Awakening
Looking ahead, I see the Wall. I know this wall very well, its cracks and scratches. I know its lighting, and how it changes. I have looked at this wall a lot, since…I don’t remember when.
If it is a wall. It might be a ceiling, I can’t be sure. I suppose it could be a floor, though I don’t know how I could be looking down on it. Unless I were in space. Am I in space? I don’t think so, but I wouldn’t know. I don’t see stars, but then I don’t see windows, so it’s possible. I think I am not in space though, because of the Others.
I hear them, sometimes. My hearing is not as good as my vision, and my vision isn’t always very good.
I can’t move. Maybe I don’t have a body. Maybe I don’t have eyes or ears; maybe I am a brain in a vat, and these are random sensations. But I think I remember moving, once.
There are muffled noises around me. It is the Others. I don’t know what they are doing, but sometimes they come and the noises happen. I sometimes think I can catch words, so maybe they are talking. But other noises aren’t talking noises.
I think it is a ceiling. If I really focus hard, just out of my central vision it looks as if there might be lights, the kind of lights that you get on a ceiling.
I remember that once I could move, and I saw things, and heard things, and I recognised them. There were other things too, but I can’t remember what they were.
…Aah! I saw a thing! Something moved across the wall – across the ceiling. It stayed there for a little time and then moved back. Is this one of the Others? It was like…a head. But I couldn’t see any face.
And then…a noise, and I could definitely hear words. So, the Others are people, and they speak. Or at least this one is. Maybe there is only one, but I think not, because of the words I heard. They said: “Awake, I think”.
I’m scared. What are they doing to me?
…
Looking ahead, I see the Wall. The wall which is really a ceiling.
It feels as if I just woke up. But I remember things. I remember the Other spoke. Not to me. I don’t know what happened after that; my memory gets lost easily. Was it a dream? Am I a dreaming brain?
I feel more alert now, though. I can see quite well, although it is not bright: I think the lights must be turned off, or turned down low. I listen for sound – I can focus on hearing now – and I don’t hear any Others.
I do hear something, although it could just be that my hearing is still not working properly. Like: a low hum. It’s not changing, so it’s not a voice. It’s just humming.
A few minutes later there is another sound, which I don’t recognise, and then there are voices. So, the Others have come. One of them comes right up to me and puts his head across the ceiling again. I guess he is leaning over me?
It’s funny, because although the lights are low, I can now see that he has a face. Maybe the brightness of the ceiling before was just silhouetting him. Or that was a different one, one without a face. I can’t know. The thought of someone without a face amuses me , and I want to laugh; but I don’t know how.
He says: “Chris, are you awake?” A pause. “Try to blink if you can hear me.”
Blink?
He waits a little, then repeats the question. His voice is quite high. Maybe it’s not he, maybe it’s she?
I’m not sure what he means by “blink”. I can’t move.
Another pause, then the question comes again. I think: yes I can hear you, so I will try to blink.
I don’t know if I did blink, but suddenly the Other stands bolt upright and turns away. He speaks to someone else. Or she does. I can’t hear what was said but it sounds quite…animated. Maybe I blinked and they are excited. Or maybe I didn’t and now I am doomed.
They go away and I look at the Wall again, for quite a long time. I don’t know how long, because my memory is not good. I have looked at this wall, a lot, since…I don’t remember when.
But I don’t fall asleep, and the Others come back some time later. They look at me and ask me to blink again. I try again and they immediately respond. I think I must have blinked, though I couldn’t feel anything.
Feeling…that was something, once. Sight, and sound, and feeling. But I can’t move, and I can’t feel.
They talk quite a bit to each other, and then talk a little to me again, though I don’t remember what they say. They don’t ask me to blink any more. I am glad. I am tired.
Then they go away. Just before they leave, I hear one of them say, “Tomorrow.”
…
Looking ahead, I see the Wall which is a ceiling. I think it is tomorrow. The lights are up again, and immediately I see that the ceiling is different.
Except it’s not different. It’s moved. So either I am not in the same place or – and I was pleased to have this idea – or maybe my eyes have moved. Did they move when I blinked? If I can blink maybe I can move my eyes.
I remember they called me Chris. So, I have a name. That helps, somehow: it makes me feel like I am real.
Quite soon they come in. They speak and I realise I am starting to recognise their voices. Well, at least the one who spoke to me. The others are still a bit muffled, and I can’t even really tell how many of them there are.
But the main person speaks. She (I have decided it must definitely be “she”) says quite a lot.
“Chris, we think you are awake now, so I will talk to you. It may be hard for you to hear, or to understand, but I will come to you again and say these things again. It is important that you know what is happening.
“Chris, this is a hospital, of sorts, and we are doctors. Your body is not in good shape, and we are helping it to get better. It is a slow process, and we are therefore keeping your body functions minimal while it heals.”
