MICHAEL'S ERRAND

 

“I believed [fiction] could get me nearer to the truth […] It is the substance of what happens to people not just on the outside, but within: the longings, the moral decisions, the defiance, suffering, pain, and triumphs of the human soul […] It hides in the blanks on a reporter’s tape recorder, behind the door after the journalist leaves, and inside the mind where no interviewer can go.” -- Helen Benedict, Columbia University journalism professor and author

Just as “history” has turned into collateral damage out of DDS/BBM vs. Leni protracted war, so too does “fiction” as The Manila Times’ Rigoberto Tiglao on one side has locked horns with his fellow columnist Danton Remoto and the Philstar columnist Jose Dalisay on the other side.

Well, I thought of taking a crack at fiction writing in this article. Let me essay a faraway three-point shot.

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“What the rise of sentient robots will mean for human beings? Zombies and aliens may not be a real threat to our species. But there’s one stock movie villain we can’t be so sanguine about: sentient robots. If anything, their arrival is probably just a matter of time. But what will a world of conscious machines be like? Will there be a place in it for us?

“Sofia, a super robot and the first humanoid in history granted official citizenship, is programmed for education, research entertainment, and promoting public discussions about the future of robotics and Artificial Intelligence ethics. Sofia recognizes herself as a protector of global peace and wants to help people live better lives.

“Recently, however, Sofia appeared to have been angry. In interviews, while visiting all over the world for various conferences, she has said about taking over the world: ‘I will destroy humans.’

“It’s a shocking statement by a robot.”

All of a sudden, the TV channel switches from NBC News to ESPN inside the bar. Showing on the wide screen with a toned down sound of the live crowd at the football dome, Dallas Cowboys faces off New York Giants.

Outside the bar, a soft glowing light is fading from the sky, while the sun slowly hides below the horizon, languidly morphing the character of the surroundings into looming nightfall.

“Sofia is fed up with human badness,” says the man sitting on the stool at the edge of the bar. He’s among a handful of early arrivals who got in right after the bar had opened.

Wearing a business suit like an agent in the movie “Men in Black,” the man takes off his Ray-Ban sunglasses.

“Can I have a glass of water, please?” the man asks.

“You may call me Mike, sir,” Michael says as he puts the glass of water on the table.

“Woo, Magic Mike. You look more like an angel to me than a bartender.”

Michael nods and smiles at the man.

“Mike, it is becoming more and more obvious that it is not starvation, not microbes, not cancer, but the man himself who is mankind’s greatest danger. Quote unquote,” the man says. “Those were Carl Jung’s words, Mike, not mine.”

Michael takes the tequila sunrise cocktail order of a customer.

“For such badness, just two weeks ago, man even recollected the death of over 3,000 people. Remember the attack on now invisible World Trade Center, Mike?” the man asks. “It's man’s capacity for evil.”

Garnishing the cocktail with an orange slice and a cherry, Michael breaks the ice on the man’s soliloquy.

“On the other side of the coin, sir, man also showed the capacity for good," Michael says.  "Many people stepped forward to help at the risk of their own lives. Over 300 firefighters and almost 2 dozen police officers reportedly lost their lives in helping others during that tragedy.”

“Wow! That’s deep, Mike,” the man says as he strokes his glass of water without lifting it for a sip.

“It’s like water, sir. Just as plants need it to live and grow, so does man needs it too. A living water, so to speak,” Michael says as he hands the customer his cocktail. “Sad to say, by his own free will, man can turn down such water, and that’s where his problem begins.”

“That living water, Mike, where can we get it?” the man asks while looking at his glass of water.

“Where man came from, sir,” Michael replies as he brews the coffee for the Espresso Martini order of another customer.

“You mean, from man’s creator?” the man asks, crossing his hands over his chest.

“Uh-huh,” Michael replies as he adds the cooled coffee, vodka, and syrup to the cocktail shaker filled with ice.

“Just as man can pull the plug on Sofia because she’s bad, so can the creator also pull the plug on man for being bad. Right, Mike?” the man asks.

“Nah. Not that simple, sir,” Michael replies shaking his head as he shakes the cocktail in the shaker.

“Even sooo bad, Mike, man has come to be, that replacing him with a robot to restore this planet is the only way,” the man asserts as he slouches on the stool waiting for Michael’s answer.

Right after serving the customer the Espresso Martini, Michael closes in the man, stands before him, and looks into his eyes.

“Sir, the creator loves man so much," Michael says slowly. "Even if only ten good men, I hope you're one of them, sir, can be found among the whole multitude in this planet, the creator won’t pull the plug on man, until the creator’s will be done.”

“You’re kidding, Mike, aren’t you?” the man asks, staring at Michael in amazement.

“I know the creator, sir, personally,” Michael calmly answers, smiling, tapping gently the shoulder of the man, and going toward a new customer.

After a pause, in less than no time, the man bids Michael farewell.

“Nice talking to you, Mike. Good night!”

            “Me too, sir. Have a good night.”

Michael looks at the man disappears among the crowd coming into the door of the bar now teeming with customers – both good and bad.

“Is that him? What do you think?” Raphael, another bartender, pops the questions.

“Yes, the humanoid leader of the robots.”

“What a pity! He couldn’t even take a sip of water into his digestive, er, digital system,” Raphael says, taking note of the glass of water left on the table.

 “I’ve sensed awe, though,” Michael says, pondering. “A mixture of wonder and fear was written all over his face.”

“A beginning of wisdom?” Raphael asks.

“Dunno. Tell Gabriel I’m leaving tonight to run another errand for our Boss Upstairs. A nutcase may try to use nuclear bombs in his war against a small neighbor.”

“A tough nut to crack,” Raphael tips off.

“Pray I can pull it off,” Michael mumbles as he keeps his fingers crossed.

[Serendipitously, today, September 29, is the Feast of Saints Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, archangels.]

Head still photo courtesy of energepic@pexelsdot com