Alexander Weinstein - Children of the New World: Stories

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For Peter

WERE SITTING AROUND the table eating Cheeriosmy wife sipping tea, Mika playing with her spoon, me suggesting apple picking over the weekendwhen Yang slams his head into his cereal bowl. Its a sudden mechanical movement, and it splashes cereal and milk all over the table. Yang rises, looking as though nothing odd just occurred, and then he slams his face into the bowl again. Mika thinks this is hysterical. She starts mimicking Yang, bending over to dunk her own face in the milk, but Kyras pulling her away from the table and whisking her out of the kitchen so I can take care of Yang.

At times like these, Im not the most clearheaded. I stand in my kitchen, my chair knocked over behind me, at a total loss. Shut him down, call the company? Shut him down, call the company? By now the bowl is empty, milk dripping off the table, Cheerios all over the goddamned place, and Yang has a red ring on his forehead from where his face has been striking the bowl. A bit of skin has pulled away from his skull over his left eyelid. I decide I need to shut him down; the company can walk me through the reboot. I get behind Yang and untuck his shirt from his pants as he jerks forward, then I push the release button on his back panel. The things screwed shut and wont pop open.

Kyra, I say loudly, turning toward the doorway to the living room. No answer, just the sound of Mika upstairs, crying to see her brother, and the concussive thuds of Yang hitting his head against the table. Kyra!

What is it? she yells back. Thud.

I need a Phillips head!

What? Thud.

A screwdriver!

I cant get it! Mikas having a tantrum! Thud.

Great, thanks!

Kyra and I arent usually like this. Were a good couple, communicative and caring, but moments of crisis bring out the worst in us. The skin above Yangs left eye has completely split, revealing the white membrane beneath. Theres no time for me to run to the basement for my toolbox. I grab a butter knife from the table and attempt to use the tip as a screwdriver. The edge, however, is too wide, completely useless against the small metal cross of the screw, so I jam the knife into the back panel and pull hard. Theres a cracking noise, and a piece of flesh-colored Bioplastic skids across the linoleum as I flip open Yangs panel. I push the power button and wait for the dim blue light to shut off. With alarming stillness, Yang sits upright in his chair, as though something is amiss, and cocks his head toward the window. Outside, a cardinal takes off from the branch where it was sitting. Then, with an internal sigh, Yang slumps forward, chin dropping to his chest. The illumination beneath his skin extinguishes, giving his features a sickly ashen hue.

I hear Kyra coming down the stairs with Mika. Is Yang okay?

Dont come in here!

Mika wants to see her brother.

Stay out of the kitchen! Yangs not doing well! The kitchen wall echoes with the muffled footsteps of my wife and daughter returning upstairs.

Fuck, I say under my breath. Not doing well? Yangs a piece of crap and I just destroyed his back panel. God knows how much those cost. I get out my cell and call Brothers & Sisters Inc. for help.

* * *

WHEN WE ADOPTED Mika three years ago, it seemed like the progressive thing to do. We considered it our one small strike against cloning. Kyra and I are both white, middle-class, and have lived an easy and privileged life; we figured it was time to give something back to the world. It was Kyra who suggested she be Chinese. The earthquake had left thousands of orphans in its wake, Mika among them. It was hard not to agree. My main concernone I voiced to Kyra privately, and quite vocally to the adoption agency during our interviewwas the cultural differences. The most I knew about China came from the photos and Learn Chinese translations on the place mats at Golden Dragon. The adoption agency suggested purchasing Yang.

Hes a Big Brother, babysitter, and storehouse of cultural knowledge all in one, the woman explained. She handed us a colorful pamphlet China! it announced in red dragon-shaped lettersand said we should consider. We considered. Kyra was putting in forty hours a week at Crate & Barrel, and I was still managing double shifts at Whole Foods. It was true, we were going to need someone to take care of Mika, and there was no way we were going to use some clone from the neighborhood. Kyra and I werent egocentric enough to consider ourselves worth replicating, nor did we want our neighbors perfect kids making our daughter feel insecure. In addition, Yang came with a breadth of cultural knowledge that Kyra and I could never match. He was programmed with grades K through college, and had an in-depth understanding of national Chinese holidays like flag-raising ceremonies and Ghost Festivals. He knew about moon cakes and sky lanterns. For two hundred more, we could upgrade to a model that would teach Mika tai chi and acupressure when she got older. I thought about it. I could learn Mandarin, I said as we lay in bed that night. Come on, Kyra said, theres no fucking way thats happening. So I squeezed her hand and said, Okay, itll be two kids then.

* * *

HE CAME TO us fully programmed; there wasnt a baseball game, pizza slice, bicycle ride, or movie that I could introduce him to. Early on I attempted such outings to create a sense of companionship, as though Yang were a foreign exchange student in our home. I took him to see the Tigers play in Comerica Park. He sat and ate peanuts with me, and when he saw me cheer, he followed suit and put his hands in the air, but there was no sense that he was enjoying the experience. Ultimately, these attempts at camaraderie, from visiting haunted houses to tossing a football around the backyard, felt awkwardas though Yang were humoring meand so, after a couple months, I gave up. He lived with us, ate food, privately dumped his stomach canister, brushed his teeth, read Mika goodnight stories, and went to sleep when we shut off the lights.

All the same, he was an important addition to our lives. You could always count on him to keep conversation going with some fact about China that none of us knew. I remember driving with him, listening to World Drum on NPR, when he said from the backseat, This song utilizes the xun, an ancient Chinese instrument organized around minor third intervals. Other times, hed tell us Fun Facts. Like one afternoon, when wed all gotten ice cream at Old World Creamery, he turned to Mika and said, Did you know ice cream was invented in China over four thousand years ago? His delivery of this info was a bit mechanicala linguistic trait we attempted to keep Mika from adopting. There was a lack of passion to his statements, as though he wasnt interested in the facts. But Kyra and I understood this to be the result of his being an early model, and when one considered the moments when hed turn to Mika and say, I love you, little sister, there was no way to deny what an integral part of our family he was.

* * *

TWENTY MINUTES OF hold-time later, Im informed that Brothers & Sisters Inc. isnt going to replace Yang. My warranty ran out eight months ago, which means Ive got a broken Yang, and if I want telephone technical support, its going to cost me thirty dollars a minute now that Im post-warranty. I hang up. Yang is still slumped with his chin on his chest. I go over and push the power button on his back, hoping all he needed was to be restarted. Nothing. Theres no blue light, no sound of his body warming up.