The Vestigial Heart Read online

  Baltasar, surprised, looks up at her:

  “Now you intend to dig up the feminist movement?”

  “Negative.” Along with the sing-song tone, Silvana lets out the first laugh of the day. Suddenly she feels much better.

  “Who was the greedy husband?”

  “Albert Einstein.”

  “My God! Now you’re confusing me. Since when have you been interested in science? And … what point is the biography trying to make, that the theory of relativity was invented by his wife?”

  “Not quite that much, but it seems she played a decisive role. She wrote all the mathematical formulas. Yeah, yeah, don’t make that face, Einstein recognized her part when he won the Nobel Prize. They had already divorced and he had remarried, he sent her the prize money in recognition.”

  As soon as she’s said it she realizes that everything’s fallen into place: the admired genius becomes the admirer … and this second role, in her eyes, magnifies his greatness. It’s obvious that Albert and Desanka revered different qualities in Mileva, each one appreciated what they saw according to their own filter, there aren’t enough filters nowadays …

  “I see the subject excites you.” Baltasar, still kneeling, was watching her while she thought things over. “And … it’s giving me bad vibes!” All of a sudden he stands up, and runs his hands over her body, kissing her on the neck, the ears, his tongue inside them …

  And Silvana manages to note down the last thread, “filter,” before melting into the liquid tingling feeling that’s heading for her eardrum. No traces of thought, no inopportune flashes of a body silhouetted against a white bed. Only his tongue and those hands that are always the right temperature.

  9

  It was the last recommendation the psychologist had made before Celia was due to leave the clinic, and Lu was paying less and less attention to what she had to say because she didn’t even know where to start. How could she organize a party like the ones they had a hundred years ago? With other children, games, and sweets, if she didn’t have any kids at hands, games had never interested her and just reading the definition of “sweets” in the glossary had made her nauseous? She would have buried that piece of advice forever if it hadn’t been for a more experienced adoptive mother she’d met at the gym the other day who gave her the key, she had to get in contact with the ComU. They were specialists in all kinds of archaic celebrations and, for a reasonable price, they would take care of even the smallest details.

  And she was right. When the day came, she only had to open the door and, in no time at all, her house was no longer home and had become instead a party venue from the turn of the millennium. Her beautiful hanging semispherical chairs had been pulled right up to the ceiling, along with the rest of her suspended furniture, and had been replaced by soft, shapeless seats, which had been spread across the room. There was not one screen or control panel on show, as they’d been hidden behind an elastic material she had never seen before that simulates openings onto an external landscape darkened by vegetation. The living space had been so luminous before, with its unique yellow walls, but now, to break up the shadows, they’ve had to add points of light here and there, and hang long, colored paper chains to brighten the atmosphere. Of course they’d assured her that, once the party was finished, they would only have to peel off the elastic cover, a kind of indoor bubble, and the house would be good as new, with no breakages or mess.

  She hasn’t had to concern herself with Celia’s party outfit either, or with inviting the three boys and two girls who arrived punctually and at the same time. At first the black boy, who is extremely tall, seemed to her to be much older, and the Asian-looking girl much younger, but the party animator made it clear that they were all the same age and that these kids would be her daughter’s classmates.

  Her daughter. Her heart still skips a beat every time she hears it. They put too much emphasis on the word, as if they were conferring a lot of respect onto it, when she would rather see it as just another label. Luckily the little girl didn’t insist on calling her mother. She says she already has a mother, and that she talks to her from time to time. Poor thing, she really is lost. Maybe it’s true that since she’s pretty grown-up it’s more difficult for her to adapt, just like they warned her at the clinic. Last night the girl called her “auntie” and she had a hard time understanding that it was meant to be an affectionate name. According to Celia it’s the name given to a grandmother’s daughters, but nowadays very few grandchildren stay in contact with their grandparents, and fewer still with the daughters who don’t happen to be their own mothers. How complicated, and also, of course, figurative.

  She’s getting bored because they’ve stuck her in the corner so the party could go on without her having to participate. What they’re doing is of no interest to her. Only the little blonde girl, Xis, with a blue ribbon in her hair and matching pointed shoes, is a pleasure to watch. She realizes that Celia is looking over at her. Maybe she’s been watching her all this time while she thought she was hidden. It’s a bit overwhelming to find that Celia’s always monitoring her, as if nothing could really keep her occupied. She would prefer it if, like the others, she only had eyes for the young animator, who is arranging five chairs in the middle of the room and proposing that they play a very simple game, which she says is for little children, to break the ice and decide who will sit where. She gives some brief instructions and the kids start moving about: two spin around in circles, a third runs off and sits down, and Xis takes a chair and drags it over to the side of the room, while the Asian girl, having seen what she’s doing, drags another over to the opposite side. Celia, who had started running, has stopped and is staring at the animator, and by the look on her face, Lu realizes she doesn’t understand what’s going on. She was distracted watching her and now they have to start again.

