by Frederick Gero Heimbach

Yes! Welcome! Is it a companion you seek? A roommate? You have come to the proper place, sir. I help men find living companions. You are my first customer.

Sit in this chair—no! First let me dust it off. Allow me to take your coat—what say you? Certainly, you may wear it. Old age has its prerogatives.

Well! Are you new to the city, feeling lost and lonely among the bewildering grid of our streets? Or perhaps you are unhappy with your present living arrangements?

You say you are not particular? All men claim as much, until pressed.

And that is what I mean to do: press you. I will put to you sundry questions, of your needs and preferences, and thereby we will discover what manner of man you are, and what manner of man would make an ideal companion for you.

The marvelous thing is, I will achieve it by scientific means! So if you will indulge me a moment—but where are my manners! I fear the very newness, the absolute novelty of my invention—for it is my invention—distracted me from the needs of my guest. (I insist upon regarding you as my guest no less than my customer.) Here, sir; let me pour you a glass of brandy.

What? You do not drink? How admirable! I myself imbibe but rarely.

But you see, your attitude toward strong drink perfectly illustrates those preferences of which I speak. They are those traits which, when harmonized among living companions, yields that rara avis: domestic tranquility, and when not, yields strife, even outbursts of murderous rage. A man of your vast experience doubtless understands.

Let us set to it! Take this list of questions. You shall answer each one, and in so doing you will reveal the silhouette of your desires. Meanwhile, I will record your answers—not by writing, however! I record them by means of this fantastical invention of M. Jacquard.

(No, I cannot lay claim to the original idea. My insight was that it could be applied to a higher purpose.)

And what is this invention, you ask? Cards! Cards made of paperboard.

I record each answer you give with a precisely positioned hole in this card. When all the holes are made, the card is passed through this machine here. Have you, perhaps, seen one of those music boxes from Switzerland? No? Well, my machine is similar. The holes in the card align with these levers here which operate the figure wheels there—just like this. (It is all so cunningly done, is it not?)

Perhaps it is too complex for you; suffice it to say, the result is a machine that thinks! Just as the cylinder of a music box remembers the harmonies of a song, so this card remembers the harmonies of your mind!

I have only to write your name upon this card…there! Now I can record your answers to the questions—

(Is the light sufficient for you? Your one blind eye—forgive me, but I could not help but notice the pale blue… Never mind. But the other eye is not impaired? Ah, good. I am glad. Proceed.)

Yes. Yes. Yes. Watch as I make these holes in response to your answers. The first questions, you see, are practical, dealing with rent, location, and the like.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. These questions deal with matters of temperament. And here, I will confess to you a secret of mine. For I believe the old chestnut: opposites attract. My machine is not so naive as to match similar preferences. For example, should it match two snorers that they may torment one another? Not even a machine could be so cruel! No; it matches one who snores with another who is deaf! It matches one who steals with another who has renounced worldly goods! Is it not ingenious? Ha, ha!

I see I have startled you. I am sometimes overcome by enthusiasm. Pray continue.

Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes—Ah, you say you are sensitive to light? And require absolute darkness during the night hours? I well understand you, sir. I myself suffer from the most exquisite acuteness to noise.

I cannot count the times I have been roused from sleep by a carriage passing in the street. There! Even now! Surely you hear it? The sound of the horse’s hooves, beating against the pavement, growing louder, louder every moment! Clop, clop, clop. Unceasing, implacable: it is the beat of a heart that cannot be stopped. Almighty God! I should think even the paving stones would cry out for the madness of it! I feel that I must scream or die!

No! No, please do not go. The sound is fading. My equanimity has returned. We are recording your requirements for tolerable living, not mine. Very well; you will require shutters upon your bedroom windows that admit not the smallest ray of light. See here? With these holes, your preference is recorded.

Yes. Yes. Yes. You must be wondering: if you are truly my first customer, then how can I match your card with another? Fear not. I have been most industrious, having accosted everyone I could find, troubling them for answers to the same questions. I confess I was quite insistent. Behold this stack of cards—scores of them!—representing my neighbors and associates. One card has even my own name on it, such was my thoroughness.

Yes. Yes. C’est fini! No more questions! Now it is only for you to fix your eye—but I do not mean to draw attention—I did not notice the pale blue film that covers—well, I hardly notice it… Others, may, but, but—no matter. Fix your attention as I place your card in this slot here, and the other cards here.

Now I turn this crank until the machine is quite bursting with knowledge. The gears turn—ah, let me stand aside so you can watch. Hear their little metal teeth working together, raking each other like the claws of tiny mice, hundreds, climbing, squirming, jostling one another inside the walls of a house, trapped there, scrabbling desperately to find a way out, running out of air, imprisoned in the stifling heat, gasping, dying, entombed with no escape, clawing, clawing, clawing!—

What was I saying? Ah, yes: gears. They turn and turn…until eventually…inevitably—voila! A single card emerges! It worked!

Did my outburst startle you? I confess, despite many tests, I was not certain my machine would succeed under the critical eye—the pitiless, hideous eye—of a customer.

And so it only remains to read the name on the card—

No, no, I assure you, there is nothing wrong; quite the opposite. The machine’s answer is correct, as the laws of science say it must be. It is only that I am startled to read the name—the name of the man destined to become your close companion. You see, I know the name very well. It is my own!

Allow me to introduce myself, as we shall be living together. Take my hand, sir; my name is Edgar Allen Poe.

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