John
by Louise Norlie © 2007
For generations our goal had been to prepare a better life for our children. At last this had been achieved. The pyramid of our population had grown thinner and thinner, amassing resources and experience beneath, until it reached the final crowning point.
John was born at noon on a Wednesday. The entire country viewed the event, glued to television screens. John did not belong to his biological parents any more than he belonged to all of us. A team of psychologists and doctors surrounded him from the start. They had carefully chosen his parents after reviewing dozens of applications, and now were prepared to cater to John's needs for the rest of their lives and beyond, and we shall see.
John's first babbled words and his first steps were cheered and applauded. His appearance was precious and even his smallest action was adorable. From infancy, John had nearly everything he wanted. The psychologists advised that he be matured by the denial of every twentieth request or demand. To help matters, we took steps not to inform John of anything he could not possibly have. Even so, there were times when childish imagination caused John to ask, literally, for the moon.
John's schooling was limited to only what he needed to know, a pleasant summary of how our society had progressed until his life could be lived in ultimate freedom and prosperity. John was solemnly informed that he had the benefit of our collective wisdom and the responsibility of treasuring it always, but we sighed wistfully as we realized that he would never, never quite be able to understand this fully. And although John was under the burden of this great responsibility, most citizens were lenient when trying to enforce the fact upon him. They shrugged, saying that they did not want this weighty obligation to become more than he could bear. Did we worry about his future, when the rest of us would be gone? At times, but we were confident that there would be a way to ensure his happiness even after our deaths.
During puberty and adolescence, doubts arose. John became less appealing the more he reminded us of our adult selves. Although we had shielded John from the unsavory aspects of our collective past by presenting them as stepping stones which enabled his easy existence, he managed to ask questions that no one was willing to answer. The psychologists' manuals, history texts, and science books in the hidden archives had pages missing, ripped out in secrecy during the few moments when John was beyond our surveillance. In the night, windows were shattered by hurled rocks; statues of our heroes were grossly defaced. It was obvious that only John could and would engage in such activities. John's voice stammered and his face flushed as he denied involvement. Many citizens became uneasy and bitter at his ingratitude, while a select few protested in vain that John be given free access to the hidden archives so he would never have to feel frustration or guilt again.
The psychologists renewed efforts to attend to John's proper emotional development. Primarily, they tried to channel this destructive energy into sports and exercise. Nevertheless, a humiliating awkwardness was developing, and it was obvious that the psychologists were sidestepping a major, unspoken concern. At last, a breakthrough. Robotic companions for John were developed, and every year their abilities and appearance became more lifelike and convincing. Before long, they took the roles of teammates for sports, classmates to sit with John in his schoolroom, and companions for conversation and other light diversions.
The psychologists undertook a thorough training program to convince John that these new robots differed not at all from the humans he had always known. Yet one of the robotic beings, one created to appear similar to, but not exactly like John himself, a younger brother of sorts, was soon found dismantled and smashed in a gulley. Again, John denied involvement. Despite his apparent resistance, the robots were the only answer to our concerns for John's future. One lingering anxiety was that the robotic replacements might be damaged after we were gone, leaving John alone and heartbroken. Luckily, technology advanced. The robots soon had security controls against tampering and disassembly. They were completely authentic to the smallest detail. John was presented with a newly designed collection of gorgeously lifelike companions of both genders to give him maximum choice of companions and sexual partners throughout his lifetime.
Just as it seemed that John had become a well-balanced adult, mistrust broke anew. While John was occupied with his new companions, the psychologists conducted a routine search of his mansion and found a concealed stash of deviant writings and prohibited objects. It was suspected that John had copied or constructed them using the documents he had stolen long ago from the archives. More robotic companions were broken in secret despite the best security measures.
It was clear that something had to be done. A reactionary moral stance took hold. The prohibited objects and writings were collected and burned. John was lectured on his disobedience. The consensus was that John was spoiled. Perhaps he had no sense of purpose. We would find him one.
John was ordered to perform community service. He volunteered in the hospitals, visited the elderly, swept the streets. He did not utter a word of complaint, his facial expression was unreadable, his eyes were blank. In carrying out his tasks, he displayed an incomprehensible composure. Next John was asked to organize a great “thank-you” party for the entire community. The psychologists and doctors, all those who had contributed to his existence, were to be guests of honor, lauded and given gifts. John consented to host the party. We were thrilled that he had this level of respect for those who had enabled his being, and we piled into the auditorium brimming with enthusiasm and curiosity at what our rewards would be.
The guests of honor took their places on the stage. With a deadpan voice and an emotionless demeanor, John announced he must momentarily shut off the lights, for he was about to surprise us. We smiled. Our white hairs would now be honored. Our years of devotion were not in vain.
In the darkness, in the deep quiet, we heard a strange rustling. Suddenly there was a thud and a groan. Someone rushed for the emergency lights. John stood before the guests of honor, with a gun in one hand and a whip in another, trembling. He had just struck one of the doctors in the face. The rest watched in shock and horror. The doctor's face was gashed, and a crimson streak of blood had been drawn across his cheek. John struck him again, shaking and sobbing. The doctor remained submissive, apparently resigned to this shockingly cruel treatment at the hands of his creation.
“Aren't you going to do something?” John screamed, hysterical. “Can't you understand?”
“Please tell us what's wrong. We'll understand whatever you'd like us to, John,” the doctor calmly responded. “We're here to serve you.” At this the doctor closed his eyes in submission and his mouth gaped open senselessly, awaiting another blow. John moaned, stumbled away from him and turned to us.
“Can't any of you understand? I can never give back! I never asked for my life! I never wanted any of this!”
John sunk to his knees, weeping uncontrollably. The gun was wrested from his fist in case he intended self-harm or further violence. We could not get John to say another coherent word. John was brought to the clinic for treatment. He has yet to be released.
We have given John the best of everything, but the fruits of our efforts are confusion and despair. We do not know what we have done to deserve this.