The Dreamseller_ The Calling - Augusto Cury [48]
The agents moved on, and so did the police officer, but not before the chief thanked the dreamseller for the few words on that rooftop.
“My son would like to meet you,” the chief said.
“Someday. Tell him to have many dreams and to fight for them,” the dreamseller answered.
The dreamseller’s right eye was swollen, and blood was dripping from the left side of his lip, but he didn’t complain. We knew that following him meant running the risk of mockery and scorn, but now we realized we were also risking our lives.
I was shocked to see how quickly people could snap from tranquillity to brutality. What shook me most was that the specter of aggression was also inside me. I knew about my pridefulness, but not about the latent violence.
I was beginning to believe in the concept of harmony and solidarity, but I felt like attacking anyone who hurt the gentle dreamseller. I never imagined that love and aggression could live so close to each other. I never thought that peace and war could inhabit the same person. Mild-mannered people, as it turned out, also harbor monsters in the recesses of their minds.
Living Longer in a Shorter Time
THINGS HAD BEEN TOO INTENSE AT THE ELECTRONICS FAIR. We thought the dreamseller should see a doctor right away and then rest. We lifted him up under his arms and started to carry him outside. But instead he climbed onto a low wall surrounding a multicolored fountain and courageously started inviting people to hear about the latest innovations at the fair.
We couldn’t believe our eyes. Some began to approach us because they recognized the rabble-rouser described in the newspapers. Controversial as ever, he continued provoking the participants and exhibitors of the Consumer Electronics Show.
“The most vulnerable child has a more complex mind than all the computers in the world strung together. But where is more money and research invested, in helping children or in building machines?”
Paying attention only to the first part of the question, a scientist addressed the dreamseller:
“You don’t know anything about artificial intelligence. In a few years we’ll have machines superior to the human brain. They’ll have the programming of the human mind, but with superior memory. It’ll be the greatest invention. Just wait and see!”
The dreamseller accepted the challenge:
“Well, I disagree. Computers will forever be condemned to the sleep of unawareness. They will never know conflicts. Never be disturbed by the search for their origins and their purpose. Never produce philosophy or religion. They will always be slaves to their programming.”
I thought: “Where did the dreamseller learn that information? How does he manage to confidently discuss controversial matters?” On the other side, the computer engineers and programmers listening to him seemed at a loss.
“Can it be that computers will never know they exist?” the scientists asked.
“Our conflicts speak to our complexity. If we’re not capable of being happy because we have computers, at least we should admire them as the fruits of our ingenuity,” the dreamseller said.
I looked at some of the members of our group and realized that they understood nothing. Bartholomew, in particular, was lost. But I bit my tongue, and later he surprised me by reading my mind and whispering, “Hey, Superego, I’ve always been a deeply complex person, but I just can’t stand hearing all your back talk.”
Bartholomew was always giving me a hard time when he knew I couldn’t answer back. I wanted to crush him with my intellect, but I needed to work on something I’d never had: patience. I, who was never religious, asked, “God, grant me the patience to not lose my temper with this deeply complicated character.”
Meanwhile, the dreamseller, after criticizing blind faith in machines, turned his guns on the Internet.
“The system produced the Internet and cell phones, sparking a revolution in communications the likes of which history had never seen. People lost their inhibitions to technology, and