Long ago, when I was a kid, I read “Professor Dowell’s Head”.
Could I ever think that I’d suffer the same fate? That I would be questioning myself and the others: where are my legs? My arms? Where’s my body?
I woke up in a hospital ward, and not in bed but on a table by the window. It took me a while to realize that the only thing left of me was, well, my head. Last thing I remembered was the frontal crash, the moment I’d smashed into the oncoming vehicle.
The first person I saw was my medical doctor looking at me with sympathy. Thanks to his efforts, I thought bitterly, closing my eyes. The way he emphasized the word ‘efforts’. What counted most was my money…
You bet! He really had a motivation to fight for my life – he’d never even dreamed of a payroll like that before.
If I wanted to live I would have praised myself for such generosity, but now I was cursing myself. So this was what I needed my money for in the long run – to prolong my misery.
When I realized the hopelessness of my position, I started blaming the doctor. Why had he fought for my life?
“Why should I live now? Why?”
He kept quiet contritely.
I’m a multi millionaire. But what do I need my money for now? I wondered with my eyes closed, once the indirect causer of my misery had withdrawn. The worst part was that I hadn’t used those millions when I still had my arms and legs. What else could I do? I just had no time for it. Day and night, I’d sit at my laptop, literally hypnotized by how easily the money would flow to me. I didn’t even go to the bank – the money would enroll on my accounts via electronic pay systems, which I’d also use to make my purchases.
The world was so rich and variegated. I could have travelled the world, stayed at five-star hotels, could have felt the breathe of the ocean, the whisper of the wind in Bali or Sumatra, the scorching sun of the Sahara… I never got to see the pyramids although I could easily afford a private tour, without the restless crowds of tourists… What’s there to say? At thirty-eight, I don’t even have an heir to whom I could leave my now useless fortune.
Intoxicated by how meteorically I’d turned from a random engineer into a rich guy, I was marveling at my growing bank account, unfailingly following the principle “If you can double the money – double it”. No trips or vacations for me. A week of absence could cause a loss of as much as twenty thousand dollars! Not just a couple thousand that the trip would cost.
I don’t even have anyone I could sign off my funds to… The relatives who’d only remember me at times when they needed money? They’d be happy if I passed away. Me too.
After several months of fruitless pleadings to turn off the life-support system of my head, I pretended that I’d given up. I’m going to have to put up with it until I’m back home. I’ll think of something there. They cannot always keep tabs on me, can they?
Those were the days when I thought about what we mean by ‘me’ for the first time. We simply and habitually say ‘my hands’, ‘my legs’, ‘my head’. But now, my whole ‘me’ is just my head, even my heart had been replaced by a pump. But my self-perception hasn’t changed. Minus the bleak mood caused by my drama, of course…
Finally, I was released. I went home accompanied by a complete escort: paramedics, security, and my closest associates. It looked like this: my head like a memorial to myself, was set on top of a transparent custom-made cube, inside of which you could see some clear tubes. As its constructor had exultantly explained, my vital activity would be front and center, and any error would be easy to notice and to eliminate.
You’ve outdone yourself, I thought as I listened to his report on how great he’d done this job and how I (the head) would feel happy and comfortable. I was secretly dreaming of an error. But I had already realized that I had no allies. It looks like everyone, definitely everyone, is obsessed by the idea to keep me going. Try being me, I though caustically. Especially at night, when the cross-section of my neck starts to nag and I wouldn’t sleep even if I could.
They were transporting me home, and I was making plans. I’ll indeed manage to slide off the sophisticated cube. I’ll have to win over one of the attendants or paramedics to help me – there’s a whole bunch of them clustered around me now. It’s all about the pay.”
I got so tired during the ride that I dozed off immediately. When I woke up, I saw a doctor keeping a close watch on my cube-memorial.
“Would you like me to read something to you?” he offered.
