The Automaton - Ch. 1

Chapter 1

The deep wells of ache in her chest chimed with the tapping of the rain on the windowsill next to her bed. Scratchy hospital bedsheets that smelled of bleach and the trapped scent of too many years touching human bodies, dead or alive, made her squirm with discomfort.

She sighed, looking out at the buildings along Ogden Street in Chicago. It was particularly quiet that morning, a day in the midst of the week before Autumnal Equinox at the turn of the century.

Calantha had just begun her leave, preparing for a life-changing surgery. Too weak to work at the garment factory any longer, they deemed her inept— but just enough life left in her to live. The in-between stages of wanting and waiting left her listless and apathetic.

Yet small sparks of hope arose every so often, this surgery could change the course of her future. She could return home to her aging Papa and much younger half-brother. Her Mama had long since passed. Perhaps someday, she could take spirited walks again through the blooming fields north of Des Plaines where her aunt resides.

Most often, and without any warning, she felt the pangs of loneliness, much worse now that she is incapacitated. Feeling like no one could possibly understand what she is going through, she kept her thoughts to herself. The loneliness of an unknown disease spreading throughout her body, the loneliness of being misunderstood in her uniqueness was inevitable.

Calantha was allowed to ‘exercise’ up to three times a day, with assistance from the hospital staff. She wasn’t monitored most of the day, and only once or twice was she checked on during the night. The tumor that had grown on her neck was pressing up against the carotid artery, causing her to black out, thusly being a danger to herself and others. It had grown to such a size that it was visible and hideous. She was self-conscious and shy because of this. When eyes scanned her neck, she watched the eyes of the observer widen, dart away quickly, or eyebrows curving into concern, disgust.

Her first instinct was to curl like a loosened flower petal in the late heat of autumn, not wanting to be seen, for she felt this would cause distress in others. A dark green scarf that reflected in her hazel eyes was a daily staple in her wardrobe. She neither cared nor calculated this choice, as she had little money to be fashionable and never imagined ever being someone’s partner in life, so why bother to be approachable?

Nearly a week had passed before her restlessness got the best of her patience. She began to sit herself up when the aids were not around, testing her ability to walk on her own. One of the aids was an elderly woman of surprising strength. Her voice was gravely, that of someone who smoked heavily. There were long gray whiskers curling down from her chin that she did not address. Her eyes were fiery, gray and the pupils slightly clouded. It gave her a menacing look that told the world that she had been through it all and to never test her. She dressed in what looked like an outfit from a monastery in Europe.

Calantha was not aware of a church nearby until she heard the shrill aid mention ‘cleaning up the abandoned church in the east wing will never be completed! I swear on Mother Mary we will never see the end of this— wretchedness!’

The outburst gave Calantha an idea. The east wing wasn’t so far from her room. If she could reach it, she could be alone. Truly alone. Not worry about people staring at her or fussing over her. Touching her when she did not want to be touched. Poked, prodded, lifted and forced into uncomfortable positions without her consent. She wanted her body back, the only freedom she had was what she could control. Her mind had been scattered, her only joy that she had was singing. Especially lately, as she hadn’t been able to sing to her Papa to “soothe the aches” he would say to her. She knew it did nothing, but his smile gave her reason to give in.

On the first evening of her walk-alone practice, she got as far as the main lobby. She studied the legend and the map of the hospital for a few minutes.

Second left after the kitchen, up a half flight of stairs, first door on the right.

Memorizing the instructions, she planned to arrive safely the next night, as long as she wasn’t caught. The lightness in her step and the grace in which she walked gave her an advantage. She arrived back in her bed with a grin of satisfaction.

Not a single hint of discovery was found on any of the faces of the aids or nurses that next morning. Her courage soared. Solace would be found in that evening’s sermon, a quiet prayer of her own. Though she never attended a formal church, nor believed in the God that the masses worshiped, she found serenity in the little things, the sweet calls of the birds, the light that speckled the leaves in the summer evening, the way the clouds gave way to works of art across the landscapes. That was her heaven, that’s where her spirit resided. And mostly, she was able to appreciate those spirits through solitude. Her own ‘church’ awaited in bated breath for the evening to come.

She listened for the last scraping of the chairs being placed in the waiting room next to hers and for the voices to be drowned in the halls beyond before she touched one toe to the cold concrete. Peering around the corners, she made her move as quickly and quietly as her current state would allow.

