Paul

The cabin was silent but for the soft crackling of embers in the hearth, and those glowing cinders gave scant light to the dark space as Daniel entered from the evening snowfall. He cleared his throat and wiped his cracked lips and long beard with a cloth that was once white. He shut the door behind him and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily. Another wave of nausea came and he grabbed the doorknob to exit again, but the spell subsided. He let out a groan and felt the sweat on his forehead, the beads chilling him further. He had been retching in the snow for the last four hours. He knew the squirrel meat was a risk when he ate it. The carcass could have been out for weeks, and temperatures had been unseasonably warm. But game had become scarce, and his stores were decreasing faster than in years prior.

           He drank water from the basin, hopeful he would keep it down this time, and added more wood to the hearth. As the flames sputtered back to life, they illuminated the den. A patched armchair sat on a small sisal rug in front of the fire. Next to it, a basket of heavy wool blankets. A writing desk abutted the opposite wall next to the doorway to a small kitchen. He had removed all the appliances from it years before, rendered inert, and used the space for cleaning game and fish. He did his cooking at the hearth. Books were stacked against the chair and in all corners of the cabin. All corners but one. In that corner, adjacent to the fire, was Paul. His dented metal body was propped upright, lifeless, the eyes shut with aluminum lids. Daniel looked down at his friend, and a different ache grew inside him.

           “I think we’ll talk tonight,” he whispered to the dormant being, and then was seized by a cramp in his stomach. “That fucking squirrel.” He slouched in the chair and laboriously removed his boots. He looked at his wet tattered socks, darned many times, the fabric so thin it was translucent. All his socks were in such a state. He would need to scavenge for more soon, or make his own, which he was dreadful at. The shops in the nearest town, Briar Brook, had been stripped clean long ago, but he had some luck in Fairmont County just a few miles north last time he was out. There were warehouses there that seemingly few others had discovered. He removed the socks and placed them on the hearthstone to dry. He knew he should change out of the rest of his clothes, soaked and muddy with hints of sick. But he barely had the energy.

           He leaned back and thought of his mother for the first time in weeks. Was it weeks? Maybe months. He thought little about the time before the Crisis, now almost fourteen years past. Whenever memories of his previous life did surface, they surprised and frightened him, haunting ghosts. Even Paul there in the corner, who Daniel had assembled himself and known for decades, was divorced from the before-time in his mind. But now a cemetery of memories came, moments and families and friends, perhaps because Daniel hadn’t been sick like this since he was a young man. He had been visiting his parents’ home on holiday and caught a vicious bug that laid him out for three days. The thought of it made Daniel queasy again and he breathed deeply until the feeling passed. But the images of his mother and childhood home remained, and he found himself weeping. He didn’t know why, it was another surprise, but there they were, the tears.

           The cry was somewhat cathartic, but did little to settle his insides. He dried his eyes and rose from the chair and moved to Paul. He sat in front of him and inspected the android as he did every time before he activated him. His legs and pelvis were no longer attached, removed in an effort to conserve energy, so his torso sat naked on the rough wooden floorboards. Daniel tested Paul’s joints, bending his arms and neck, the metal limbs moving smoothly, the gears in working order. Satisfied, he reached around back to the base of Paul’s skull and flicked the switch on.

           Paul’s eyelids slid open and a soft yellow light emanated from the sockets. His head jerked several times before lifting. The small green lightbulb on his right chest-plate flickered on, and then continued to flicker. Daniel’s heart sank. The flickering started the previous time he had activated Paul, but Daniel hoped it was merely a glitch. He knew that the pulsing green light meant Paul’s battery was dangerously low. Another hour or two at most. A series of harsh noises came from Paul’s mouth, as his language software booted. His motor functions soon kicked in as well and he looked at Daniel.

           “Hi Danny,” Paul said in such a human voice that, with eyes closed, you could not distinguish it from a living person.  

           “Hi Paul,” Daniel said softly.

           “You don’t look well. Are you okay?”

           “No, I got a bit of food poisoning.”

           “I’m sorry, Danny. I wish I could do something for you.”

           “I know, Paul. Thank you.”

           “How long has it been since I was last activated?” Paul looked around the fire-lit room to notice any changes in his surroundings. But there were none.

           “About four months.”

           “Much longer than last time.”

