The Good Atheist by Michael Manto Page A

cottage. But let’s go see the kitchen first.”
    The living room was open to the kitchen and we followed him in. It looked like something from the nineteenth century. There was wood everywhere. Hardwood counters. Oak cabinets. I ran my hand along the countertop, feeling the texture. It was hard to believe it was all real wood. A white porcelain sink was sunk into the counter, with a hand-cranked water pump next to it. The tiny kitchen also had a harvest-gold electric range next to a small white fridge. They had no touch screens, keypads or any kind of virtual interface that I could see.
    Selene went over to the stove and introduced herself. “Hello, Stove, my name is Selene. What’s yours?”
    When the stove didn’t answer, Selene frowned. “Stove, I’m your new owner. Respond please.”
    Richard cleared his throat and grinned. “It’s not a smart stove. It hasn’t been upgraded. In fact, it’s an old model and can’t even take the upgrade.”
    “How will it know what to cook?”
    “You have to do the cooking yourself.”
    Selene slowly shook her head. “I don’t believe this place.”
    I picked up a kerosene lamp that was on the kitchen table. There were several of them hanging from hooks throughout the cottage. “Look at this.”
    “What is it?” Selene asked.
    “An old kerosene lantern. It uses flammable liquid to produce light.”
    “Well, put it down before you set something on fire,” she said.
    I chuckled. “It’s not turned on.”
    “It’s a good idea to always have alternative sources of light and heat,” the lawyer chimed in. “The electricity goes out a lot in this area, like I said. Your grandfather always kept some kerosene lamps and wood for the fireplace on hand just in case.”
    Then he checked his watch. “I need to go. I’ve got a five o’clock. But I think you’ve got a good lay of the land. You can do some exploring on your own now.” He held the keys out and dropped them into my hands. “The place is all yours now, Jack. Give me a call if you have any questions.”
    “How will we do that without cell coverage?” Selene asked pointedly, an ironic lilt to her voice.
    “Good point,” Richard said. “Ben would just get in his car and drive up the highway a bit when he needed to make a call or check for messages. He was often in town anyway.”
    Staying here would be difficult for Selene, but I liked the idea of being cut off and not getting messages from work, which appeared on my phone constantly day and night. Selene stayed back in the kitchen while I saw Richard to the front door.
    I thanked him for everything, but he waved me off. “Not at all. Your grandfather was a good friend of mine,” he said. “I won’t be charging the estate for my services. He’s done a lot for me over the years.” I thanked him again and we said our goodbyes. He got into his car, and a moment later it kicked up a cloud of dust as it lifted up from the ground, pivoted, and glided silently away six feet over the ground.
    I remained outside on the porch, taking it all in. I’d never imagined I would ever own so much property. The world was green and inviting, and I went inside to tell Selene I was going to explore outside for a bit. I found her in the kitchen, trying to strike up a conversation with the fridge, without much success.
    “Honey, I don’t think any of the appliances have interfaces.”
    She rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. “This place is such a throwback to the dark ages.”
    “I kind of like the rustic charm,” I said.
    “Did you know there are no cleaning droids or servbots in this place?”
    “Hmm,” I said.
    “How are we ever going to make a dent in the dust around here?” she said, dragging her finger across a table surface.
    “There must be cleaning supplies somewhere. If not, we can go into town and get some,” I said.
    “We’ve got a lot of cleaning and sorting to do before we can use this place, whether we decide to sell it or keep it ourselves,”