Editing City Series:Volume5a Chapter9 (section)

===Rosetta’s Journal: Today’s 2nd Entry===

I am writing this inside the mansion. The school festival is having its dance. But I walked home.

A lot happened.

I could not move immediately after the Lourd de Marionnette battle ended. There were many reasons for that. But the biggest was that I could not believe Lady Beretta had lost. I Signe-d that she had won. And then the Ajouter of reality hit me.

Lady Beretta had lost. Lady Beretta, who had said she would protect us, had lost.

And Sir Phillip saved her and left the mock battlefield while I was still unable to move.

The old man sitting next to me nodded and then left as well.

I still could not move.

The next thing I knew I was sitting alone in the dining hall near the mock battlefield – it was Lady Mallette and that group that found me there – and had been there for four hours. The sun would be setting soon and things were growing noisy outside. A group known as the music club was beginning their night performance.

A few of Lady Mallette’s group went outside.

There would apparently be a dance party during that night performance. Everyone had gone to search for a partner.

Lady Mallette breathed cigarette smoke from her nose and said “well I shouldn’t have any trouble finding someone” despite not looking very confident.

She was keeping me company while I could not move. All of them are such good people. They really are. I had to return to the mansion and make dinner for the master. But I did not.

That was wrong of me. No one told me it was okay to do that. I had spent 15 years with the master telling me to do my job right. But I waited for Lady Beretta for myself and not for my job.

Why did I do that? I do not know.

I asked Lady Mallette about that and about something else that was bothering me. Why had I been unable to move immediately after Lady Beretta lost? And why was I waiting?

Lady Mallette gave a very simple answer.

“Isn’t that because you’re no longer just a machine?”

I am a machine. I am not human. But Lady Mallette made it sound so simple.

“If you were a machine you would have been able to move even after Beretta lost. But you were so shocked by it that you couldn’t move. And you’re still worried about her. You’re growing less and less perfect. As a machine I mean.”

“So am I of poor quality if you view me as a machine?”

“I don’t think you were originally. But Beretta said you’re fine this way.”

“Why would Lady Beretta say that about me? Do you believe her?”

“That girl won’t give many details. But she was born to a family of Belle de Marionnette engineers. Do you know how Belle de Marionnettes are treated in America?”

I said I did not and she smiled a little. As if to say there was no helping that.

She told me a lot:

*America has a serious racial discrimination problem. To avoid dealing with their social problems they treat different races and Belle de Marionnettes as the underclass.

*Lady Beretta helped her parents by looking after the Belle de Marionnettes that had been left in a warehouse unable to move. She worked to bring them out into the world once more. She gave them names and had them grow more human. But then they told her what they had been through. They had all been overworked to the point of breaking down or treated like tools to be loved.

*Lady Beretta would make periodic repairs to the Belle de Marionnettes she had raised and sent to work in someone’s home. The owners would only ever demand the Belle de Marionnettes be made to do more work.

*And just before the next repair visit the Belle de Marionnettes would break themselves without telling her anything. Those given harsh jobs would intentionally place themselves in harm’s way during the course of their work. The ones used as tools to be loved would throw themselves down the stairs. They would destroy themselves.

* Lady Beretta would gather up their broken parts afterwards. Every time it was the same. Their joints and hearts would still be those of a doll. But they had always developed the ability to shed tears like a human.

Those tears were shed by something inhuman. The only human ability they gained was the one to cry.

I have never shed tears. Kings and queens in picture books often shed tears when they lose their princess. Based on that and what Lady Mallette said I can assume that tears are shed when you feel a powerful emotion in response to losing something – and powerfully enough to feel the need to throw yourself down the stairs.

I can say that tears are brought by an unpleasant emotion.

That must be what is known as sorrow. I have yet to shed tears. That means I have never felt that unpleasant emotion. That must be because I am with Lady Beretta.

I kind of understand why Lady Beretta is so concerned with me. She had not told me the answer. But I felt like I understood it all.

It was selfish and uninvited. But it was not unpleasant.

She has never taught me an unpleasant emotion.

She has protected me.

This is what Lady Mallette said:

“That Phillip guy and Berretta are both Lourd de Écrivains who see protecting people as their primary duty. So it’s only natural for him to move when no one else can.”

“Then can we just let them protect us?”

“That’s why you need to think about what happened today. You could not move for Beretta today. If you regret that then you may want to protect her. And…”

“And?”

“If you want to protect her then you first need to become the kind of person who will not worry her.”

Lady Mallette added “like me” in a joking voice and laughed.

Become a person.

Lady Mallette’s words are right there in my memory.

I am not like the Belle de Marionnettes in America. I have not experienced anything unpleasant and I do not want to destroy myself. But can I never rid Lady Beretta of her worry as long as I am a Belle de Marionnette?

That must be why she gets angry when I treat myself like a doll. The unpleasant feelings inside her start to rise to the surface.

I thought through all that in the dining hall. I stopped thinking when Lady Beretta returned.

Her injuries were fully healed. She had changed clothes again. The clothes apparently belonged to Sir Phillip’s mother. She said they had stopped by his mansion to borrow them. They were large red clothes with the hem spread wide. They looked like something out of a picture book.

Sir Phillip arrived soon thereafter.

His injured right arm was wrapped in bandages and hanging from his neck by a sling. He was not fully healed because he did not receive Correcteur healing until after Lady Beretta.

Everyone cheered for them. Everyone slapped them on the head or poked at them. They seemed to be enjoying it and they were carried out into the courtyard.

I stayed on the outside of the group for a while. But then I went home. For some reason I felt like I could not be there. I cannot dance with my metal legs and that may have been part of it.

But there was a bigger reason.

*'''I alone am different.

I am not human. I am simply something that is protected.

But the other people treat me like I am human.

I do not like that kindness.

I want to truly be the same as Lady Beretta and Sir Phillip and Lady Mallette. I do not want to simply be taught and protected. If I was not a Belle de Marionnette then Lady Beretta would not have to worry so much. Sir Phillip would have greeted me normally when we first met. And Lady Mallette would invite me when she goes out drinking.

And today. I would have been able to move for Lady Beretta and I would have been able to dance…and I would not be writing this now.

I do not want to find myself unable to move when someone is hurt.

I thought about all this while walking back home alone.

I want to become human. But.

I am human.

I Signe that but the Ajouter always comes back the same:

<Rosetta is a Belle de Marionnette.>

Please.

I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human. I am human.

Why can’t I become human by writing this!?

Why does this city have the truth of Ajouter and not just what you Signe?

It would be so much easier if I could form myself from just my Signe. Am I missing something crucial needed to be human? I do not know. Perhaps I could become more human if I could shed tears?

But I cannot shed tears. Is my desire to be human weaker than my American brethren’s desire to destroy themselves?

I do not know. I do not know! I do not know!!

Can I become human with something so uncertain?

What am I supposed to do? I am conscious. I can speak. And yet I could not join in when doing so would have made me happier than anything.

I am a machine. I am not human. And that is everything.

Is becoming human a job for me? I understand that it is something I have tasked myself with. But is that what it is?

I might not find the answer right away. I will take my time thinking about it. Thinking is not my job. But this is necessary to become human.

Tomorrow will be spent cleaning up after the festival. It is supposed to start raining tonight so I think I will bring an umbrella with me.