The End of Sunset Grove

by Minna Lindgren

  Siiri was convinced the trolley made mistakes. How could it be so certain about who lived where and what pills it was supposed to give them? But Anna-Liisa had explained that the reason caregiving technology was such an immensely successful business was because, unlike people, machines never make mistakes. They never tired and were never careless, unable to speak the resident’s language properly or even bad-tempered. This AGV hummed good-naturedly down the corridor, played a simple melody when it arrived at an apartment like the ice cream vans children loved, and treated all of its victims with a consistent mechanical equanimity.

  The corridors were empty. Aside from the singing medicine trolley, there was no sign of life or even a glimmer of light.

  ‘Or does a robot count as a sign of life?’ Siiri asked herself, then laughed out loud. She had been talking to herself more and more often lately, but she wasn’t the least bit worried. There was always some smartwall or plump rat around listening to her ruminations.

  False windows had been installed along Sunset Grove’s vista-free passageways. In the summer they had brightened the space, but in early December, with Helsinki as dark as it was rainy around the clock, it seemed the height of absurdity to have sun-drenched Tuscan landscapes blazing on the walls. Nevertheless, Siiri stopped for a moment at one of the artificial panes to soak in the billowing fields of grain and the skies of unbroken blue.

  ‘Beautiful. Landscape.’

  The unfamiliar voice came from behind Siiri. It wasn’t the hesitant woman from the lift, the confident man from the smartwall or any other of the machines Siiri recognized. She turned and saw the most nonsensical creature she could imagine, a stunted white frame with feet and hands and a head, a screen for a stomach, a clunking jaw and idiotically gawping eyeballs with eyebrows that danced in the air. They rose and moved as it spoke, reinforcing the creature’s attempts to be simultaneously human and infallible.

  ‘Hello. How. Are. You.’

  There was a little resonance to the voice, and the cadence was even more monotone than usual. Upon closer examination, the constantly moving eyebrows proved to be nothing more than beams of light; remarkable how they could move in the air in time to the creature’s voice.

  ‘This is my caregiving robot, Ahaba. It’s ancient Hebrew and means “love”.’

  Delicate little Mrs Eila was standing next to her new friend, looking abashed. She was just getting used to Ahaba, who was the third robot specializing in social needs to move into Sunset Grove. ‘I’m a bit like a guinea pig. They say I’m perfect for this, because there’s nothing wrong with my head but I need assistance. That way I can give them feedback while they develop Ahaba. He helps me with everything, even going to the toilet.’

  The three of them stepped into the elevator, with Ahaba leading the way and the ladies following. Siiri had always considered people who called animals ‘he’ or ‘she’ a bit barmy. But to hear Eila calling this robot dwarf ‘he’ was simply comical. Eila was in such poor shape she would have been incapable of getting out of bed without Ahaba’s help. Ahaba rose, alert, at Eila’s command, then lifted her out of bed and helped her wash and dress herself. Probably fed her, too, if Eila wanted him to.

  ‘My hands are so stiff I can barely put on a blouse any more, not to mention nylons or shoes. Can you dress yourself?’

  ‘Yes, for now, but it’s slow going. So do you have to live with that creature day and night now? Where does it sleep, in your bed?’

  Eila laughed at Siiri’s question, and Ahaba guffawed, too. They stepped out of the elevator and proceeded slowly towards the card table. Ahaba offered Eila one arm and supported her as they made their way to the corner.

  ‘See how sweetly my escort assists me?’ Eila said proudly. Since Ahaba had appeared in her life, she hadn’t needed her walker. As they sat down at the baize-covered table, Ahaba stood behind Eila like one of the president’s bodyguards. ‘It’s rather remarkable, actually,’ Eila continued, lowering her voice so as not to offend her manservant’s sensibilities. During her brief orientation to the robot, the trainer, a volunteer, had explained that Ahaba was not simply a technological support, he also entertained, soothed, consoled and delighted. ‘But so far I haven’t got anything out of him but Bible passages and trivia questions. Does anyone know why the Bible is quoted everywhere here?’

  Siiri did not know, although many suspected Sunset Grove’s owners now included a religious cult. Anna-Liisa in particular was extremely suspicious in this regard, but there had been no official confirmation of the connection.

