As Usual
“First, as usual! Where is Andrew? What are you reading?” Robert briskly moved a chair away from the table and sat down facing Anita.
“The Futurological Congress. It’s great,” she answered, putting the book in a handbag. “Andrew is buying cigarettes,” she added. Then, with a gesture Robert knew so well, she adjusted her glasses.
“How can you stand this smoker at home?” He made a face of exaggerated disgust and aversion, making Anita smile.
“I love him.”
Their conversation was interrupted by a waiter asking whether they would like to order anything. Anita answered that they were waiting for two more people. When they arrived, they would make an order. After the waiter had left them, they were sitting in silence. Anita’s eyes wandered over the pub, still rather empty at this time. Robert watched Anita—her neatly done auburn hair that fell down to her shoulders, eyes hidden behind glasses in a metal frame, neck covered by a grey sweater, and her hands with slender fingers, her nails painted with a transparent polish. He noticed that her left thumbnail was bitten, as usual.
“How is your work?” he asked, finally.
“Rather boring. Paperwork mainly.”
“Oh my god, Anita! I heard you had had an accident!” The face of a tall man who entered the pub expressed shock and joy. He threw himself into Anita’s arms. “You look great!” Kissing Anita’s cheeks, he did not see Robert averting his gaze.
“Lalit, it’s fantastic you are here! How was your trip? I had an accident, but it’s an old story now.” They both were standing smiling at each other. A couple of good old friends.
“It is good to see that reports of your death turned out to be strongly exaggerated. Where is Andrew?”
“I was killed in that accident, Lalit. I’m a simulac.”
A broad smile on Lalit’s face first froze and then disappeared. Anita was still smiling, but her facial expression also underwent metamorphosis. The joy on seeing an old friend was replaced with the professional smile typical of a customer service employee at a large company.
“I’m a fourth-generation android,” she began. “Andrew leased me on favorable terms. I am to help him to recover after my death. Video and audio recordings, correspondence, and any other records related to my life were used to recreate or rather simulate my personality. As a result, Andrew has a smaller and smaller feeling of loss after my death. The everyday routine of being together, all the tiny things which, when broken suddenly, make one miss and suffer, are saved, and Andrew does not have a feeling of discontinuity.
The Petsema company that made me offers a broad range of products. The most popular ones are solutions for children: a beloved pet, grandpa, grandma, and a parent who died or left the family after a divorce. Products for adults are also becoming more and more popular. Petsema simulacs ease even the deepest pain of loss. Phew! End of marketing. I’m back to being myself, just as Andrew is arriving . I’m so happy, guys, that we could meet all together.” Again, she was smiling with that smile Robert and Lalit liked so much. The smile that won Andrew over.
“What do you want to order?” the waiter asked.
“Wheat beer!” they cried out almost in unison.
One beer was not the end. Neither were two. As usual… They were drinking, recollecting their college years, laughing at old, ritually repeated jokes, planning another meeting.
In the early morning, Andrew and Anita tottered to a taxi. Lalit and Robert ordered whisky, “for dessert” as Robert used to say.
“This simulac is incredible. I felt as if Anita was with us. I wouldn’t have realized she wasn’t Anita if she hadn’t told who she was. And you, do you see the difference? You met Anita and Andrew more often.”
Robert gazed at the contents of his glass before he answered. “There are differences, but they don’t stick out.” She is faithful to Andrew, he wanted to add, but didn’t.