ERSATZ

Lindenwood University

“I want to go outside today,” Mia said as she sat at the table, drinking bitter tea. Will never understood why she insisted on brewing her own, especially with the stale leaves left over in the cupboards. He used to make her tea several times a day, and she always sat as she drank it in silence, until one morning she pattered out in her robe and announced she would like to make it herself. “There’s nothing wrong with yours,” she said. “Yours is perfect and I think it’s because of that I’d like to make my own. I keep sitting here, trying to taste something wrong with it, and it’s driving me mad, because there is nothing.” Her brow had furrowed as she told him very plainly, “There should always be at least one thing wrong with something—especially tea.” “We cannot go outside today,” Will said as he joined her at the table, newspaper in hand. Newspapers were very archaic, a vintage style some of the androids preferred, even if it was expensive to get one hand delivered every morning. Then again, having a human was expensive also. “Why not?” Mia asked as she continued to drink her tea, though her tone had greatly worsened from its hopeful pitch the statement before. “The radiation is no good this morning, you’ll get sick,” Will insisted, “and you don’t want to get sick, do you?” She didn’t answer. “I don’t want you to get sick,” Will said, “If you got sick, you would not feel good, and if you did not feel good, I would have to ring for a doctor, and you don’t like doctors.” “I don’t,” she agreed. “We can go outside tomorrow,” Will decided, seeing how miserable she looked. Misery was not something he understood, not personally; but in context he knew it was something unpleasant, and he had a vague understanding of unpleasantness. It was like when his voice box occasionally malfunctioned, and it caused for him to inherit a rasp—or when he felt the circuits overheat when he missed a few too many nights of mandated shut down. “That is if the radiation is better.” “The radiation is never better,” Mia said, “It’s sometimes just less notice-

able.”

“If it is less noticeable then, we will go out tomorrow. I think you will be very happy with the condition of the garden. I’ve kept alive those petunias you love so much—the same ones your mother planted, before she got sick.” “I wish you wouldn’t mention her,” Mia said, frowning at the tea leaves, “—and what’s the point in caring much for flowers anymore?” “They are a thing of beauty.”

“How are they beautiful if they are forced to grow while everything dies around them?” Mia asked. “The radiation will kill them eventually,” her eyes misted over, “just as it killed the animals and the trees, just as it did my mother, and as it will me.” “You won’t die,” Will insisted, “Not yet, at least. I wish you wouldn’t speak like that, Mia. I will take care of you. I won’t let you get sick, that’s why we’re not going outside today, because the radiation is too bad. We will go out tomorrow, when it is less noticeable.” Mia just drank the bitter tea.

The radiation was more noticeable that next morning, and so Mia was depressed. “Here, take these. You know the doctor said they would make you feel better.” Will stood beside the couch where Mia was curled up. She had strange resting habits, though all humans did. She called it the fetal position, when he had asked, and explained it was a very natural, intimate position to be in—with your knees pressed up to your stomach, like you were back in the womb. Will had never been inside a womb so he thought it very strange but offered those three pills that she turned her nose up at, and so he frowned. “If you don’t take the medicine, you’ll feel worse.” “I want to feel worse,” Mia said, as she turned her face into the pillow and it muffled her voice. “At least then I can feel something.” “If you take your medicine, you can sleep, and then you can dream of outside.” Will sat down. Mia was small for a woman of her age and height, and took up little of the couch. He spoke once with the doctor about it, and he said Mia was what one would call petite. Just like, for the humans before them, there were lap dogs and large dogs, and inside dogs, and outside dogs—though for inside and outside, he believed there was introvert, and extrovert. He had an introverted petite— an inside, lap dog. “I don’t want to dream of outside, I want to go outside.” Mia was as bitter as her tea today, but she sat up and took the three pills. “Tomorrow,” Will insisted, and Mia laid back down. “Tomorrow means never,” she spoke, with her face turned towards the television. Will thought maybe then she would like for him to turn it on, but when he rose, she just shook her head. “Tomorrow for you means never, tomorrow for me means tomorrow,” Will said and wrapped her up in the blanket that was over the back of the couch. He had no use for blankets, he had no need for warmth. Humans—they craved it like he craved updates and charges. It was what sustained her, and when he wrapped her up in that blanket that would keep her warm, she looked livelier. “An oxymoron,” Mia decided. “You too, were our tomorrow, and you

