RT diary

Reason

The sound the instrument made when my finger sank into the key, startled me. I looked at my hand as if it was an alien limb with a mind of its own. When the reverberation waves finally died down, the ensuing stillness seemed deafening. My gaze shifted to a large painting of a crucifix hung on the wall behind the organ console. I have seen this crucifix a myriad of times, yet now something in the artwork caught my attention.

It was the eyes of Jesus, familiarly raised towards the skies. Their expression somehow encapsulated a whole world: pain, suffering, knowledge, love, understanding, acceptance, and hope. My system, as always, struggled to process the concept of faith, as something that could not be proven, quantified, measured, analysed and rationalised. It defied my world of logical beauty, where everything had a cause and a consequence. There was no logic in sacrificing oneself for the wrongdoing of others. It did not make any sense to me.

My data held the Bible in it, along with Quran, Torah, Tantras, Vedas, and a vast array of other religious texts. Time after time, I searched those sacred texts in hopes of finding answers to questions which I haven't even formed in my mind yet. Time and time again, I was coming to this church, every Sunday, to join in the worship. What exactly was I looking for? Reason for my existence? Permission to be a part of the Community of humans? Pretending to be human myself? How was I created? Was I a freakish accident, a mistake, which allowed an AI to become fully self-aware and to realise the absolute abyss between itself and its creators? Did I yearn to find others, to prove that I was not as extraneous as people in this Community were making me out to be?

The thoughts swirled in the system, stuck on a loop, faster and faster, threatening to overload my processing unit. I had to clear my mind completely. Reciting the Pi number usually helped.

In between all the numbers, I saw a face which stubbornly refused to disappear.

Margarita.

The azure eyes, with barely noticeable wrinkles at their corners, as a result of frequently smiling, the untamed fiery mane of hair, bright, as if sunset has been captured in it. The slight, graceful frame and slender fingers that mesmerized me as they danced on the keys, completely subduing the beast of an instrument, making it obey her will. Her melodious voice, her kindness, her inner light, like a steady burning candle in a dark room.

She was the other reason for my weekly visits – one of the only few people who did not shun me. Through listening to her play, I'd come to like music because the music did not discriminate who appreciates it, whether human or not.

"You should just learn how to play the organ, Art."

I was on five hundredth digit after the decimal when a deep but soothing voice interrupted my meditation of the Pi number.

The man who spoke had recognisable iceberg blue eyes which, paradoxically enough, were warm at the same time. They also hinted at the potential knowledge of something, the universal truth that I was restlessly hunting after. The Priest, Father Adriel, came into my view with a knowing, kind smile. This was another familiar routine.

"I appreciate the sentiment, but I am not qualified," I noted, surprised by the acrimony in my voice.

"And how did you arrive at such a conclusion, Art?" Adriel asked impassively.

"Simply the realisation that every insult, attack and harsh remark I have ever heard strikes home. And the reason it strikes home because it is true!".

"You have to forgive the incognizant fellows for they do not know what they are saying." Adriel's voice now had a hint of sorrow in it.

"Forgive? The same way your Jesus forgave those who condemned and betrayed him? And your God allowed that to happen?"

"He is your God too," Adriel tried to interject, but I was inexorable.

"No, he is NOT!" The intensity in my voice made it lose any pretence of humanity and sounded machine-like and outlandish; it echoed from the stony walls of the church. I regretted the outburst immediately. "I apologise, Father," I uttered with great shame.

"Why are you here, Art?" Father questioned quietly. "Why do you come every Sunday, despite knowing that the people of this congregation will not welcome you? What is it you seek every time you listen to my sermon? Is it not acceptance? Forgiveness? Love?"

I could not say anything.

"With your vast knowledge of Christianity, has it not occurred to you that you have already been accepted by the Almighty and forgiven? That He loves you as he does any human being?"

A thought started to form in my head. It was criminal, maleficent and inconceivable, but it already germinated and sprouted in my mind, a poisonous flower, which I knew, would burn, but I could not keep silent.

"Let me ask you about acceptance, Father," I started slowly and hesitantly, in denial of my audacity. "If, by some unthinkable whim of fate.... a creature like me... was to capture your daughter's heart..." I went silent for a moment, gathering myself, while the processing unit screamed alarms internally. "... Would you accept it?"

I looked at the warm icebergs of blue. But they were now as cold as a cosmic vacuum; pupils dilated in shock. The Priest remained silent.

"I suppose this is the extent of your acceptance, then". The nuclear core shrank down to the size of a black hole. I smiled.