The Exemplary Son

By Jana Pavloušková

"Hansel," she sighed. "I don't know. But it seemed kind of wet in here." The man pulled back the blankets. It was not just wet, it was brown and smelly.

Everywhere. On the nightgown, the sheets, the bedding. The incontinence pad did not stand a chance against the onslaught of acute diarrhea.

"Oh, dinner didn't make you feel good?"

"I didn't want to ... Oh, it is so embarrassing."

"Come on, let's fix it. And maybe we'll find some gold in there," he said, uttering a soothing phrase he had overheard from a neighbor on maternity leave. They were in a similar situation. Except he had to deal with larger scales and a poor prognosis.

Hansel is always there when his mother needs him.

He stripped down to his boxers to stain as little clothing as possible, scooped his mother into his arms, and carried her to the shower. She was not able to walk, but he was strong and could easily carry her.

"No! Not in the shower!" She protested.

"Yes, we have to wash it off," he persuaded her. "And I'm going to give you a nice warm shower."

"No! Not the water! I don't need to wash!"

He undressed her with one hand and held her on the flimsy plastic shower seat with the other one. Even though the old woman could not take a step on her own, she still wanted to get up and try her luck at escaping. She grabbed the faucet and kept changing the temperature setting. Hansel engaged her hands with a long-handled brush and soothed her by humming a lullaby.

"Help!" She cried as he turned the pleasantly warm water on her. "I don't want it! Help!" 

The voice control of home appliances and their security features had long been turned off. Fortunately, the neighbors had also gotten used to such outbursts, so no one called the police.

He washed his mother, wiped himself with a washcloth for the time being, and threw the soiled nightgown into the washing machine. They found no gold.

Then he carried the old woman back to her bedroom, dressed her in clean clothes, and tucked her into a fluffy blanket in the chair before changing the bed. He took the bedding to the washing machine and turned the cold prewash cycle on. He put his mother to bed and stroked her white hair. The alarm clock read 4:23.

"Good night, Mom. And may you have sweet dreams."

"Good night, Hansel. I hope that mine are dry," the old woman nodded. Then something bubbled. Her eyes widened. "Oh, no..."

Hansel sighed, but then he gently touched his mother's hand. "What do you think, will the gold be there this time?"

Johannes Grün had a great night.

Guests at the company presentation munched on refreshments served by robot waitresses and eagerly awaited the introduction of the new model. Even the minority shareholders smiled at Johannes, and he basked in their goodwill as well as the spotlight on stage.

"Ladies and gentlemen, I would like to introduce our new product: the Postman!" A line of robots in vintage postal uniforms came out from behind the stage. One of them brought him a paper letter with a red seal. Johannes sniffed it theatrically and sighed.

"You can't smell the ladies' perfume over e-mail. In addition to love letters, our robots can deliver heavy loads and dispense money thanks to a built-in ATM. We expect them to find applications not only in delivery services but also in important social tasks. 

Johannes introduces his company’s latest product: the Postman.

Compared to competing models, they can talk about something more complex than the weather.

"Politics, for example."

The guests laughed and applauded.

Johannes came down from the stage. He knew which lady's perfume he wanted to enjoy today--the one that enveloped the platinum-haired, bronze-skinned sex bomb standing at the bar. In her silver sequin dress, she was impossible to miss, even with eyes blinded by the spotlight.

Besides, he didn't have to introduce himself to her. He didn't even have to convince her of his accomplishments at the company.

As he remembered, she worked in the accounting department, so she probably had more insight into these matters than he did. And today he was a hero. He was hard to resist.

"How did you enjoy the presentation?" Johannes asked. "Are you as turned on by robots as I am?"

"No," she smiled, "I'm mostly turned on by men."

She didn't even try to repel his charms. And what's more, she proved to be quite a passionate companion during the night. True, he had to admit that the sight of his incipient baldness, sagging belly, and Viagra-enhanced penis probably didn't turn her on, but so what? His financial attractiveness trumped any potential shortcomings.

Now, in the shower, under the influence of hot water and morning erections, he'd even managed another action without medical assistance.

"So, kitten," he tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, "if you want, leave me your contact and maybe we can have dinner tonight."

Of course, she agreed. She wanted something more tangible in return for her services than a ride in a fancy car and a night in a posh house.

