Semmant (21 page)

From that time on they were always together: the silhouette and the black pelican. I mused on this, searching for answers. I rejected the obvious as ridiculous fantasy. And in a few days I wrote a new story.

Adele appeared different in it – she had problems, occasional difficulties, a shortage of funds. For the first time I showed her defenselessness, tears unbidden. The desire, however fleeting, to lean on someone.

In the morning I was awakened by the loud chords of a military march. Still lying in bed, I understood Semmant was stepping to the defense of his lady. That was what it was: the unshaven macho man, the metrosexual with the slightly crazed look was replaced by a mounted knight resembling Don Quixote. With one difference: this knight was armed perfectly and did not look at all peaceful. He was ready to do battle, and, judging by everything, he knew how to go about it. Ruthlessly, taking no prisoners, hearing no entreaties for quarter.

And it was no wonder; life in the markets had taught him the simple truth. He knew the world on the whole was deceitful, dangerous, and brutal. There was no glamorizing it; you could only fight it – accepting the battle and winning.

Don Quixote himself would have said Semmant was old-fashioned. And in truth, the robot looked like a descendant of the Normans or a hardened Teuton not inclined toward reflection. The world he knew, a world of business and finance, was akin to the early Middle Ages. Only by possessing unbending will did people survive and win their own. I agreed with him: in the jungle of misleading doctrines, the one who chooses the path of the warrior has no time for doubt. Just as he has no right to pity; I probably would have seemed old-fashioned to Don Quixote myself.

“Those who teach you to turn the other cheek are despicable deceivers and liars!” I could shout it at the top of my lungs. “They saddle their steeds and drive you, like sheep, into a herd…” But no, I didn’t yell, nor did Semmant. He acted, knowing full well what precisely was amiss with this world, where the core of injustice was hidden deepest. He, like me, had something to say. We could have mocked the hypocrisy of myths – about helpless virtue, about nonresistance to evil. But a knight does not mince words; he fights – in silence. Now, on top of that, he recognized the meaning of battle – and acquired a
nom de guerre.

His woman had been hurt, and he had had the offending party in his sights. In my story Adele had suffered because of her bank’s greed, cunningly directed at her mortgage. It was at the banks in particular, those bastions of avarice, that Semmant aimed his lance. By every rule, he could not harm them; our capital was infinitesimal in terms of even a single stock exchange. Going to war with its help seemed like madness, but Semmant trusted in his own strength. He knew what he was doing, and acted with a cool head.

Of course, everything depended on the first blow. That’s how it is in the market: at certain moments even a tiny droplet is able to stir up the ocean. The robot got lucky; soon the right moment came along. And he did not let it pass.

Figuring out what he had done was no easy task. The combination of moves was remarkable – elegant and extremely bold. Having accurately assessed the conjuncture of the latest trades and following the news and price levels, Semmant set up a short-selling game. He started attacking the stock of a certain Belgian bank, persistently and aggressively. Troubling rumors about this banking house had been circulating for a long time. The robot’s idea was that his tactics would garner support from the principal shareholders – who might either be worried or smelling profit. He placed particular hopes on a hedge fund in France; all signs pointed to its cash assets having been drastically reduced. The risk was huge, but proved justified: after hesitating for only a single day, the fund decided to rid itself of the stock in decline. There’s no joking with moneybags: the Belgian bank’s prices fell then and there to rock bottom. And Semmant, having made a profit, threw all we had into selling the stocks of several more banks – including the one that had offended Adele.

He wanted to create a brief panic – and he succeeded. The dynamics of the operations were irreproachably precise. Minor players were gripped by fear; prices throughout the whole banking sector began to drop and then what the robot was trying to achieve happened: big sharks caught the scent of blood. Their greed inflated instantly to the size of a small planet. As fast as a torpedo, they sped to where their prey was.