  But the boy who is sitting down refuses to get up and Xis doesn’t want to give up her seat either. They already have a place, now the others have to play. It’s logical, but the animator insists; she must be trying to make them understand that it’s Celia’s party so if she makes a mistake they have to pretend nothing happened, but she’s struggling. The boy wants to get his own way no matter what, and in the end they have to let him connect to his games channel. Xis amuses herself by sculpting the soft seat into different shapes. The other four, having received new instructions, start the game again, but now with three seats.

  They run in a circle around the chairs and, oh, the animator has screamed. Lu knew they’d end up getting hurt. Celia has bumped into the black kid, rebounded off him and ended up sitting down. He’s giving her a very angry look and it seems to Lu that she must intervene.

  “Is my little princess hurt?” She moves forward with her arms outstretched so she’ll feel safer in unknown territory.

  “No, why?” Celia, confused, avoids this outpouring of warmth.

  “That jerk has knocked you over. Has no one explained to him that you can’t touch girls?”

  “But it was my fault, I pushed him when I was sitting down. And he didn’t touch me,” she blushes, “really he just moved me out of the way.”

  The boy still looks offended.

  “Calm down everyone, one moment.” The animator takes a step forward in order to compensate for Lu’s meddling. “You were all doing very well. That’s the idea, to sit down as quickly as you can when I make the signal. Someone has to be eliminated every time, son, that’s the game.”

  “She cheated. I have the right to keep playing.”

  “I’m sure you know some more peaceful games, right?” Lu is using the most authoritative look and tone she is capable of.

  “Of course, ma’am, after we’ve had a snack we’ll play twenty questions and pin the tail on the donkey, and to finish we’ll do karaoke. But children have trouble learning to wait their turn, and physical games can help them all get involved, since they can all be protagonists at the same time.”

  “Oh, no, that simply can’t be, the only
protagonist here is my little girl. It’s her party. You should have started off by asking her what she wants to play.”

  Suddenly, Celia becomes aware that she’s the center of attention, even though no one is looking at her. She feels she has a responsibility to make a choice that pleases everyone.

  “Could we dance? We’re three boys and three girls, and with the karaoke music …”

  “No, darling, none of them know how.” The animator turns and addresses Lu: “At the ComU we do courses; if she wants, for a future party we could teach them …”

  “But we don’t have to do it properly, holding each other and all that.” Celia isn’t prepared to give up on an idea that seems acceptable to her. “We can put music on and everyone can move around however they want. That’s a physical game where everyone takes part at the same time … and there are no winners or losers.”

  There’s a bit of back and forth between Lu and the animator before they come to an agreement about what they should do:

  “Right, guys, we’ll come back to this later. My colleague has just told me the food is ready.”

  * * *

  Hi, Mom, can you see me? I have so many things to tell you about today that I don’t know if they’ll fit through such a small hole. Lu organized a surprise party for me. Fifteen days without seeing anyone and today, all of a sudden, five children and two animators. The one who seemed nicest is Xis. First she was sulking in the corner, but at snack time we started talking and she told me loads of stuff about the school I’ll be going to. That really will be an adventure, just like you said. Apparently there are no desks, not even a classroom. They go from one place to another whenever they feel like it, but they’re separated by level, of course. The teacher doesn’t order them around, he only advises them. Imagine that! She says there are lots of gadgets and they’re really fun to use. You don’t have to study, only experiment and answer questions. It reminds me of that museum we went to with Dad, do you remember? You could touch everything and he loved showing me where to find the ribs, the liver, the stomach … he said “I’ll introduce you to my colleagues” and it made us laugh. He made me pick up that huge stone too, if it had fallen on me it would have squashed me flat, but thanks to those pulleys it hardly weighed anything at all. Some of the miracles of physics are exhibited here, they told us, but what we wanted to know was if all miracles can be explained by physics. I think about these things a lot now that I’m here, so far away. Maybe I’ll find out how to turn back time and be with you again.

  For a moment she is struck dumb, with the ring in her hand and her eyes welling up. She doesn’t want to cry. Today she’s challenged herself to be strong of heart, and for her mother to see her looking happy at least once. She must make the most of the nice things she has to tell her.

  I haven’t told you the best part yet. At the end of the party Lu gave me my very own robot just for me. Yes, a robot, I know it will be difficult for you to imagine. So you have an idea, it’s like the ones from Star Wars, but, along with legs, it has four wheels for when it wants to move quickly, and it doesn’t have a face. Well, it has a kind of head with no nose, mouth or ears, it just has two cameras, and a screen embedded in its chest. It’s called ROBbie. I’ll have to learn to use it, even though it does a lot of things on its own already. It will go with me everywhere; to start with, we’ll go to school together tomorrow. I didn’t know, but everyone has their own robot here; it’s like us having a wallet or a calendar, but much more sophisticated, because it has a large memory and can solve problems for you. Lu’s is called ROBul, and it’s been hidden all this time so as not to scare me. I don’t understand why. I’ve been more shocked by the kids, and even some things Lu does, than by ROBbie. For the robot, everything follows a series of rules, it’ll never surprise me with anything inappropriate. I can’t wait to test it. For now, I’ve asked it to find me songs by The Shins and Arcade Fire.