But for now, what pleased him most was that he'd refreshed her name thanks to the note with her phone number. Laura.

The alarm went off at 5:45 so they could get to the hospital in time. The old woman had an appointment with an internist and he needed fresh blood tests. On an empty stomach. Automation, robotics, and all manner of digital interfaces were advancing by leaps and bounds, but biological processes could not be bypassed.

And if Hansel and his mother did not want to sit in the waiting room all morning with other old patients, they had to get up early.

Especially when public transport drivers and many other professionals had been on strike for three days. They were bothered by the property equality of their unborn colleagues— robots. No matter that robots now also have to compensate any damage they cause. Above all, they will also get a salary to pay for their maintenance. Some nonprogressives, however, feared that someone might think of comparing the cost of the workers to their productivity.

So Hansel had to order a shared self-driving car- even though he always tended to prefer humans and their interests-and went to his mother's bedroom. Mom was not moving or breathing. He also held his breath.

The old woman suddenly gasped and snored loudly. He calmed down. It was just that damn sleep apnea again.
"Mom," he shook her, "good morning."

She gasped and opened her eyes, looking around in confusion.

Then she smiled as she recognized him.
"Wake up, we have to go to the hospital."

The old woman cried out in horror. "I don't want to go to the hospital! No, please!"

"Mom, don't worry, it's just for a checkup."

"Don't take me there! Hansel," she almost cried, "please don't take me there. I'll be good now."

He smiled and stroked her wrinkled cheek.

"Don't worry. It's just for the medical test. Then we'll have a coffee in the cafeteria and talk to the doctor. We'll be right back.

And after lunch, we'll take a walk in the park, OK? I bet those white tulips that were budding last time are already blooming beautifully. What do you think?"

"Time flies. Is it May already?" She asked with hope in her voice.

"No, Mom, it's still March. Spring has been coming earlier these days."

"That's nice."

The climatologists would have strongly disagreed, but for the old woman it meant she could live to see more spring flowers.

The old lady's courage only lasted as far as the hospital gate.

When she saw the sign above the gate, she rushed to the door of the self-driving car and began pushing the button frantically to open it. Fortunately, the automated systems always blocked the doors while the car was moving.

"Please wait for the car to stop," the pleasant female voice from the self-driving car's loudspeaker urged her. "Please consider your safety."

"This is a hospital!" the old woman shouted. "I don't want to go there! I don't want to die there!"

"The address given is for Pavilion E," the car objected in a neutral tone.

"According to publicly available records, the mortality rate associated with a visit to this pavilion is zero point three per mille to zero point four percent, depending on the age and diagnosis of the patient. If hospitalized, that number rises to—"

"Shut up!" Hansel yelled at the communication system. "Turn the voice output off!" 

Then he turned to the old woman and hugged her. 

"Mom. Mom, please. They're just going to draw some blood, and then we'll talk to the doctor. That's all."

But he could not calm her. She just cried and held his hand.

The self-driving car stopped at the main entrance and opened the trunk without any announcement. If this intelligent communication system of an outdated generation could mimic emotions, it would have remained offended and sullenly waited for Hansel to slam the door before driving away.

Hansel got out and unloaded the folding wheelchair and a backpack with the necessary items. Just like that, he caught the old woman, who finally managed to open the door and throw herself out of the car.

"Mom, wait, don't hurt yourself. The doctor wouldn't be happy if you cracked your head open."

Hansel loaded her into a wheelchair and headed to the hospital building. He paid most of his attention to the wheels. Mom could have decided to slow down by sticking her fingers in the wire mesh.

With his focus on the wheels, Hansel almost hit a young girl who was blocking his way. Aside from her black hair and eye shadow, she was wearing a matching cut-up T-shirt held together only by safety pins. The badge on her chest said—if it was not obvious enough from her appearance-that punk was not dead yet.

"Hey, will you sign my petition for full robot equality?" she asked. 

Hansel looked at the blank form on her outdated tablet. He had to give her points for getting up so early for her mission. Or maybe she had not gone to bed at all.

He shook his head slowly, "No, thank you."

Then he tried to avoid her with the wheelchair.

"Wait a minute! Don't you find it disgusting that they can own property, but they don't have the right to protect their existence? That's modern slavery!"

