The Curator

**Note**
This is an EXTREMELY early draft, will be putting a newer one up soon.


THE CURATOR.

Amidst the decaying ruins of a fallen city a small boy sat on a vine-covered wreck of a car and hummed quietly to himself.

His shaved head bobbed up and down as the beat progressed, his dirty hands rapping out the rhythm on an uncovered piece of rusted steel. The short ragged trousers, the only clothing he wore, were matted with the water of his recent bath in the fountain pool at the end of the road and steamed slightly in the heat of the summer sun.

At some point he would have to return home. There were chores to be done and a dinner of chicken and mango to eat. But for now he was happy to sit on the wreckage, humming the song he had been taught by the traveler and watching the birds in the overgrown foliage of the buildings.

If Jassa had known he was here the old man would have punished the boy, but Jassa didn’t know and wouldn’t as only the boy ever explored the ruins. The others were too scared of the old stories and the threats of divine retribution to set foot past the cracked and broken black path that marked the outer boundary of the fallen city.

The boy found this amusing. If the birds and the little animals that made the place their home weren’t afraid, why should he, a proud human child, be scared?

The traveler hadn’t been scared of the stories, or of Jassa’s anger. He had come to the city and explored the ruins and had actively sought out the ghosts that inhabited them. The boy knew of the ghosts. They were the reason that even he would not enter the buildings themselves. Walking through the crumbling and overgrown streets, searching for relics of the fallen was one thing, but talking to ghosts was quite another.

But the traveler had not been scared. He had entered one of the buildings and had not come out for many hours. The boy thought he must surely have been captured or even killed by the ghosts. Eventually, however he had returned, his face and his manner stern, his arms full of old papers and artifacts. He had only said one thing to the boy, before he had left.

‘The fools. They scrabble in the dirt and scrape out their existence never knowing the glory that could have been theirs. Boy, you must always remember that old men and old stories are there to chain you down to old ways and old fears.’

And then the man had gone. He had headed east along the banks of the great river, pulling his heavily laden cart behind him. The boy had considered following the traveler, had considered becoming a traveler himself and learning the mysteries of the fallen. But he had had chores to do and dinner to eat.

The boy stopped humming and thought about this. If he was to put off everything he wanted to do, because he had chores to do and dinner to eat, how would anything ever get done? Last month when he had wanted to climb to the top of the hill to see the statues of the gods, he put it off for the sake of his chores. Last week when he had wanted to take his newly constructed raft out on the river to the caverns of the lost, he had put it off for dinner!

No more, the boy decided. It was time to make new priorities in his life. He leapt from the roof of the car to the ground below. Chores and dinner would have to wait. He was a busy man! He had things to do, great adventures to have and no time for feeding chickens or collecting fruit!

His only problem was a simple one. Today, for once, he had no adventures in mind. He had not constructed a raft and he had not heard stories of gods and monsters. He had no traveler to follow.

But, the boy thought, in reality that was precisely what he had got. He could not follow the traveler to the east, for he had been gone for nearly a fortnight now and was surely far away. But he could follow his footsteps in the city. He could enter the building that the traveler had entered and face the ghosts therein. He would outwit them and return with greater knowledge than old Jassa would gain in another seventy years.

With a new purpose and a fierce determination, The boy set out.

The building was not far, and if he was quick, perhaps he could still be back in time for dinner. The chores, however, would have to wait.

The birds sang more loudly as the sun made it’s way toward the ground and as the boy made his way along the road. At one point a fox, startled by the boy’s approach, leapt from the window of some great, dilapidated truck and ran off into one of the buildings by the roadside. The sudden movement startled the boy, who drew his short dagger quickly, crouching low in the shadow of a huge oak, which grew from the streets center.

When he saw the fox, the boy laughed at his own fright and sheathed his dagger, continuing along his way. But the surprise had made its mark and as the destination of the boy’s journey approached he became more and more nervous. Now even the flight of birds was enough to make him start in fright.

By the time he arrived at the giant shadow filled entrance of the building, his heart was attempting to beat its way from his ribcage. The terror the boy felt was almost a physical thing, groping at his arms and legs, begging him to turn back.

Jassa’s stories of creatures of metal and lightening, creatures who ate small humans for breakfast filled the boy’s mind. The story of the metal man with the strength of a hundred human men and the morals of a thousand murderers whispered itself in his ears.

But the boy remembered what the traveler had told him.

‘Old men and old stories are there to chain you to old fears.’ He said out loud. This brightened his spirit considerably and although the shadow entrance was still foreboding, at least the boy no longer saw creatures in the shadows and teeth in the dark.

With a deep breath the boy entered the giant doorway.

Inside the air was musty and damp. Pieces of wood and stone lay crumbled around the door, piles of rubble were dotted at intervals along the floor.