  ‘Isn’t it also a little strange they don’t let visitors in here any more? I mean anyone except these preachers,’ Eila continued. Ahaba clearly didn’t offer her conversational companionship of a sufficiently intelligent nature, despite the humility he showed as a partner. She began explaining at length how her sole grandchild had tried to visit her at Sunset Grove, but because he didn’t have the requisite fob, he had been foiled at the door.

  ‘Couldn’t you let him in?’ Siiri asked.

  ‘I had no idea he was coming! I didn’t hear about it until afterwards. Since then, I’ve started paying more attention to what’s going on around me, and I’ve noticed there’s no one around here but residents and robots. And the occasional volunteer.’

  ‘Or rat!’ Siiri cried, making Eila titter again.

  ‘I don’t even have a phone since they removed all the old landlines,’ Eila said.

  Residents desiring contact with the outside world had to establish it through the digital network, but few had succeeded in their fumbling attempts to connect to their kin via smartwall. Siiri’s great-granddaughter’s former boyfriend Tuukka, who was extraordinarily clever with buttons and gadgets, was the only outsider who had appeared on Siiri’s wall, and he only rarely, because they had no other business to conduct than Siiri’s banking transactions. Most recently Tuukka had been a little concerned about the rising costs at Sunset Grove, which was strange, as the residents had been under the impression that the reason for exchanging the staff for machines had been to cut back on expenses. But Tuukka had said that machines were always expensive, and three ministries wanted to support the digital elder-care operations primarily because health technology was the hottest thing on the market. Those were his exact words: ‘the hottest thing on the market’. Siiri remembered remarking that she thought ‘being hot’ meant something was stolen, and received an arrogant huff from Tuukka in response.

  Ahaba helped Eila blow her nose and decided to revive the lagging conversation.

  ‘How. Many. Sons. Did. Leah. Bear. Jacob. A) 12 B) 3 C) 6.’

  Three alternatives flashed in the skeletal robot’s belly, and Eila was supposed to pick the right one. She wearily pressed the C with a knobby finger, and the humanoid rewarded her with a fanfare played on an artificial horn and clumsily clapped its clanking hands. These appendages had five fingers and joints, just like real hands. It clearly had an intelligent grip and must have belonged to the highest caste of robots. The AGV was the lowest caste, a static crawler. Siiri silently listed the names of Leah’s sons, Reuben, Simeon, Levi, Judah, Isacchar and Zebulun, and decided Eila was right. Sunset Grove had never been inundated by visitors, but this autumn there hadn’t been a single one. Even Irma’s darlings had completely forgotten her among the surveillance cameras. Irma firmly believed her darlings peeked in on her from their computers, but even if they did, what joy did that bring her?

  ‘Can. You. Name. The. Sons. Leah. Bore. Jacob. Press. Reply. First.’

  Eila pressed the reply button and, out of a sense of obligation, listed the names Siiri had just recited to herself, to another rousing fanfare, and just to be sure added Rachel’s sons and the sons of Jacob’s handmaid as well as her only daughter, but couldn’t remember the daughter’s mother. Ahaba was dumbfounded.

  ‘I. Didn’t. Ask. For. That. Information. I. Didn’t. Ask. For. That. Information. Press. Question.’

  Eila addressed the caregiving machine as if it were a child
:

  ‘Oh dear, oh dear. I’d like to speak with Siiri Kettunen now, Ahaba.’

  ‘That. Is. That. I. May. Be. Comforted. Together. With. You. By. The. Mutual. Faith. Both. Of. You. And. Me. Romans. Chapter. One. Verse. Twelve.’

  ‘Does that mean it approves of our conversation and will wait before it continues the trivia quiz?’ Siiri whispered to Eila, and Eila giggled like a silly teenager. It was a relief to laugh together at Ahaba, who was really a machine, not a human; it wouldn’t be offended even though they were openly mocking it.

  ‘Did you hear about the death in the Fitness Console Centre?’ Eila suddenly asked, and Siiri felt the A note in her left ear intensify to a stabbing pain. ‘A couple of days ago, a woman got stuck on the game machine and died. I wonder how they found her; no one ever goes in there.’