"But neither you nor I are qualified to decide that."

She curled her lip at him and shooed him away with a rude gesture, "You, dude, if you're not a slave trader too, huh?" Then she noticed a group of nurses a few steps away and made her way over to them.

They were among the first to arrive in the waiting room, so they did not have to wait long. 

Fortunately, the nurses there were used to protesting patients. One distracted the mother with a moving photo of the nurse's children, while the other, with Hansel's help, pricked a vein and filled the tube in a flash. The old woman only had time to call for help twice before she was out of the room.

"Next, please!" The nurse dismissed her and smiled mechanically at the new victim of the bloody ritual-an old gentleman in a tweed jacket. "Don't worry, nothing will happen to you here."

"Who else do we have, Sara?" Johannes asked his secretary over the communication interface that sat on his nearly empty desk. It was made of solid mahogany in the days when tropical wood was still allowed to be sourced industrially. Its dimensions fully reflected the importance of Johannes's post. As did the use of the space. Besides the communicator and the computer, it contained only a gold-framed photograph. A woman with a hairstyle long out of fashion stared at him sternly, reminding him of all he owed her.

"Engineer Schwarz from the commercial department, Mr. Director," the secretary replied. 

"Shall I let him in now?"

"Yes. And when he leaves, please bring me coffee and chocolate croissants. I'm sure the meeting won't last long."

Schwarz better not complain about anything or linger over the director's coffee. After all, the sales department consumes the second-highest amount of caffeine in the company. Right after development.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Director, but the croissants haven't arrived. The bakers are on strike."

"What strike?" Johannes didn't understand. "Don't tell me our robots refuse to work. And especially because they're getting paid."

"No, the robots of our company are behaving according to their programs, as they would otherwise, but.."

"But? Pull yourself together, woman. Be efficient!" 

"But their products do not satisfy you, sir. You even said it was disgusting. The pastry for your table comes from an artisan bakery. And those bakers are on strike."

Johannes frowned and swallowed a stream of curses instead of a chocolate croissant. 

With an effort of will he suppressed his anger and replied in a slightly strained tone, "So you know what, Sara? Just bring me coffee after the meeting. Black, two teaspoons of sugar. And get me one of the chefs at that French restaurant on Hauptstrasse for lunch—an early lunch, I should point out."

"I'm afraid, Mr. Director, that their schedule-"

"I don't care! Just get him here, even if I have to overpay him three times!"

He didn't say bribe; he was careful about that. His vocabulary had changed a lot since the electronic interviews had been searched for white-collar crime keywords by bots.

"The mailmen's orders look great," Schwarz said after the greeting Johannes had trained him to give. Unlike the secretary, he was efficient. "They're almost catching up in sales to the pedicurists when they were introduced years ago."

"I told you the integrated ATM would be a hit," the director grinned. "That the nostalgics, the oldies, and the paranoids would appreciate the cash."

"Yes, I admit that," Schwarz shook his black-haired head. "You were right. But I came here primarily because of the new campaign. Is it clear yet which model will be introduced next? Usually we have at least a rough outline of the materials, but now the boys in development look mysterious and won't even hint anything. And you have the last word. So what will it be?"

"The prototypes are still being tested," Johannes shrugged.

"Teachers, caretakers, and slaughterhouse butchers look the most promising, but we still have to work the kinks out."

"Phew, now that's a combination. I hope we don't put teachers and cattle slaughterers in the same quarter. It would probably make for a bit of a scramble. Advertising slogans, I mean."

Johannes laughed, "How about individual treatment for everyone? Don't worry, Schwarz, our robots behave exactly as programmed. I'd trust a prototype with my own children."

If he had any. His eyes slid back to the woman's photo.

Unfortunately, he hadn't granted his mother this wish. He hadn't even granted his own wish to see her often. But work duties on his side and health conditions on hers.... They had barely been in touch in recent months.

Schwarz noticed his gaze. "Your mother would be proud of the company's progress."

Grün nodded. "No doubt. She always believed the future was in robotics, and it was her money that got us started in the first place. We must make sure that her legacy is not forgotten."

He certainly hadn't forgotten them. Honor thy father and thy mother, was the old teaching. But Johannes himself would add: Especially since she still holds a decisive share.

He should at least call her .... in the evening ... definitely after work. 