But the boy saw only the glory of the room. It was huge, bigger even than the meeting hall at his village and that could hold the entire population, over a hundred people! This place looked as if it could hold ten times that many. The ceiling towered above so high that the boy could barely make out the crumbling decoration that adorned it.

The boy walked forwards, staring upwards in amazement and so tripped over something in his path.

Picking himself up, the boy stared down at what had felled him and his eyes grew wide with fear. A large bone lay across the ground and as the boy looked around he realized that the center of the room was strewn with them. Hundreds of cracked and crumbling bones, some larger than any the boy had ever seen lay all around.

What kind of creature made its lair here, the boy wondered, that could devoure creatures so massive?

He looked around carefully, his eyes now fully adjusted to the dark and carefully slid the dagger from its sheath. There did not appear to be any snarling, drooling monster lurking in the shadows and it would have had to have been huge. The boy doubted he would have missed it had it been there.

Perhaps the monster had been taken by the fallen when they had left this place? Whatever had occurred, the creature was obviously long gone. Now that the boy had collected himself, he could see that the bones were very old, some of them looked as though a touch would crumble them. It had been many, many years since these bones were ripped from the living flesh of their owners.

The boy relaxed and turned to the giant set of stairs that were set in the middle of the room and led up to a balcony that must, at one time, have encircled the room. Now it was broken and sections had fallen in many places.

The boy began to climb the stone stairs one at a time. No ghosts presented themselves and he began to think that all of Jassa’s stories had been lies. This made him angry. All that fear and threats of punishment, for what? To deny him his adventures? To keep him chained to his chores and to the village? The old man wanted to control him, but the boy decided he would not be controlled. He had uncovered the lies that Jassa told to him and to everyone else, and when he returned he would expose him! From now on, Jassa could muck out the pigs!

‘Hello there young man, may I be of assistance to you?’

The boy froze. He raised his head slowly to the top of the stairs, now only three steps away. Standing there, it’s eyes glowing with a faint blue light, stood a metal man. The boy stared in horror. Jassa’s stories were true. The bones at the bottom of the stairs were the remains of the metal man’s victims and now he was to become the next addition to the gruesome collection!

‘Are you alright young man? Your face has become markedly lighter in complexion. My memory core informs be that this occurs in humans due to sickness. Do you require medicine? I am a fully qualified first aider.’ The metal man said.

The boy gulped and gripped the handle of his knife.

‘I am not afraid of you, metal man!’ he said, his voice quivering.

‘That is good young man. I am here to help, after all!’ the metal man replied.
The boy stared. The machine did not appear to be about to rip him limb from limb.

‘Aren’t you going to eat me?’ The boy asked.

‘That is an unusual question young human. I do not require sustenance and therefore will not be eating anything. However if I was to require food, I doubt I would choose young boy’s as the mainstay of my diet. So no, I will not devourer you.’ The metal man said.

The boy relaxed and took a longer look at the man. It was dented and rusty, it’s metal flaking away. When it moved screeching noises emanated from its joints. Its left arm was missing and a jumble of wires hung from the empty socket. Its voice was cracked and broken. A hissing noise accompanied everything it said. The metal man was not a threat to him, the boy realised.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.

‘My name is Curator. I am here to assist you in your learning. I’m afraid many of the exhibits are in a state of some disrepair at the moment due to a lack of new staff for sixteen hundred years, six months and eight days. However, our computer databases still function and contain many educational and informative games and puzzles. Would you like to see them?’ Curator said.

‘Not right now.’ The boy said, ‘What is this place?’

‘Why, this is the museum! I assumed you knew that as a member of the visiting public, who, I must admit have been scarce of late. In fact, this is our busiest month in over a thousand years. I sense we are on the cusp of a re-ignition of interest in history.’ Curator replied. The boy was puzzled.

‘What is a museum?’ He asked.

‘Ah. Perhaps my earlier statement was a tad optimistic. A museum is a building, such as the one you currently inhabit, which acts as a sort of warehouse for the past. Here we can teach humans about the history of themselves and of their planet. It is a most noble sort of a place.’ Curator answered.

The boy walked cautiously up the last three steps to the curator, who watched him with what could have been interpreted as interest. The boy walked around him and touched his metal exterior gingerly.

‘How long have you been here?’ The boy asked.

‘Ah! It is a most amusing coincidence that you have asked. Today happens to be my on-day!’ Curator said, the glow in his eyes becoming more intense for a moment.

‘Your what?’

‘The anniversary of the day I was first switched
on! I am two thousand six hundred and fifty years old. It as been a pleasure to be activated for so long, although…’ The metal man paused and lowered his head. ‘Sometimes, when there have been no visitors for many, many decades I do get…’

‘What?’ The boy encouraged.

‘I do get lonely.’ Curator said lowering his head to look at the floor. ‘only sometimes, you understand, but I am all alone here.’

