WE KNEW, BUT WE DIDN'T KNOW

 

 

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN—MITZVAH 

 

The metro ride was long but comfortable. I recognized some of the signs that I had seen on the streets. They were pasted one over one another on the train walls. I found myself wondering if anyone, any of the others, understood their meaning. By the time it was our stop, Kathy announced, “Believe it or not, I’m still hungry!”

I believed it because I felt the same. “We’ll grab a bite to eat at Gilcrest. They’re certain to have a cafeteria there.”

Once out of the station, I fished the scrap of paper with directions that Carla had given me out of my deep pocket.

Oddly, the streets in this part of town weren’t especially icy. After a few blocks and no missteps, we arrived at Gilcrest, which was a squat, square building. The full name of the institution surprised me:

 

  

 

A rehab centre? I’d never heard of such a thing. What on earth could that have to do with Kathy? She hadn’t seemed to notice, however, so I said nothing.

A heavyset girl at reception greeted us amiably. She smiled blandly when we introduced ourselves, and informed us that Mrs. Ruby, Kathy’s caseworker, would be down presently.

She motioned to a bench, where we waited for at least thirty minutes. Finally, an oldish woman with dyed copper hair approached us and gushed, “Kathy H. I’m so pleased you’ll be participating in our study at Gilcrest. I’m Mrs. Ruby. I’ll be scheduling your appointments, tests and interviews. Let’s go to my office now. Your carer can wait for you here. It won’t take long.”

Kathy rose and said good-bye to me nervously. I regretted not bringing a magazine or at least a pencil and notepaper for a Things To Do & Buy list. There was nothing in my surroundings to hold my visual interest except for the plump pieces of doughnuts the receptionist was dipping into her coffee mug. My stomach began to rumble so forcefully I was certain she could overhear my inner growls and grumbles. I didn’t stand up because there was nothing to look at, nowhere to go. From time to time, people entered the building, women mostly who seemed to be in somewhat of a rush as though they were tardy for a meeting, but I didn’t spot any clones.

I must have dozed off on that hard bench because Kathy was standing in front of me. “We can leave now, Sophie. We won’t have to report back until tomorrow morning, so we have the whole day to ourselves.” Her words were cheerful, but she looked tense. As soon as we had left the building, Kathy said, “What a bizarre place! And that woman! She took so long to say so little. I still have no idea what kind of programme I’ve gotten myself into.”

I proposed, “Let’s get back to our district, find a little coffee shop and order cocoa and chocolate croissants.”

“Sounds scrummy. And we can do a little shopping and maybe catch a film. I’d really love to see Jacob’s Ladder. Keith was telling me about it. He said he couldn’t get it out of his head.”

“I dunno, Kath. I heard it’s pretty scary. Shouldn’t we go for a comedy instead?”

“The problem I have with comedies is that I almost never find them funny, so they’re wasted on me.”

“Let’s go to a proper department store, and buy good quality bed linens and boots, fur-lined stylish leather boots. I’d bet my bottom dollar no one will interfere with us. The social lines seem to have gone all blurry. Like that vision on the white bicycle. It’s impossible to say whether she was one of us or one of them.”

“I wonder what’s going to become of Keith. I feel that I’ve let him down,” Kathy steered the conversation topic to Keith. I didn’t know what to say. On the one hand, we had no means of protecting Keith; on the other hand, we have abandoned him.”

We walked in silence for several minutes. I probably should have been thinking about life and death. Instead, I was thinking about rosy-brown cocoa, crisp white bed linens, and knee-high winter boots.

Just after we passed through the turnstiles, I reminded Kathy, “You’ll have to tell me what Mrs. Ruby said. Not everything, of course, just the important stuff. For example, what are we going to do for money now? Will I still be on the same salary scale? And what about you? Are you going to be receiving a government allowance?”

Kathy assured me, “As far as I know, you’ll be receiving the same salary, which you’ll collect at Gilcrest every fortnight. And I’ll be getting a small stipend, not much, but enough to cover my share of the rent. Plus I’ll have food vouchers, so I think we’ll be able to manage. Are you as hungry as I am?”