  ‘I was there with a few of my girlfriends just then,’ Siiri heard herself saying in a monotone voice reminiscent of a robot’s. This was the second resident of Sunset Grove to die on her hands. How was it they hadn’t intervened in the old woman’s life-threatening exertions in time, instead of gazing on and sipping whisky? She didn’t have the nerve to mention this to Eila, who was gaping at her in disbelief.

  ‘Christ’s blood almighty! What happened?’

  Ahaba joined in the conversation. ‘Whoso. Eateth. My. Flesh. And. Drinketh. My. Blood. Hath. Eternal. Life.’ The robot stared right at Siiri with its spherical eyes and quizzically raised a light-beam eyebrow. Siiri felt incredibly guilty and was afraid she would faint.

  ‘She . . . we . . . she was playing tennis and fell into my arms, and we both ended up on the floor.’

  Stumbling on a primary source visibly revived Eila. According to her, all sorts of rumours had been going around among the residents of Sunset Grove about the fitness console death, and the stories had grown wilder by the day. In the latest version, the old woman had supposedly lain in the gym for weeks and mummified before a cleaning robot had stumbled across her and moved her into the corridor, where one of the volunteers had discovered her. Siiri shook her head. Eila was a little disappointed when Siiri discredited the most incredible reports and said the old woman had been trundled off into an ambulance with astonishing speed. ‘The incident proved that these cameras and smartclothes really can be useful in an emergency,’ she said to Eila, at the moment herself believing there were concrete advantages to living in a residential laboratory. Eila thought for a moment. Then she shot Siiri a sly look and said:

  ‘In this case, the concrete advantage being that a dead body was carted off before it had time to mummify. Is that it?’

  ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Siiri said, and they both broke out in smiles. ‘And I learned I’ll never be going back to exercise in that Console Centre!’

  ‘Eila. It’s. Time. To. Eat.’ Ahaba held out an arm for Eila, and they all headed to the dining room together, to order red triangles and green balls for lunch.

  Chapter 17

  ‘Art is important not only for the able-bodied, but for the elderly, the severely disabled, and the incarcerated,’ said the curly-haired man, who had donned a screaming electric blue bow tie on a normal Thursday and taken off his shoes as he stepped inside Sunset Grove. He looked vaguely familiar, but Siiri wasn’t sure where she had met him before.

  ‘Maybe he appeared in your dreams virtuosically through your smart-alec wall,’ Irma suggested with a tinkling laugh.

  Anna-Liisa’s ‘Shhh!’ came with a confidence and immediacy only accessible to an adult who had spent her entire career shepherding restless schoolchildren to sit silently in rows. If the ‘Shhh!’ didn’t work, it was followed by a stern, penetrating gaze, which Siiri and Irma had learned to feel in their bones.

  The man explained in a soft voice that art was neither elitist nor a pointless diversion, but rather a preventive health measure that conserved societal resources. That’s why art belonged to everyone, even the elderly, whose lives would otherwise be so limited.

  ‘A beautiful painting, moving music, a beloved book. Each one generates individual happiness and well-being. And the happier individuals are, the healthier society is. Fewer onerous health care costs accumulate, and unpleasant consequences such as alcoholism, violence, divorces and drug abuse are minimized. A beautiful painting, moving music, a beloved book. It’s that simple.’

  ‘It’s the preacher!’ Irma whispered, and suddenly Siiri also remembered having seen him collecting funds from Margit. They had barely seen Margit since, so thoroughly had she been enjoying her own company or that of the volunteer-led prayer circle. But now she was sitting in the front row, enraptured by their ringletted speaker. At her side were Eila and Ahaba, both equally alert.

  The man had to be from the Awaken Now! Association. He continued his lecture about the benefits of art before suddenly leaping over to Satan and demons. Art was an incomparable weapon for repelling them.

  ‘Art serves at the pleasure of the Holy Spirit,’ he said in his soft, velvety voice.