The boy shuffled his feet awkwardly. He hadn’t expected that the metal man wanted a friend. He decided a change of subject was in order.

‘Curator, did you meet the traveler?’ he asked. The robot thought for a moment before answering.

‘I have met no-one of that designation.’ He answered.

‘Are you sure?’ the boy insisted, ‘he was here only two weeks ago.’

‘As I say, I have met no-one of that designation, however there was a gentlemen visitor here recently and stayed for many hours, asking questions and perusing the databases. He did not tell me his name but it would be reasonable to assume that this is the ‘traveler’ of whom you speak. He is the only one who has visited, other than you, for many, many years.’ Curator told the boy. The boy nodded and walked over to another doorway at the top of the stairs, which was blocked by rubble.

‘That is the ice age exhibit. I am afraid it is currently in a state of some disrepair and is not open to the public.’ The Curator said.

‘What is the ice age?’ The boy asked.

‘Well, the earth’s climate is in constant flux. Sometimes, such as during the modern era, most of the surface is temperate and warm, however it is not always such. Periodically, the climate shifts to a frozen state, when most of the surface is covered in ice and snow. These are known as ice ages. The exhibit which is closed, has many examples of fossils and artifacts from the last such era. At least, it did. I regret I have been unable to ascertain the condition of the exhibits since the doorway became blocked.’ Curator said.

‘Why don’t you just move the stones?’ The boy asked. The robot walked over to the pile of rubble and sighed.

‘It is true that even as recently as two centuries ago this would not have been a problem. However, during the last two hundred years my physical state has deteriorated most depressingly. As you can see I have…misplaced an arm and the remaining motors in my left limb are not powerful enough to clear the way.’ He said.

‘Maybe I could help?’ the boy said.

‘I regret that your small human muscles would not be capable of the task. However, if you were to inform the relevant authorities of the deplorable state of affairs here, I am certain they would send a repair team to assist with repairs to both myself and the museum.’ Curator replied.

‘Relevant authorities? What do you mean?’ The boy asked.

‘Well, the arts and heritage department are in overall control of the museum.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t know what that is.’ The boy said.

‘You do not know of the arts and heritage council?’ the robot said dejectedly. ‘Then I must surmise that my greatest fears are correct.’

‘What fears are they?’

‘That society has degraded to such a level that it no longer deems an arts and heritage department necessary. Oh I am filled with woe for you little one. To think, you shall never see a stuffed wooly mammoth or the flinthead of an ancient arrow. The joy of visiting an exhibition of works of the great masters shall never be yours. The spark of interest as you see the bones of a long extinct species for the first time will remain unlit. How I pity you.’ Curator said. The boy was annoyed. Who was this rusting pile of steel to pity a human boy?

‘Well, I pity you curator. Sitting here in this big dusty hall for thousands of years with no company but yourself and the bones of long dead visitors. Sitting here with your talk of ‘ice ages’ and ‘wooly mammoths.’ Tell me, do you never see the sun?’

The Curator looked startled for a moment.

‘The sun? Why yes, yes i do. We keep it in exhibit room C. would you like to view it?’ he asked.

‘You keep the sun in a room?’ the boy asked, his eyes wide with wonderment.

‘Indeed. It is this way. Follow me.’ He moved jerkily off along the balcony, his right leg moving stiffly, not bending at the knee. The boy followed.

The room they entered was smaller than the first and much more dilapidated. A large section of wall had fallen in and the sky was visible through the large hole in the east side of the ceiling. Through the whole sunlight streamed. The boy laughed.

‘You mean you see the sun through the hole?’ he said.

‘I do not understand the question. I see the sun in exhibit room C. this is where it is kept. I must admit I do not find it amongst the inventory records, but here it is and logic dictates that we must have it. The inventory has become somewhat…jumbled through the years.’ Curator said.

‘But it is not in the museum!’ the boy said incredulously.

‘I beg to differ young man. There it is. Although, the currant show will only last another hour or so. Then the stars will be shown for approximately six hours. Also, we sometimes have clouds, but I regret that I have not quite established a pattern in the times that they are shown.’ Curator said.

‘But the sun is in the sky! It can be seen from anywhere outside.’ The boy said.

The curator made a huffing sound and attempted to fold his arms. Having only one arm made this a difficult task to accomplish and he ended up with it folded across his chest.

‘Oh, outside. Well, if you spend enough time outside, I have no doubt you will see anything you wish. However, It is here in this room for any visitor to view.’

The boy watched the Curator in silence for a moment. The metal man stared back, his blue eyes faint.

‘Curator, why have you stayed here for so long?’ he asked.

‘Why, to show the visitors around and explain the exhibits to them. To educate and inform. To answer queries and assist in research.’ He said.

‘But you said yourself no-one has visited for hundreds of years.’

