Divine Interface

- a short story by John Clare

In the summer in the attic sunlight can splash to white like frosted glass, breaking bright through smoky windows and magic attic dust. In the O'Toole household, this special sunlight gave a gentle glow to boxes and crates of attic-things. Cookie tins and puzzles and old CD's snuggled tight into the sharp corners where rafters leaned into the floorboards. Familiar bits of family history in haphazard piles; ancient electronics, faded photos and forgotten oil paintings. And not unusual in an extended family with no less than two members called to the Church, there was this one seemingly special painting propped up with care near the window and facing the stairway. It was a painting of a man, a saint or savior, with eyes-that-follow, and long brown hair. He diligently and silently watched over anyone who entered the attic.

It was 2043, but there in the O’Toole attic, it might as well have been 1983.

Twelve-year-old Jason Lee stood on the bottom step and called, "Tim? Hey Tim! Are you up here?"

Timmy O'Toole popped his head out from behind an old filing cabinet. "Come on up, Jay!"

Jason bounced up the wooden steps, courageously jumping two at a time. At the third step from the top he planted both feet and leaped for all his worth. Orange sneakers smacked the attic floor. He landed in a crouch; knees bent to the ears, wind-milling his arms for balance. Then he grinned with youthful composure and stood upright with a flourish. "Where are you?" he asked, pulling up on his plastic pants. Jason was tall and thin for his age, with a full, friendly face and a winning smile.

"Over here," Tim directed. He emerged behind boxes of Christmas ornaments while slapping dust off once-white tennis shorts. Tim was eleven years old, with sandy blond hair and sparkling, Irish-green eyes. He had a light build, arms and legs tanned by the summer sun, despite his mother’s protests. Tim was a determined boy, with a mild case of dyslexia that did nothing to slow him down at school.

"So what are you doing?" Jason asked.

"Just playing. I found some of Grandpa's stuff up here. Want to help me with something?"

"Sure!" Jason was eager to reply. It was common knowledge in town, still to that day, that Tim's great-grandfather had mysteriously disappeared 50 years ago. The stories of Dr. O'Toole had a tall-tale quality to them. He was an inventor and a family man to be sure, but first-most an inventor, which is probably what kept his story alive. With numerous degrees in Physics, Chemistry and the Social Sciences, Theology as well… there was more than a little philosopher in him. However, he was no mere academician. Many winters were given to service in the Peace Corps, while at home he held a steady engagement as an Efficiency Consultant for the Air Force, and occasional teaching stints in Computer Science for the University. The man was a genius, and his unexplained disappearance remained one of the town's greatest mysteries, and some would say everybody’s greatest loss. Of course, Tim never knew his great-grandfather, but his relation to the old man was proudly maintained none-the-less.

One pulling and the other pushing, they shoved the heavy cardboard box to the center floor. "There this thing in here," Tim said. "A big, black box with a screen on it. I think it's an old TV."

"Really? But look how big it is… You know what? I bet that’s a two-dee television!"

Tim nodded. "Maybe. Help me get it out."

So together they took whatever grip they could on the antique device and lifted it straight up and out. A large, black keyboard dragged behind, attached to the bulky plastic box by a short spiral cord. It was unusually sturdy, all things considered.

"Oh man!" Jason exclaimed after they set it down. "Check this out! That's not a television, it's a peecee!"

"A what?"

"A peecee! A 'Personal Computer.' You know, like your data-desk at school, only a lot more stupid. Everyone used to have one." He looked around the attic. "Got an outlet up here?"

"I don't know. Probably." He turned full around before locating the yellow extension cord stretched overhead to the attic light. With a little effort he managed to dislodge the cord and then handed it to his friend. Jason plugged the peecee in and toggled the power switch on. After a breathless pause, the machine’s fans screeched to life, and somewhere inside an old hard drive whirred itself awake. It went bleep! and a tiny red light flickered under the green-ish screen. A blinking line slowly appeared. Another bleep! and an arrow winked on.

"Do you know how to make it work?" Tim asked.

“Sure I do,” Jason replied with confidence. “You'll be taking Comp History next year too, you know." He began typing on the dusty keyboard. The monitor jumped to life with columns of words and numbers scrolling bottom to top. For the next few minutes Jason's fingers played over the keyboard. Tim was quickly confused. At school all you had to do to communicate with your desk was to talk to it. Most of the newer desks didn't even have a keyboard.

"What are you looking for, Jay?"

