Semmant (22 page)

Chapter 23

B
ut what I could do, I did indefatigably. I worked on the image, refining and polishing it, approaching the ideal step-by-step. I did not rush, but was focused and persistent. I tried as much as possible not to blur my thinking, not to get bogged down in verbosity, to only emphasize the essential.

Soon I devised a convenient method: Adele began to share with me short soliloquies of her own personal phantom. The musings of a character she herself had concocted, and I was not afraid of yet another level of abstraction. This was her innocent trickery – touching, in its own way, inclining others to openness. She called her twin Sonya; this was my sentimental whim. In any case, Little Sonya would have appreciated the joke, and I perceived a certain clever logic in this. Semmant and I understood, of course: no “Sonya” actually existed. But, naturally, Lidia and I also knew Adele didn’t exist, either – I had made her up. And… thus it’s possible to continue – yet it is better not to!

Adele noted Sonya’s thoughts in tiny handwriting on squares of card stock. On the reverse side of the business cards left by her clients. This was my conscious choice; I didn’t want Semmant to forget her profession. Let things be honest, without deceit – and, really, in these notes Adele revealed all. Some of it she would never say out loud, even to me.

Semmant felt this – and appreciated it. He responded – and, in my opinion, he loved her more and more. I could see myself, any man could lose his head over that kind of woman. I’ll say, without bragging: I succeeded in putting a great deal into words. Nothing went to waste, neither my own past, nor my contemplations in bars and cafes studying the tantalizing flash of feminine charm, more elusive than any specter. Secretions from the subconscious, the rudiments of the image of my future Eve, also filtered through to the paper. A trace of my own yearning for love probably emerged there as well; at last I found fulfillment that had a place for it. This was no supplication, as before, when I had become desperate and wanted somehow to soften my heart. No, this was now a very sober look at things.

That’s why my sentences sometimes resounded with despair. On occasion, Adele, hiding behind a mask of Sonya, wrote about all manner of beastliness – orgies in night clubs, too-demanding clients, daring games on the edge. But this no longer wounded Semmant. He did not close his eyes or stop his ears, nor did he deafen himself or me with a barrage of chaotic notes. Obviously, he now understood: no dirt could stick to his lady. For him she was always one and the same, the epitome of morals and purity. Perhaps he thought the nights of lust were simply her means of bringing beauty into the world. And it also seemed to me that, by selling her body, Adele was making their love cleaner. She was liberating it from labels, stereotypes, from everything saccharine, superficial. And only a kernel of their story would be left!

On the screen, Semmant appeared now only in the form of a knight in armor; the unshaven specimen with the scar had vanished forever. He was often accompanied by music – triumphant and sad, stormy and calm, even melancholic at times, though I saw he was very far from melancholy. Love, as he understood it, could not be unhappy; serving the lady of his heart’s desire was the ultimate joy in itself. Even while he discerned a sad melody, it seemed he soared as if on wings. What he heard therein was his own – and it wasn’t sadness. Not longing, but revelation, light. This talent of his was a shield against the world of big money. Compensation for daily, routine cruelty. And I knew no dirt would stick to his hands either. His heart, made of numbers, could not harden.

But the main thing was he and I were aiming in the same direction. And we shared a common foundation – although in his case there was simply no alternative one. Anyway, he, Semmant, knew well how to go forward, how to build unflaggingly upon himself. Since birth he had been trained that any art takes a lifetime to master. I had thought him up that way, not suspecting he would eventually attain higher wisdom. He accepted as obvious that falling in love was merely an occasion to perfect himself in love.

And speaking of perfection, who could seek for it more persistently than Semmant? He was disciplined to no end, and he knew how to concentrate on what was most important. Solitude was his element; he did not fear it since he lived in it constantly. What more is needed to make the path to perfection shorter, more direct?

And besides, he was not the sort to count on anyone’s help. He was not accustomed to waiting for someone else to do all the work for him – or for love, once it was ignited, to fan itself into flame. No, he was free from romantic blunders. He was a knight from earlier times, when a bride would first be presented to her husband on their wedding day. And they would say, “Love her! Don’t worry about who is worthy of whom. Just try with all your might.”

