Martha put down her copy of the Encyclopedia of Neurological Sciences. “Damn, it’s too close to call,” she muttered into the darkening room. The final rays from the sun provided the only reading light to her dining room table. She put her forehead on the table and interlaced her fingers over the back of her head.
“I must be going nuts. How the hell can I even be thinking about trying to do a psychological makeup on an android?” She unclasped her fingers and gradually lifted her head.
“I’m reviewing her profile to make a case for antisocial personality disorder, but I fit the case for psychoneurotic personality disorder myself. Hell, I’m even talking to myself.”
Martha picked up her phone and called Ralph.
“Hey, hi babe!” came the response from the other end. She felt better hearing his voice. “What’s up?”
“Ralph, I know its short notice, but can we meet for lunch tomorrow? I need to talk to you.”
“You sound serious, Martha. It’s not like you at all. Sure, no problem with lunch. What’s going on, hon?”
“It’s nothing, but I need to talk to you about Gabriella. I’d rather do it face to face.” Martha smiled, “In fact, I like to do a lot of things with you face to face.”
“You know I’m at my regional office, Martha. People can see me turn red. What time and where do you want to meet?”
“How about 1:30 at Mensky’s on West 42nd Street? I’m in the mood for Ethiopian comfort food. Ever try it?”
“No, I haven’t, but Mensky’s sounds Jewish.”
“Ralph! Are you saying there can’t be Jewish Ethiopians?” Martha smiled and added, “It’s a bit racist, don’t you think?”
“Ouch, Babe. You got me on that one. I’ll see you at 1:30.”
***
Mensky’s was a small hole-in-the-wall, like many good Manhattan restaurants. The neighborhood appeared rough to most visitors. Buildings need painting. Red brick showed through the peeling paint on most of them. Mensky’s narrow two-story cement building was only painted on the first level. The second level consisted of weathered, unfinished cement. A dirty red canopy stretched across the front of the building.
Davitt protected the large front window during non-business hours by a steel rolly-door he pulled down to ground level and locked in place with a huge padlock. Spray paint and graffiti on the metal door proclaimed territorial dominance by one small neighborhood gang or another.
“Great spot you picked, Martha. Glad I’m a martial arts instructor. How did you find this place? Was it featured on a TV crime show?”
“Nothing exciting. I looked up nearby Ethiopian fare and picked this one because it’s close to us. Besides, the food is excellent. Really authentic. Sometimes ya just gotta get with the common folk to see what’s real,” Martha teased.
“Well, this looks real enough,” Ralph said as he maintained situational awareness and glanced up and down the street for potential threats. “Yup, it’s real enough.”
The lighting inside was warm and subdued. Most of the light was coming from the floor to ceiling windows stretching from wall to wall across the front of the building. Plain white tiles covered the floor. The thick wooden pedestal tables showed wear from many years of use. Four heavy wooden slat-back chairs sat around each table. A white paper napkin fanned elegantly out of each water glass. The noise of children playing filtered gently into the restaurant from the children’s park across the street.
Liya walked to their table, order pad in hand, and asked if they would like to start off with something to drink. She was tall, trim, and light-skinned. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, emphasizing her large almond-shaped hazel eyes. Her graceful gait could comfortably fit into Addis-Ababa society circles. Martha said they were ready to order.
Ralph protested and replied he had not read through the entire menu.
“Really, Ralph? If you’ve never eaten Ethiopian food, little on the menu will make any sense to you anyhow. It was a cute thing to say, though.”
“I’ll have the ingera with tibs,” said Martha. Liya nodded.
Ralph hesitated. Liya turned to Ralph. “Would the gentleman like to try the sampler plate if he is unfamiliar with Ethiopian food?”
“No. You know what? I think I’ll have the same as she is having. It sounds good. By the way, what did I order?”
“No, sir, it’s too late to ask questions. You’ve already ordered,” teased Liya. “You’ll see. It’s delicious. The lady has good taste.” Liya winked. “And to drink?”
Martha answered. “I really must have your ginger drink. I love it. Get one for my friend, too. Later we can have some good roast coffee, but I want the ginger drink with my tibs.” Liya nodded and was off to the kitchen to deliver their order.
“Martha, I didn’t catch what just happened. I know we were speaking English, but I didn’t understand a word of it. What did we order? Never mind, I trust you. Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”
“It’s about Francine and Gabriella. Francine asked me into her office and told me she is concerned Gabriella is a threat because she doesn’t show any emotion after she hurts attackers. What’s worse, little pieces fit into the profile of a sociopath, but other aspects of her behavior do not. I guess I want to talk it over with you.”
“How is she at work? How does she react under work pressures? Does anyone ever criticize her or her work? How does she react?”
“That’s the thing. Gabriella acts normal in every other situation. Besides, there isn’t much to criticize her for at work. She’s almost the perfect engineer. There are never any errors.”
