For a long time, Laila and Joaquín wondered why they were together. They had no children, they had no more commitments than they wished.
they argued permanently: by household order, spending priorities, travel destinations, frequency of meetings. At times, Joaquín claimed that Laila didn’t pay him enough attention. In others, Laila railed against Joaquín’s self-centeredness. But when they tried to lead their separate lives, an incomprehensible loneliness overtook them. Eventually they relapsed.
“Why don’t we entrust our discussions to Ichat?” Laila proposed. For any dispute, we turn to Artificial Intelligence. I will send you the results of my application and you will send yours. We do what the algorithm says.
“I don’t know what algorithm means,” replied Joaquín.
“Me neither,” Laila admitted. But Artificial intelligence will give its verdict: we just respect it.
Joaquín was against the idea, but Laila approved it with a sensual offer. The deal was sealed.
As if finding a way out worked like a balm in itself, no arguments arose for the next few weeks. Until they were invited to the wedding of Angélica, a cousin of Laila. As the guests entered the line, a waiter appeared with a tray of salmon canapés. Joaquín, hungry, pounced on the booty. Laila held him back by taking him by the bag.
“Don’t be the first,” he asked.
Joaquín accepted the rebuke. But immediately, a school of human piranhas preyed on the misery. The rest of the canapés and sandwiches showed variety and quality; But a tray of salmon canapés did not reappear.
– Another missed opportunity, claims Joaquín to Laila. I should be immortal to count the number of opportunities I’ve missed. I couldn’t have done it without your help.
“You can buy a whole stick of salmon tomorrow,” he replied. It was a piece of paper.
– Card, why? Your whole family rushed at the waiter. They looked like pygmies. I was the only one who ran out of salmon.
“Don’t talk about my family like that,” Laila admonished him.
Both pronounced simultaneously and spontaneously: – Artificial Intelligence.
In their respective cell phones, through the voice system, They informed Ichat of the conflict and asked for a resolution.
The show responded with a slew of poorly worded platitudes: a lax machine translation from English; dotted with expressions of a lunfardo tango. The advice was irrelevant. They could be used for any discussion, but they weren’t good for anyone in particular.
“You didn’t explain the conflict well to your Ichat,” Laila retorted.
“I told him the same thing,” Joaquín assured.
“Indeed,” added Joaquín. explain the conflict yourself. What the ichat says, I respect.
But one of Ichat’s suggestions was to wait for another waiter to appear with another platter of salmon. It hadn’t happened.
“I didn’t know there wouldn’t be more trays of salmon,” Laila said without regret.
“You guessed it,” explained Joaquín. There is something about you that struggles to limit my aspirations, whether it’s a salmon canapé or discovering a new continent. If I were Colombo, you would advise me not to sail. Also, the word “papelón”, in itself depressing. What is a “papelon”? A paper poster? A keg? “Don’t play a role.”
– Sure, so you ruin my party in front of everyone. Now everyone is dancing and you are still, like a pole.
“That dance there is your uncle Leonardo, or he is about to be electrocuted,” Joaquín speculated. No, he’s obviously dancing. I prefer to look like a bus stop.
“I chat!” they both shouted at the same time.
In this new consultation, AI recommended that if either of you wanted to dance, they should; that if they wanted to dance together, they would have to agree and that they try to fit in with the general vibe of the party.
“It reminds me of my grandmother’s advice,” Joaquín recalled. How to make sure there is no war? “Let there be no war”. How to earn money? “Earn money”. They are not advice: they are tautologies. In contrast to Kissinger’s idea, “a good negotiation is one in which all are equally dissatisfied”; my grandmother and your Ichat trust a perfect, pre-conflict world. They don’t resolve the conflict: they deny it.
– My chat? My Chat? Laila raised her voice. It is the vanguard of world thought. Humanity speaks of this. You never update, you just look at your belly button.
– I have never looked at my belly button in my entire life. Joaquín challenged her. Not once. I don’t know what my navel is like. I don’t even know if I have a belly button.
After a pause in which neither of them knew what to say, Joaquín murmured: – We need King Solomon. Long before the fantasies of Artificial Intelligence, King Solomon gave the right answers.
“And Sancho Panza too in the Ínsula,” an old man interjected.
Both members of the couple looked at him puzzled. It was Uncle Solomon, distant blood relative of Joaquin and finally also related to Laila, through a series of conjugal associations in Rhodes, his uncle’s native island, where he had lived for 30 years, the time in which they had not seen him, believing him already extinct.
– What should we do, uncle? Laila asked him; sensing that in her wisdom, Solomon would understand, without further questioning.
“Don’t try to be happy,” he said softly and in his baritone voice. Always agree with each other. He forgets all fiction. drink alcohol.
For the rest of the party they danced together.
In the weeks that followed, they barely argued. A month later, Laila contacted Angélica’s mother to ask for Salomón’s Rhodes address and to send her a gift by private post.
“Salomón died in 2003, twenty years ago now,” said Angélica’s mother Mirna in dismay.
“But we saw him at the party,” Laila couldn’t help but react.
“Ah, I get it,” Mirna said in a smiling tone. The robot that Uncle Tito gave us. An android with artificial intelligence. Everyone sees who they want works like a realistic hologram. What he said?
Laila hung up without answering. When Joaquín arrived home, the episode sparked the worst quarrel they had ever had.
Source: Clarin
