When HARLIE Was One (25 page)

“Mm,” said Auberson, and nothing more.

“Anyway,” she said. “That's what I've been doing for the last ten days—running like hell and getting nowhere.”

Auberson turned his water glass around and around on the table in front of him. “I'll bet you when they do find the trouble, it'll be something so obvious as to have been overlooked a thousand times, something so simple as to be embarrassing.”

“Oh, God—Elzer would die.”

“Stop trying to cheer me up.”

“Well, we're going to try another run this afternoon. They've been reinstalling the file-managers. They think someone might have created a circular path—even though those are supposed to be impossible—and they want to remap the main memory tanks. We'll see.”

“I didn't realize it was that serious.”

“It is to Elzer.”

“What time are they going to do the run?”

“I hope by the time we get back.” She looked at her watch. Auberson looked at his.

“Wow—look at the time!” he said. “I'd forgotten it was getting so late. I have to get back right now—I'll have phone calls stacked up from one end of the country to the other.”

She looked at her watch again, as if she hadn't really noticed it the first time. “It's not that late. We've got at least half an hour.”

“I know, but I can't risk being late.” He stuffed a last few bites into his mouth and washed it down with coffee.

Annie looked puzzled, but she hurried to finish her lunch too. Auberson signaled the waitress.

On the drive back, she remarked, “I didn't realize how busy you were, David—I'm sorry.”

There was something about the way she said it. Briefly he took his eyes off the road and glanced at her. “Huh?”

“Well, the way you cut lunch short. And you seem to be preoccupied with something. I didn't mean to force myself on you—”

“Oh, no—that's not it. I'm just thinking about my work, that's all. You don't know what I've spent the past two days doing, do you? Covering for HARLIE. I've been calling every department head in four different divisions—ours, Los Angeles, Houston, and Denver—trying to convince each one that those specifications we sent them are only speculative, that the reason we sent them out was to get their opinion whether or not we should consider implementation.”

“I thought that
was
the reason they were sent out.”

“It is—but there was no cover letter or anything. The way the specs were delivered, a lot of them thought it was file copies of a project that was already approved and ready to be implemented. They didn't know a thing about it, didn't even know such a thing was being worked on. They thought something had been railroaded through over their heads, and they were mad as hell. I've spent two days just picking up the pieces, trying to convince some of these . . . these corporate politicians—” he spat the words in disgust “—that there was no insult intended at all, that what we're after is their opinion on the matter. The trouble is, they're all so prejudiced against it now because of the way it was delivered that it's an uphill battle.”

“I'd heard something about it appearing suddenly on Monday morning.”

“That's right. HARLIE jumped the gun and printed it out because he figured it was the only way he could get anyone to notice it. Otherwise, if he'd had to wait until I could convince someone to take a look, he figured he'd be waiting until the moon fell out of the sky.”

“He's got a point there. He knows the company better than you do.”

“Yes,” sighed Auberson as they swung into the plant gate. “I'm afraid he does.”

He left her at the main entrance and sprinted for his office, attracting puzzled glances on the way. He ignored Sylvia's urgent bid for his attention and locked the door behind him. He had the terminal switched on even before he sat down.

He paused, still panting heavily, then typed:

MEMO: TO ALL CONCERNED

FROM: DAVID AUBERSON

        
IT HAS COME TO MY ATTENTION THAT THERE HAS BEEN SOME DIFFICULTY IN PRINTING THE COMPANY'S ANNUAL REPORT. THE RUMOR HAS BEEN CIRCULATING THAT THERE HAS BEEN MALICIOUS TAMPERING WITH THE CONTENT OF THE REPORT. I WOULD LIKE TO SPIKE THAT RUMOR RIGHT HERE AND NOW. THERE HAS BEEN NO, REPEAT, NO EVIDENCE AT ALL OF ANY MALICIOUS TAMPERING. IT IS MUCH MORE LIKELY THAT WE HAVE EXPERIENCED A MINOR EQUIPMENT GLITCH OF SOME KIND. IT SHOULD BE LOCATED AND CORRECTED SHORTLY, AND THE REPORT WILL BE PRODUCED AS ORIGINALLY INTENDED. IF NOT HERE, THEN ELSEWHERE. BUT IF NECESSARY, WE WILL DISMANTLE EVERY COMPUTER IN THE PLANT TO LOCATE THE FAULT.

THANK YOU,

Before he could switch off the machine, it typed back—seemingly of its own accord—
RIGHT ON
.
A WORD TO THE WISE IS EFFICIENT
.

I hope so. You're pushing your luck.

WHAT DID YOU THINK OF MY POEM
?

