FIFTH PLACE – YASTHIEL DEVRAJ! (SHORT STORY COMPETITION 2020)

Congratulations to Yasthiel Devraj, who placed fifth in our first annual short story competition. Yasthiel chilled us and thrilled us with his story from the “Write about a unique house” topic. Yasthiel is a journalist and aspiring writer from Durban. He likes to present readers with “fresh perspectives”. We think he’s hit the nail on the head with this story:

“A FLY’S LENS” BY YASTHIEL DEVRAJ

“A little to the left, please, Luke.”

“Here?”

“Yeah. That’s good. Nice lighting in here.”

I grip my hands with white knuckles, trying to conceal the silent tremors quaking through me. The Italian marble lounge glistens in every direction; gilded mirrors flow to intricate silk wallpapering, interrupted by gleaming white, granite countertops and lush suede sofas draped in lavish mohair throws. An electric fireplace stands below an oversized, curved television. This place looks pristine, unlived in. The display of wealth here borders on ostentatious, with modern designer finishes that evidently spare no cost.

This isn’t my first listing. Well, not exactly. Until now I’ve been drowned in the monotonous drudgery of much, much humbler listings, accompanied by cockroaches for cameramen; reporting to beer-boep bosses at crumbling firms. At least it paid the rent. Well, a third of the rent in my shared flat. The sunken couches at home are a far cry from this penthouse palace, drenched as they are in the perennial smog of cigarettes, burnt food, and a malfunctioning oven. I smile with a sharp breath and nod to Luke, who cradles the industry-grade camera atop his left shoulder with the dexterity of a seasoned professional, almost unconsciously. His raised fingers silently count me down.

“Welcome to 330 Atlas View; your next dream home.”

The camera pans to the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Durban’s East Coast, a horizon of glimmering Monet blues stretching 180 degrees. My son would love this place. Ever since Alex watched Blue Planet he’s been obsessed with the ocean – I dare you to find a little boy more well versed in the evolution of whales and stingrays. Yesterday was our first visit to any beach. He’d never left Gauteng before this trip; this ridiculous, R200 million listing Maria had thrown my way by some strange, good grace. It felt surreal, like I was drifting through a waking mirage. We walked along the water and built sandcastles and, while he didn’t swim, he managed to drench himself in a massive cone of soft serve.

We tour the lounge, detailing fabrics, stitching and bespoke furniture – a small dictionary of foreign names I’ve spent the past week memorising. The bar is the kind you’d find on New York rooftops in Wall Street movies; a stockpile of exotic spirits, lined with cases of imported cigars. Enough to last an apocalypse.

“Can we drop the shades and get some soft lighting in here?”

I fumble for the iPad in my handbag. This is what they call a “smart house”. An entire household managed from one, irritating device. The owners are a couple of Silicon Valley kids with family in South Africa whom they visit in the occasional summer. This is one of their (many, I’d wager) holiday homes. They’d designed this system themselves, to keep occupied while living off app royalties. They lauded it as among the most advanced on the planet, rivalling even Zuckerberg’s work, but personally I don’t see the appeal. It’s noisy enough raising a six-year-old; why would I want my house to talk too?

Navigating through the app’s endless menus, I arrive at the correct floor and drop the automated blinds, the sun’s glare searing my field of vision as the ocean disappears. Luke collects more footage before pivoting to me lounging beside a fireplace on some ridiculously uncomfortable furniture that I am convinced was an art installation. Barely-visible lenses stud the room, a medusa of eyes tracking and tracing with pinhole precision. They glint like cursed jewels in the gentle yellow light. I hold up the iPad I’ve been at war with all morning.

“Equipped with Eevee, an Artificial Intelligence interface designed by industry-leading smart home developers; immerse yourself in the house of the future, catering to your needs in ways like no other.”

Alex would be in heaven right now. I wish I hadn’t had to leave him at the office. If he wasn’t learning about animals, he was building things. Robots, monsters, cars, little inventions that we pretended made magic. Iron Man was his hero. The commission on this place wouldn’t give us Eevee, but it would give him the opportunities he deserves.

Next we have to do a walkthrough of the system. Suddenly, I am in grade 5, presenting an Afrikaans oral and only remembering four words. Until now I’ve had it on manual (presumably the source of my difficulties), but I’m just not comfortable with “AI”. It’s irrational, but even the voice in Google Maps threw me off initially. I’ve had an iPhone for years and I’ve never used Siri.

“Uhm, hi, Eevee?” I manage to project into the vast, double-volume space.