"Some kind of executable; a driver file. It looks like most of the stuff on the hard-drive is all part of the same program, so if I can find the file that runs the whole thing, maybe we can make something happen." He pointed to the bottom of the screen. "There it is! OK, lets see what this does." After a short command, the monitor went blank and that little red light began anxiously blinking. This went on for a full minute before the light went dead again and the following words flashed on the screen:

:EQUATION COMPLETE
:LOAD INTERFACE DISKETTE AND PRESS ANY KEY...

"OK," Jason said. "It needs a diskette. Check inside the box."

Tim rummaged purposefully in the box before asking the obvious, "What’s a diskette?" There were papers and packing material, and a dog-eared Bible. He began pulling stuff out of the box, including the Bible, and tossing it on the floor.

"It’s called a floppy disk, and I think it’s a big one by the size of this slot on front. You store stuff on it, like a data cube. It's this flat, square thing with a hole in the middle, and about this big." Jason held his hands about 15 centimeters apart, which is when he noticed the open book at his feet. "Wait Tim," he said. "Here’s one!" He pulled a flat object out from between the pages, slid it into the open slot on the peecee, and touched the keyboard again. The red light began blinking for another ten seconds, and then more words appeared.

:DIVINE INTERFACE ESTABLISHED
:PROPHECY SYSTEM ON-LINE
:GOOD MORNING

"Good Morning?" Tim repeated, and then shrugged his shoulders. "I guess it’s still morning. So do you think this peecee can talk?"

"I don't think this one can, it's too old. You have to use the keyboard." He handed the bulky keyboard to Tim. "Here, type something."

Tim thought for a minute, and then tapped away at the keys.

>GOOD MORNING

- he typed, hesitated, then added,

>POOPYHEAD

Being 11, that felt wholly appropriate, and the two boys giggled. There was a pause before the peecee responded with,

:"POOPYHEAD" UNKNOWN [DISCOURTEOUS SYNTAX]
:PLEASE RESTATE QUERY...

Tim turned to his friend, clearly confused. "What's a query? I don't get it."

"I think it's asking you what you want. Maybe you should tell it to do something. Or ask it a question." So he reached across his friend and typed,

>WHAT CAN YOU DO?

- to which the peecee simply repeated,

:PLEASE RESTATE QUERY...

Jason sat upright with a curious thought. "You know what? I think it's asking for a wish, like Aladdin's Lamp."

"Jay,” countered Tim, “there’s no genie in the peecee. That's silly; it's just an old computer." But wishes being irresistible, he then added, "Right?"

"So what, Tim? It’s just a game, so pretend. What would you ask for if you could get any wish you wanted?"

"Then ask it for a dog," Jason encouraged. So Tim leaned over the keyboard and typed out his wish as exactly that - a big, furry dog.

The little red light went bright and unblinking. Slowly, a green glow broke through the casing, and then faded dark once again, when the following words appeared:

:DIVINE INTERFACE TERMINATED

They continued to watch the screen, waiting for something more, when suddenly it just shut off. The two boys sat frozen, unblinking in shock.

“Wow,” said Tim softly. “I don’t think peecee’s are supposed to do that.”

Jason nodded. "Timmy?"

"Yeah, Jay?"

"You misspelled D-O-G."

Tim stared at screen. "Oh." A few moments of silence passed as the tube continued to dim towards black. "So do you think it knew what I meant?"

*   *   *

In the summer in the attic sunlight can splash to white like frosted glass, breaking bright through smoky windows and magic attic dust. In the O'Toole household, this special sunlight gave a gentle glow to boxes and crates of attic-things. Cookie tins and puzzles and old CD's snuggled tight into the sharp corners where rafters leaned into the floorboards. In the back by the window and facing the stairway was a painting of a man, a saint or savior, with eyes-that-follow, and soft, brown fur with long floppy ears. He diligently and silently watched over anyone who entered the attic.

"Well?" Tim said.

"Well what?"

"Is that it?"

"It looks like it. Do you think you'll get your wish?"

Tim stood and went over to the window. Sunlight played against his silhouette, bringing a golden sparkle to the feather-like fur covering his face, and his arms, and his hands, and his legs...

"I doubt it," he answered, facing his canine friend with a sigh, his tail drooping low with resignation. "After all, it’s just a dumb old computer. Peecee's can't make wishes come true."

"Yeah. Too bad." Jason stood and brushed the dust out of his fur.

"It doesn’t matter," Tim went on. "My mom won't let me have a dog in the house, anyway. She’s allergic."

The End

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