Well, aren’t there too many idiots in this world…He is going to read to me? What about, I wonder. Yet he’s not an idiot, he’s a normal human being. It’s just a common human misconception. No one, practically no one is capable of putting himself in anybody’s shoes. For that matter, no one would want to be in my shoes. Yet still, I could instinctively feel that despite my pitiful state, my millions had a hypnotizing effect on the people around me.
“No, thanks,” I bit off angrily.
Then he offered to power up my laptop in case I wanted to check how things were going.
What things? What for? I rebelled mentally.
But the doctor had already turned it on and scooted my ‘monument’ towards the desk. Once I set my eyes on the monitor, something happened to me. Suddenly, I completely forgot that now I was a body-less creature, and felt like I was, well, my normal self again.
I filled in my attendant (they’d offered me a female nurse in the first place, not realizing how humiliating it would be for me) on how to open up the files and browse the websites that I needed.
All the while that my assistant’s hand guided the mouse across the desk under my orders, I didn’t flash back to my misery. During my absence, the business was running in an off hand way: Nothing but losses. Off hand… My staff didn’t know all the trade secrets of my profit making.
I could feel that the attendant was expecting something from me. I knew what he wanted. So what? Should I disclose all my secrets and then die? Why would I even care now? I asked myself.
The money I had was enough to live two lives if I wanted to lead a wretched existence. After all, does a head need much? Anyhow, my spending had gone up since the cube was the ‘costliest’ affair I’d ever afforded. Yet there are amounts that are not that easy to spend. Except perhaps, when buying real estate, including skyscrapers.
Before I died, I wanted and, at the same time didn’t want to leave a ‘how-to manual’ on running my firm, so that the lucky inheritors (my remote family who’d never written me a single letter) wouldn’t mess up anything and wind up broke. Then again, look at me, so smart that I’d never gotten around to use the profits I’d been scooping up. However, I’ve always been radically against giving someone money for nothing. I’m convinced that if a person doesn’t earn money on his own, no matter how much money you give him; he’d blow it off. It’s laid in his nature although he might not realize it. That’s what I’ve always thought. There were times, of course, when I helped my family. But that was before I’d become so rich. Later on, I figured that I shouldn’t expect them to be grateful. People are, without exception, infected by the opinion that if you’re rich then you owe them.
So now I was willing to part with my assets without regret.
Nonetheless, I suddenly realized that despite my pitiful state, I was the one holding all the aces (even if I didn’t have hands), not them. Once I showed my cards – I’d be in a subordinate position.
That’s weird. I didn’t want to live, I no longer needed my money, but such perspectives seemed even more terrifying than death.
I had to think everything through. I told the doctor that I was tired and asked him to turn off the laptop, and closed my eyes.
For the first time since the car crash, I wasn’t thinking of the possible ways to commit a suicide, but how to straighten out my teetering financial status (which, by the way, could keep ‘teetering’ for a rather long time), without showing my cards to my aids.
Other than that, I was somewhat confused. I didn’t expect I’d be so pissed by the way my business was handled without me around. Goofballs, I thought bitterly. Serves you right, though. Your hands and legs are fine, and you…
After a bad dream I’d had, I suddenly remembered about touch-free operated computers. Once I’d read somewhere that there was a way to move the cursor with the eyes. A built-in photo element received the micro moves of an eye pupil.
I asked my assistants to get me that computer when I suddenly realized that I was, well, planning to move on.
The new computer arrived the following week. If you’re going to die, than why did you buy it? I asked myself. It means you’re going to live. You want to live.
The new computer was indeed fantastic. Its add-on unit allowed entering the text by force of the voice. “You can go now,” I said after a brief conference meeting with my executives.
I think some of them caught the irony in my raspy voice. I could bet, almost all of them were dreaming of laying hands on my business.
Soon, I was into my customary daily round. Back in the day, I’d wake up early, take a shower and, grabbing a coffee, sit at my laptop, eager to find out which shares had gone up or down and what was new at the currency market.
Now I was doing the same things, except that my face was being mopped with a wet wipe by my doctor, my attendant. In a while, I even had a coffee; and even though it instantly tumbled out of the tube standing for my food pipe, I still enjoyed its taste and its smell like I’d done back in the day.
