"Laughter" by Anna Gáspár-Singer translated from the Hungarian by Marietta Morry & Walter Burgess

Translators’ Note: the words in italics are in English in the original. Zugló is a suburb of Budapest.

She was standing by the philodendron, watching the apparatus make one last click. For days she thought that the sound came from the plant. These days they come up with so many new things. Would she have been really this naïve? That was also Jack's fault, like many other things.

I wonder when he'll figure out that this thingamajig has croaked; perhaps he'll notice it as soon as he gets home from work. He would talk to it, asking the usual questions but the robot will be stubbornly silent. Can something like this croak; no matter how hard she thought about it, she couldn't find the proper expression for its demise. It went belly-up, it expired, but aren't only living things capable of that. At most you can say: it's kaput. Perhaps. Although it used to have a name; it was the same as the one given to many million other machines in the world; that's all she knew about it. She only guessed the number; she didn't know how many there were all together. The machines and the users connected to them. After all, who the hell buys these? It's true though that she shouldn't assume that others feel the same way about it as she does.

She imagined that person, one out of several millions, wandering into an electronics store asking for a robot with a pleasant voice, a virtual assistant, to be exact. The customer is a tall skinny man with a hoarse voice and a few pimples on his skin. Or maybe not, he's rather fat with a face as round as the moon and with fallen arches. Perhaps he orders it online; that's more convenient; he searches for days for one that is a good value for the money. And then they present him with, or show him in a pop-up window, Alexa. It has a woman's name; why doesn't that surprise her? The robot replies obligingly; it carries out routine home tasks. After some time, it will be so natural that it will no longer be noticed. All in all, it makes the owner's life more comfortable than before, just the way she did that for Jack, at the time. Or, at least, while they were living together. It turns on the vacuum cleaner or the oven, heats up the meat, no big deal. Bon appétit, darling, or more correctly, enjoy your meal. The word "darling" can be omitted depending on one's preference.

Besides they were not at home. Or rather Jack is very much at home; this apartment is his. The pale grey minimalist furniture is his. In the hallway, his shoes are all lined up on a shelf, the shoehorn hangs beside the keys in a small nook in the wall. The closet has his clothes carefully hidden out of view.

In fact, it's the woman who was the stranger, an intruder, although she only came out of necessity and was not going to stay for long. Only until they discussed what was absolutely crucial about their arrangement. After that, she'll disappear without a trace, as if she had never been in this apartment. Luckily, Jack agreed to it without a fuss; he didn't create obstacles, didn't look for excuses. He must have realized that this time it was important for them to meet; besides this was not a topic to be discussed on the phone. They need to decide; the sooner the better.

She found it strange from the start that she had to call him Jack. Was he aware how ridiculous it was that he tried to appear as someone he wasn’t? He could get away with it among his colleagues, but in her case. After all they've known each other for a thousand years. He called himself Jack on the phone as well, but if he couldn't answer, the virtual assistant took over.

Hello, this is Jack's phone; how can I help you?

It did the online shopping as well; it inquired in a pleasant woman's voice what was needed at home.

Milk, bread, some vegetables, fruit. Not that, Alexa, apples.

  It's unfortunate that she had to arrange the apples in the bowl later; it seems that Jack was useless at this. By the way it was also possible to give the machine stern instructions. This was especially important when someone didn't have a dog but was set on giving orders. Oh yes, the dog; Jack, of course, had one of those as well, an annoying little mongrel that kept jumping around them from day one. Or it settled down right next to them and kept staring at them. Dark button eyes, messy fur like a worn-out plush toy. Perhaps the dog isn't the best example. It’s loyal yet cannot just do anything for the owner when asked; it won't clean up and won't turn on the lights, only a person can do that. Or a robot. Alexa, turn off the light, turn on the TV, start the vacuum cleaner; it's chilly, I'm cold, turn up the heat Alexa, damn you.

She read an article somewhere that applications with women's names are harassed more often. Based on the voices, owners associate a face and body with them, most likely young and desirable. Not that she had ever imagined what this robot could look like in "real life”, not only her body, but her movements and gestures. Tara, the virtual assistant mentioned in the article, only existed for a day; it was almost immediately trolled by the users.

