing is already beginning to grow mute, in fact.
But I hope that I'm not boring the president with my tale. Though indeed he has asked for it himself, who knows, he may be doing so purely out of formal politeness. Others, too, will want to have a chat with me in order to give photographers an opportunity to take a snap. It will therefore be little or no trouble for the president to take his leave of me with some phrase or other. Instead, he takes a whole string of sausages from a dish, gestures with his impressive head in my direction and says, only just audible in between the smacking noises he's making: my dear do
Two ladies are standing somewhat tucked away behind me, bleating that by now it's their turn to exchange views with me. Happily for me - and them - someone arrives with a salver and they each take a carrot and a few cauliflower florets and they have themselves a bit of a nibble.
'As I was saying,' I went on, 'things went as though of their own accord. To be honest, I have felt unhappy - from guilt - because of this. May one, in all propriety, pride oneself on something with which one has been blessed more than others have, not through one's own doing but by nature?
'Soon I was receiving preferential treatment. Others were forced to seek their fortunes elsewhere. At times they would leave by the truck load. On the other hand, it would've been unforgivable should I not have developed my talent and have withheld its fruits from the nation. I should like to add, moreover, that to have a talent doesn't mean by any means that you also know how to exploit it. Most never stop to consider how much discipline and practice is demanded from a genius in order to reach the zenith of his powers. Someone may have fine, muscled thing I, in my turn, am jealous of - but to break track records with those legs is another
'Yes, ehm, indeed, dear chap,' His Excellency interrupts me, slightly irritated, I can dish up such tittle-tattle too, - he closes his windpipe a moment to give precedence to a sizeable but that room, what happened there in that room is what I want to know something about!'
I blush, despite my years, all the way to behind my ears. 'But of course, Your Excellency, that room - in that room stood the apparatus with which for the first time I managed to generate artificial intelligence. You must imagine that apparatus as a primitive-looking construction of four heavy wooden beams which, standing a touch at an angle off the floor, support a heavy wooden block. The block is slightly curved at the top and has rounded comers. It is covered in supple hide and that hide has been smeared with a kind of grease that has a smell which I would almost say is intoxicating, were it not for the fact that it makes a genius wildly energetic. It no longer affects me now. It's true that I still dream of it, from time to time, or that a certain whiff can bring back that feeling, but then it's more a kind of melancholy, like a mood which only still expresses itself in a tearful smile or a smiling But, not to slip away once more into reflections which are of no interest to anyone: youthful as I was, I jumped on to the apparatus, that's to say, I jumped it from behind. Yes, the apparatus has a rear which implies it also must have a front, but I never bothered about that end. I grabbed the apparatus from behind, as it were, clenching it firmly while I went on sniffing the leather continuously so that saliva began to run from my mouth in floods. There I stood, clenching and pressing up against the apparatus, gaining a firm footing on the floor. And then a kind of miracle took place.
'Whereas others have a barely noteworthy, even a somewhat unfortunate looking little organ through which, let me put it delicately, they urinate, in my case the talent manifested itself in a selfconscious, growing and boastful shape. For a moment it made me reel; my then already quite heavy body began to rock, and I decided to co-operate with myself and began to ram the apparatus with all I could muster and with massive talent, without realising at that moment what it was I was creating, just like the toddler who allows its fingers to roam the keys without knowing what fantastic music will be the consequence. No mazurka but a gush, a whole series of gushes of artificial intelligence came out in my case! How lucky it was then that the chaperon managed to catch it in a glass beaker.
'That this was a case of artificial intelligence, I didn't know yet at the time. I soon did gain the impression that I'd managed something extraordinary. Lovingly, my chaperon led me to my own, completely furnished room and gave me splendid food. I appointed him secretary-dignitary at once.
Next morning already, someone presented himself in rubber gloves and dressed in a white coat. He put a spotless white cloth in front of his mouth and nose, and began to examine me at length. I was startled for a moment. Could I have been mistaken? Was my talent not a talent but a disease that had manifested itself? But the noises of utter satisfaction he expressed ever more frequently during the examination calmed me down. And then, too, I saw the letters stitched in blue on the breast pocket of his white tunic: DRAIN. The District and Regional Artificial Intelligenc
e Network. I was proud and above all relieved.
'In a short space of time, I became big and strong: quite a bear. By means of concentrates, knee-bends, wee trotting exercises and, especially, daily meditations that frequently would take up the entire late afternoon, I was able to raise the production of artificial intelligence in a short space of time. I became adult which, among other things, was noticeable by the routine manner in which I reached results and the progressive failure of the childish rush of saliva to materialise.
'The inspector from DRAIN paid his respects regularly and my secretary kept a graph up to date on a wall of my room, a graph which soon resembled a cross section of the Himalayas.