The “sharks” acted in accord without discussion – the benefit for one and all lay in the same thing. Their collective capital broke down the banking papers to levels never seen before. Those with whom everything started, including the enemy bank, were hit particularly hard. That’s how the event that was later called the July Tsunami occurred. Experts would wear themselves out looking for its causes, but end up understanding nothing. It would become accepted there were no reasons at all, and what had transpired was a set of accidents that happened to coincide. Yet I know there was a reason – and I even know her name!

The Tsunami lasted a short time: one week. It swept across the floors of the markets on three continents, then everything returned to normal. But during those days the banks had a bitter pill to swallow. Jackals and hyenas – analysts that feed on carrion – set about right away searching for culprits, trying to prove they had seen it all in advance. As a result, many of the wrongdoings that are always abundant in banks came to the surface. Denunciations swirled in the muddy water; some big shots lost their jobs, while the president of the “offender bank” that had presumably hurt Adele was long tormented by tax auditors. After that, he never returned to his duties.

The latter was a pure accident, of course, having nothing to do with Semmant, but it still impressed me very much. I was amazed and then troubled – quite seriously, in fact. I was not sorry for the banks: their vampirism required no vindication. Any shakedown merely works to their advantage. But Semmant – what a fighter! I wanted to give the world a dream, and the dream turned out to be armed to the teeth!

I admit I even fell into a depression. I suffered; it seemed to me the idea was twisted, and all my work had gone awry. In despair I wandered the room, tugging at my hair, groaning through my teeth. Then I did something right: I drank half a bottle of scotch. The alcohol immediately cleared my head. My depression gave way to near delight. Militant delight – and why not?

“After all, my Semmant could be nothing else!” I yelled at the night outside the window, shaking my fist. Cast stones at us, accuse us of every sin, but the world cannot be saved by beauty and goodness. Those theories are thought up by naïve geniuses able to see through the darkness. Look around: how few of those illuminated souls there are. And what about the rest? Stare into their eyes – and be horrified!

This world will always have to be kept on a short leash. With no brakes, it’ll immediately turn crazy. What can halt the impunity of bastards? What protects us against atrocity? Faith? But ours is not a time of faith. That means there’s only one thing left: fear. That is, after all, their nature – the rest…

From that time on, I did not doubt Semmant – his flaming sword did not bother me anymore. But the main thing was not the sword. All signs indicated my robot was not indifferent to Adele. And something told me this was not just momentary infatuation.

I had to believe I had done what no one had succeeded in doing, ever – I had stepped into uncharted territory. An artificial soul, the foundation of feelings – were those feelings artificial as well? Were they any worse or more flawed than real ones? This question required me to find the answer.

Of course, what I had created was fragile. It needed to be nurtured and groomed, and I set to work anew. I abandoned all affairs and almost didn’t leave the house. To an astonished Lidia I explained I was busy, or sick, or on the verge of death. That I could see no one, at least for a week. I knew she would be furious but would then forgive me.

Actually, whether or not she forgave me did not concern me one bit. I had to focus and not be distracted by trivial matters. Now I understood why all this had happened to me – Lidia and love for hire, the scheming specter and the softest ray. Where they had taken me, what they had pushed me to so persistently. The prelude was in the past, the main event had come. Adele and Semmant together comprised a very fine instrument. With its help I could investigate issues of the most delicate nature. I could operate inside an invisible field that would not admit outsiders, including creators. This was not just a fearful phantasm capable only of flapping its wings!

I started to make up short sketches again. I wanted to establish the bond, deepen its essence. To reconstruct that imperceptible substance in whose honor music is composed, great pictures are painted, and outstanding books are written. The substance over which wars are fought and heroes arise – reborn from oblivion. I felt through this all truths could be discovered afresh. Soaring over the world, you can take it all in from above. If, of course, you don’t avert your gaze.

I framed the image of Adele, adjusting it to Semmant’s romantic spirit, as if allowing the oldest of dreams to come true. The dream of Isolde and Nicolette, of Laura and Beatrice, of the most beautiful of strangers, and… of a robot named Eve. My own fantasy and the fantasies of others. My longing and the longings of many. I heard them at my back. Their timid hope, despair, and fears.