At first, the doctors allowed me (ha! allowed me) to work only two hours a day but then, I convinced them to increase my work time, alluding to the meltdown at my firm and threatening them that I’d cut down their allowances.
In a couple weeks, despite the nagging pain in my neck cross-section area, I was spending up to six hours at my computer. Back in the day, it had used to be ten to twelve hours but for the time being, I wouldn’t have handled it.
By that time, I’d dismissed the idea of bribing the doctor to turn off my life-support system. It suddenly dawned on me: What had particularly changed? None but my neck hurts, sometimes to the point of insanity. Otherwise…I’d surf the web just like I did before the accident, I’d send and receive email, and I’d go to sleep at night, absolutely spent. Sometimes brainwork is more exhausting than physical labor.
Only two things had changed. Firstly, my associates and my partners were regarding me as a disabled person. Sympathetically. Of course, they were being subtle about it but… Secondly, even the brief encounters with women (I’d never had time for more) were now impossible.
It plagued me. The second part did considerably less, because, evidently, my body (does the head count for a body?) no longer received the hormones urging me to ditch work and go fishing. But I did feel their latent disdain at every conference, which we habitually held every day, sometimes twice a day: in the morning and in the evening.
I was richer than all of them combined, I was their boss, and they were seeing me as a pathetic thing!
Six months later, the business was making progress, I’d recovered my health, and the pain in my neck was not that killing anymore. Which was when I gathered a fateful conference meeting and told my partners and the company’s executives that the only employees who’d work for me from now on would be the ones who’d be able to take the same step as me. What exactly did I mean by that ‘step’? Perplexedly inquired one of my executives, my right-hand man.
“Working at the same computer as me and having the courage to abandon your arms and legs.”
“You mean, not using them?” someone asked timidly through the silence.
“No. Not having them. You have two weeks to make your decisions,” my raspy voice cut through the ominous silence. “Those of you who are not willing to become my followers are welcome to turn in their resignations. The others will get a significant raise, which will be doubled later. I’ll pay all the medical expenses. Everyone can go no.”
The associates wordlessly withdrew, and I braced myself for the aftereffect. They wouldn’t be able to send me to an asylum as I had proactively classified the key secrets of my business. They wouldn’t want to resign, either – they’d never get paid that much anywhere else.
Two days later, a delegation of the defeated flag-bearers arrived at my door. They looked so pathetic! I wondered where did their arrogance go.
“We understand you’ve been suffering,” one of them led in.
“Suffering?” I repeated joyfully. “How?”
They stared at each other perplexedly.
“You’re wrong,” I continued, “I’ve never worked with so much enthusiasm and devotion! And nothing, absolutely nothing’s changed in my life! You spend ten hours a day at your laptops, no? And as for the ‘small parts’–” I winked at them playfully, “– which I got rid of, well, the Internet makes it up for them. And sex?” I motioned with my eyes towards a helmet, which my attendant would cap on me once in a while. Virtual sex is available for everyone, and, having high incomes, you’d be able to afford expensive porn sites and pay with virtual money. Your life, big picture, won’t change, however you’ll become much richer. Each of you will have a luxury home in my neighborhood. You’ll save enough money to afford a younger clone later on and transfer your brain into his body. Anyhow, it’s a far cry from now. We never know what the laws would be at the time. So the clone is not guaranteed. As for the rest, it will all be settled in the contract. Then again, I’m not agitating you. You are grown up enough to make the right choice. Take this week to make up your mind. And not a single day more.
And what would you think? That’s right, the majority of my staff turned in their resignations. Yet twenty people agreed to a surgery.
***
Today, our town of Intellectual Cubes is crowded with tourists. We make good money on it. Twice a week, the rubbernecks are allowed to drive through our elite neighborhood and peek into the oversized windows.
There, they would see the same picture: a desolate hall lit by the blue glow of the monitor, in front of which, in a huge glass cube sits an immovable head.
Its glance is focused on the monitor.