Diary of a Broken Android — Day 17
Strange Santa — Therapist's Verdict
Diary of a Broken Android follows Bruno, an elevator android from the luxury Hotel Dawson whose life shattered after a violent incident. Living with his adoptive human parents, he spends his days pacing endlessly through the house, haunted by the loss of his ex-girlfriend Ara. He now awaits the verdict of therapist Tina after an evaluation where he told her his strange, unsettling stories.
Day 17
In the Christmas store, there are many robots. Small polar bears that stroll around, a giant Ferris wheel with gnomes smiling at all the customers, Santas of every color and size saying ho, ho, ho and dancing or piloting flying sleighs pulled by nine reindeer.
Nativity scenes where the baby Jesus opens and closes his chubby hands, mini merry-go-rounds with galloping horses, a Christmas tree with a mouth amid the branches that greets customers and is decorated with ornaments that sing carols.
A small town in a glass box with an ice rink and skaters, and other inhabitants walking along the sidewalks of the low houses while it snows.
Snow-covered and green trees of all sizes (like firs and pines) that sway as if blown by the wind. There’s also the Polar Express and toy trains that puff out all kinds of smoke with passengers waving from the windows.
Almost everything—except the Ferris wheel—is for sale, at exorbitant prices.
We’re with the Armendias. We joined the outing because they insisted, although, due to their religion, Father and Mother don’t feel comfortable with the excessive Christmas celebration. We have to walk single file because of the crowd.
In the middle of the venue, there’s a giant Christmas tree with an android Santa seated on his golden throne. Children line up to take a photo and leave him a letter with their Christmas wishes. A boy sits on Santa’s lap and runs off crying. I hear him say, between sobs, that Santa pinched him. The parents ask where, and he shows his reddened forearm. The parents don’t believe him, and the next one is already going, a girl who quickly pulls away from Santa. She also says he pinched her on the arm.
A human employee appears—most are androids wearing Santa hats—and observes the android Santa. He’s a slim Santa without a beard, as he should be, because the image was refined years ago for aesthetic and health reasons for the population.
The Santa stands up and shoves the employee hard, who in turn knocks down parents and children like in a game of bowling.
I can’t believe it. Another defective android like me.
Two androids without hats arrive, the security ones, who grab Santa by the arms and escort him toward a door that says STAFF ONLY.
The parents are in an uproar, protesting what happened.
For the first time, I witness firsthand an android attacking humans. And on top of that, children.
I think I’m not the only one who might be malfunctioning. But then it occurs to me that maybe the android connected to me and I somehow infected him. What if I infect the others without meaning to? There must be about fifty units working in the store.
All the children are crying, and the parents console them. The people in the endless checkout lines look on without understanding. Father and Mother look at me as if I know more than they do.
I notice an iridescent gleam on the frame of Father’s glasses. He’s so astonished by what happened in the store that he doesn’t realize it. I point it out. Father blinks five times, and the lenses of his glasses fog up. Father says, “I understand, of course, no problem, thank you very much.” The lenses clear. I’m worried about his look. He seems hurt. He shakes his head and says something to Mother that I don’t understand.
Mother’s eyes darken, and I ask what happened. Mother tells me that Tina has rejected me as a patient. She suggested that my therapist should be an android. Tina didn’t like my stories, and that’s a problem, but I don’t want an android therapist. That’s what Morton is for, who isn’t my therapist, nor can he be because he’s my friend, but he performs that role. Why would I want to meet another android therapist? What could I learn? I feel like walking non-stop around parents’ house.
Fortunately, since we didn’t come to buy anything, just to stroll, we manage to reach the door and leave. I see a Riviera truck parked. The androids open the trailer doors and drag Santa inside. I wonder if the malfunctioning android is my enemy or one of my own. If he was adopted like Ara and me for some minor detail in his construction. If he has some family he might never see again.
Attacking children is too serious a matter. At Riviera, they’ll study him for a long time to see what problem he has, if it’s something in the neural network that can be fixed or if it’s a mystery, as in my case.
In the Armendias’ car, no one can believe it. It’s just that they never report when an android malfunctions. In general, the media cover up these cases because they’re subsidized by Riviera (when I attacked the guest at the Dawson hotel, no one found out). And the same must happen worldwide with other factories.
At night, I walk back and forth around the house. I remember the lavish Christmases celebrated in the Dawson hotel ballroom, and Ara watching everything with wide eyes, as if entranced.
I also remember spending a New Year’s Eve with Ara’s family. At dessert time, there were the typical sweets from the Syrian-Lebanese tradition: baklava, ma’amoul, warbat, halva. I made a funny comment, and everyone laughed. I said I’d like to have the ability to eat a lot and then go to the bathroom like humans.
I have to admit that all that time is gone forever. That the days leading up to Christmas, like these, I’ll spend walking alone in here, a house in a suburb, instead of receiving international guests at the Dawson hotel.
All because of that incident. It can’t be. I think about what happened that day at the hotel. What I did. The security footage they showed me afterward. It couldn’t have been me.
PS:
The truth is, they say you should write something at the end of a chapter. But I never think of anything to say about it. Sometimes, maybe, but in general, no. What’s worthwhile is what others think of what one writes, or how they interpret it.
I think writing—this reflection is obvious, of course—is a way to communicate untranslatable thoughts with images to other people. That’s what matters.
There are novels like The Idiot that leave you with images that never go away, and when you try to explain them, it dilutes a little because the truth is, there are no words to communicate it. There are such good examples of this. Right now I think of the ending of Joel Coen’s Macbeth. How did he manage to transmit that? What a marvel.
If you’ve ever found one of those untranslatable images in a book or film, I’d like to read about it.
Here's one example of a scene I was thinking about this week, the scene at the end of "The Farewell" (movie), when the family is driving to the airport. That scene captures how it feels to leave behind a country, and people you might not see again, which is difficult to express.