           “Yes, I’m sorry about that. I just…I couldn’t find a new battery for you.” Daniel hung his head. He had looked for a new energy source many times for Paul. He’d traveled miles in search of it. But Paul was such an old model, and most of the androids fled along with the humans when the Crisis occurred, and took their power with them. There was nothing left.

           Paul looked down at the flickering light on his chest. “I see. It’s okay Danny. I know you tried. I’m just happy to have the time with you that I do. We’ll just talk shorter from now on.”

           “That’s what I thought too.” Daniel smiled. “I’ve been thinking about my mom tonight.”

           “Oh, really?” Paul cocked his head to the left, as he always did when reacting to something unexpected. “You don’t really talk about her. Or anything from back then.”

           “I know. I’ve learned not to think about it. But, I don’t know. Something about getting sick. It made me want to go back there, back home.” Daniel felt the tears welling again. “I haven’t felt this alone in a long time.”  

           Paul placed his hand on Daniel’s arm. “I understand. It’s okay, Danny. I’m here for you. You know that.”

           “I know, thank you Paul.” Daniel laughed and wiped his eyes. “Oh man, I feel horrible. That fucking squirrel.”

           “The squirrel is what poisoned you?”

           “Yeah,” Daniel chuckled, “the squirrel poisoned me.”

           “Do you want me to sing you one of your songs?” Another series of sounds came from Paul’s mouth as the song files Daniel had loaded into Paul’s hard-drive booted up.

           “Thank you, but no.” Daniel couldn’t place what he wanted, his thoughts a mess from the retching and the cold and all the time passed. He sat silently for a minute.

           “If you don’t feel like talking, maybe you should shut me down to conserve power?” Paul’s tone was both pleading and sympathetic.

           “No…No.” Daniel searched his mind desperately, and it struck him then and he grinned widely. “Wait, yes, I just need one thing. It won’t take long.”

           “Of course. Whatever you want.” Paul was pleased with Daniel’s enthusiasm. Daniel lit a candle and went through the kitchen to his bedroom where more stacks of books lined the walls. All books he had read many times, all fiction, all fantasy, all disconnected from the world, nothing to remind him of the past, nothing to imagine for the future. Just escapist dreams to sink into on the long days and nights between conversations with Paul.

           In those stacks he found the novel he sought, one he knew well. He had picked it up accidentally while raiding a bookstore some months back. When he realized what it was, it resurfaced those haunted memories, but he couldn’t bring himself to burn it in the hearth. So he buried it out of sight, until now.

           “Here Paul,” Daniel said as he brought the book back to the den. “Can you please read this?”

           Paul took the book and smiled, “Blue Hawk from the Magical Moors. I haven’t seen this in years. Your mother used to read it to you when you were a child.”

           “I know. And I’m…well I just need to hear a little of it now.” Daniel kneeled in front of Paul, a deep exhaustion gripping him. But his brain whirled and his body ached.

           “I’ll read it to you, Danny.” Paul reached and placed a hand on Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel was always moved by Paul’s pure kindness, and often forgot he had programmed the personality himself. He got to his feet and lifted Paul and placed him on the armchair.

           “The storyteller sits in the chair,” he said and took a blanket from the basket. He folded it under him and stationed himself cross-legged close to the hearth. “And the listener sits on the floor.”

           Paul shimmied on the thin cushion, as if making himself comfortable in the chair, a first for him. “Thank you Danny. Shall I begin reading?”

           “Just read the first chapter. It’s short. It’ll only take a couple minutes, and then I’ll shut you down.”

           “Okay, here we go,” Paul opened to the first page and began. “It is said that on the Magical Moors of the High Kingdom, no man nor beast may rise above his station. But those who wrote such things never met young Mistreen, who would grow to be the one called Blue Hawk the Magnificent….” Paul read the whole of the first chapter in a lively sing-song voice. When he finished he looked to Daniel. “Shall I continue, Danny?”

           Daniel was now lying sideways on the blanket, his head propped up by his arm, a deep calm in his face and body. “Yes, please,” he whispered, his eyes flickering. Paul nodded, content, and flipped to the second chapter.

Daniel woke before the first light. His mouth was dry and foul, and he immediately rose and went to the water basin. He drank his fill and felt immeasurably better than he had the night before, the sickness had passed. He exhaled, relieved, and turned to the hearth, again reduced to embers.

           By the dim glow, Paul sat in the chair still, his head titled to the right, the lids of his eyes open, but no light emanating from the sockets, the green bulb on his chest extinguished. He cradled the book in his hands, open to chapter six.

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