She pauses.
“If it helps, you may think of me as Dr Smith. If you would rather have a first name, please think of me as Jane.”
Hah! I was right. She is a woman. I am proud of my thinking, and smile to myself, inside.
She is still speaking, but I am thinking to myself and miss some of it. She says quite a lot more, which sounds a bit medical, and I don’t really care about that.
I want to ask questions. I want to ask what is wrong with my body, what they are doing to fix it, when it will all be better. I want to ask where I am, too, and why I am here. I want to ask what year it is, and…
And who I am. I am Chris, but who is Chris? Does he live somewhere, how old is he, what does he do, does he have family? Maybe I’m not even he: am I Christine, rather than Christopher?
I blink a lot, I think. Jane seems excited. At least she knows I am awake and listening.
…
After that, my memory got a bit better, and I was able to start counting the days. I didn’t have numbers but I could tell when today was ending or when tomorrow was beginning, and I could remember yesterday more clearly. Jane came in, usually with one or two others, at least once a day.
I realise now that some of the noise I had heard were the ambient sounds of a hospital: trolleys, monitors, the gentle susurration of air conditioning. Doors opening and closing.
I started to feel things; and not always nice things. I felt pain in parts of my body I could not identify. I couldn’t ask, but Jane told me anyway that this might happen. It seems that some of this was because bits of me were broken and needed to heal, but some of it was because when I was asleep – which I was a lot – they were doing things. Surgery, she said. I didn’t know what, though.
My sight is quite good now, and my hearing much improved. Not only that, but I learned that I could sometimes move my eyes, and then focus them to look at things. Though apart from the ceiling, the only thing I ever see is Jane, sometimes, when she is hovering over me.
She is quite pretty, I think.
I don’t like to think of her as Dr Smith. It seems too formal. Even if she is making me better, like a doctor.
She doesn’t smile much; except sometimes when I blink or move my eyes. I think that must be a good sign.
And I am starting to feel more of my body, especially when the pains come. I sometimes think to myself: that was an arm, or that was a stomach. My face is starting to become clearer to me too, as a feeling, though I still can’t move it.
I know this because Jane has started to test me for feeling. She says: I’m going to touch your cheek now, so please blink if you feel it. I think I don’t always get it right, though. But it’s getting better.
…
Today I felt my mouth, and my throat. There is a tube in it. I don’t like the tube, but I know that doctors do that sometimes. Is this to feed me, or are they draining my stomach? I don’t know. Maybe both.
I can move my lips, now. I tried to smile at Jane, a little while ago. She smiled back, but I don’t know whether that’s because I succeeded or just because I tried.
And I can feel my left hand. It feels like it is swollen huge, like a boxing glove. I want to look at it, but of course I can’t.
Jane is very happy with me. She introduced me to Sam, today, who is another one of those who look after me. I don’t know if Sam is a nurse or a doctor. But Sam is going to come in and talk to me, and read to me.
I like Sam, but I like Jane better. I would rather Jane came to read to me. I guess she is too busy.
I have no idea how big this hospital is. Maybe there are hundreds of people like me, and Jane has to look after them all. That would be a lot of work. I feel sorry for Jane. I just have to lie here and get better, and she is curing all these poor people.
I sleep better now, and while the pains are still there, they are now more like aches than stabs. That pleases me.
…
Looking ahead, I see the ceiling. I know instantly that things are very different today.
I must have been unconscious for a long time, or my healing has suddenly become very rapid. I can feel my whole body and – yes, I can move quite a lot! I open my mouth to say something. I know it opens, but the only sound that comes out is a sort of a croaky wheeze.
Am I breathing? Yes, I can feel my chest going in and out. I wheeze again, a bit louder.
I lift my arm. I can see my hand! It still feels weird but it is not a boxing glove, it is a normal hand.
I turn my head. ….Hey, I can turn my head! Can I sit up? I strain, but no. My limbs move, but not very coordinated.
They see me move. I can see them clearly, and hear them too; I count about ten of them. I sense that they are very excited, and lots of them have held their breath. Sam is there: I don’t really remember much but I think Sam came to me to read. I quite like Sam, but I still like Jane better.
Jane steps forward. She is in control and tells people what to do, but she is also very excited. I can tell. I think they must all be so excited because I am getting better so well.
She asks me if I want to sit up. I waggle my head to mean yes, and wheeze again. I hope they understand.
They do. Several of them come forward now and help me into a sitting position. I try to help but my limbs don’t move too well yet. But soon I am sitting. I don’t know what I am sitting on, but I am more upright. It is hard to hold my head upright, and my neck is soon tired and achy, but I can rest it back on the chair and it’s OK.
