All these moments will be lost in time, like tears in rain. Rutger Hauer, in Blade Runner
Los Angeles, November 2019.
‘Who is that man?’ she asks. ‘A replicant,
a robot,’ I reply. ‘It’s science fiction.’
‘I’ll bet it is,’ she says. ‘You do know that
your father’s in the garage? No-one’s called
to take away the bath-seat.’ ‘I know,’ I say,
although I know these things aren’t true. I’m sitting
in my father’s armchair, an interloping god,
a replicant, of sorts. ‘Some days,’ she says,
‘I curl up like the rug and sleep. Have they
come back to earth because they want more life?
Is that it?’ ‘That is it,’ I say, ‘exactly.’
‘Your father hated storms.’ ‘I know,’ I say.
I know this to be true. And in the future,
in Los Angeles, it’s raining fit to fill
a wire basket. ‘I knew your mother.’ ‘Do you
mean — I think you mean — your mother? Lou?’
‘I do. The rain,’ she says, ‘look at the rain.’