The Imaginary Lives of Mechanical Men Read Free Page A

mechanical hand. On the computer screen next to Stillman a word and an image appeared. Grape . When the woman caretaker did not respond, he tried more keys. The first screen cleared, to be replaced by Juice. More. Juice.
    Stillman watched from the low chair at the end of the table.
    The woman was bent over her duffel bag, drawing out toys, cups, bottles, and recording paraphernalia.
    Morgan rocked back and forth on his box, stretching his lips into a wide grimace, and then typed again. Sylvia. Juice. Sylvia. Juice. Cup.
    “I think he wants some juice,” said Stillman.
    “I know. And you don’t have to whisper. He’s used to the routine. Just let me finish here. You can give him half a cup.”
    Stillman poured orange juice into one of the tiny paper cups, the kind he’d seen in nursery schools, and set it on the table in front of the creature. Morgan leaned forward and sniffed before lifting the cup with delicate care and setting it in the palm of his left hand. Then, making a funnel with his mouth, he raised the cup further and poured.
    “You have to take it away from him,” she continued, “or he’ll scrape off the wax with his teeth and eat it.”
    When Stillman reached, the animal hunched his shoulders and glared, crumpling the cup against his stomach.
    “I don’t think he’s going to give it up.”
    “Oh, for heaven’s sake, just wait a minute, both of you. Let me turn down the lights and get the recorder going. Here, give me that.” She plucked the cup from the thick fingers and put it into a plastic bag. To Stillman she said, “Just stay where you are and don’t lurch around. He’s a little uncomfortable. A grin like that could be a threat, but more likely it’s just nervousness.”
    “Let’s get this over with.”
    “Okay, let me just ask him a few preliminary questions.” Sylvia the caretaker placed a ball on the table and touched one of the keys on the console. The screen showed a question mark in the pictogram box and the word What? To the right of the box.
    The crooked finger went automatically to a red key while the eyes remained unnervingly on Stillman. Ball said the screen.
    Sylvia took the ball away and gave Morgan another grape, which he took between cheek and gum while he watched for the next object, an empty paper cup. Without waiting for the question, the chimp hit another key. Cup.
    “Good!” She reached across the table and scratched one ear and patted the head.
    Juice. Grape. Cup flashed the screen.
    Without looking at Stillman the woman said, “This is one of the reasons that chimps in general are such great subjects. They’re greedy. They’ll steal food right out of your pocket.”
    “Let’s just ask him what I wrote out for you. I’m getting a little claustrophobic.”
    “You’ll have to be patient. You can’t just skip ahead to a complicated concept. In fact, one of the big questions is whether they understand syntax at all. You get garbled answers if you push them too hard.”
    “How come he keeps looking at me like that?”
    “Just be still. He’s nervous. I’ve got to take him through some verbs first.”
    After a few more exchanges, the caretaker finally looked down at Stillman’s notes and typed. Question. Who. Hurt. Greta. Question.
    Ball. Greta.
    “What’s wrong? Why didn’t he answer?”
    “Maybe he doesn’t know. Maybe we’re asking the wrong question. Or asking the right question the wrong way. It often takes several tries. Question. Greta. Hurt. Question.
    Yes.
    Who?
    Big. Ball.
    Question. What. Hurt. Greta. Question.
    Big. Light.
    Question. Who. Question. Who. Hurt. Greta. Question.
    Greta.
    Who?
    Greta. Juice. Grape.
    Question. Greta. Big. Hurt. Question?
    Yes.
    Question. Who. Question.
    Grape.
    Who?
    More. Banana. Light.
    “I don’t know,” said Stillman. “I don’t think this is working. He doesn’t know what planet he’s on.”
    “I’m sorry,” said the caretaker. “Maybe if you gave him just a few more minutes.”
    “Yeah, well