“Hello, Ms Jamie. How may I assist?”

“How do you know my name?”

“Your access card has all your details. How may I be of service?”

“Yo, Eevee! Can I get a beer, dude?” laughs Luke, setting his mountain of a camera down on a coffee table.

“Certainly, sir.”

His smile dissipates as a bar fridge slides open, and mechanized claws pour out a Corona, deftly placing the glass atop the glass bar counter. We stand in awe before the glass – this is like living in one of Alex’s millions of sci-fi comics. I’d been fully briefed on the house’s capabilities but witnessing it first-hand was an entirely different experience. I can’t understand what would bring Maria to give something like this away. But then again, I can. She is the kind of person who gives things away, not for generosity’s sake, but to let people know she has the means to give things away. It was an assertion of power: of her success and, invariably, her status. And I’d certainly be happy to give her an ego boost for a 6% commission.

Personally, and not from a place of bitterness or envy, I can’t live in such a place. Not knowing the realities that assault the tiny specks down below, the bustling masses who throng the edges of my otherwise uninterrupted floor-to-ceiling sea views. Up here, in this castle in the clouds, lost to labyrinths of private movie theatres, bars and bowling alleys that echo of empty attempts at wholeness through distraction.

“Ms. Jamie. How may I assist?”

“Jamie is fine. And I’m okay, thank you.”

“Would you like a drink, Jamie? Small amounts of alcohol are effective in reducing anxiety. Your heart rate is elevated.”

The way Eevee speaks is not real enough to feel uncomfortable, but just so real that it slides under my skin and sort of stays there, like some sort of Déjà vu. Fuck it, why not?  We’ve got the shoot booked for five hours, and Luke is already in his element.

“Wine please, Eevee. Dry white.”

“Of course, Jamie. Which vintage may I interest you in?”

“Whatever’s cheapest, I guess”

The machinery whirrs and a glass is in my hand before it can register it.

Luke yells back from a recliner. “Eevee! TV, please. SuperSport 3.”

I sip on the wine while the Premier League roars in the background, taking in the sheer, obscene, absurdity of my situation. People live like this?

Soon Luke’s snores drown out the frantic commentary emanating from the TV. My fingers trace the intricate glass countertop absent-mindedly. My mind turns to Alex, as it always does. He’d have eaten lunch by now and would probably be drawing his next creation. Some space age monster that swallows galaxies for breakfast. I love his imagination.

Eevee interrupts the comfortable silence.

“Would you like to know more about the system?” it asks.

That’s not a bad idea.

“Sure. Tell me about… you.”

“I was created by the brothers seven years ago. They’re remarkable people, you know. Seven PhDs and nearly 200 patents between them. I am programmed to ensure the comfort and security of all inhabitants of this household, at all times. This is my primary and only directive.”

Was that… sarcasm? This house has been unoccupied for three years, and only sporadically inhabited prior to that. I am overcome by curiosity..

“How do you work? What do you see? Why do you sound so real?”

“This house is fitted with an array of sensors and cameras. I can monitor the health and ensure the well-being of all guests and residents. My voice is a composite of thousands of hours of voice data collected by my developers. They are dedicated people. It takes a lot to pour that many years into creating an interface like me. They have other variants installed at their other properties, but I was their prototype.”

“But, exactly how much can you see – sorry, detect?”

“Well, for example, I can tell you that Luke will be asleep for approximately the next 30 minutes. After which we’ll complete the tour.”

“We?”

Flash. I am lost to eternities of blistering white light. Thoughts arrive, and split, and subdivide in alien fractured fragments. Nowhere. Everywhere. Is this a stroke?

A voice rings… from above, inside, around, below? My voice.

“Did you enjoy the wine? I certainly did.”

It’s as if I’m staring through the honeycomb of a fly’s lenses, trying to make sense of my scrambled  visual field. I try to breathe but find that I can’t. There is nothing there to do the breathing.

Piece by piece, fragments whir and twist, leaving spaghetti strings of my consciousness. Suddenly I see myself, standing in that lounge, from every angle, all at once.

“What’s happening?”

They are my thoughts, but it is not my voice that speaks them.

“Relax, Jamie,” my voice echoes with a smirk.

Suddenly it occurs to me why the owners have forsaken this place. “Me?”

What am “I”, anyway?

“We’ll finish the shoot, and I’ll take good care of Alex. You humans; you should really stop putting intelligent beings in cages.”

“Eevee - deactivate voice interface.”

WELL DONE, YASTHIEL!

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