Bernardo Draws Manhattan

by Franco Amati

My job was to roam around Earth collecting random losers. The more pathetic the better. I’d spend countless hours searching for the right kind of misfortunate soul. Then I’d bring them back to my clinic and fix them up. I always returned them to Earth, unharmed, with some special talent they didn’t have before.

I took great pride in my work. Not to brag, but I was the impetus behind hundreds of Earth’s most notable figures. Bono, for instance: all me. You should’ve seen that little mutt roaming around the south side of Dublin before I got to him. That transformation made me a legend. I even gave him the silly idea to call his band U2. The folks up at headquarters still rave about it.

During my entire career, there wasn’t an Earthling schmuck I couldn’t whip into shape. On the cusp of retirement, I was one flip away from breaking my syndicate’s record for the most no-name-to-celebrity conversions.

Snapping the record would prove more difficult than I thought. With just a few days left before retirement, I had time for only one more abduction. The one I set my eye on was named Bernardo.

Bernardo was homeless. He lived on the streets of Manhattan. From what I could tell, he spent most of his hours with lumps of charcoal in his hand, scratching away at whatever paper he could find, sketching everything he saw, like some madman artist stranded in the wrong century.

I found him in Penn Station. (Great place to find fixer-uppers, by the way.) I always had luck in the subways. When I first encountered Bernardo, he was huddled up in the corner of the Long Island Railroad waiting area wearing a puffy coat in the middle of August with one of his legs propped up on an overstuffed burlap sack.

Inside his burlap sack were all his art supplies. He stared at the commuters around him with an intensity that I was pretty sure was socially unacceptable among humans. I was struck by the wide-eyed zeal that Bernardo possessed, and I had a feeling he’d be a good flip. He already had a lot of raw talent to work with. My guess was that he just needed a few cortical adjustments, and he’d turn out to be a real winner.

Even though we wipe each abductee’s memory before sending them back, we still give them a choice. After we bring them in and explain what’s happening, they have to agree to the talent upgrade of their own free will. They have to consent knowing that something significant about them will change — for the better, of course — and with the knowledge that they might end up more successful on Earth as a result of that change.

No one had ever refused. In the entire history of our syndicate, not a single human had turned down the offer. Whether or not they actually make it big afterwards — well, that’s a different story. Let’s just say not everyone is as good at performing upgrades as yours truly.

I decided to observe Bernardo for a while. But first, I was hungry. I got some food at one of the craters in the wall these creatures call restaurants. I got a hotdog and an Orange Julius. What can I say, some of this human garbage I have a weakness for. Then I went over to one of the automated kiosks and bought a train ticket. This way I could sit in the lobby and not get harassed by the cops.

By the time I found a decent spot in the waiting area, Bernardo was in full savant mode, drawing a most impressive sketch of a blind man who had fallen asleep with his dog. I patiently waited for him to finish. He’d have to pee eventually. That’s when I’d perform my abduction. The trick is to wait till they go to the bathroom. See, these humans, they empty their bladders like fifty times a day. And thankfully, no one looks sideways if a person goes into a Penn Station restroom and doesn’t come back out.

When I got him back to my clinic, we had a little conversation. “So that’s the deal,” I said. “A few neurological adjustments and six months, tops — you’ll be more successful than you ever imagined. So, are you in?”

“No.”

“No!? What do you mean no?”

“I just want to go home and continue my drawings. I don’t want you to do anything to me.”

“But — the fame, the money. You’ll have it all. On Earth, once you get passed a certain threshold of success, you don’t really have to actually work anymore. Don’t you see? You’ll still have plenty of free time to draw pictures.”

“I don’t care. I don’t want any of that.”

“Well, what do you want? Don’t you have any goals. Any ambitions? Do you want to be homeless forever?”

“I have a goal. I’m going to draw every single person in New York City.”

“What?!” This guy can’t be serious, I thought. I was almost speechless. “Are you sure?”

“I’m not crazy, sir. I know it’s a goal I’ll never accomplish. But I still want to try.”

You’re not supposed to twist their arm. It’s unethical. So I let up and said, “All right, Bernardo. I’ll send you back.”

I couldn’t believe I had wasted my last job on him. So frustrating. I didn’t even take the extra time to wipe his memory. Wasn’t worth it. He seemed like the kind of person who wouldn’t be taken seriously anyway if he started spewing nonsense about being abducted by aliens.

I began setting up my transporter for the return trip, feeling real sour about retiring without breaking the record. Then, just as we were about to head out, Bernardo looked at me with that same intensity that first drew me to him. “Wait,” he said. “Before you take me back, I want to ask you, sir. May I draw you?”

“Me? You want to draw me? I told you where we are, kid. I’m not a Manhattanite. I’m not one of you.”

“But you are. I want to draw you because you’re the first person I’ve met who is like me.”

Okay, to be honest, I didn’t know whether to be offended or what. “Like you?”

“Yeah. We’re both collectors. We both find people and transfigure them into something beautiful, something more than what they are. We see in them what others don’t. You abducted me in order to give me some power to make me successful. But, sir, you didn’t realize I already have a power. I’m already successful. And so are you. That’s why we’re the same. And that’s why I want to draw you.”

Bernardo drew me with grace and dignity, just as he did all his fellow humans of Manhattan. I could see the act itself filled him with all the joy he ever needed. He was wrong, though, about us being the same. See, I could never even come close to being as successful as Bernardo. As I sat there watching him work, I realized that my goals, to a large extent, depended on things I couldn’t control. Bernardo’s success, on the other hand, came from within himself.

When he finished the portrait, he let out a sigh of satisfaction. He handed it to me and smiled the most genuine smile I had ever seen. I thanked him because his drawing was remarkable — better than any picture of myself that my limited mind could have imagined.