Hansel bought an egg sandwich in the hospital cafeteria, brought it to the rickety plastic table, and patiently cut off small bites with a blunt wooden knife to feed his mother. Even if she had managed to cut something with the clumsy, eco-friendly utensil, tremors and arthritis would have made it impossible for her to eat on her own.

She chewed slowly, pausing occasionally to move her jaws and rest her head on her chest. He had to shake her a little to wake her up. Then he held a cup of artificial-tasting coffee to her lips and led her to the bathroom.

In what looked like an acrobatic exercise, he used his left hand to support her and had to remove her pants and panties in two seconds with his right hand. The old woman sat on the toilet and looked at him in confusion. Then she tried to get away.

"Pee, Mom," he held her down on the toilet. "Come on. Wait a minute and tinkle."

"No! I don't need to!"

Hansel shrugged, helped her up, and put her clothes back on with one hand. The stream of urine started just then.

He quickly sat her down again but to no avail. The pad, panties, and pants took a full hit. With Mom still on the toilet, he changed her into a spare outfit, wiped the floor imperfectly with toilet paper, and then wheeled Mom into the waiting room of the internal medicine office. On the way, he tapped the receptionist's machine to send an emergency cleaner to the toilets.

This time, their stay in the waiting room was made more interesting by digital advertisements for various medical devices.

Partially holographic salesmen in white coats literally shoved their products in front of the waiting people. Hansel closed his eyes tiredly, but the old lady laughed and tried to grab the hologram's transparent hand.

Their turn to see the doctor would not come for another hour.

Hansel parked the wheelchair with his mother next to the doctor's desk and sat down in the uncomfortable patient chair himself. The old woman looked around the office in surprise, as if she was seeing it for the first time. Yet she has been going for a checkup every two months. She stopped smiling once she saw the doctor.

"Mrs. Grün's results are not good at all. Blood electrolytes, hemoglobin..." The internist shook his head at the unsolvable case.

"But a week ago, at the physician's, her results were normal," Hansel defended the old woman's condition. "Maybe it's just a temporary setback. You know, we had a bad night with diarrhea.."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No, I just take care of her. But in the report—"

"Which I don't have because apparently some technicians are on strike and I can't find it in our medical system. So I can't properly evaluate it, and you're not—please don't be offended-professionally trained enough to do that for me."

Hansel blinked several times. Then he furrowed his brow.

"And you don't even have it in the mail?"

"I would know.." An incoming mail alert sounded on the doctor's computer. "Well, you see, it just arrived. Sorry, sometimes I think our servers still remember punch cards."

The doctor paused for a moment, his eyes scanning the screen.

"Yes, these results are a little better. But considering today's ...

I'm sorry, I won't bring myself to let her go home and collapse there. And I'm sure you won't either. We'll keep her here overnight, test her again tomorrow, and we'll know more."

The phone on Johannes's desk beeped. His hands clenched in anger as he tapped on the incoming message.

Dinner tomorrow, Laura's sexy voice told him, something came up today. But I'm already hungry for a good piece of real meat. Laura

So she's got something. How dare she dump him.

He was on the verge of reaching for the screen to send her to her proper limits and oblivion in the spam folder, but then he remembered his morning in the shower. Her lithe body and firm butt under his hands. The feel of her animal-hot skin.

He sighed and sent her a reply with the time and the name of the best steak restaurant in town.

It was dark when he finally left work. He unlocked his luxury car and stopped. He had to do something. Something after work, but what was it? He leaned against the car, tapping his finger thoughtfully on the roof, and looked out at the backdrop of the city.

It was lit by warm yellow public lighting with the flashing colors of advertisements.

The postman always rings twice, said the advertisement for his company, in which a robot postman was about to press the doorbell of a kitschy house.

Johannes felt he was close. It had something to do with robots, but what in his life didn't? Something to do with the postman? Had he talked to Schwarz about it? Yes, he had! He should have called his mother!

He got into his car, started it, and dialed his mother's number.

"This is the apartment of Gerta and Hansel Grün," a male voice announced. "We're out of range at the moment. Please leave a message."

"Hang up," Johannes hissed.

This was the second woman to dump him today. Young or old, no one appreciated his attention enough. The world is an unfair place, even for the rich.