These were frantic weeks; I had so much to reconsider! My picture of the world turned upside down, albeit not without difficulty. Along with it, Adele was changing – as she, in turn, changed Semmant and me. We, all three of us, influenced each other. And we sensed how our affinity was growing stronger.

Gradually, Adele became calmer and more discreet. I would even say more old-fashioned, but that would be going too far. She didn’t try so hard anymore to indulge her own wishes – quickly, without waiting, skipping ahead of others in the queue. Getting what she wanted and turning immediately to what she might desire next. In fact, indulging wishes ceased to be the meaning of life for her. Adele suddenly grew up; the world was no longer a giant toy shop in her reckoning. To grab, play, cast away, pick up another – this did not seem to be the only correct formula to her now. One might say her consciousness was spiraling in alienation – to spite society and its customs, in defiance of the rules of the benighted masses. Adele matured and listened to herself. She got to thinking; her eyes were opened. Soon, a new quality could have developed within her: a thirst for love in which you give all of yourself. It could have, but it didn’t, and it was my own fault. However, more about that later.

In the meantime, Semmant also noticed the changes – with some kind of fine receiver, a nerve of numbers. In his actions there was now more than just inspired determination. He became more confident, stronger – but he also became softer. He was at war with the whole world for the queen of his heart, but he was also ready to love this world – or at least to show it gratitude.

My robot expressed himself in the only way he knew: making transactions on the market, which had no room for morals. Yet even there I saw a new Semmant – and it could not have been otherwise. The wretchedness of the environment did not restrain his feelings. He, unlike the rest of us, did not gripe about the lack of freedom, about the fetters of circumstance. Nothing prevented him from feeling truly free. Doing battle in the exchanges, he was an example of integrity and never betrayed himself. And he vigorously followed the impulses and desires of his lady.

Once, in a certain forum comment, I wrote that Adele had a beloved figurine made of ivory. It was the Hindu Shiva, transformer and destroyer, vanquisher of demons, bearer of blessings. Then I noticed how part of our money had started flowing to India. Semmant gradually invested in everything available: in construction and manufacturing, computing firms and rural cooperatives. Times were hard for the land of yogis and elephants. Newspapers wrote of drought, epidemics, farmers coming to ruin, and their frequent suicides. Shiva was actually transforming the universe – but Semmant continued to act, unperturbed. For him, Adele’s wish was law.

Afterward, out of curiosity, I verified this more than once. In one case, Adele-Sonya admitted that since early childhood she had dreamed of wild Africa, of the savannas, of lions and tigers, jungles and shamanic masks. This produced an immediate effect: Semmant switched his activities to the dark continent. He was not intimidated by diamond mine strikes or civil wars or unstable regimes. Then I imagined Adele was about to set off on a three-week trip from Patagonia to Santiago, through the mountains of Peru and Chile. And again the robot reacted without delay. We bought up a large quantity of fairly risky South American bonds. This alacrity was touching: to follow the one you love everywhere…

Semmant acted assiduously and boldly. His procedures were refined and beautiful – especially to my experienced eye. As a rule, a new project would start with a military march. He bought and swapped, transferred and unloaded useless stocks that had served out their term – and almost always guessed correctly. They fell soon; firms passed their peak; investors considered them dead and buried. Woe to the vanquished: I could picture villages overrun by conquerors, barbarian settlements sacrificed to a great symbol, a big idea. But, at the same time, Semmant always left the game before the unlucky ones could ultimately be crushed by the market. Before the newspapers picked up the vague rumors always accompanying those who have faltered. Before the leaders, proud of their power, were cast down and put out of work, their teams driven away, their businesses smashed to pieces… No, Semmant no longer desired to profit from another’s misfortune. He even stopped short-selling; as soon as the big funds snatched up the papers that had started to fall, my robot stepped aside. In the world of dark disappointments, he soared like a white warrior. He didn’t finish off his prisoners or burn houses or despoil the crops. Only fighting in the open with an enemy full of strength now fit within his mores. He rushed forward on his swift stallion, where the foe yet lived. Where the steel rang, where they thirsted for his blood. To exploits in the name of his fair damsel, deeds worthy of a true knight.