Come to daddy, you fucking bitch.

Jack didn't say things like that, at least not when she could hear; she would have remembered that. The day she arrived, he gave fragmentary instructions, like turning the light on and off, preparing coffee and using the remote. He encouraged her to try it. She would see how convenient it is; she won't need to get out of the armchair and certain things will get done on their own. According to Jack she should get one for herself at home.

It was on the third day that she really noticed the plant; the fact that something was wrong with it, that the sound didn't originate from it but from the contraption hidden behind it. Why wasn't she able to give it instructions? She preferred to get up and make her own toast, and her coffee which she had several times a day. Yet, inadvertently, she glanced at the philodendron; she couldn't see what was behind it while sitting in the armchair. Jack did a good job hiding it. It occurred to her that it's ridiculous that she cannot relax, even now when she had a chance to do it, when it would be her turn to be in control at last; after all she has been obeying instructions all her life, not only at home but at work as well. Somehow, compliance was encoded into her genes, although she found it hard to admit it, even to herself. When she was asked to do something, she did it right away, sometimes even without being asked. After a while she didn’t have the patience for others to make a move, instead she preferred to do whatever was needed.

Of course, if she lived in this apartment, it would be quite a different situation. Perhaps she would get used to Alexa and let the robot get on with it. Let's face it, Jack didn't expect the robot to do anything big. She still avoided the expression "virtual assistant". At the beginning, she was secretly hopeful that they would not only settle the issue, that was the reason for her visit, but also deal with other problems. For a second, she envisioned herself putting her clothes in the well-designed closets.

In the end nothing turned out the way she had imagined it. At the beginning Jack promised that they would sit down for a chat the day after her arrival, at the latest. But unexpectedly something always got in the way. "My boss called for an urgent meeting, unfortunately I had to cancel the afternoon discussion; tonight is not possible because I need to work; tomorrow morning I need to go to a business meeting and will be home late. We'll make up for it soon. It's all right if we postpone it to the day after tomorrow, isn't it."

They had one day left but nothing had happened so far. It seemed, however, that Jack was not at all fazed by it. Perhaps he had even forgotten his promise. He was preoccupied with his everyday chores, as he said with an apologetic smile. Or he just didn't feel like negotiating anything.

At the time he didn't want the divorce either. He kept prevaricating ad infinitum. She, on the other hand, was almost driven crazy by the long wait. She didn't understand why the inevitable should be delayed. They had no children, somehow, they had never got to the point of deciding about it. She didn't remember exactly why, but by the end they hardly spent any time together, they didn't even meet often. It was as if Jack, the name by which he referred to himself these days, was purposely avoiding her company. She felt she was correctly reading the situation. He was in a bad mood most of the time and hardly ever laughed, unlike at the beginning when they met. Now, on the other hand, he went around his business with a constant grin or kept chatting with Alexa. And, of course, again he was prevaricating, at her expense.

Even the last evening he was sitting on the sofa with a laptop computer. He was engrossed in typing something; it must have been terribly important work, or so he implied. Yet, he made the robot turn on the TV.

Alexa, please switch to channel three.

When they were married, he didn’t use to be all that polite when he asked her to do something, he would leave off “please” most of the time. She tried to read just to keep busy until the time Jack would deign to talk to her. Once he's done, Jack perhaps will spend a half hour, or even more, with her, she thought. But after a while it was clear that he had no intention of doing it, instead he started watching a streamed show. It was a home renovation program in which truly inept owners were bunglingly working in their half-finished houses and that's when the staff took over; a team of tradesmen was let loose; the men wore green overalls wielding drills and other tools. The premise was the surreal conflict between the two groups. Jack kept slapping his knees while typing and evidently enjoyed the show. He no longer tried to hide that his work was just an excuse, and, in effect, he was free.

Look at that bearded guy! Oh my God, it's so funny.

She was familiar with Jack's cheerful behavior; he let out small snorts from time to time, at one point even his saliva dripped from one side of his mouth. But why did he switch to English while talking to her. Good question. He evidently didn't notice that the all-thumbs bearded guy looked very much like him, the way he was quite a few years ago. When they bought the decrepit house in Zugló and started renovating it on their own. He was out of his element holding a drill; he didn't know the first thing about fixing things or about physical labor. If a lightbulb needed to be replaced; it was she who did it. She couldn't wait for Jack to make up his mind, even this way it took a long time to make the shack more or less livable with the help of friends.