“How does she handle project changes?”
“Great. When specifications for her project are modified by management, she takes them in stride and begins making her changes without complaint.”
“She seems friendly to the other people in class,” said Ralph. “How is she with her work-mates?”
“Fine. She laughs and smiles a lot around everyone. She even likes to tell a joke or two. Like I said, she seems to be normal except for not feeling any remorse for hurting people who have attacked her. I don’t get it. You would think if there were a problem, it would have shown itself in some other aspect of her life, too, wouldn’t you? Why are people making such a big deal of this? Your thoughts?”
“That’s a tough one. Off the top of my head, I would say since it’s the only time where the behavior seems to be abnormal, I would carry on as usual but watch her a little more. Seeing her in class doesn’t give me a well-rounded picture of the woman. And I have no idea why people are making a big deal of this. It doesn’t make sense to me. I’m sorry, I don’t think I was much help to you.”
“Yes, you are. Being able to talk to you like this is a big help. I can’t talk it over with people at work, and especially not with Gabriella. It may cause a Hawthorne Effect and change her behavior to suit my observations.”
“What’s the Hawthorne effect, Hon?”
“It’s where individuals change the way they do things if they know they are being observed. They’ll try to perform like they think the observer is expecting them too, not as they normally would. It screws up any observational data, so I can’t talk to her about it for fear she might show remorse where there wasn’t any because she feels we expect it of her. It gets complicated.”
“Wow, I’m glad it’s your field and not mine! What a complicated world you live in. I just bust people up. It’s simpler,” Ralph laughed. “Is she seeing anyone? It could give us a clue about her. Anyone odd?”
“She’s been seeing a young, divorced minister who has a small child. How much more stable can you get than that? Crap! Normal and compassionate, except when she is not. I think we need to watch my friend, as much as I hate to say it.” Martha paused. “One more thing, she talked to me about something she was feeling after the second attack.”
“And what was that?”
“She said she felt a little excited about being able to overpower and hurt her attackers. She didn’t tell anyone else but said she had to confide in me. It has me worried. I had to say something to you.”
“Excited, huh? Thanks for letting me know. It’s a normal response to an attack where you’ve won the battle, even if you still feel sorry you had to hurt them. We’ll keep a much closer watch on her. Anything else?”
“Yeah, she said it made her feel more human. I don’t know what it means yet. I’ll have to find a way to bring it back up. Enough for now. Our order is here.”
Liya came to their table carrying two tall glasses containing a reddish-brown liquid. Small particles were spinning in the glasses from mixing. She put down a small mini-container of ice holding a half-dozen cubes. “You can add the right amount of ice to suit your taste,” she said. “Enjoy!”
Ralph looked at the glasses and the small unknown particles swirling in the dark liquid. “What’s this?”
“That’s a real ginger drink. If you like ginger ale, you will love this. It’s the original recipe. I’ve gotta warn you, though, it’s tangy and will burn your throat a little, but it is so delicious.”
A careful sip later, Ralph exclaimed, “Mh-huh, I see what you mean. Pretty strong, and it does burn a little, but it sure is good. This can be habit-forming!”
“Told you so!”
Liya returned, expertly balancing the plates of ingera and tibs, and placed two plates before each of them. “I hope you enjoy your meal. Sir, please let me know if you would like to send it back for something else. We want you to leave here happy and full, waiting for your next trip back to us.”
“You bet,” Ralph said. Liya nodded and walked away. “Martha, what’s with the big pancake and the bowl of… chunky beef stew or whatever it is with the boiled egg on top?” He understood why there were no tables for two. The ingera looked like a bubbly gray-tan pancake almost eighteen inches in diameter. A table for four was barely big enough for two orders.
“So, let me show you how to eat it.”
Martha tore a little piece of her ingera off and used it to pick up a bit of the meat. She popped it into her mouth. “See, it’s easy. Many Ethiopian dishes are to be eaten using our fingers. I like to eat with my fingers, Ralph. I think it’s very sensual. Don’t you?”
As Ralph began to answer, Martha tore off another piece of the ingera and dipped out more meat. She looked Ralph in the eye, her own eyes half-closed and dreamy for effect. She very slowly pushed the combination into her mouth. “Uh-huh,” she sighed, “eating with your fingers is very sensual.”
It had the desired effect.
“I think I may need to go out for a smoke after this meal,” Ralph said, only partially joking.
Ralph repeated the dipping ceremony and picked out some meat. “Hey, this is good. It has a familiar spicy background flavor. I’ve got it. Mild Buffalo chicken wings!”
“This is nothing at all like chicken wings,” Martha laughed, “but let’s talk more about that needing a smoke thing after lunch. How free is your afternoon?”
Her eyes and lips told him it would be a great afternoon.