The Perfect Human

Chapter III: Recall

Recall

When Abelard had first arrived for the interview he was immediately drawn to the wall sized windows at one side of the large lobby area.

The receptionist didn't normally look up from his glossy magazines but did take notice when he heard the familiar bonk, much louder than usual, like the sound from a giant guitar. The really big guy had knocked his broad forehead against the cool thermal pane, rather harder than would have another, as he tried to take in as much as he could of the vast porch, forty floors below, onto which the building was disgorging its contents. He only glared at the receptionist's disdainful stare, made a mental note to harm him at the first opportunity and returned to his musings. Only one small thing, he reflected, made him unlike the tiny people scurrying about the business of acquiring ever more; he alone had no apparently useful memories to help him manoeuvre through the infinite subtleties which layered even the simplest exchanges between people.

The fluid crowd evolved into familiar patterns. Those that herded together in lumpy groups his savvy eye told him were prey. Around these clusters the predators hovered, always alert to even the smallest opportunity. His own kind. It's not that he felt any immediate bond with the hunters or a sly pleasure that he would have much upon which to feed. He was merely, without apparent emotion, observing what was, what he had lived all his life, the one no believed.

He didn't spare much thought for the impending interview as he had been assured it would be a mere formality, which was fortunate as he didn't have much in the way of memories to prepare him for such things. In truth, he didn't have much in the way of memories to guide him in most matters since those on which he most relied, he has been assured, were all pure fabrications. But he knew better, and would keep in mind the practical truths which had early on been imparted to him and had very successfully guided him all his presumably imaginary life.

He was barely ten when the priest in a moment of spirited honesty confided to him, "my lad, our partnership, the sacred one negotiated between my people and your people, is the foundation of our success. There are but a few simple rules you must unfailingly follow." The lascivious agent of Rome, having once been brought to heel by the determined boy, paused for a moment when he saw consternation darkening his charge's stern features and quickly thought to add, "do not fret, you will find in these prescriptions nothing onerous." He waited a moment for the scowl to disappear from the child's expressive face. "As long as we keep it that way you can lie with your neighbour's wife and covet his ass, you can kill, you can steal and you can be untruthful, all these transgressions very quickly leading you to riches and power. As regards honouring your parents, pride and you know the rest, only if convenient." But the drunken haze had not entirely fogged up this stout cleric's good senses.

He did assure his by now perceptibly astonished charge that there was still a God, and in the Almighty's view he would be deemed a sinner and even he, his noble lineage notwithstanding, would need the intercession of the priest's fine institution to acquire the keys to paradise. When the time came he would also, like everyone else, have to expiate for all his earthly and all too human lapses and generously endow Mother Church. Indeed, the leering ecclesiastic suggested, when grown to manhood, he should not leave such matters to the very last moment, given the hazards of the violent life he would be leading, but take every opportunity to keep his repentance ledger in good balance. However, for this priest, his clever attempt to make of himself the indispensable lubricant for Abelard to pass through the eye of the proverbial needle did not quite work out.

As it happened, some years later when Abelard's career as a captain was in full flourish, this particular man of the cloth, who had so shaped his life strategies, did himself become bothersome and had to be put to the sword. But that was a very long time ago, at least in Abelard's false memories. In his own defence he does recall that this venal servant of God was entirely deserving of his end - a debaucher, fornicator and, worst of all, a French sympathizer. Odd as it may seem, in this make-believe world things were attractively different. Everything had a comfortable certainty, a preordination, so to speak. Do unto others before they did unto you and be sure to make peace with the Almighty just before passing on. Follow this simple formula and a choice spot for Abelard at the court of eternal joy was practically guaranteed, not to belittle the great pleasures he would moreover extract while still trapped in his mortal coil. No matter the butchery, the thievery, even the blasphemy, a legacy to Mother Church and all would be forgiven. Not that the basic rules had changed much since then, only the institutions with which he would be in partnership were now mostly extra-ecclesiastical.