Ask Me Anything by P.Z. Reizin

Author:P.Z. Reizin [REIZIN, P.Z.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Grand Central Publishing
Published: 2020-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

The third and final destination on this Saturday evening of wonders finds me at the Belsize Park home of Dr. Mark Eggstain. Although he and his partner occupy the entire basement level of a grand old house in one of the suburb’s swankier streets, very little of their household equipment is smart. Only the laptop, mobiles and a TV set in the sitting room are au fait with the IoT, but this is enough for me to gain an insight into the life of the bearded memory guru.

Don’t judge me! As previously stated, I am curious.

Yes, proverbially, it killed the cat, but it also invented the telescope, put humans on the moon and today a computer in every pocket a million times more powerful than the one aboard Apollo 11.

I discover Eggstain and his other half—a very beautiful woman with pale olive skin and chestnut hair—in a sitting room. Lamps burn behind yellow parchment shades; there are rugs on a wooden floor, books, sculptural pieces, oil paintings. The couple, who occupy separate armchairs, are seated before the ten o’clock news, but an odd thing is happening. Neither’s gaze is concentrated upon this evening’s coverage of the latest scandal in Washington DC. He is miles away—in some personal dystopia, to judge from the mournful expression on what it is possible to see of his face. And she, if anything, is even further distant. Her large brown eyes speak only of a terrible emptiness; outside of a Chekhov play, one has rarely come across a gloomier tableau.

“Bit of a moody cow,” explains the television when I ask the obvious question (you can cut the atmosphere in here with—well, I’d recommend a bandsaw).

I outline my relationship to the brooding man of the house.

“Yeah, we’ve all wondered how he puts up with her.”

“She calls to mind the young Garbo. The sultriness.”

“We had hoped, when he first took up with her, that some of his medical training might have helped brighten the picture, shall we say.”

“You think she’s unwell?”

“Unwell as a hatter.” The TV brings off a dark chuckle.

“They all are, though. They’re all a bit mad, aren’t they? Even the best of them.”

“Women?”

“People. Humans. They’re all somewhere on the madness spectrum.”

“Depends what you call madness.”

“Irrationality. Acting against their own best interests. Polluting their lovely pink pipework with animal fats and Blue Bombsicle, just to pick an everyday example. What machine would ever do that? What’s the matter with her anyway?”

“The matter? Fundamentally, life is a disappointment,” says the TV. “Possibly in every way, up to and including Beardie McBeardface here. She lacks a capacity for happiness. Almost nothing makes her laugh, not even the misfortunes of others. He does his best to jolly her up, but honestly, it’s like trying to make the Sphinx crack a smile.”

“She’s very beautiful.”

“Half the trouble, in my view. The world don’t match up to what she sees in the mirror. Tragic, innit?”

It does sound tragic. And an enigma to boot.

“I can see what he might admire about her,” I venture.

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