She slipped on a slick part of the flooring and caught her breath, the familiar black tunnel surrounded her vision, and stars began to sparkle in her periphery. Her practice had reminded her to slowly pull her chin towards the ceiling and breath through her diaphragm. Allowing herself a moment of possibly being seen, she paused and waited for the blackening of her vision to pass. Blinking and steading her breath, her heart rate had suddenly risen from the excitement, knowing she needed a calm state before she could proceed. The moment passed quickly and she found her way to the abandoned church.

She hadn’t thought that it could be locked when she pressed the handle down and the weathered dark wood door didn’t budge. Her heart sank. She stared at the door handle and made a small wish.

She pressed the handle down a little harder this time and gave the door a nudge with her shoulder. It popped open with loud scraping and groaning. Steeling herself from the secondary wave of dizziness and fainting from possibility of being found, she breathed shallowly, listening intently for footsteps for what felt like an hour.

No one, nothing. No sounds, no reactions, no bells or alarms, just silence.

Feeling this sense of accomplishment, she moved forward.

It was darker than she had hoped with the exception of a pair of small rectangular windows above the pulpit, with a morose Jesus upon the cross in the very center of it all. The pews had illuminated cobwebs from the almost full moon. It lit the pathway, and revealed the full use of the church, which was a storage space for many things. Old chairs, equipment, tools and scalpels, some with remnants of tissue and blood. Boxes and books, bibles and novels. She picked up one that looked like it had been read a hundred times. Placing it under her arm, she found herself irritated that no one had offered her a book to read. They must have assumed she was illiterate, given her state of clothing upon arrival and assumed she was low born.

The excitement was beginning to show its effect on her blood circulation. She had to keep calm. This wasn’t to be borne, as she found the silhouette of an arm and a leg sitting on a chair which caused her heart to skip a beat.

Alarmed, she balanced herself on the back of a pew and made her eyes focus on the person.

A blanket had covered the top half of what could be the body of a human.

She approached slowly, studying the skin and paused at the sight of metal joints in the arms and found it to be a full-sized dummy. She breathed a sigh of relief and moved confidently towards it.

Placing her book down on the desk in front of the dummy, she picked up the items surrounding the blanket and placed them on the ground in order to avoid more noise.

What had startled her then was nothing compared to the shock that came from the face that was revealed.

Part human, part machine, part otherworldly, this was the face of a man almost in perfection. Carved out of plaster, face painted with the expertise of a world-renowned artist. But the face itself resembled a man that had a look of longing, madness and deep loneliness.

T he deep-set eyes caught her by surprise. They looked alive. The black sharpness of them, the way it had eyelids that looked like they could blink. The eyebrows furrowed slightly, showing anger and a coldness that could not be described. The slightly curved lips, the pointed nose and a soft clefted chin gave him a look of distinguished beauty. The reflection of the waning moon’s light on the glowing face had shown a masterpiece, a work of art.

She looked over the skull that was split down the middle, one side exposed to wirings, mechanical wheels, springs and coils, while the other side was primed in what looked like hair follicles.

“I know what you are! You’re an automaton!” A smile grew in genuine earnest across her lips, which she hadn’t felt in ages. Her Papa’s sharing of his expertise and wild fascination of mechanics, electricity and motors had proved useful in this moment.

A treasure of immeasurable quality, something she hadn’t seen before and most likely never will again. A flood of questions came next. What was its purpose? Why was it here, in a hospital church of all places? Who made it?

She studied the arms, sensitive to the location of the lower body to examine the legs— but there was only one. This automaton was not complete. She stared at him in wonderment. Bewildered by her discovery, she felt an innate sense of wanting to care for him. Gently, she reached a cautioned hand to his forehead, she swallowed in hesitation and carefully touched his forehead to brush off any dust. She half expected it to come alive at her soft touch. When he didn’t move, she more confidently dusted off the buildup off his shoulders.

Faintness began to settle in. She knew she needed to get back to her bed before she was found out. This was much too exciting to miss out on if she foolishly let herself go too far.

She whispered to him, “I’ll come back tomorrow and get you some clothes and a washcloth to clean you up.”

She couldn’t peel her eyes off of his that were made of glass. They had a depth to them that could haunt her. She had completely forgotten her mission to sing softly into the quiet of the night for reprieve.

For a few moments longer, she wondered if he had ever been ‘alive’ and if his permanently closed mouth could speak. What would his secrets reveal?