turned out to be our never.” Will was quiet, out of respect. Transition between the organic to the synthetic had been...unpleasant. “But if that never, never happened, then I would not have met you,” Will said. “I would have just served you, as a bank teller, or a slave. Not as a partner, or a spouse.” “You still serve me,” Mia said, staring at him. “Yes, but I serve you because I wish to serve you, and it’s less serving than it is care.” Will felt guilty, as much as an android could feel guilt. Most androids felt something close to guilt. They had not meant to bring the radiation when they built up the cities; they had not meant to snuff out organic life. It was why, while having a human was not required or expected, almost every household had at least one. They were endangered, and while the humans had attempted to care for the endangered before them, so did the androids, too. “This isn’t care,” Mia said, as her eyes glazed over as the pills settled in. “I’m just trapped in your perpetual garden, just like those petunias, forced to grow while what I know dies around me.” “Did you know Catharine had a baby?” Will spoke of something else instead. “Just last week. Robby told me when I was at the grocery store, getting you those pears you like so much.” “Why are you telling me this?” Mia asked. “I thought you would be happy to know Catharine had a baby, and that the baby is doing well.” “How is Catharine?” Will did not respond, and Mia knew that meant that Catharine was dead. “I wish I could have a baby,” Mia said, and it was obvious she was almost under because of the pills. When she went under, Will would be able to work, though there wasn’t much work for him to do as a cleaner, when androids kept everything clean, apart from the radiation, which didn’t bother them. Yet, day after day, Will routinely and thoroughly, cleaned though there was little left to clean, and the next day, he cleaned all over again, because that was what he was made to do and there wasn’t much more for him to do outside of that. Will missed humans in that regard, as much as androids can miss, because it was the flawed nature of human intention that had given him purpose. He missed the countless little messes of their lives. “There is something very human about wanting to create life,” Will agreed, but Mia was quiet, as if he had missed the point entirely.

The radiation was significantly less noticable that Thursday, and so Will took Mia outside, and she was happy, even with the petunias in the garden. “I spoke with Robby, when you were asleep. He said if you wanted to see

Catharine’s baby, you could. She is home now and seems to be adjusting very well.” Will spoke as he stood with an umbrella over Mia’s head to keep the ashes that fell from the sky off her, because he did not want her to get sick. “Has she been named yet?” Mia asked, crouched in the garden, as if to get close to the grass. “Catharine named her Emily—a very human name to be given.” “Very human indeed,” Mia agreed. “I never liked the name Emily. I don’t know why so many girls are named that.” “Do you like your name?” Will asked. “No.” “Why not?” Mia was quiet, as if she had to think about it, “It means ‘mine’, as if even as a baby, I was owned by someone else.” She was staring at Will again, and he kept the umbrella over her. “‘Mine’ can mean ‘yours’ just as much, perhaps you are yours entirely, to be no one else’s.” “Perhaps,” Mia said it, as if only to humor him. “But it is doubtful.”

Mia was not able to visit Emily, as she got very sick. Will did not hesitate to send for a doctor and sat beside her at the bed as she coughed and wheezed and heckled pathetically. “I do not understand; the radiation was not so noticeable yesterday.” Will was in distress, as much as an android can be. He did not like to see Mia in pain. “That’s not how radiation works,” said Mia, the blankets drawn up around her, even though the problem didn’t seem to be the lack of warmth, but too much of it. “Why didn’t you say?” Will pressed. “Because I wanted to go outside,” Mia said and stared at him, and Will had to admit he didn’t like it very much when Mia just stared at him. “The doctor will be here soon,” Will said and stepped from the bedroom. The bedroom itself was very simple with not much more than a bed and a cabinet, a closet, and a bathroom, a lamp and a side table, a radio and a vanity, and one single bonsai tree by the window. Androids had no need for personal possessions, but humans built their identity around them, and by what little she had, it seemed Mia defined herself as a very simple, minimalistic person. They got along well because of that—Will, too, was a very simple android.

