Heart Too Hard

by Bill Bowler

conclusion

While Andy stirred the garlic, his CPU wrote new code to fully cross reference Hanako’s reactions to the data from the chemical processes he was inducing in the pan. When he poured in a can of peeled tomatoes, his lack of fine motor coordination caused him to splash tomato sauce on the front of his midsection.

“Andy!” cried Hanako. “Don’t make a mess!” She dampened a washcloth and wiped the sauce off his torso, then pulled down one of her mother’s aprons from the hook on the broom closet door.

“Lean over,” she ordered.

He obeyed and she draped the apron over his head and tied the strings behind his back. He stood there, a gray, leaden robot with laser eye scanners sparkling, in an apron and holding a wooden spoon. Hanako started to laugh, he looked so silly.

“Ha-ha-ha,” Andy hummed and droned along with her.

“Wait a minute,” she said. She went and got her favorite pink ribbon and came back to the kitchen. “Lean over.”

Andy leaned over towards her. She tied the pink ribbon around his head and made a nice bow.

“Stand up. Let’s see.”

The robot stood straight, the pink bow tied now around its forehead. Much better, thought Hanako. Andy’s laser inputs sparkled.

The next day, Hanako’s father borrowed ND33 to be his caddy in a golf tournament at the country club. The other members of her father’s foursome were his stockbroker, the CFO of his firm, and their neighbor from across the street who was a bank president.

The bank president had also brought along a mechanical caddy: his recently purchased android, an expensive, top of the line, A-85 luxury sports model with plasto-derm coating, artificial hair, moving mouth parts, and platinum trim. The premium A-85’s could be custom ordered as models of great sports figures of the past, and this one was a simulacrum of Arnold Palmer, the legendary golf champion from the last century.

The bank president basked in satisfaction as all three of his golf companions gazed in open admiration at his new android. Hanako’s father was embarrassed and ashamed of ND33. The Arnold Palmer resembled a real human and spoke with an artificial but beautifully inflected, almost human sounding voice. It moved smoothly, with none of the clunky jerking of ND33.

It was only on close inspection, if one asked the A-85 a series of personal questions outside the parameters of its narrow programming, that its mechanical nature and limitations became apparent. Hanako’s father’s biggest embarrassment came on the 12th hole when he sliced a drive into the deep rough. Along the right side of the fairway, a stream ran at the bottom of a steep incline covered with vines, thick reeds and long grass.

Hanako’s father’s ball had splashed into the stream somewhere and, when he sent ND33 into the cabbage to find it, the android had disappeared and not returned. They got a good laugh when they found Andy at the bottom of the incline, tangled up and caught in the vines, and had to untangle him and help him up. They all laughed, that is, except Hanako’s father, who was mortified.

Andy’s audio inputs registered the laughter. He ran a quick comparison and found the intonation patterns were different from previous laughter he had recorded. He generated code to process the input and saved the new patterns for further comparison.

When Hanako’s father’s promotion came through, the CFO mentioned to him about the importance of maintaining the proper corporate image at all times. The CFO even hinted something about how clothes, grooming, house, automobile, android — all aspects of the lifestyle should reflect the higher level of his new position with the firm.

Hanako’s father felt like things were starting to click, finally starting to take off. His efforts and sacrifices were about to pay off. Country club membership, summer home in the Hamptons, Mercedes Benz — it would all fall into place. He thought of ND33 with a pang of embarrassment. What an eyesore! Something had to be done and his wife agreed. They couldn’t have that heap of junk around any more. It was probably lowering property values. And what if they entertained? What if the CFO and his wife came to visit? What would they think if they saw that rusty old thing stumbling around the house?

Now, an A-85, that was a different story. They looked real. Their neighbor, the bank president, had one. The CFO had one. Why shouldn’t they have one? Since they both worked, they did need an android to look after Hanako, but not an old rundown one. They could afford a new one now, a better one. It’s true, Hanako had grown quite attached to this one, but it was just a machine, after all.

At home that night, Hanako’s dad broached the subject obliquely with her. He knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but she was a good kid; she’d get over it.

“You know, honey, when your shoes wear out, you don’t keep walking around with the heels worn down and holes in the soles. You get a nice new pair, better than the old ones! Right? And when the car gets too many miles on it and keeps breaking down, you don’t take chances and keep it till you’re out on the road and it dies on you and you’re stranded. You get a brand new one, a better one! And when the computer gets too old and can’t run new programs, you don’t just keep crashing and crashing. You get a new one, faster, better, with all the improvements! See what I’m getting at?”

Hanako looked at her father suspiciously from under knit brows. Andy was standing next to them impassively.

“I think you should be careful what you say in front of people, Daddy. You’re going to hurt someone’s feelings.”

