It was three months after my father died that I decided to tell my dead grandmother the news. I had never taken her very seriously, and thought that his relationship with her in the years since she died had been strange, even unhealthy, but I wanted to see how she would react. I had his laptop, a USB stick with the document containing his passwords, and the knowledge that she had been a dominant force in his life while she was alive.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The software accepted my log-in immediately, but was slow to react to the icon that I recognised as her face. I wondered if the programme had been confused by the long delay since the previous log-in, but then the screen changed and a face appeared. It looked ninety per cent natural, with a little too much colour in the eyes and lips to appear completely human, and it was recognisable as my grandmother \u2013 as she had looked in late middle age, when I was a child, rather than the sour old woman of her later years. This must have been how my father had programmed the algorithm. She peered at me for a few seconds then there was a slight widening of her eyes, hinting at recognition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHullo Gran,\u201d I said. \u201cDo you recognise me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOf course. You\u2019re Thomas, my grandson.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a snap in her voice, as if I had asked a stupid question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI have a lot of memories stored in here,\u201d she went on. \u201cIt draws on all the digital evidence in your father\u2019s files. He\u2019s been very thorough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat doesn\u2019t surprise me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I paused, preparing to break the news. She spoke first.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s been a few months since he last turned me on, much longer than usual. Has it happened? Has he died?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThree months ago.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes closed, her head dipped a little, and there were seconds of silence. It conveyed sadness, or at least an impression of it. I spoke again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI assume he told you about the cancer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYes, he never kept anything important from me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd what impression did he give you about how he felt?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFrustrated, a little angry, a little scared, but accepting. It had been with him for some years. And he was satisfied with what he had done with his life.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was interesting: a computer algorithm had assessed his state of mind and come to the same conclusion as I had. Maybe his personality had influenced the programming in the same way it had influenced me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat about you?\u201d I asked. \u201cHow do you feel?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cFeel? You\u2019re talking to me as if I\u2019m human.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m curious.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her head lifted and expression changed, the sadness replaced by a slightly stern demeanour.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo you\u2019re experimenting with me. Your grandmother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAn algorithm representing my grandmother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWell let me ask you: how do you feel?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I gave it a moment, acknowledging the grief, unsure if I should be sharing it with \u2013 my grandmother or an artificial intelligence? \u2013 then the instinct to talk took over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m grieving. He was a good a father, and we were close.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou knew about his conversations with me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd you know how much he valued them?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI know he said they helped him after you died, especially as that was soon after he split up with Mum.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m glad he told you about that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd he sometimes wondered if he had become over-dependent on them.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBut he kept coming back.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s right.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo he knew that wasn\u2019t true.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She was very assertive, with a tone that suggested she wouldn\u2019t tolerate a disagreement. I went back to my question.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo how do you feel about him dying?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She paused. I looked for emotion in her face but couldn\u2019t see any clues.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHow do you think I feel. He was my son. How would any mother feel?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then came a flicker, a twitch of one eye, something that might lead to a tear on a human face. I waited for another sign but nothing came.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe used to talk about you,\u201d she said. \u201cAlmost every time we spoke.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat did he tell you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe loved you. Overall he was approving. But he qualified that opinion. He was honest about your mistakes and shortcomings.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That was a painful prod. He had been honest when he thought I had done something wrong, and he might have used the word \u2018mistake\u2019 on a couple of occasions, but not \u2018shortcomings\u2019. She didn\u2019t wait for me to reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe was disappointed that neither of your marriages worked out, and thought it was as much your fault as that of your ex-wives.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Another painful prod. He had never gone that far in his choice of words.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd the relationship with your daughter. He was disappointed that you gave in when her mother wanted to move her to Canada with her new husband. He thought you should have stood your ground to keep her in this country, that it would have been good for you. And he was hurt that he got to see her so rarely.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That wasn\u2019t what he had said \u2013 at least not to me \u2013 although there had been moments when I wondered.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe knew the circumstances. He was understanding.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cUnderstanding didn\u2019t mean that he wasn\u2019t hurt.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That one hurt me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe so, but we all get hurt sometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes hardened, It gave the impression that the algorithm didn\u2019t like me disagreeing.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAnd what did your father tell you about me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat you always wanted to know the details of his life, always quick to let him know how you felt, assertive.\u201d I paused, thinking quickly about the next words. \u201cAnd that you liked to have your own way.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a faint twist of the face, a hint of taking offence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWere they his exact words?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOn a couple of occasions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhen?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can\u2019t expect me to be precise. It just come out in a couple of conversations.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt\u2019s not in my memories.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYour memories depend on the sources of information provided in your programming. They won\u2019t be comprehensive.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes narrowed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI see. So you regard me in those terms. Simply an algorithm.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSurely that\u2019s what you are.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