'Each of life's phases has its pleasures and ills. It goes without saying that, even manages to equal Mount Everest, a genius, too, will be depressed from time to time. I mentioned this earlier on, I believe. Not to have to become even more depressed, I have always refrained from speculations as to what happened with the artificial intelligence. Was it, diluted, added to the feed of common folk, or drunk, mixed with water or milk? And what were the consequences of this? Consciously, I've never wanted to take an interest in what DRAIN did with the substance. Everything a genius gifts to the world can be deployed to both laudable and most objectionable ends, after all. One who, being a supplier of genius, wishes to have influence on this himself, has to invest so much time and energy in it that, as a source of possible positive innovations, he drains himself, as near as no matter, with for a consequence that his talent shrivels into an inner, private crisis which, if observed at all, is of no importance whatsoever in the eyes of the outside
'I shouldn't quite wish to maintain that I disagree with you, old chap,' the president grumbles, 'but always, everywhere I go, those politics, that whingeing, excusez le mot, about politics and morality, makes me sick as a parrot, as a parrot!' And he turns away from me, takes five more slices from a steaming roast and then gestures to his body guards to free a path for him.
There I stand, stamped but with the presidential back having been turned on me.
It's my own fault. Though it's a quality of a genius that, sooner than someone else, he will think through the philosophical, moral and even theological implications of his life, precisely because of this, he must also be considered able to foresee that not everyone is always prepared to follow him in the matter, not even the greatest ruling powers in the land.
Had I been wearing trousers, I would now have filled them a packet. I always shit when I feel happy or satisfied - when I'm feeling at ease, in any case. But now I have the feeling that I've had to shit from fear. Odd: there's no cause to be fearful, after all. On the contrary. Must be nerves.
Back home, I didn't think about putting on upper clothing or not, but I did about donning a pair of trousers. I was just about to slip into a pair of slacks but then I instantly abandoned the intention again. Why are you getting that award? I wondered. Those invited will want to see it, the cameras will want to record it: everyone's entitled to it. A celebrated concert pianist doesn't mount the stage with his hands cloaked in thick mittens, does he? A heldentenor doesn't accept a prize with a scarf his mother knitted in front of his mouth, does he?! You can no longer demonstrate the powers and capacities you had when in full flower, but if you want to subject yourself to such an who would not? - you owe it to display all that still remains of the very measure of your genius, to turn yourself inside out if need be: you're public property, after all!
Now it turns out to have been doubly sensible to have left the trousers at home. 'Come on, granddad,' my driver said when he saw me halting to ponder them, and he gave me a nudge, into the car. Just imagine, the laureate making his way inside in a minute, the old head held bravely high, but with a big wet patch as consequence of a little something in the seat of his I can't help it that, once again, I begin belly laughing about my own fantasies: it's all I'm used to, amusing myself by myself. I pee at the same time - might as when, later on, not a drop of artificial intelligence comes forth, that's as maybe, taking my years into account, but when common old urine begins to flow in its stead, that would be a disgrace; the very thought makes me run cold.
The drivers have ended their conversation. I hear the bang of a car door. It'll be the president being driven up to the entrance. My driver, too, now gets in and starts the engine. Oh, my heart, my lungs, my head ... Can I already hear the festive march?
I must see to it that people continue to treat me with respect and not, at the end of it all, laugh at me good-naturedly, or even with something of pity in their eyes. My driver's hob-nobbing on departure really went too far for my liking. It would be ill advised, when the president asks how I hope to spend the years remaining, to reply that I want nothing other than to eat, shit and sleep. But too soon by far, when you're elderly, you are treated like a small child, and a small child without genius at pop goes your well-earned respect.
'No, Your Excellency,' I'll reply resolutely, for I know that my reply will startle him, 'from now on, I shall devote myself entirely to the critical investigation and control of the application of artificial intelligence!'
The president gawps at me. I see a big chunk of sausage on his pink tongue. I myself, as though quite unaware of any provocation, stuff down a goodly cob of com.
'Well,' I then go on, 'I have always been wondering, of course, whether the artificial intelligence set at the state's disposal was indeed being employed properly. Alas, I have never had the time to be able to research the subjects of its application and processing. I could have asked the DRAIN inspector, but what could guarantee me the reliability of his information? No, I have resolved to get to the bottom of the affair now.'
The president looks deathly pale and I have to draw his attention to the piece of sausage in order for it not to go down quite the wrong way.
'You see,' I continue, relishing in fulsome measure that the head of state is standing as though rooted to the ground, listening to me, 'you see, Your Excellency, the artificial intelligence produced, by myself, among others, is of such a quality that it must not be frittered away - I mean, that it can only be intended for distribution to individuals who are truly deserving - to those in government, for instance - so that they might execute their tasks even better: to state lawyers, to leaders of business, to high civil servants. D'you see? It would be a disaster if everyone in the country could take advantage of it with as much right or in equal measure, if the common people, if even female individuals were administered it! Chaos would be the result. The hallmark of intelligence, after all, is that not everyone possesses like measure of it and that only the most intelligent know what it's like to handle it - right? I cannot bear the thought that all those beakers of precious intelligence which, in the course of the years, thanks to my
The president gives me a few hard, amiable slaps. He has turned quite red in the face and stands there laughing loudly: 'Ho-ho, my dear fellow, I quite misunderstood you at first! Am I right in understanding you have your eye on a ministerial position?'
