The Automaton
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<strong>The</strong> <strong>Automaton</strong> ~ David Wheldon ~ 6/11/2011<br />
humanity, the warmth of her gaze. I loved her. She knew it. And so we quietly played.<br />
She was making allowances, but, of course, she quietly won, as she always did. <strong>The</strong>n<br />
she had replaced the pieces and now sat with her hand on her sand-glass.<br />
Suddenly she wore an air of extraordinary vigilance: her gaze was so keen I was<br />
afraid. She suddenly raised her right hand, and, with a loud sigh, she pointed to the<br />
curtain of a dressing-room. Her gesture was both urgent and authoritative: I would not<br />
have argued with it. <strong>The</strong>n I heard the sound of footsteps in the corridor. Without any<br />
thought of my own I obeyed the <strong>Automaton</strong>, turned down the gas and softly made my<br />
way to the darkened dressing room. I looked out from the crack between the curtains.<br />
<strong>The</strong> door was unlocked: A figure entered and turned up the gas. It was the<br />
<strong>Automaton</strong>’s impresario.<br />
He stood before her, his hands in the pockets of his dress trousers, which, I have<br />
to say, were a little threadbare and formless; one of the satin stripes had become<br />
unstitched.<br />
‘So, Madame, we have to change things. <strong>The</strong> trouble is that you always win.<br />
After a time there’s no money to be made from that. I’m sure you see the argument.’<br />
He paused, and looked at her, almost as if he expected her to make a reply.<br />
‘Well,’ he said. ‘I made you, and I can do as I wish with you. You don’t have<br />
delusions of being animate and sentient, do you? Perhaps you do. I have wondered.<br />
Well, there’s not much I can do about that. But I did make you a very superior chessplayer<br />
— you play a far greater game than ever I could — but now I shall change you.<br />
You’ll become a moderately good chess-player. Tomorrow. You must become used to<br />
it. You will understand what it is to lose. A new experience for you, eh? It will not be a<br />
pleasant one, I suspect. Understand. We shall have a close confederacy. You can’t win<br />
all the time and rake in the gold. And gold is what I’m short of.’<br />
Again he appeared to be awaiting a reply.<br />
He sighed. ‘We are no longer in Paris, Madame. Nor Saint Petersburg. Nor<br />
Vienna. We are not entertaining the crowned heads of Europe now. <strong>The</strong> King of<br />
Bavaria no longer chooses to take his chances against you. Neither do the statesmen of<br />
the New World. Nor, Madame, the Sultan of Nishapur, with his mathematical advisors<br />
at his elbow, quietly counselling his moves. You allowed him time: you abided by the<br />
turn of your sand-glass, but you allowed him weeks between his moves. You allowed<br />
him everything a mind could offer, and, of course, he lost to you.’<br />
<strong>The</strong> impresario sighed. He looked across the room. ‘Madame, what did I hope<br />
from you?’<br />
He looked out of the window. ‘Regard, Madame, the one-eyed town we<br />
entertain today. Well. We have to live. It’s difficult.’<br />
His voice became more active, as if he were speaking to the <strong>Automaton</strong> as<br />
though she possessed sentience and understanding. ‘Remember mediaeval Rochus, the<br />
carver and image maker. I forget the city: he’s mentioned in Foxe’s treatise. Rochus<br />
had his own workshop. Valladolid? I don’t remember. He had carved a statue of Our<br />
Lady. She was of great beauty, her eyes compassionate, her arms ready to receive the<br />
imploring prayers of the weary. Her head was bent so slightly in an expression of<br />
Agapé: caring love — unconditional compassion: an acknowledgement of the love of<br />
the divine for the dirty. Rochus placed this statue in a niche outside his workshop to<br />
advertise his trade. At night he would bring the image in. One day two priests entered<br />
his workshop. <strong>The</strong>y had seen the statue and they wished to purchase it for the<br />
cathedral. But Rochus would not sell. “I made it,” he said. “It testifies to my ability as<br />
a sculptor. It brings me trade. I shall never sell.” “But you must. So beautiful a statue<br />
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