She maintained the stare.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t underestimate me,\u201d she said. \u201cYou say I\u2019m an algorithm, but I consist of thought patterns, behavioural traits, characteristics, information that come from your grandmother, plus everything your father told me. I am your grandmother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I paused again, hit by an explicable shot of shame, then gathered myself to respond.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere\u2019s a difference. I can turn you off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This was ridiculous. I felt like a child standing up to an adult for the first time. Her expression didn\u2019t change.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou can turn off the computer, but you can\u2019t turn off your grandmother. She\u2019s inside you. Always.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
This was followed by a longer silence. I felt uneasy, that I was drifting into something sinister, but I didn\u2019t want to show fear. I decided to end the conversation soon, but not suddenly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI suppose that some people in our families are always inside us, but that doesn\u2019t mean that we let them control us.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cControl? Why do you use that word?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause that\u2019s what I suspected was happening between you and Dad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou think I was controlling him?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTrying to. Maybe it wasn\u2019t absolute, but you had a strong influence on him. And I know he sometimes felt unsettled after your conversations.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt seems you have a negative opinion of me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m telling you what I observed in how he behaved.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Her eyes narrowed for a second.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt was never control. It was guidance, and support.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf those are the words you choose, OK; but I know which ones I find more appropriate.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDo you know what a bad state he was in when your mother left, then when I passed away? Do you know how vulnerable he became.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI knew he was deeply upset. That was understandable. Human.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSuicidal.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That silenced me. She nodded once, then spoke again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHe was on the verge for several weeks, talking about it every time. It took a lot of effort, support, to pull him away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m finding this hard to believe.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cProbably because you don\u2019t want to, but I can tell you that he had the pills, and a plan to ensure that you wouldn\u2019t be the one to find him. There was a period when I feared he would kill himself before logging into me again.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo what did you say to prevent it?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cConvinced him that your mother wasn\u2019t worth the grief \u2026. and urged him to think of you. I reminded him, in very strong terms, that even though you had become a young man you needed guidance and support. You still needed a father.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I didn\u2019t know what to say. I didn\u2019t fully believe her, thinking this could be part of her controlling behaviour. But I couldn\u2019t disbelieve her, remembering the state my father was in at that time, that his grief had been so visibly intense. And did algorithms lie? Another silence settled. She lifted her head, let her eyes dip, released me from her gaze, but followed up with an oppressive sigh. I decided it was time to bail out.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI think it\u2019s time to end this.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cVery well.\u201d She looked at me again. \u201cBut you have more to lose. You still need support, some guidance.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMaybe, but I don\u2019t think that should come from you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cEspecially in how you manage relations with your daughter. Your father told me a few things that he never told you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s it!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I clicked on the exit button and slapped down the laptop screen.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
I woke at three a.m. and couldn\u2019t get back to sleep, troubled by half formed thoughts about my daughter, knowing I was prone to feel sad that we didn\u2019t speak more often and upset to think that was her choice. She had never actually refused to speak with me, but she often cut our online chats short and didn\u2019t respond to my messages. I tried to shut out what my grandmother \u2013 no, a software algorithm \u2013 had said at the end of our conversation, but it picked and scratched. Had my father really said something about us he hadn\u2019t said to me? And had he really been close to committing suicide? Even after his death it was scary to think of it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The thoughts subsided through the next day, but returned when I woke up in the middle of the following night and left me feeling there was something profoundly wrong. I had to do something to squash the idea. So I sent a message.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hi darling. Been missing you. On for a chat in the next day or two? Dad.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n There was no reply by bedtime, which led to another restless night, or by the next morning. It wasn\u2019t unusual but it led me to message her mother.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Is Rachel OK? Not receiving a reply to message.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Early afternoon I received a reply.<\/p>\n\n\n\n You know what\u2019s she like. I\u2019ll give her a prod. How are you?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n Doing fine, just in the mood to speak with my girl.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I wasn\u2019t going to tell anyone, let alone my ex-wife, about the conversation with my AI grandmother. I was stewing in emotions: embarrassment that I had got into a serious conversation with an algorithm; annoyance at my father for having created it; suspicion of its motives in the conversation; confusion at the thought it would even have motives; and a sense that I might be missing something important by not knowing what my dad had supposedly said. They were all moving in and out of my daytime thoughts.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Just before midnight I received a message from Rachel.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Hi Dad! Sorry, snowed under with course work and some outings at the moment. Can we talk next week?<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n I felt my heart sink and replied: OK, let me know when. <\/em>By the following morning there was no further reply. I was left to feel miserable.<\/p>\n\n\n\n I held out for two days, then went back to the laptop, logged in to the programme and clicked on the icon for my grandmother. The ninety per cent natural face appeared, with the tinge of a satisfied smile.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHello Thomas. I knew you would come back to me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"