It seemed that Jack must have erased any memory of this; but the house was still standing, and she was still living in it, even though they have been divorced for two years. The only reason they didn't sell it was because Jack asked her to wait a little bit. They should try to rent it for now, and he would arrange the rest later. She has no idea how she could have agreed to this. Of course, in the end nothing came of it; they couldn't even rent it. At least not for a price that would have made it worthwhile for both of them. She had no choice but to stay in the house. After all, where could she have gone? In the meantime, Jack moved abroad for work and had the time of his life. He rented this apartment; she, on the other hand, could not carry the cost of running the house and wanted to get rid of it. That's why she came here to discuss with Jack what should happen to the house, the furniture, the joint pieces of their old life that Jack was so keen on leaving behind.

The guy with the beard on TV was moving building material, he tried to push a wheelbarrow full of bricks. Because of the unaccustomed effort he let out a loud fart that was recorded by the camera. Jack shrieked like some sort of raptor. His T-shirt was covered by saliva droplets.

Jesus, what the fuck, man. That guy is a giant asshole, isn't he?

She didn't reply and pretended to be immersed in the book in her hand. That didn’t bother him and the next moment he started chatting with Alexa, as if it made absolutely no difference to him who replied, as long as there was a reply. He still didn't stop laughing and even put the laptop aside.

Alexa, did you hear it?

Sorry I don't know what it is.

Alexa, have a big fart. Jack was laughing so hard that there were tears in his eyes, as the robot imitated a loud fart in reply.

That's when she had enough. She angrily went to her room and started packing her suitcase but didn't leave. Where would she go? Instead, she went to bed. After that it took her hours to fall asleep. Her plane was leaving the next afternoon, before that she would spend at least forty minutes in the car with Jack, who would take her to the airport.

She was woken up by the alarm on her cell phone; she dragged herself to the kitchen to make a double espresso. Fortunately, Jack was not at home; she was about to pour the water in the machine but decided to let the robot do it, just this once. She knew how, because she had seen Jack do it. First of all, she will talk to it in English because Alexa doesn't speak a word of Hungarian. She moved closer to it and stopped by the philodendron; after all she shouldn't shout from the kitchen like some sort of boor.

Alexa, please, make me a strong coffee. I'm very tired.

She felt she needed to justify why she asked for the machine's help this time. Alexa stayed quiet for a while then asked in a sharp tone:

Are you tiny? Sorry, I don't understand and let out an evil laugh.

She was confused and didn't understand what was happening. Did she say tiny instead of tired? So, what? She's not small but tired, obviously.

Alexa, make me a strong coffee! Now!

But the machine didn't stop laughing. And it had absolutely no intention of making her a coffee.

She recalled everything again. Five complete days, that's how many she had planned for the trip. Five days of futility. She didn't even leave the apartment once because of Jack. She didn't even visit the llama farm nearby, nor any of the other sites in the neighborhood. She kept waiting for him to talk to her. It was a total waste of time. And he didn't even apologize to her. Who knows what's going to happen to the house. Jack is not interested in anyone or anything. If it was up to him, she could go and hang herself. Earlier, she often wished him dead, but after a time she calmed down. But now, it was as if someone had pressed a button, an overwhelming anger took control of her. She could have strangled Jack with her bare hands: that filthy scum, who, by the way, was Tibor, even his virtual assistant laughed at her.

Fuck you, Alexa! Fuck you Tibor! she screamed.

Fuck you, fuck you – the pleasant robot voice echoed the sound.

She grabbed the empty fruit bowl from the table, the only item that was important to her, and which Jack took from their home, and started mercilessly beating the machine with it until Alexa was in pieces.

Anna Gáspár-Singer was born in Budapest in 1976. She has been publishing since 2012. Her first volume of short stories was published in 2019. “Laughter” postdates her book. Marietta Morry and Walter Burgess are Canadian. In addition to works by Anna Gáspár-Singer they translate fiction by five other authors; many of these translations have appeared in literary reviews in six countries.