The Man with the Robot Wife

A Dinner Engagement

Gage had no idea what to wear. This wasn't a challenge he usually faced. He emptied all of the bureau drawers, throwing items over his shoulder and onto the floor behind him. He stood perplexed over the pile of dull and threadbare fabrics.

After declining on five separate occasions, he had finally accepted Ely's offer for a dinner together at the officer's house. It was a chance to socialize outside of the junk shop and to meet the wife Ely talked of so fondly. Her name was Tara. Ely described her with the half concealed smirk and longing gaze of a man in love. She was tall and thin, had long coppery hair, and was an accomplished cook.

Gage put on his least stained pair of blue jeans and a threadbare black sweater. He wrapped himself in his shaggy wool overcoat, pulled a fur-lined skullcap on his wiry head, and headed out the door.

He remembered it was proper to bring a small gift to the hosts of a gathering. He couldn't possibly insult the first friend he'd allowed himself to have in decades by showing up empty handed. He didn't have much to give but something came to mind. He lurched down the steps to the shop and fetched a dirty handkerchief from the safe below the cash register. He peeked beneath a flap of fabric and smiled at the two silver chalices. This would be a fine gift indeed.

Gage approached Ely's house with a nervous stomach and rapid heart beat. It was a single story prefabricated cube with dark curtains draped behind the set of double hung windows. It looked exactly like the dozens of cubes that lined the block. Gage pressed the door chime. Ely opened after a lengthy pause. He grinned at the old man. His expression was different than Gage had seen before. Self-satisfied.

"Welcome," Ely said and gestured with a broad sweep of his arm toward the inside of the house. The bright aroma of marinara sauce and a hefty waft of fresh baked bread lured Gage in.

The décor was plain even to Gage's eye. The living room donned standard issue white walls, cork floor, and black rectangular furniture. There were no frills or personal touches other than the curtains and an unframed mirror mounted on the wall above the sofa. The front of the house had an open concept with the sitting and dining areas melting into one another. At the end was a narrow hallway leading to the sounds of clanking pots and smells of a warm meal. They sat together at the dining table.

"This looks more like a bachelor pad than the home of a married couple," Gage said.

"Tara likes things simple." Ely paused. "She's never felt the need to nest." Gage picked up a hint of remorse in his tone.

"Oh I see," he said. "No kids then."

Ely looked toward the hallway until he was satisfied Tara wasn't listening. He leaned in and whispered, "she's unable." His cocoa eyes glistened with moisture.

They sat in awkward silence before Ely stood to hang Gage's coat. The old man dug into his ratty pocket. He handed the coat to Ely with one hand and the dirty handkerchief with the other. "For you and your lady," he said.

Ely opened the fabric by plucking an end with his thumb and forefinger. He beamed as he removed the gleaming chalices. He placed them on the middle of the table between the three place settings.

"This is very kind, Gage. I knew you had it in you. I'm pleased you left your lair for something other than garbage picking," Ely said.

Gage grunted. "I--I am too," he said.

"Let me see if Tara needs help finishing up." Ely chuckled and excused himself from the table.

Gage smiled wider than he had for most of his life. A tingling tightness filled his chest. It was uncomfortable and yet he savored it. He had a friend.

Ely returned with a large bamboo bowl of mixed greens and chopped vegetables. "Please get started while we bring in the rest. I can't wait for you to meet Tara." Ely nearly squealed.

Gage spooned some salad onto his plate, stabbed it with his fork, and shoveled in a mouthful. Two figures walked toward him from the shadow of the hallway. Ely held a bowl overflowing with rubbery coils of linguine. Tara followed behind in the shadows holding something with both hands. Ely smiled at Gage with the same self-satisfied look. As he turned to set the bowl on the table, Gage saw Tara for the first time.

Her slim torso and limbs were concocted of metal plates, pipes, gears, and wires soldered together in an interlocking mass. Her hands and feet were adept, likely disembodied replicas, all having the same polycarbonate joints and translucent skin as Ely's own. Her head was overly large in proportion to her frame. Hundreds of strands of copper wire dangled down to her shoulders in the guise of hair. Her mouth and chin were nothing but a rectangular flap of metal hinged at her temples with a crude screw and bolt. She had no nose. Her eyes disturbed Gage most of all. They were camera lenses he knew were receiving information to analyze his existence.

Gage lurched out of his chair and walked backward until he bumped into the wall. Ely shouted something he could not understand. His blood coursed. His head pounded. His ears rang. He instinctively pressed his hand against the scar on his left knee. It throbbed beneath the fabric of his jeans. His chest was tight and no matter how much he gasped, he didn't receive enough oxygen. He was in fight, flight, or freeze mode.

"It's okay. It's okay," Ely's voice came into focus. "I built her. With things from your shop!"

Tara set the crockery full of steaming meat sauce on the table with herky-jerky motion. Her limbs clicked and clanked. She tilted her head at Gage. Tiny red lights inside her camera eyes flashed. She turned to Ely. Her wired hair dangled and jittered.

"Is something wrong?" she asked. "I don't comprehend this man." Her voice was soothing and feminine but the cadence was unnatural and choppy.

"My shop--," Gage trailed off. How dare Ely implicate him in creating his disgusting parody of life? His fear turned to anger. His flight to fight. 

Gage lunged at a chair and flung it toward Ely the best his old bones allowed. It served no other function than to distract the young man long enough for the old man to act on his true purpose. He picked up the first item he saw--a polished silver chalice.

He clutched it tight and plunged it into the metal face of Ely's robot wife. The crunch of metal on metal was satisfying. That satisfaction fueled his strength. Ely shouted and grasped Gage's shoulder. He hammered away in a blind frenzy, the chalice connecting with what it would, until he collapsed in a weeping pile of exhaustion.

All was silent but for the sniffles and gasps of Gage's sobbing. To his left was a battered heap of metal. To his right was a bloody lump of flesh. He had destroyed them both. Frankenstein and his monster. Gage collected the chalices. One dented and blood soaked. The other pristine. He wrapped them up in his handkerchief and began cleaning up.

It was a blustery evening and the chill cut right through his overcoat and into his bones. The clouds were low and oppressive. Tiny snowflakes whipped around his head in spastic swirls. His arm and shoulder were already sore and soon he wouldn't be able to lift them. It took every ounce of might and will to fling the overstuffed garbage bag he dragged behind him into the flatbed of his jalopy. A thin layer of white blanketed the city by the time he reached home. The next day the junk shop remained unopened for the first time in over forty years.

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