  Behind him stood a woman who was for all practical purposes naked and a man in dirty dungarees and one of those flaccid articles of clothing termed a ‘hoodie’. They must have been artists. The event had been advertised on their smartwalls as the ‘Thursday Art Experiment’. Siiri had feared residents would be called on to paint and act themselves, but Irma knew what lay in store: improvised poetic dance performed by professionals. The auditorium was unusually full, as the simple fact that multiple visitors had been allowed on the premises was sufficient to spark the residents’ curiosity. Of course some were also interested in art. Tauno had invited Oiva, and as Siiri and her friends waited for the art to begin, Oiva had confessed his passion for theatre and literature to them. Anna-Liisa had engaged him in a fascinating discussion regarding the short stories of Thomas Mann, which always seemed to include either a violin or a lonely homosexual if not both, enquiring as to whether the violin was, perhaps, a symbol of homosexuality in some subcultures. Oiva had just laughed, and Siiri never learned the truth of the matter, because just then the man with the bow tie had shepherded them to their seats.

  Now he was sustaining a brief, effective pause at the lectern.

  ‘Before Taija and Sergei begin their performance, let us come together in prayer.’ The man raised his arms to the side as if he were the pastor of a large congregation – either that, or about to take off in flight. He closed his eyes. ‘Lord, let your Holy Spirit fall on these people to serve as a source of strength in their lives. Let it revivify their souls so Satan will no longer have dominion over them, so they will say no to the lusts of the flesh and earthly temptations and yes to the Holy Spirit.’ The warm voice paused for a moment, then the man opened his eyes, lowered his hands and gazed out at the flock of dozing, grey-haired sheep and the one alert robot. The time for frank speech had come.

  ‘You must let the Holy Spirit into your hearts. Only then can you partake of the divine order of things. And then you shall turn away from impurity and dishonesty. Harlotry and lust. All that sin entails.’

  The man held another pause, and everyone noticed who he was looking at. Sitting was uncomfortable for Tauno, so he was standing in the aisle next to Oiva. He supported himself on the back of Oiva’s chair, back hunched more prominently than usual and eyes nailed to the ground, but Siiri could see the pulsing at his temple. Oiva was calm. He squeezed Tauno’s hand and looked right back at the preacher.

  ‘I also had a devil as my bedmate, but I chose the Holy Ghost. You can do as well, if you so choose. It’s that simple. Taija and Sergei, please.’

  The man turned his back on the audience and called out his stone-faced artists. The apparently naked woman wasn’t naked after all. She was wearing a nude leotard that did little for her bony frame. She stalked across the lectern in long strides, arced her hands in big movements and tossed her head back and forth. When she approached Sergei, she wrapped herself erotically around his dirty dungarees, but he just stared at the rear wall before shouting in a raw voice:

&
nbsp; ‘Moon, my friend, sun, my mother, stars, my children. Space, that great infinity.’

  The woman whirled at the front of the auditorium in increasingly frenetic movements and produced all manner of noise that should have been drowned out by music. Her feet clomped, her hands slapped against her body, she wheezed and panted. She intermittently lunged into the audience, between the rows of seats, and Siiri was terrified she would drag her or some other victim onstage.

  ‘Darkness, silence. SILENCE!’ The man shouted so loudly his neck veins bulged. ‘A frozen heart inside your soul. YOUR SOUL!’ He pointed directly at Siiri. ‘Where is the moon, where is the sun? You have lost everything as a result of your sins, a black void, infinite emptiness in SATAN’S GRIP!’

  ‘This is loonier than eurhythmics,’ Irma said to Siiri unnecessarily loudly, as after his satanic bellowing Sergei held a long pause. Tauno and Oiva started laughing, and Siiri saw that even Anna-Liisa was holding back a smile. Only Margit followed the performance, entranced.

  ‘The emptiness of your soul, the hardness of your heart. The Lord saw fit to afflict Christ and condemn the sin in him, as in you.’

  ‘This isn’t art,’ Siiri whispered to Irma. Margit had raised her hands to her temples and was shaking her head in a strange fashion. Was she feeling ill? It would be no wonder, considering the experimental nature of the health-art being offered. A gust of pungent sweat from the stage wafted deeper and deeper into the audience.

  The woman, was it Taija?, turned out uncontrolled pirouettes while Sergei stood solid as a pillar. When Sergei eventually got to the Garden of Gethsemane and the Cross of Golgotha, Taija started moaning and screeching, a happy, lunatic smile on her face, but a blank stare in her eyes.