The Stories of Ibis

by Hiroshi Yamamoto

  “Hello, everyone. This is Shion,” Takami said, a little nervous.

  Shion bobbed her head and said brightly, “I’m Shion. Nice to meet you all.”

  We all bowed our heads in return.

  Shion looked up and saw my name tag. “You’re Erika Kanbara?”

  “Mm? Oh yes.”

  “I understand you’ll be in charge of me. Don’t be soft on me—if I make any mistakes, please tell me right away. I know I’ll be asking a lot of questions when there’s something I don’t understand.”

  She bowed her head again. She sounded a lot less… mechanical than I’d expected. But there was something slightly off about it… like she was following a script. I was sure Takami had told her what to say.

  “Certainly,” I said, already feeling an invisible wall between us.

  And that was how we met.

  Shion’s first day began with me showing her to the changing room.

  She did exactly what I told her to do. When I said, “Come with me,” she followed. When I stopped, so did she. I was nervous at first, but like Takami said, she clearly had no trouble understanding what I said to her. The way she moved was smooth, even graceful, with no traces of mechanical clunkiness. But her movements were a bit too elegant, like a runway model’s. There was something not quite natural about it. The way normal humans move is filled with unnecessary motions and hardly beautiful; watching her really drove that point home.

  In the changing room, I explained, “This is where we change into our uniforms. Here’s your uniform.”

  Shion nodded and reached for the fastener on her dress. Then she stopped and turned to look at the door. “Takami, are you a woman?”

  Only then did I notice that Takami had followed us into the ladies’ changing room with a video camera. He seemed not to have realized where he was until Shion said something, at which he flew out of the room, wailing, “S-sorry!”

  “The nerve of the man,” I said, laughing.

  Shion looked puzzled.

  “Takami is a man, and men should not be in the ladies’ changing room.”

  “Someone taught you that?”

  “Yes. Takami gave me a lecture on morals concerning changing clothes. It is strange that he would make a mistake like that.”

  “It was very careless of him.”

  “Yes, it was. People often make mistakes.”

  Shion began to undress. I hadn’t noticed before due to the rain, but if you listened carefully, you could hear motors whirring when she moved. The sound wasn’t loud enough to bother you. If a senior were hearing impaired, they would never even notice.

  I’d never seen a naked android before. Even the parts that would normally be hidden behind clothes were covered in fake skin, and she was even wearing normal women’s underwear. But on her back and belly there were faint, if still unsettling, black lines where the skin was fastened. The button on the back of her neck was, according to the manual, the start button. A little above that, right inside the hairline, there was a tiny green light. The flesh-colored compress-looking thing on her side was a cover for her fuel input.

  I imagined it was Takami who had put that underwear on her. He must have been used to seeing Shion change in the lab. That was why he’d thought nothing of following her into the changing room.

  When Shion and I emerged in our pale pink uniforms, Takami apologized again. “I really am sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. I was less concerned with his mistake than with Shion asking him if he was a woman. She was an android; she had not been joking. When Takami had walked into the ladies’ changing room, Shion had genuinely wondered if her knowledge of his gender had been mistaken—something no human would ever imagine.

  There was clearly a fair amount of common sense she had yet to learn.

  The residents had been informed some time ago that an android caregiver would be coming to the facility. Except for those too forgetful to understand, everyone was curious.

  Shion followed me around the second floor, greeting each of the residents. She gave the exact same bow and introduction to each of them. She was well received. Takami followed us with the video camera, looking very pleased.

  Some of the seniors got a bit carried away.

  “So they finally perfected the android!” said Toki, a particularly talkative man. “I used to watch Astro Boy growing up, you know. I always believed they’d be able to make robots look just like humans in the twenty-first century. What was fiction when I was a boy is now right before my eyes! What a thrill.”

  A human would have looked embarrassed, but Shion just returned a vague smile. Her default expression.

  Toki said he wanted to go to the lounge. Every floor had a lounge with a big-screen TV and five computers with broadband access, and Toki generally spent his mornings there, watching late-night anime he’d recorded.

  Shion’s first job. She helped him sit up and swing his feet over the side of the bed. Then she brought a wheelchair, placed it at a twenty-degree angle from the bed, and locked the wheels. She put her arms under his and around his back, clasped her hands, and lifted him to his feet.

  This took considerably more strength than you would think. For a skinny senior, it was no big deal, but many of the seniors were, like Toki, considerably heavier than their caregivers. It took its toll on our backs. Performing this task dozens of times a day meant chronic back pain among all the caregivers.

  But Shion was stronger. Where I would have been grunting with effort, she lightly lifted him up and supported him. She rocked his feet back and forth, slowly maneuvering his back to the chair. Artfully done. Filming the whole thing, Takami whispered, “That’s right.”

  “Oh ho ho, talk about your hundred thousand horsepower! Just like Astro Boy!” Toki chuckled, impressed.

  Shion bent down, lowering him into the chair.

  “Nurse, can you fly like Astro?” joked the man in the next bed, Arai.

  Shion did not respond—perhaps focused on the task at hand.