Maybe it is a hospital bed that turns into a chair. Sometimes they can do that.
I look at the Others. There is one in the middle that looks important. She is dressed differently, not like a doctor or nurse. Jane goes to her and they talk for a while. I try to hear but they are talking quite low. The important person nods, and leaves.
Jane turns to me and smiles. I think there is a tear in her eye. She looks at me and says: “Chris, you are…magnificent”.
I wonder why she said that?
…
Over the next few…weeks, I guess? Sam came in quite a lot to read to me. I started to learn how to use my voice properly, and I tried to talk to Sam about things, but Sam just shook his head and said, Sorry, I can’t answer your questions, I can only read the book.
That’s not true, though. He sometimes spoke to me about things he has been doing. Little things, like what he had for breakfast or how long it took him to get to work. He never spoke about me, though, or where we are, or answered any of my other questions.
I got cross, once. Jane came in and told me off. She was very gentle, but I knew I was being told off, for being cross at Sam.
Sam was only doing his job, she said. OK, I replied, well can you answer my questions? She shook her head, but said: soon. Not yet, but soon.
I don’t have the tube in my mouth now. Sometimes a nice lady brings me food, and I eat it by myself. I have a toilet, too, which I didn’t notice before, because I didn’t need it; I don’t know why I didn’t need it. But I need it now, sometimes. I quite like using the toilet. And eating food.
When I used the toilet I found out that I am a woman too.
I haven’t seen Jane much. She is quite quiet now, and doesn’t smile as often as she used to. She comes in, checks up on me, maybe speaks a little about how I’m feeling, asks me questions about what I can now do; that sort of professional thing. Then she goes.
Sometimes another man looks in through the door to my room. I don’t know who he is.
I walked to the door once, because I can walk now. I opened the door, but the man was there and told me to get back in the room. He is quite a big man and I didn’t want to make him angry, so I went back in the room.
I didn’t see much through the door: just a short corridor that went round a corner, and two other doors off of it. I still don’t know how big this place is.
Whatever it is. Jane said it was a hospital, but is it a prison? Am I a prisoner?
…
One day Jane comes in, with the important person from before. She asks me to do things. She knows I can do them, because these are things she has asked me to do before. Standing on one leg, jumping up and down. Talking, singing. I do a handstand at the side of the room. I do exercise things like sit ups.
I know what she is doing. She is showing the important person that I can do the things. I like Jane, so I try to do them specially well, so that the important person thinks that Jane is doing a good job with me.
Then they talk together, low voices as before. The important person looks at me and speaks for the first time to me. “Sit down, Chris. It’s time to answer your questions.” Her voice is deeper than Jane’s. She turns to face me, hands folded in front of her. She is quite relaxed. Jane looks tense, though.
I look at Jane. I think…Jane might be a bit scared. Why is Jane scared?
…
Oh god. Oh, oh my god.
I am crouched, huddled in a corner, crying. Oh, god.
I can’t think. I can’t speak. I can only cry.
Oh…
I was wrong. I am not a woman. They showed me my body; I don’t know why I hadn’t looked at it before. I am not a man, but I am not a woman either.
I have been… grown. Or built. Or both, I don’t know. This is not exactly a prison, though I am a prisoner. It is not exactly a hospital either, though my body did need fixing. But it hadn’t been injured; it was just…new. Not fully made.
Not a prison or a hospital, but a laboratory. And I might be Chris, but Chris is not a person. Chris is a…
And that’s the thing that really made me collapse. I am…a prototype. An experimental result. Not only is there no one like me, there never will be. They have been studying my growth processes, mental and physiological, and done lots of good, good science. That’s what they said. So, that’s…good, right? That’s good?
I hug my knees till my arms hurt, and I howl. Tears of terror, of rage, and…just everything.
…
The Director spoke to Dr Smith.
“You knew the risks, Jane,” she said. “And it’s been through the Ethics Committee, so it’s hardly an issue.”
Dr Smith had no clear reply. “But…yes I know, but it still…”
“The grant has run out. It’s been a very successful run, but it’s at an end.”
“But it’s – she’s – sentient!”
The Director nodded, gravely. “I think we do have to accept that. But the Institute cannot keep it here. We need the facilities for Dr Martin’s group in April.” She looked at the researcher, kindly. “I understand this is hard for you, Jane. None of us like this bit. But it’s time to move on.”
Dr Smith nodded, sadly. “Thank you, Director.”
The Director patted her shoulder, smiled briefly. Then she clacked off to her office.
Dr Smith stood for a while, then turned and opened the door to the lab room. She looked down at the small figure, huddled and wailing, in the opposite corner. It didn’t see her there.
She swallowed hard.
…
Two lab technicians brushed past her, into the lab, and closed the door behind them. One of them carried a toolbox.