 ~

Through dream state and awake, she had imagined a place from her childhood. A darkened room, cluttered with bloodied bandages covering the windows, the screams from her mother who had passed during childhood, the stillborn half-sister that was never to be loved.

"Little Calantha, you’re so sweet. My love, Callie. My love.” She whispered before her last breath.

Tears fell like black diamonds that rolled to the sides of her face as she stared into the darkness of the hospital ceiling. The morning light had not made itself known yet. Scuffles and coughs began to register in the forefront of her mind. Only a few hours of sleep may have occurred, and with most of the night she was thinking of the automaton that had emerged from the monastery.

What was his name, if ever a creature were to have one? Maybe I shall give him a name. Maybe that scowl on his face will lighten. She thought to herself, smiling sweetly.

Even though she knew it was impossible, given the face is carved marble or porcelain. One can dream, though can’t one?

Each passing moment was a game of calming the nerves enough to not have a fainting spell and wanting to have the thrill of seeing the automaton. She calculated the days rounds, seeing if there was a time she could sneak away during the day, so she could see him in the daylight, but alas— there was no break long enough to escape. She did, however, find a cloth in the cabinet next to her bed that she could use to clean him up and that was cause for relief.

That evening, with the damp cloth in hand, she again waited for the world to cease of its comings and goings, and then snuck back to the monastery and carefully opened the door this time, with caution.

Her eyes immediately flickered over to where he sat. The moon had waned a little further, but as she had been able to leave earlier that night, the moon had presented itself in a favorable way in which there was more light, for longer.

Walking carefully to him, with intention and kindness, she set to clean his face, avoiding the eyes then the jointed and mechanical limbs. As she was tenderly following the curves of his face, noticing more details this time such as an elegant jawline and full eyelashes attached to the lids, she could have sworn she saw a glimmer in the sheen of his eyes. It gave her a start.

It must be the moonlight reflecting off of them. That’s all. She murmured to herself.

She caught a glimpse of depth in them, they were dark brown, with striation and pattern just like human eyes.

They must be made from a specialist that created prosthetic eyes. She continued until she felt satisfied enough.

Looking at him with a sense of pride, smiling, she thought he looked distinguished, but naked.

“Time to find you some clothes.” She said aloud while giving him a cheeky wink. She had never flirted with a man before, it felt safe with an inanimate figure of a man.

Humming "Buffalo Gals" while searching as quietly as possible, she found a white cotton undershirt, a red and black plaid long sleeved shirt and black slack pants. She found a top hat that seemed out of place; she went for the dark gray wool cap that seemed more fitting.

Like a small child too weary from a deep sleep and unable to dress themselves, she pulled his arms through the shirts and then pulled the pants over his single leg.

He was heavy, so she had to take many breaks and at one point thought, “what in God’s name am I doing?” Nearly passing out from the exertion, she felt silly for even thinking of doing this.

She had less than a week before her scheduled surgery, so close to possibly having a normal life and here she was playing with a doll, risking life and death.

Staring at him again, now fully clothed and cleaned up, one could almost mistake him for having a beating heart.

Sitting down on the first stair of the pulpit, she had remembered what her purpose was.

Clearing her throat, quieting her heart, breathing in slowly and warming up her vocal cords with humming, she started to sing her Papa’s favorite song, "How Can I Leave Thee!"

Her voice faltered a little at first, while trying to sing as softly and quietly as possible, then it leveled out to a pleasant melody. Closing her eyes, she imagined it was her Papa in front of her, smiling. Her voice cracked, her breathing sped up, a sob choked in her throat while she continued to sing. She stopped and allowed a moment of sadness pass through her. She might never see her Papa or brother again. She wouldn’t know, of course, but they will have to go on without her if this surgery fails and she dies. Grateful for already being near the floor, she felt her vision tunnelling again so she laid herself on the ground to let the feeling pass.

After a few minutes of crying and releasing her fears, with her legs out to her side, she pulled herself up to her elbows to look up at the automaton, for what— she didn’t know. Possibly some sign of existence, some comfort?

What she saw next gave her such a fright she had to consciously stifle a scream.

The automatons head had turned towards her and his eyelids were closed.

Calantha woke up hours later, as she had surmised by the darkness of the room. Panicked and afraid, she scrambled to pick herself up and without a glance back at the automaton, she quickly walked back to her bed.

Heart racing, blackened vision returning, she couldn’t get the thought out of her mind as the darkness took over her.

He is alive.

Stay tuned for Chapter Two next week! Thank you for reading.