Bewilderment

-

“OKAY,” SAYS THE MAN I NO LONGER HATE. “Relax and hold still. Watch the dot in the middle of the screen. Now let the dot move to the right.”

I don’t know how. He says it’s the easiest thing in the world. Wait until it starts to move itself. Then stay in that state of mind.

He’s risking a lot for me, breaking the law. We’ll all be breaking it, soon enough. But Martin is more than merely criminal. He’s spending a budget that he doesn’t have, powering these machines with energy that will soon be hard to come by at any price. He runs the scanner himself, having laid off all his staff. Like so many others, his lab is folding.

I lie in the tube and tune myself to a print of Robbie. One that they recorded last August, when he was at his best. Just being in this space helps me breathe. I learn to move the dot, to grow it and shrink it and change its color. Two hours fly by. Currier says, “Would you like to come again tomorrow?”

I’m not sure why he’s helping me. It’s more than pity. Like lots of scientists, he’s a sucker for redemption. And for some reason, he’s deeply invested in my progress. It would take much more advanced brain science than his to explain that one. It’s a question for astrobiology, in fact. Goldilocks planets can turn rain and lava and a little energy into agency and will. Natural selection can prune selfishness into its opposite.

I come the next day, and the day after that. I learn to raise and lower the pitch of the clarinet, to slow it down and speed it up and turn it into a violin, simply by letting my feelings match his. The feedback guides me, and all the while, my brain learns how to resemble what it loves.