“How long has she been sick?” “Not long,” Will said as he let the doctor inside the house. It wasn’t a human practitioner—those were long gone—but an android who had once served a

human practitioner, long ago. Will caught sight, briefly, of the doctor’s white medical van with its single red cross out on the strip of street. He thought for a second to ask him to move it; it was very embarrassing to have a doctor visit. It told all his neighbors that Will wasn’t taking care of Mia very well, when really, he had been. “Just this morning, she woke with a fever. We went outside yesterday.” “You’re not supposed to take your human outside.” “She insisted; she wanted to go outside.” “Sometimes what she wants is not what she needs,” the doctor said, and Will decided he couldn’t ask the doctor to move his car, “Especially with the radiation so bad.” “It wasn’t so noticeable yesterday.” “That is not how radiation works,” the doctor said and walked past him carrying that little black satchel. Mia told him once she hated that black satchel—it was the same satchel that carried all those horrible knives they had to use to cut her mother up after she got very sick and died—and so, Will said, “Perhaps don’t make the satchel so obvious. It will cause Mia distress.” And so, the doctor disguised it behind his back as he spoke to Mia at the door, as Mia did dislike doctors very much. “I was told you are not feeling well, and that you went out yesterday, even with the radiation so bad.” “The radiation wasn’t so bad yesterday; it was hardly noticeable.” Mia said, despite knowing that was not how radiation worked, and she looked strangely at Will as he stared back. “It was my fault for letting you outside, Mia,” Will said, “You do not need to defend me.” “I am not defending you, I am telling the truth—the radiation wasn’t so bad, and I wanted to go out, so Will let me out. He has been very good to me.” Sometimes when an android was unable to properly care for their human, the doctors reassigned the human to another household. Will assumed Mia thought this was what was happening, and Will was glad, as much as androids can be glad, that she did not wish to leave him so much. He did, after all, let her outside. “Will’s care is not in question Mia; it is your health,” the doctor assured her. Finally, he had to bring around the black satchel. Mia stared at it, as she stared at Will sometimes, and she became very quiet. “I will ask Will to leave, so I can examine you. You will have to take off your clothes.” “Will can stay.” Mia said and so Will stayed, and he stood aside as Mia dragged herself from the bed, out of those blankets that kept her warm, and trembled with fever as the doctor removed the robe around her shoulders. She was thin, as most petite humans were, and though her ribs could be seen, her cheeks were not shrunken around her eyes and she had strength enough to stand. She was as well fed as a human could be, with all the trees dead. Will stared for a moment, at her breasts, the slabs of fat of great importance to her, though he could not understand the purpose of them much.

“How is your breathing?” the doctor asked. “Fine,” Mia responded. “Can you take a breath for me?” Mia did, and Will watched her shoulders lift and each ridge of her spine showed against the skin of her back. The doctor listened, in no need of a stethoscope, as androids had very proficient hearing. “There is water in her lungs,” he said and went to his black satchel. “She cannot go outside, the radiation will make the water worse, and she will die.” Will stared, and Mia just tied her robe closed again when all he brought out of that black satchel was another bottle of pills and no knives. “Have her take four of these—it will help with the water in her lungs.” “Is there not much more you can do?” Will asked, as Mia crawled back into

bed.

“It is inevitable and letting her out in the radiation just made it all worse— had she stayed inside as she should have, the water would not have entered her lungs yet. She will live awhile longer, that is if you don’t let her outside.” “And if she wants to go outside?” “Then she would die,” the doctor said as he closed his black satchel and

left.

When an android died, it was very noticeable, as the android was never alive to begin with. They simply shut down and refused to reboot—a rare incident, often because of something on the hard drive. When a human died, it was almost unnoticeable, as they died very slowly, and then suddenly, all at once. It was something the android could not understand, that decay. They had seen it when the animals got sick, and then in the trees, like an android, slowly shutting down. Mia had been shutting down for a very long time now, and Will simply hadn’t seen it.

