“Sybil told me that he would give anything to see his wife one more time,” I almost whisper, looking down. “And tell her he’s sorry”.
When I look up, Minotaur is no longer next to me. He is moving through the crowd on deck, looking for our victim. I see the man a moment before Minotaur does, and I start toward him to warn him. But in less than an instant, Minotaur is at the man’s side in the form of a sailor. He whispers a proposition, and the man fights tears as he nods, solemnly, in assent. Minotaur steps away from him and transforms into a female persona. The man drops to his knees and begins to sob when he sees his “wife.” His stiff posture relaxes as he yields desperately, gratefully, to the emotions the persona evokes. Minotaur has rendered his wife perfectly. She kneels beside the man and takes both his hands in hers. She looks into his eyes and speaks to him earnestly. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can tell every word is perfect. I can see the relief on the man’s face as the persona speaks the words he’s been longing to hear. I marvel at Minotaur’s skill, and wonder how a computer program understands emotion so well. Now the man is talking to the persona, pouring out a torrent of confession. His grief and guilt are as palpable as my own.
As thoughts of my losses drift into my mind, I suddenly remember that Sybil said I would find Lucas on my way to the City. If he died in the sinkhole, he might be on this very ship. I stand on tiptoe to look over the crowd, wondering how Lucas would seem to me in this realm. Would he be ghostly gray like the other shades? Would he understand what was happening? Would he recognize me in my living form? I climb on top of a crate to get a better look, but I don’t see him.
The ship is emptying out, and Minotaur is still talking with the weeping man. I start to worry that one of the sailors will notice. I walk over to them and put a hand on the persona’s shoulder to let Minotaur know we have to go.
“Darling, it’s time to give your coin to the girl,” the persona says sweetly.
The man turns to face me. His eyes are red and his cheeks are stained with tears, but he is smiling. As soon as he gives me the coin, the image of his wife disappears. But he doesn’t seem to mind, as though the conversation with Minotaur’s illusion has brought him peace. To me this seems like the worst kind of lie. No real healing has taken place, yet the man seems fully content with his bargain—happy enough with this false promise of forgiveness. I feel slightly queasy about the part I’ve played in the deception and the way I’ve profited from it.
“Put it under your tongue quickly,” Minotaur says as I stare at the golden coin. Its color radiates in my almost colorless hand. The grayness of this place feels as if it’s been seeping into me, dampening my spirits and my energy. When I see the gold glow, I feel some relief, a jolt of liveliness. I wipe the coin carefully on my dress and put it in my mouth.
As I walk down the ramp behind the soul I’ve just swindled, I scrape my bare feet against the wood to try to give myself a splinter. I want a physical token—pain to accompany every step—to remind me how easy it is to compromise your soul. But the wood underfoot is smooth and polished, and I reach the bottom with no cautionary wound to keep me honest.
I stand on the gangplank behind the scarred man. When he steps off the ramp and onto the black ash, his ghostly body is seized by the same violent shaking that destroyed the woman with no coin. I bite my tongue to keep from yelling a confession as I watch the man’s bereaved soul dissipate. Not the fate he deserved, I think, tasting the coin, hard and bitter, under my tongue. I step forward, and the sailor nods and lets me pass.
I stand at the bottom of the gangplank for a moment to watch the remaining souls leave the ship. The very last passenger is a nervous, coinless, man. He tries to stay on the
When I look up, Minotaur is no longer next to me. He is moving through the crowd on deck, looking for our victim. I see the man a moment before Minotaur does, and I start toward him to warn him. But in less than an instant, Minotaur is at the man’s side in the form of a sailor. He whispers a proposition, and the man fights tears as he nods, solemnly, in assent. Minotaur steps away from him and transforms into a female persona. The man drops to his knees and begins to sob when he sees his “wife.” His stiff posture relaxes as he yields desperately, gratefully, to the emotions the persona evokes. Minotaur has rendered his wife perfectly. She kneels beside the man and takes both his hands in hers. She looks into his eyes and speaks to him earnestly. I can’t hear what she’s saying, but I can tell every word is perfect. I can see the relief on the man’s face as the persona speaks the words he’s been longing to hear. I marvel at Minotaur’s skill, and wonder how a computer program understands emotion so well. Now the man is talking to the persona, pouring out a torrent of confession. His grief and guilt are as palpable as my own.
As thoughts of my losses drift into my mind, I suddenly remember that Sybil said I would find Lucas on my way to the City. If he died in the sinkhole, he might be on this very ship. I stand on tiptoe to look over the crowd, wondering how Lucas would seem to me in this realm. Would he be ghostly gray like the other shades? Would he understand what was happening? Would he recognize me in my living form? I climb on top of a crate to get a better look, but I don’t see him.
The ship is emptying out, and Minotaur is still talking with the weeping man. I start to worry that one of the sailors will notice. I walk over to them and put a hand on the persona’s shoulder to let Minotaur know we have to go.
“Darling, it’s time to give your coin to the girl,” the persona says sweetly.
The man turns to face me. His eyes are red and his cheeks are stained with tears, but he is smiling. As soon as he gives me the coin, the image of his wife disappears. But he doesn’t seem to mind, as though the conversation with Minotaur’s illusion has brought him peace. To me this seems like the worst kind of lie. No real healing has taken place, yet the man seems fully content with his bargain—happy enough with this false promise of forgiveness. I feel slightly queasy about the part I’ve played in the deception and the way I’ve profited from it.
“Put it under your tongue quickly,” Minotaur says as I stare at the golden coin. Its color radiates in my almost colorless hand. The grayness of this place feels as if it’s been seeping into me, dampening my spirits and my energy. When I see the gold glow, I feel some relief, a jolt of liveliness. I wipe the coin carefully on my dress and put it in my mouth.
As I walk down the ramp behind the soul I’ve just swindled, I scrape my bare feet against the wood to try to give myself a splinter. I want a physical token—pain to accompany every step—to remind me how easy it is to compromise your soul. But the wood underfoot is smooth and polished, and I reach the bottom with no cautionary wound to keep me honest.
I stand on the gangplank behind the scarred man. When he steps off the ramp and onto the black ash, his ghostly body is seized by the same violent shaking that destroyed the woman with no coin. I bite my tongue to keep from yelling a confession as I watch the man’s bereaved soul dissipate. Not the fate he deserved, I think, tasting the coin, hard and bitter, under my tongue. I step forward, and the sailor nods and lets me pass.
I stand at the bottom of the gangplank for a moment to watch the remaining souls leave the ship. The very last passenger is a nervous, coinless, man. He tries to stay on the
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