‘Not so. I have shown two visitors around this month! That is a massive increase in visitor numbers on the month preceding.’

‘But after I go, no-one will come again for many years. Perhaps never.’ The boy said.

‘This may be so.’ Curator replied.

‘Well then, why stay?’

‘It is my job.’ Curator replied. The boy put a hand on Curators arm.

‘Have you never been outside, Curator?’ He asked gently.

‘Been outside? I do not understand the question.’ Curator answered.

‘Have you ever left the building?’ The boy asked.

‘For what purpose?’

‘To see people? To stop being lonely? To tell people the things you know?’

‘But I do that here. I mean, I should, if people would visit. If attendance is down of late…well, I will just wait for it to increase. It must, eventually.’

‘But if it doesn’t,’ the boy insisted, ‘what happens to you?’

‘Well eventually my battery would run down and I would enter sleep mode.’ Curator said. The boy patted his shoulder.

‘You will die.’ he said.

‘Die? No, of course not. I will merely be awaiting a replacement battery. Then I will reboot and my job will continue.’

‘But what if there are no replacement batteries? What if you just stay asleep? Forever.’ The boy asked.

‘For ever? No batteries? Well, I suppose I would rust away to dust eventually. I suppose.’ Curator seemed to think about this intently. ‘it is possible that this could be considered “death”.’ He finished.

The boy lead Curator out of exhibit room C and down the great staircase and towards the huge entrance of the museum.

‘Why don’t you come home with me Curator? There are chores to be done and dinner to eat at home. You could help with the chores and share the dinner. It’s chicken with mango.’ The boy said.

The Curator hesitated and stared into the light beyond the doors.

‘I do not require sustenance.’ He said, a tremor in his voice.

‘Well then, you could come and tell people of the exhibits.’ The boy said.

‘Really? There are people to teach at your home?’ Curator asked.

‘Certainly. And all we do, all the time, is listen to the histories that Jassa tells us.’ The boy said, a slight trace of bitterness in his voice, but only a slight trace.

‘But…what of the exhibits? They will fall into disrepair without me…’ Curator turned as he said this and it was as if he saw the entrance hall for the first time in a millennia. He stopped and crackling noises came from his mouth. He turned back to the door.

‘You know, if I were to require sustenance,’ Curator began slowly, ‘I believe I would choose Chicken and mango.’ He finished.

The boy took hold of Curator’s hand and led him into the sunlight beyond. In the high vine-covered windows of the buildings, the birds sang and along the mossy ground small creatures ran to and fro.

Curator looked around.

‘Remarkable.’ He said. He looked upwards. The sun was sinking fast now and the sky glowed with orange fire. ‘You do have the sun out here. What is this room’s designation?’ he asked.

‘It doesn’t really have one.’ the boy said. ‘We call it the forgotten place.’

‘Indeed? Well, perhaps we should proceed to the exhibit designated ‘home’ and converse with the people there.’ Curator said.

‘Alright.’ The boy said. The walked along the road, the curator’s head moving rapidly and exclamations spewing from him as it did. Then, after a while, he became silent. The boy looked up at the metal man.

‘Are you alright, Curator?’ he asked.

‘I fear i am not.’ Curator replied. ‘A fear has presented itself to me. I have recalled your initial reaction to me in the museum. It was fear, was it not, that caused you to pale?’ Curator asked.

‘Well…’ the boy hesitated, not wanting to offend Curator, or to seem cowardly. ‘I may have been…startled. I have never met a metal man before.’

‘In which case, I believe it fair to surmise that the people of whom you spoke earlier will also be unfamiliar with automatons and will also greet me with fear. Perhaps even anger.’ Curator said. The boy nodded slowly.

‘That’s probably true.’ He said.

‘They may attempt to…deactivate me. Perhaps even damage me beyond repair.’

‘They might try.’ The boy said.

‘What is to stop them from succeeding? My memory core contains information on many anti-automaton riots and attacks upon innocent servants out of fear. Many of my kind were destroyed. And this was damage wrecked by humans familiar with “metal men”. I am concerned that this on-day, may be my last.’

‘Don’t worry Curator, they won’t harm you. You are my friend.’ The boy said.

‘I do not have pain receptacles and therefore cannot be “harmed”.’ Curator replied. They walked in silence for a moment, before Curator continued. ‘I have never had a friend before young human.’ He said.

‘Me neither.’ The boy replied.

‘I feel I must ask for your designation if we are to be friends.’ Curator said. ‘What is you name, young human?’

The boy looked up and smiled.

‘My name is Rissus.’ He said. Curator nodded.

‘Pleased to be acquainted with you Rissus.’ Curator said.

'Pleased to be acquainted with you Curator.’ Rissus replied, and Boy and Metal man walked out of the forgotten place together, hand in hand, as the sun set silently behind them and the stars came out above.