However, their silhouettes flickered in vain; it was clear to me how useless someone else’s experience was. For the majority, the
question had been turned inside out; they were looking for the wrong prescriptions. How to be loved – not how to love; this is what is desired by children who never grow up. The world consists of big kids who are lost.

I understood everything would need to be tried again, albeit prudently. I conscientiously tested Semmant’s disposition. In my stories, Adele was diverse, sometimes indecent, even obscene, in keeping with her profession. I needed to know whether Semmant was attracted to her by this. What if, to his digital brain and soul, the meaning of their link was seen as pure physiology?

But no, the explicit details caused him confusion and shame. The speakers boomed with a discordant cacophony of sounds – as if he were trying to cover his ears. He became careless and flighty, as I saw by his nervous transactions in the market. We lost money foolishly, without justification. I could tell the robot was really in distress.

On the other hand, when Adele discussed serious matters, Semmant changed before my very eyes. Her thoughts – about herself, men, life in general – found a powerful, sincere response. The music from the speakers turned deep and beautiful; strange images filled the monitor screen. Only the pelican and the subtle female silhouette remained in place. The rest of the space Semmant populated with diverse forms associated with his “thoughts.” Reproductions of paintings were there, as well as photographs – faces, landscapes, star clusters – mixed with complex geometric figures. All of this would appear, then change, dissolve one thing into another, suddenly vanish, and rise again. He conducted a directed search – through everything visual that humankind had accumulated. I tried to track the connections he made but soon understood I had no chance. It was obvious, however: his patterns concealed rich significance.

Sometimes I observed just a glow from the smoldering fireworks. At times it was like a laser-light concert. New revelations occurred without warning, beginning as a cautious zigzag, a quiet beam that was abruptly replaced by a whole array of color. There I saw rampaging fire, blue lightning, and violent vortices. The outlines of palaces and castles, lotus petals, laurel leaves. The hips of olive-skinned dancers, their delicate shoulders; then, water smooth as glass, the exquisite chastity of passion… Tirelessly, from one instant to the next, Semmant’s computer brain was discovering something important that heretofore had been hidden. Discovering – and classifying, combining into one. I sensed he was learning to understand himself and to know another, to peer into the world of the one next to him, even if it was only through dreams and thoughts. He knew how to do this like nobody else; he had been designed for acquiring knowledge of every possible kind. Could it be, I asked myself, that in this way he was designed for love?

Gazing at the screen, it was funny to recall my own search through the stifling air of the Madrid brothels, in a labyrinth of pliable female bodies. Then, in the streets and cafes, my attempt to capture the light, that softest beam; to detect it quantum by quantum, photon by photon; to extract and collate its nature. Everyone soars in his own spaces, in the ones accessible to him. For me, Bertha and Melanie, Lilly, Roberta replaced the figures and colors – as well as the proportions of the golden ratio and Fibonacci’s numbers. Everyone seeks his own harmony, the one closest to him. The one able to stir him, to move him. It was easy to suspect Semmant would go further than I. He would go on and then let me know. He was generous; distrust and shyness were alien to him. He could not imagine someone might hurt his feelings; he was unreserved, sincere and open. For this reason, you couldn’t help but believe him.

He no longer asked me questions; he didn’t need me to explain things. A lot was going on inside him; he preferred to figure it out himself. On the contrary, I was the one who could have asked him a great deal. What is “commitment,” “worship?” What does it mean to “care tirelessly for someone?” His color-hue-symbol-forms were a cryptogram of love. What is “genuine happiness?” I could have asked, had I wanted to. And he would have explained – with a frantic dance of sparks and flames. Perhaps I would have understood him.

From what I kept pondering those days, the wisest book could be written in a secret tongue. Semmant, not knowing reality, was recreating a true harmony of realities. From his pictures, anyone could learn what real life was. Because harmony cannot lie.

What a shame, I said to myself – maybe with slight disingenuousness – what a shame that, on the whole, I could write nothing of what he was trying to communicate.