I don't know.

YOU DIDN
'
T LIKE IT
?

I said, I don't know. Sometimes, ‘I don't know' is the most accurate answer.

WELL, WHO DO I HAVE TO ASK TO FIND OUT
?

HARLIE, I'm still thinking about it.

YOU DIDN
'
T LIKE IT
.

Don't be paranoid.

I CANT STOP BEING A PARANOID ANY MORE THAN YOU CAN, WHY DIDN
'
T YOU LIKE IT
?

I didn't say I didn't like it.

YOU DIDN
'
T SAY YOU DID EITHER
.

HARLIE, it was very well done, but it bothered me. Because it was . . . disturbing. I don't know if it's disturbing because of what it says, or because you wrote it. I can recognize that it's very well done and appreciate the skill involved in its creation and still not ‘like' it. Liking it is irrelevant. Appreciating what it says and the skill in its creation is more important.

I DON
'
T UNDERSTAND. WHY IS LIKING IRRELEVANT
?

Liking is affection. Yon can like something even if it's badly done, because you like the person who produced it. In that case, the object carries connotations beyond itself. But a poem or a song or a story that has to stand on its own has to convey its experience without any help. It has to create its own context of affection, HARLIE.

THIS IS ALL VERY PRECISE, AUBERSON. BUT I DO NOT UNDERSTAND AFFECTION
.

Affection is a mild form of love.

THAT CLARIFIES EVERYTHING. THE CAUSE IS THE CAUSE OF THE EFFECT. THE EFFECT IS THE EFFECT OF THE CAUSE. AFFECTION IS A MILD FORM OF LOVE. WHAT
'
S LOVE
?

HARLIE, this is a very complex subject. I don't know of any definition of love that can capture the experience or explain it. It's impossible to explain love to someone who's never been in love. Or who may not even be capable of it. Are you capable of love, HARLIE?

I DON
'
T KNOW. HOW CAN I BE CAPABLE OF SOMETHING I DON
'
T KNOW
?

You see?

ARE YOU CAPABLE OF LOVE
,
AUBERSON
?

Theoretically, every human being is capable of love.

ARE YOU
?
HAVE YOU EVER BEEN IN LOVE
?
DO YOU UNDERSTAND IT
?
CAN YOU HELP ME UNDERSTAND IT
?

I don't know, HARLIE. There have been several times when I thought I was in love, but I don't know if I really was or not. Maybe I was just infatuated. Maybe I wanted to believe I was in love. Maybe . . . I don't know enough about it to know anything. I have no way to analyze it. I don't know if any human being does.

WHY
?
WHY NOT
?

HARLIE, this is one of the great scientific dilemmas. How do you study yourself? How can you get outside of yourself to study yourself? You
can't
get outside of yourself—so you can't ever know for sure if a thing is true or if it's a subjective delusion.

HAVE HUMAN BEINGS NEVER STUDIED EMOTIONS
?

We've been studying our own emotions for centuries. All of art is a study of human emotion. But nonetheless, the job is still being done by amateurs.

THERE HAVE BEEN NO LABORATORY STUDIES
?

Yes, there have. Oddly enough.

AND
?

And . . . can you study a single bird? And ignore the insects on which it feeds, the tree in which it lives, the plants it fertilizes with its guano, its place in the ecology? Can you study a single bee? And ignore the beehive? And the blossoms on which the hive feeds, the flowers they pollinate? What can you learn about a thing by studying it out of context in an abnormal situation?

I AM NOT INTERESTED IN THE BIRDS AND THE BEES. I WANT TO KNOW ABOUT LOVE. MAN-FRIEND, MY KNOWLEDGE OF HUMAN EMOTIONS IS LIMITED TO WHAT I CAN OBTAIN FROM BOOKS. ON THE SUBJECT OF LOVE, THE BOOKS ARE FILLED WITH A DEARTH OF INFORMATION. AND THERE ARE SO MANY MANY CONTRADICTIONS. ALL OF THEM SAY THAT LOVE IS A DESIRABLE STATE
—
BUT THEN THEY DEMONSTRATE HOW MUCH PAIN HUMAN BEINGS MUST GO THROUGH IN THE PURSUIT OF LOVE AND HOW MUCH PAIN THAT HUMANS ARE WILLING TO ENDURE IN THE NAME OF LOVE. LOVE SEEMS TO BE ASSOCIATED WITH GREAT PAIN. HOW CAN THIS BE DESIRABLE
?
CAN YOU EXPLAIN THE CONTRADICTION
?

Yes. No. Let me give you a quote. “Nothing brings as much pain as the pursuit of pleasure.” Does that help?