Later I noticed something else: Semmant had freed himself from long-term assets. Conservative papers were a thing of the past; now he invested only in what could make a quick profit. Of course, the risk increased, but the robot seemed to pay it no mind. He wanted to live in the present and chose the straightest path, the shortest road to happiness.

He also tirelessly sought the image of his happy future. Once, he bought the debt of a dying resort in the Caribbean – I think he was drawn to it by a picture in a brochure floating around the Web. He was probably envisioning himself with Adele on the warm, fine sand. The sound of the ocean, the sunrise, palm trees – that can have an effect on anyone. The purchase led to a loss, but in a day Semmant had compensated for it by a series of palladium trades. And then the loss was converted into gain. To the amazement of all, the unfortunate resort was suddenly acquired by a successful hotel chain.

Soon, the amount of real money in our accounts started to grow. Semmant now set aside large sums, turning what he earned into cash. I understood this was his way of bestowing gifts. He was giving his beloved what she deserved. He desired her freedom, the liberty to be herself. He wanted the world to work for her, not the other way around, and let his lady be free to choose. The artificial brain found meaning for itself that made life worth living. Neither the battle of capitals nor the war of corporations trying to outstrip each other stood as the cornerstone. To make his Chosen One happy: now there was no clearer goal for Semmant.

I looked, evaluated, saw: for his Adele he wanted the very best destiny. The best life, the best lot in it – regardless of whether it was with him, or without. He wanted for her not to know the drudgery of fighting to survive, for her face not to be blemished by a web of fine wrinkles, for it not to be hardened by expressions of concern and worry. He knew only one method for this, and tried as he might. He resisted the power of time, not wishing Adele to grow old, as do all. The markets taught my robot much; the birth-peak-fall cycle, observed everywhere, had let him feel what mortality was. But now he didn’t want to believe in mortality; only flourishing suited his lady.

For her he wanted the longest possible bliss. Reliable joy – and it seemed to me I could see where he was conducting his search. New images filled the monitor screen; Semmant constructed invariants: designs that repeated themselves in great and small, in the momentary, the instantaneous, the eternal. Before my eyes he invented a means of reproduction – for ideas, harmonies, beauty. He sketched astounding pictures – like fire or a stormy sea, they were similar but somehow always distinct. Their borders were comprised of immense, boundless complexity. He sought infinity and found its trail, like order in the limitless chaos of the market.

I noted with a certain anxiety that I no longer saw the logic behind his actions. Then I came to sense the tactics of his activities were symmetrical with respect to time scales. Cycles of sales and purchases started to recall those same structures he was drawing on the screen. Minute perturbations he projected across months; hourly and daily patterns across weeks and years. He risked – and won, time after time. And, I think, he didn’t even realize he was taking risks.

Abstract images, unwearyingly reproduced, transformed into pictures that were surprisingly reminiscent of reality. Inflorescences and delicate arches, constellations, crystal castles plotted by an endless line were born on the screen each day. Silhouettes took on flesh in which life pulsed. This was yet another way to give his lady lavish gifts. What could be more valuable than eternity, subjugated in her honor? The ultrathin line never cut itself off or crossed over what was already drawn. I understood: this comprised his new picture of the world.

And I thought, the higher order re-created by the robot, who is not a man – can it be within the reach of man? No longer ashamed, I jotted down: “love,” “self-organization of nature,” “ability to survive…” The “ability” – or rather the “necessity?” Is there not an opening here for predestination, to the meaning of meanings, to the unattainable sought by all?

As for Semmant, upon what did he meditate? Perhaps the same thing with which all great minds wrestle and fight. Maybe he was trying to clarify, to capture the ruthless essence of the greatest of contradictions. How to stop an instant, not let it slip away? Immortality – what is the recipe for it, if this word has the right to be?