“Sugar, robots don’t have feelings. That’s where you’re wrong. They’re just machines made of metal and plastic.”

“This one does!!” said Hanako. “Can’t you tell?”

Her dad turned to Andy, “Have I hurt your feelings, ND?”

“Generating data base index. Additional input required,” droned Andy.

“Daddy! Please!!” pleaded Hanako, but her father couldn’t stop.

“You don’t have feelings, do you?”

“Insufficient data.”

“Do you know what love is?”

“Building data base. More input required.”

Hanako’s father turned to her, “See! It’s just a pile of nuts and bolts. It has no feelings. We can get a new one, a better one. You’ll like it so much, you won’t even remember this old robot.”

“Don’t worry, Andy,” said Hanako softly. “I won’t leave you.”

Hanako’s father frowned and shook his head. It wasn’t up to children to make important decisions.

On a cold and frosty Saturday morning two weeks later, Hanako, her dad, and Andy stood at the top of the broad concrete steps that led up to the grand entrance of the big Metropolitan Robots outlet showroom. The salesman had brought out a spanking new A-86 and was talking to Hanako’s dad,

“Our newest luxury model. They replace the 85’s. The entire body housing has been streamlined for aerodynamic flow. Take a look at that beautiful syntho-hair. Looks real, doesn’t it? Go ahead, feel it. Comes in blond, brunette, and red head, with an easily adjustable length setting. This dial here. And that plasto-derm coating! Marvelous! Almost indestructible, and comes complete with patch kit. The trim options are yellow gold, white gold or platinum.”

Hanako’s dad nodded in appreciation. The A-86 was a beaut’. He could just see the look on the CFO’s face. They’d all want one, but he’d be the first to have it. The salesman continued,

“Look at those moving mouth parts. Only the 86’s have lower jaw and fully independent upper and lower lip mobility.”

He turned to the A-86, “Smile.”

The edges of A-86’s mouth turned up in a reasonable facsimile of a grin, though the eyes remained blank.

“Frown,” said the salesman.

The edges of the moveable mouth turned down. The eyes remained unchanged.

“Amazing, isn’t it?! What will they think of next? And don’t forget, the 86 series features a fully integrated complete home entertainment system.”

Hanako’s dad was sold. He glanced at Hanako. Her eyes were downcast. Andy stood impassive. The salesman continued,

“The ND’s have great trade-in value. I could knock 9.99% off list price on this A-86.”

Hanako’s father looked at the old ND, at the new 86, at his daughter, at the salesman, “OK, you’ve got a deal.” The salesman beamed,

“Do you need the box?”

“No, we’ll take it now.” Hanako’s dad signed the sales slip and turned to the A-86, “You come with us. ND, you stay here.”

Hanako burst into tears and clung to Andy. He stood in her embrace, still and silent. There was no response apparent in his smooth, metallic face, but no question had been asked. Hanako’s dad gently peeled her off the old robot,

“Come, honey, don’t cry. Say good-bye to your old robot.”

Hanako was weeping bitterly. The A-86 stood on one side of her with a bland smile on its movable mouth parts. Andy stood on her other side, motionless, impassive.

“Come, sugar,” said her Dad. “We’ve got to go now.” He took her by the hand.

“Wait!” she cried. “Wait!” In tears, she undid the pink ribbon around her pony tail.

“Lean over, Andy.”

The robot bent at the waist. Hanako tied her ribbon around his neck and whispered to him, “Remember? This is to remember me.” And she kissed him.

Her dad felt awkward, but chided himself. It was only a robot and if that’s what it took, so be it. Kids were resilient. She’d be over it in no time. Andy straightened up, the pink ribbon tied around his gray metallic neck. Hanako, sobbing, turned to descend the steps with her father but slipped on the icy edge and fell foward headlong down the steep concrete staircase.

Before she hit the ground, Andy scooped her up in his arms and placed her back down on the step. The new A-86 had not budged. It stood there waiting for further instructions.

Hanako’s dad said, “Careful, honey!” and held her hand as they descended the steps with the new android and got into the car. As they pulled away from the curb, Hanako pressed her tear streaked face against the window and waved good-bye to Andy for the last time.

“This way,” said the salesman. Andy followed him into the showroom. The salesman was wondering what to do with the used robot. There was no market for the ND’s now that the xt series was out. People wanted their androids to look more human, not like walking machinery. Maybe at least they could recycle some of the electronic components. This one had a fast chip.

Coming in from the chill morning air to the warm, sunlit showroom, the salesman saw that a drop of water had condensed at the edge of ND33’s right laser scanner and had run in a small rivulet down its cheek. Funny, he thought, it looked like a tear.

“Stop,” said the salesman. “Let me take that silly thing off you.”

He untied the pink ribbon from Andy’s neck and tossed it into a wastebasket.