  Oh, Mom, this all seems like a play where I’m the only living person. The others are like cardboard, or stone … or mechanical, like ROBbie. What am I doing here, if no one cares about me and I’m having a bad time? There are moments when I feel so horribly alone that I’m dying of fear. Then I give up hope and I feel like I could kill myself. If I don’t, it’s for you and Dad. Maybe I haven’t understood where I am, I tell myself, and I try to calm myself down. Who knows, it might just be a bad dream and you could appear at any moment. Sometimes dreams are very real. Why have you chosen this for me, without asking? I don’t understand, Mom, you always told me everything!

  But where has this come from? She’s let go again without realizing. She had such good intentions but at the first test … She has to get this out of her head, or she’ll feel really depressed later and she won’t be able to stop the bad thoughts. Luckily she has the ring, at least that’s real. She points it upward again.

  Forget what I just said, Mom, I don’t know what came over me, it’s not so bad, I mean it. With you watching over me and giving me strength the whole time, I’m sure I’ll get through it. And maybe in the end I’ll understand why you sent me here. Lots and lots of kisses for you and Dad.

  II

  NEW YEAR’S EVES

  10

  For CraftER’s twenty-fifth anniversary, the company has decided to convert the traditional New Year’s convention into an unprecedented event. They’ve bought a hundred generators to shore up the supply of light for just this one night. In addition to the usual sensorial stands, wrap-around screens and personalized sound systems, they’ve installed a display of the lasers and speakers used at previous conventions in order to highlight the durability of the company over the years, and, to take that idea even further, its timelessness. “We’re the best, we have no rivals,” is the triumphant message that is disseminated though all subliminal pathways available to their employees who, dressed up and smiling, have turned up for this unmissable occasion.

  And Leo feels like the best of the best. Mr. Gatew has chosen him, and only him, to represent the centro-european headquarters at “The Product 2111” contest, the star forum of the night. He knew his sensory transmutation booth would impress Gatew, but he hadn’t imagined in his wildest dreams he would have the opportunity to show it off in front of the company’s top brass, Dr. Craft included. He paces up and down, nervous, euphoric and a little uncomfortable in the official dress that identifies him as a contestant. He has a couple of hours to enjoy the various ambiences before his performance. While on the main stage they give out awards and pay homage to those who have worked at the company for twenty years and ten years, respectively, he amuses himself at the Disasters stand, where they make fun of their rivals’ worst inventions. At the previous two conventions he got his best ideas from this stand, and, little by little, he has convinced himself that one small error can be much more productive than thousands of successes. What can you learn from a finished design? Nothing. On the other hand, a failed attempt is always a challenge, a desire to get to who knows where, a bombardment of suggestions. And, precisely, a missile has just hit him. He’s not sure what drew him to this realistic mechanical baby, if it’s the grotesque expression, the diapers it doesn’t need or the fact that it bears the logo of Bet’s company. First they brought out those practical little dogs that didn’t need to poop or pee, and then they started mimicking wilder and wilder animals, until they got to man. What woman could resist the charm of a baby that smiles when she coos at it, that she can cuddle at will while watching her favorite program, that recognizes her voice and crawls along behind her, flattering her with sweet noises? And, best of all, that can be turned off and shut in the cupboard when it gets whiney and tearful? Well no sir, the product didn’t take off, almost certainly because it’s too much like the real thing, déjà vu.

  He calls ROBco, as he’s had to leave him in the wardROBe this year, and tells him to phone Bet.

  It’s an inconvenience not having his robot with him, in past years it commented on events, they recorded anything they fancied and he cou
ld instantly get in contact with this or that person, but this year the higher-ups had been strict: they wanted all the employees to bring their partner, or a friend, or a neighbor, as if they cared; the real reason is that they want to extend the celebration to new potential clients and reduce the competition’s audience. Mr. Gatew had insisted on his bringing Bet, but she refused as she risked being fired. And the truth is, like him, most people are wandering around on their own, missing the old conventions where they had their ROBs for company.

  Although he was expecting the incoming communication, the soprano squeal makes him jump:

  “Hey, Leo, how’s it going? Have they announced the final figures yet?” Bet always gets straight to the point.

  “No, not that I know of, of course I’m not on the main stage and I haven’t tuned into it.”

  “You’re hopeless. You have to put yourself out there, Leonix, today is your big day. We’ve gone up 23.92% and we’re third by year of creation and seventh in the technology sector.”

  “I’m pleased to hear it, I can tell you’re happy.”

  “And that’s without counting the points that the Arbitration Council might give us … we could even go up to fifth place … can you imagine? Fifth place, Leonix.”

  “Great, great. ROBco is warning me our president is about to make a speech, I want to give him my full attention, you understand that, right? I have to hang up, I’ll call you back when he’s finished.”

  Dr. Craft, a man dressed in black who talks with his eyebrows, dominates the stage, multiplied by all the wrap-around screens, virtual ambiences and liquid mirrors surrounding Leo, who decides to sit in an octopus massager to wait for the New Year’s message. A tentacle repositions his vertebrae one by one all the way up to his neck, two more wrap around his legs, and another couple gently rub his elbows and wrists, but none of it reaches his brain, which is totally sucked in by what he’s seeing and hearing.