  “Nurse! Can you fly?” Arai asked again, louder.

  Finished with her task, Shion stood up. I tugged her sleeve. “He means you.”

  “Me?”

  “Arai’s talking to you.”

  “Surely he’s talking to you. I am not a nurse.”

  That same placid smile never wavered. If you didn’t know she was a robot, you’d think she was making fun of you.

  I sighed. Certainly, nurses and caregivers were different. But they both wore pink, and they both performed many of the same tasks. The only difference was that nurses could examine patients and give them medicine, while caregivers could not. The only way to tell them apart was by their name tags, and few of the residents bothered to distinguish. They called us all nurses.

  “I’ll explain later. For now, you’d better answer him.”

  “Okay,” she said and looked over at Arai. “I can’t fly,” she said and turned away again. Arai looked disappointed.

  Oh dear, I thought. We had just uncovered Shion’s greatest flaw. She could perform her duties flawlessly. But communication with the residents was a major part of any senior caregiver’s job. And that included repartee. If she was unable to talk with them, then no matter how flawless her care techniques, the seniors would not be at ease.

  I was worried—if her first task had been this awkward, how would the rest play out?

  Next up was room 206, where a new problem awaited us.

  “Careful,” I whispered before we entered. “Isezaki is a dirty old man.”

  “You mean he is prone to sexual harassment?”

  “Yes. He’s partially paralyzed, but he still has full use of his right hand. If he grabs your bottom, firmly tell him not to.”

  “Okay,” she said. I doubted an android would be bothered by something like that, but as a woman, I did not want to see that happen.

  Isezaki was sprawled out on his side. He had the face of a samurai movie stuntman whose only part in the film was to be cut d
own by the hero. He had difficulty sitting up on his own but still had a ruddy look to him.

  “I am Shion. Nice to meet you.”

  Her usual greeting. Isezaki sullenly avoided looking at her. He was never very friendly, and he appeared to be in a particularly bad mood today.

  “Bathroom,” he grunted. Shion just stood there smiling, not understanding.

  “He wants to use the portable toilet,” I whispered.

  “Certainly.” Shion stepped forward.

  “Not you,” Isezaki snapped. “The other nurse.”

  Aha. Only a flesh and blood nurse would do.

  I managed to keep my brow from twitching furiously and gave him my most professional smile.

  “Shion is new here and could use the practice. If you don’t mind.”

  Isezaki grudgingly relented. I pulled the curtain across, giving him privacy from his roommate, Komori.

  The toilet was on the right side of the bed. Shion helped Isezaki to his feet just like before. She slowly moved him over to the toilet and lowered his pants and underwear with her right hand while supporting his body with her left hand. This was normally easier said than done, but Shion had no problems with it.

  As expected, Isezaki’s hand began drifting toward Shion’s bottom. He must have decided it was worth a go after all. Just as I was about to say something—

  “Don’t do that!” Shion said, in a much harsher tone than I’d expected. Isezaki jumped. I nearly did myself. I’d told her to speak firmly, and she’d clearly taken that literally.

  Isezaki had quite a temper, so I wondered if this might provoke an incident, but nothing happened. He must have thought there was no point arguing with a robot, or perhaps the force of her remark made him lose his nerve. He allowed himself to be lowered gently onto the toilet.

  “Tell me when you’re finished,” I said and stepped outside the curtain.

  Takami was hovering out there, looking worried. “Something happen?” he asked.

  “Nothing important,” I said. We stepped out into the hall so Isezaki would not hear.

  “Was it bad?”

  “No. With that man, that’s exactly how firm she needed to be.”

  I certainly thought so anyway. Any other senior here, I wouldn’t mind that much if they got a bit touchy-feely—I’d just tease them for being an old perv and move on. But Isezaki was different. His personality was bad to begin with. And he touched even though he knew we didn’t want him to. And the way he talked… He’d been president of a company and must have been very unpopular. He had once told a story about buying an underage girl in Thailand when he was younger without a trace of guilt. He was boasting about it. He was fundamentally immoral. It was hardly unusual for seniors suffering from Alzheimer’s or the like to undergo changes to their personalities, but Isezaki had no such excuse. His memory wasn’t what it once was, but the Hasegawa Test had found no drop-off in mental capabilities.

  We often griped about him at the nurses’ station—“Who does he think he is?” But it was our job to keep smiling, and we all wanted to avoid the trouble it would cause if we made him angry, so he was never scolded the way he needed to be. And anyway, scolding may have simply made him worse. Perhaps this incident would prove good medicine.

  “Nice work, Shion,” I said but did not forget to add, “But be a little bit softer when you scold anyone other than Isezaki.”

  As lunch drew near, the facility turned into a war zone.

  To encourage interpatient communication and rehabilitation, anyone capable of getting around was required to eat meals in the cafeteria. Shortly before mealtime, we made toilet rounds, helping any residents unable to go to the bathroom on their own. When that was done, we had to gather them by the elevators to take them downstairs to the cafeteria.