We drive along. A little way. Now back a little. Stop. I slam into the rear panel.
We must be right in front of the entrance. The driver switches off the ignition. He's getting out now. Will the guard of honour be standing there? I hear hellish shouting and other mayhem. It's clear people are awaiting me on the edges of their seats with expectation. The music is even more modem than I thought. Oh, my stomach, my bowels, my lungs, my throat, my heart ... I can't get up. I hear my driver's footsteps. I'm now able to press myself up at the front but I still can't manage the rear. I hear him fidgeting at the door. There comes the light! Oh, my short-sighted eyes and all that flashing! Help me, please, help: I can't get up any more, I'm not getting any air, I can't see anything at all. Support me, up to the threshold: thence applause shall bear me along.
J.M.A. Biesheuvel
Isaac had been standing on the afterdeck for hours already. He was a pleasant but slightly strange boy: when working on board he longed for a job
ashore and when in an office he longed for the sea. He could not bear the dull monotony of existence ashore, and he did not have money to make sea voyages. But when he was on a the capacity of random member of the crew (bespectacled, hence always a cabin-boy, mess steward or officers' steward, never able seaman let alone mate: his big - he had to deal with the rough bragging rant of the sailors who played cards with knives on the table and bawled out one another and Isaac, no holds barred. Isaac was never truly one of them. Aboard ship he fitted into the community least of all, even less than in the harbour town, the bottling plant or in the factory or office, and each time again he believed he would find true romance precisely on a ship. When the work was done you could always find him on the afterdeck. It was already two hours past midnight now, but Isaac continued to stand there because it was such a moon-clear night; you could clearly see all the familiar stars of the southern hemisphere and the wake foaming dangerously white behind the ship (one who has stood on the afterdeck of a ship sailing in open sea knows that at dark of night, by day, in rain or in fog, in polar regions or in the tropics, in grey, green or clear-blue water, always and always she sails along a white road, that road running from the horizon to the propeller: someone drowning who crosses its path a quarter of an hour later no longer sees the road).
There was a lovely balmy breeze. If you looked closely you could indeed see the horizon or, a little closer by, the light-speck of a ship luffing away that, had Isaac arrived an hour earlier, had been sailing straight towards him. But, as will become clear, our senses can deceive us. There are philosophers who maintain that all that is, is imagination, and that the opposite is not to be proved either! Isaac sailed on a tramp steamer and never saw ships at night. He thought of how long it would be before he would be home again. He looked at the winches, the bollards, the ropes, the railing and the easy chair he had set out for himself on the afterdeck. At a given moment Isaac saw the little light in the distance swerve abruptly; it seemed to describe a short turn on the water and then it came straight at him. When it was coming ever closer, Isaac had reached the conclusion that this could hardly be or purport to be a ship as it was so much subject to the 'motion of the waves' and particularly because there was never more than a single light. A ship with only one stem light burning? Dangerous. When the extraordinary conveyance had approached Isaac to a distance of four hundred yards, he saw it was a motorbike. For the first time in his life something happened to Isaac which 'could rightly be said to be extraordinary'. What he saw now, someone else would not dare invent, nor be able to, not in his wildest dreams. At first Isaac was afraid but in the end he could not assume that a new prophet or Messiah would move over the earth in this Christians maintain that Jesus has walked on water. The motorbike had approached Isaac to within sixteen metres or so. Isaac stood there calling out and waving like no tomorrow but in his excitement he forgot to cast out a rope ladder. This was brought to his attention by the rider of the motorbike. As his accent showed, the stranger turned out to be a fellow countryman of Isaac's. He steered his bike in an extraordinary manner and extremely carefully to the rope ladder; seated on his bike he behaved towards the smooth side of the ship like a boxer still probing his opponent in the ring for a slight shaking of the upper torso, hopping rapidly from one foot to the other and making defensive or on the contrary in fact aggressive gestures with the arms and then - upsidaisy! - he jumped bike and all in a single go on to the rope ladder. 'Careful, careful,' he cried continually. The man wore specs which were not a little steamed up, and a cap of which the leather flaps, intended to protect eyes and ears from the seawater, jutted out a long way. The motorbike was an ordinary motorbike. It had no special equipment. Isaac helped the man set the bike down on deck. The man said: 'Give me something to eat.' Isaac went to fetch it. He noticed that the sailors, mates and engine room crew had knocked off already. When Isaac returned he asked the stranger: 'Why do you ride on the water?' The man maintained he wanted to set a record.
The Dedalus Book of Dutch Fantasy Page 8