When the doctor left, Robby came to his door. “Was that the Red Cross I saw?” his synthetic voice vibrating a rasp that meant his voice box was malfunctioning. He knew well that was the Red Cross he had seen, but Will feigned his ignorance. “Yes. I had to call for the doctor. Mia is not well.” “She’s not sick with child, is she?” Robby asked. “That is what happened with Catharine, you know. I should not have let her near the Jamison’s. Then she would not have gotten pregnant and she would not have died. I am ridiculed often, as if I were responsible for her bleeding out like that. At least Emily is good and healthy, and I don’t have to request for another human. That would even be more shameful.” Robby spoke, “To lose a human and then ask for another. If yours is not with child and is sick, you might have to experience both humiliations.” Robby talked too much, Will decided and he gripped the side of his door. “She is not sick with child. It would be impossible for her to be, as she has

not been around a male before. She went outside yesterday, when the radiation was not noticeable, but still bad.” “That was your mistake then, you’re not supposed to let your human outside. I never let Catharine outside, until she snuck over to the Jamison’s, and then you’ve seen what happens.” “Did Catharine never ask to go outside?” Will asked. “Often. She liked the look of the garden you planted for Mia, over the fences, but I told her it was plenty enough to look at from the window. I knew if I let her outside, she would die.” Robby said simply, “And then she went outside just that once, and now she’s dead.” “Because of complications with the baby.” “Which would have never happened if she didn’t go outside and over to the Jamison’s,” Robby said and went back over to his yard, as Emily was crying now, and Will could hear her fussing. Pitiful cries, because, though just born, Emily was already dying. Androids, they shut down and sometimes didn’t turn back on, but their collective minds remained. When humans died, nothing was left, just as when the trees died and the animals, all traces eventually rotted and went away. Will wondered how much of Mia had already began to rot, and he just hadn’t noticed the smell.

“What are you making?” He asked her when he came inside and found her out of bed. “Tea.” “With the bitter leaves?” “Yes,” she said, and for once, Will did not think it so strange but thought it simply as very Mia, and he stared at her like she often stared at him, and when she felt his attention, she stared back. “Would you like to have a baby?” Will asked and Mia thought for a mo-

ment.

“No.” “But just yesterday you said you would like to have a baby.” “Yesterday was before today, now I am in no need of a baby,” Mia said, as she cradled the cup of tea, searching for that warmth, as humans tended to do. “Is it because the doctor told you, you are sick.” “Yes.” “You can still be sick and have a baby, Mia. Then something of you will be left. You won’t have to rot away, like the animals and the trees.” Will spoke and Mia sat at their table, with her tea. “I am already rotted away, Will. I am gone, just as the animals and the trees. You do not know rotting, but now you have seen it in me.”

* That night, in all the years of being together, Mia touched Will. He felt her hands on his metal plating, in the darkness of their bedroom, and he thought to ask, “What are you doing?” “I am letting myself feel something.” “What are you feeling?” “Something for you,” Mia said. “In all the times you have cared for me as a husband and as a spouse, I have never been able to care for you in return.” “How is touching me like this, caring?” “It is a very intimate thing we humans do, and I’m afraid there is not much you can understand of it. Just know that I care for you, because I wish to care for you, and should have said it long ago. I love you.” “Why do you love me?” Will asked. “Because you let me outside,” Mia said, and touched him some more.

“Do you want to go outside today?” A taboo question for Will to ask as Mia sat at the table, drinking bitter tea, and he sat across from her, ignoring his folded newspaper. “Is the radiation bad this morning?” Mia asked. “The radiation is always bad, and it is very noticeable,” Will said, and Mia sat in silence. “Do you want me to go outside?” she asked, instead. “No, if you go outside, you will continue to get sick, and I don’t want you to get sick.” “Then why ask if I want to go outside?” “Because you like going outside,” Will said, “It makes you happy, even if outside is killing you, and in here, you are already dead, and what is the point in caring for a corpse.” “What is the point, indeed.” Mia smiled. It was the first Will had seen her smile. “I would like to go outside then, even with the radiation so bad and so noticeable.” So, Will took her outside. He moved to hold the umbrella above her head, but when Mia stared at him, he just gripped it in his hand and let her crouch in the grass of the garden as the ashes chorded into her hair. It was the first time he noticed that you could see his garden from the window of Robby’s house, and he wondered how often Catherine stood there. “Thank you for taking me outside,” Mia said, and even with the radiation so bad, and the water so great in her lungs, she was happy, because no longer was she a petunia growing while everything else died around her. For once she was very alive.