  The elevators could hold six wheelchairs each. To avoid a rush, we worked on a strict, coordinated schedule, with each floor taking turns. The second floor needed to get all residents down by 11:45. A moment later, the third floor would start bringing people down, and the elevators would be full by the time they reached our floor. We helped residents who could walk and moved those who couldn’t to wheelchairs. All nurses and caregivers assigned to a floor worked together to get the seniors to the first floor. A single minute late, and it would be ages before the elevators were open again.

  We had Shion concentrate on getting the seniors who could not walk into their wheelchairs. While I pushed the wheelchair to the elevator, she would get the next resident ready.

  “Coming through,” Kasukabe said, clanking past in the power loader. It was a useful machine that could greatly increase your strength, but it was hard to put on and even harder to operate without hurting the residents, so most caregivers avoided it. Kasukabe was young enough to think learning how to use it was fun and was now the second floor’s power loader specialist.

  Even when everyone was finally down on the first floor, our job was hardly finished. We had to help residents unable to feed themselves. We held the spoon, fed them a bite, and then had another spoonful prepared when they were ready.

  Here Shion’s flaw became obvious again. After each spoonful, she would ask, “Ready?” and wait until they answered before feeding them the next. She made no effort to say anything else. We could all tell if they were ready or not just by watching how their mouths moved, and we would talk about other things while we fed them. Simple stuff like, “How is it?” or “Do you like spinach?” But even that was beyond Shion’s capabilities.

  When the meal was done, we had to take them back up the elevators to their floors. When they were back in their rooms, we made another toilet round. Only then did the storm die down, letting us catch our breaths and take our own lunches in shifts.

  Of course, Shion did not eat. She simply needed to receive some methanol every four hours, and it took less than a minute for that to happen. Not feeling comfortable with letting her work out of my sight, we had her sit with us while we ate.

  “How do you like it so far?” I asked, not expecting much of an answer.

  Sure enough, Shion said, with her usual unchanging smile, “I enjoy working to help people. I hope I get along with the residents and other staff. I’m sure it won’t be easy, but I’ll do my best.”

  Not a trace of emotion in there. I glanced over at Takami.

  “You teach her to say that?”

  “Cut me some slack,” he said. “She doesn’t know much about the world. Teaching her some set answers to common questions keeps her from appearing to be rude.”

  “I think it’s a problem that she can’t have conversations with the residents. She can’t build any kind of rapport with them like this. You didn’t teach her to have a sense of humor?”

  Takami scratched his head. “No, it was all we could do to teach her the work.”

  “There’s no program you can install? Conversation techniques or—”

  “Install? Can’t be done. Like I said, Shion’s skills improve just like ours do, through practice.”

  “Including talking to the seniors?”

  “Yes, she’ll have to gain that experience here.”

  In other words, I had to teach her how. I felt tired already. Teach a robot how to have a sense of humor? That sounded nigh impossible.

  I felt faint.

  That afternoon was bath time. Residents were taken to the baths twice a week. The second floor bathed on Monday and Thursday. Residents who could walk simply went to the big communal bath and washed themselves, but the less fortunate had to use bathing equipment, and we had to wash them. And we were responsible for not only our residents; we had a number of seniors who were normally looked after by family members and only visited us on bathing days. Bathing someone unable to move on their own is no easy task, and there were a number of families that took advantage of this service.

  Obviously, this was not something Takami could be allowed to see or videotape. He was forced to kill time in the lounge.

  Shion and I changed into T-shir
ts and shorts and headed for the baths.

  “Rrright, let’s get ’em!”

  Bath time was awfully tough work. I generally had to pump myself up for it. When I pumped my fist in the air and bellowed, Shion gave me a puzzled look.

  “Don’t just stand there, you do it too.”

  “That pose?”

  “Yes! It’s like a ritual. Go on! Let’s get ’em!”

  “Let’s get ’em!” Shion said, awkwardly imitating me.

  First up was a woman named Sumiyoshi. I took her legs and Shion took her upper body, and we lifted her out of the wheelchair and onto the bathing apparatus’s stretcher. First, we carefully washed her body with a sponge. Once we’d rinsed the soap off her, we fixed her body in place with a few straps and pressed the button on the side of the machine. The machine noisily lifted her up a bit and slid her over the bath. It then slowly tilted forward, lowering her feet first into the hot water.

  “How’s that feel?” I asked.

  Sumiyoshi closed her eyes blissfully. “Wonderful,” she whispered. “Amazing, isn’t it? First the power loader, and now robot caregivers. Never would have imagined this when I was working.”

  Sumiyoshi had worked in a senior facility herself until the end of the twentieth century. She’d worked too hard, suffered a herniated disk, and had been forced to retire. She knew just how hard our job was and did everything she could to make things easier for us. She always followed our instructions to the letter and never asked for anything unreasonable. Sumiyoshi was the ideal resident.

  “Shion, was it? Do you get paid?”

  “No. I am not an employee, just equipment.”

  “But you must have things you want to buy.”

  “Not particularly.”

  “You don’t dress up at all? A few nice clothes?”

  “My clothes are supplied for me.”