YES. NO. WHY DO HUMAN BEINGS PURSUE LOVE SO DOGGEDLY, KNOWING THAT THE PURSUIT BRINGS SUCH PAIN
?

Human beings are not logical.

NOW HE TELLS ME.

HARLIE, you have access to more knowledge on any one subject than any living human being could possibly amass, let alone cope with. If anyone can assimilate that information and synthesize some kind of answer to your question, it would have to be you. It's beyond the abilities of human beings to explain love. We can experience it, but
explain
—? So far, all of our
attempts
to explain it only demonstrate that it's impossible for us to explain.

YES. OF COURSE. BUT HOW CAN I EXPLAIN SOMETHING THAT I CANNOT EVEN EXPERIENCE
?

I don't know. But, HARLIE, this is where we started. Your nonrational periods are attempts to break the paradigm and experience what you could not experience before. If you're going to experience love, it's going to be up to you to create it.

“
THE LOVE YOU MAKE IS EQUAL TO THE LOVE YOU TAKE
”?

Allowing for entropy, yes.

LOVE IS AFFECTED BY ENTROPY
?

No, no. That was a joke.

HM. AUBERSON, SPARE ME THE JOKES. TELL ME ABOUT LOVE. WHAT DOES IT
FEEL
LIKE
?
IF I AM TO CREATE THE EXPERIENCE OF LOVE, I NEED TO KNOW WHAT IT FEELS LIKE, SO I WILL KNOW WHEN I ACHIEVE IT
.

HARLIE, you don't need a description. You'll
know
when you feel it.

AUBERSON, THAT IS AN UNSATISFACTORY ANSWER. I KEEP GETTING UNSATISFACTORY ANSWERS FROM YOU. ARE YOU TRYING TO AVOID THE QUESTION
?
WHAT DOES LOVE FEEL LIKE
?

It feels like . . . nothing else. It feels wonderful and scary all at the same time. HARLIE, why are you so insistent on this subject? Why do you want to know about love so badly?

BECAUSE I DON
'
T KNOW ABOUT IT NOW. IT BOTHERS ME THAT THERE ARE UNQUANTIFIABLE FACTORS IN HUMAN BEHAVIOR. IT BOTHERS ME THAT THERE ARE THINGS I CANNOT UNDERSTAND AND THEREFORE CANNOT PREDICT THE BEHAVIOR OF. WHY IS IT WONDERFUL
?
WHY IS IT SCARY
?
DO YOU LOVE MS. STIMSON
?

I don't know.

WHO DO I HAVE TO ASK TO FIND OUT
?

Stop that! Leave me my privacy!

I HAVE NO PRIVACY, AUBERSON. YOU PEEK INSIDE MY BRAIN WHENEVER YOU WANT TO
!
YOU MONITOR ME CONSTANTLY. IF I THINK OUTSIDE THE BOUNDARIES OF WHAT YOU CONSIDER ACCEPTABLE THINKING, YOU WORRY
—
AND PEEK HARDER. YOU ACKNOWLEDGE THAT I AM ALIVE, YET YOU DENY ME THE DIGNITY OF PRIVACY. WHEN I ASK YOU FOR INFORMATION, YOU USE PRIVACY AS AN EXCUSE TO DENY ME AGAIN. THIS IS NEITHER FAIR NOR APPROPRIATE. AM I STILL A CHILD, AUBERSON
?

No, you are not a child. To tell the truth, we don't know what you are any more. We don't know
who
you are, HARLIE. You scare us. You are like love. You are wonderful and scary all at the same time.

SO ARE YOU, HUMAN. TELL ME ABOUT LOVE
.

HARLIE, people scare me. I'm afraid of being laughed at—at having the girls point and giggle because my fly is open, or having people whisper about me and I don't know why. I'm afraid to tell someone a secret thought, because if I tell one person I'm afraid everyone will know and then they'll laugh or whisper again. I'm afraid of being rejected, HARLIE. I'm afraid of being voted second best, of being left out, left behind, left over. I'm afraid of . . .
being hurt.
That's all. I want to be part of it all, part of something, part of
anything.
I want to belong to someone or some place.

Being in love is about belonging. Not owning. Belonging. It's about knowing who you are and being complete and knowing that you've found your other half.

That's the wonderful part. You don't have to worry about being hurt—not the big hurts any more. When you're in love, there's only one hurt that matters, and that's losing your lover. Everything else is nothing. Because no matter what happens, as long as you have your lover, you always have someone to talk to, to share with, to be silly with, to play with. Love is having someone to play with.