Hansel arrived at the hospital on time. Negotiations with the protesting unionists looked promising, but he did not want to rely on early success, nor did he want to block the self-driving cars of more needy passengers. So he left on foot. The receptionist's machine directed him to the right room, and he entered the old woman's room just three minutes after visiting hours began.

She was asleep and did not stir when he came in. Hansel immediately noticed her strangely contorted position and her wrists bound with bandages to the metal bars at the edge of the bed. He turned, quietly closed the door, and walked briskly toward the doctor's room.

"You know that ..." The doctor almost backed away from the barrage of his accusations. 

"Your mother is completely uncooperative with the treatment. She rips off the virtual reality goggles we've been trying to use to keep her calm. She even tried to run away and has pulled out her catheter three times!" he finally found a medically relevant reason for the inhumane treatment.

"What if she gets an infection in those wounds? Her veins aren't the youngest either, and if she damages them, further treatment will only be more difficult and risky! And she needs the treatment because today's results were even worse than yesterday's!"

Hansel silently measured him with his gaze.

"Mother may be mentally unwell," he said, "but she has never been deprived of her legal capacity. She's still legally competent, so you have no right to force her into anything without her consent, let alone restrict her freedom. In terms of care, I've never had any problems with her. I have been able to get her to cooperate here as well. So that suggests that the problem is the staff. And if my mother stays longer, I'll stay too. I'll take care of her."

"You're not a doctor!"

"But I don't need to be inhumane to take care of her," he replied in a warning tone. "If there is a medical problem, I will call in the professional staff. Otherwise, please leave us alone."

"You can't be with her all the time!" the doctor protested. "At night..."

"I'll sleep on the chair. You don't have to deal with me. Unless you don't agree with my proposal," Hansel emphasized.


In the end, the indefinite strike by human resources workers turned out to be a fight over promises of job protection and a discount on virtual reality subscriptions for union leaders. The latter was a reward for brokering a deal, not, of course, a bribe.

Once these key issues were resolved, the government quickly reached an agreement with the protesters. So one could expect a culinary experience in a steak restaurant, prepared by a chef with real taste buds.

However, Johannes felt uncomfortable and would have preferred to leave the fancy restaurant early. Not only was Laura busy yesterday, but she has also been keeping him waiting today.

He was fiddling with his second tequila glass and looked as sour as the lemon on his plate when she finally deigned to come.

His throat suddenly went dry. She wore tight jeans that accentuated her already nearly perfect curves. A tiny leather vest over a lace tank top and a cowboy hat.

"Have you been waiting long?" she said.

"No, not at all, he found himself muttering, his eyes buried in her cleavage.

He barely noticed the delicious Argentine beef that followed.

Nor the aroma of the French red wine. His only taste was for Laura…

He was aware that Laura was slowly wrapping him around her finger. But what did it matter if she coaxed some pretty clothes, the latest tech toys, or shiny jewelry out of him? He felt like a young stallion again. Maybe for the first time since he'd tested his company's first robot, a sex companion, many years ago. Only this one was flesh and blood.

And next time? He'd take her out for sushi. He'd always wanted to make out with a geisha.

Other blood test results have not improved either. On the contrary. The doctor looked more and more compassionate, and on Saturday morning he bluntly told Hansel that his mother should settle her affairs as soon as possible. He booked a hospital lawyer for that afternoon to check the validity of her will.

"Do you think she would want a priest?" The doctor asked.

Hansel thought for a moment, then shook his head.

"No, probably not. In the past-before her mental condition deteriorated-she was more inclined to progress. I'm not aware of her professing any organized religion."

The doctor just shrugged. That was not uncommon these days.

Only people who were aware of their condition turned to religion in the final stages of their illness. Which he could not say for Mrs. Grün. The old lady slept most of the time, smiled stupidly at the staff, and really talked only to her son.

When the doctor left, Hansel blinked and knitted his eyebrows in concentration.
from heavy makeup. She had lost her black wig and silk kimono sometime during the night.

He turned the sound off so the voice output wouldn't activate.

Then he read the message and, despite his efforts not to wake his companion, swore softly.

"What's wrong?" Laura murmured without opening her eyes.

"I'm sorry, but I have to go."

"Saturday morning? To work?"

He mused. "Yes, actually."

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Monday, January 23, 2045