“I’m starving, and my toes are numb. These boots are useless. Luckily, I’ve some savings. Let’s go on a shopping spree after we binge on pastries.”

“Christmas is only a few days away, Sophie. We’re going to be able to lay in to our hearts’ content. And no nurses looking in on me. All of this is like a dream come true.”

And for many days it was. We bought new boots and mittens, children’s bed linens: for Kathy, a pink background with silver stars. For me, an indigo background with a pattern of multi-coloured confetti. We gorged on chocolate croissants, maple doughnuts, mille-feuilles, and eggnog. The staff at Gilcrest seemed entirely innocuous. I joined a library, and spent most of my time reading while Kathy was being interviewed and studied. I alternated between Jane Eyre and Lord of the Flies, which both held my rapt attention.

And then there was Joe. He visited us often, almost every day and he usually brought us wonderful things such as an imitation Persian carpet in shades of green and rose, a brown velvet loveseat that was sinfully comfy, a telly with two remote controls and a mahogany chest of drawers. He claimed that these items had been sitting idly in storage and that we were doing him a favour by breathing new life into them. My one disappointment, and it was huge, was that his interest in me shifted from romantic to avuncular, and it was as focused on Kathy as it was on me.

It was an enchanted interlude. We visited the Golds on Christmas Eve, bringing a golden fruitcake, a bottle of Merlot that Joe had given us, a box of brandied chocolates and a bouquet of a dozen long-stemmed Indian pink roses. It was the first time I had brought them anything other than the calico kitten. I wondered what they had named her.

Through the jeweller’s window, I could see Henry polishing a wooden case. I rapped softly on the door and when he noticed me, a boyish smile rejuvenated his weary face. He bustled to the door and enveloped me with his long arms. “Welcome, Sophie! Hannah and Franz will be delighted to see you. And Lise, of course. Our furry friend is coming along beautifully. And who is this young lady?”

He beamed at Kathy, who looked shy and a little startled. She had very little experience conversing with older folk, other than doctors, nurses and bureaucrats. I introduced her to Henry as he locked up behind us and led us to the back rooms of the shop where we climbed the stairway to the secret annex.

Although it was Christmas Eve, there were no traces of succulent cooking aromas. The little flat, however, did smell beautiful. Mr. Gold opened the door for us, his face soft and sweet with pleasure. Kathy handed him the box of chocolates as I told him who she was. Mrs. Gold had been down on all floors applying lemon oil to the scarred floors with a large jersey fabric. She rose slowly, holding on to the back of an oak chair. “Wood is much like skin,” she explained. “It becomes dry, parched, so thirsty for moisture. I like to treat it every day, as I do my poor old face.” I handed her the deep pink roses, and she headed for the kitchen. “I find a vase right away. And put aspirin in the water to trick the flowers into thinking they still live.”

Lise came into the main room via the kitchen, drying her hands on a green and red tulip-patterned apron. Her hair was down, and she looked tired but young. I introduced her to Kathy, who amusingly offered up an abridged curtsy and gave her the pale, round fruitcake. “Obstkuchen! How wonderful! I’ve never seen one such a fair golden colour.”  The sole present remaining was the bottle of wine, courtesy of Joe, which Henry accepted graciously.

Mrs. Gold informed us, “Lise and I, we weren’t in the mood to prepare an elaborate Christmas dinner. We’ve eaten only leftovers, but please sit down while we fix you a snack. Perhaps a plate of cheeses and bread with this bottle of wine you’ve brought.”

Kathy demurred, “No, thank you. We’ve been stuffing our faces with pastries for days. It’s a miracle we’re not as round as snowballs.” Kathy held up her right hand, and shimmied her fingers. The garnet ring twinkled. “I want to thank you so much for this stunning ring. It’s, by far, the most exquisite thing I’ve ever owned, and I believe it’s brought me favourable luck.”

The five of us spent the evening around the dining room table, drinking the Merlot and nibbling on sugared pecans and cashews. Once again I thought of Miss Veronique and how she had exhorted us to create families from those whom we knew. In my happiness to be with my friends, I had forgotten all about the dainty little calico. She had entered the room, keeping a cautious distance, but swishing her tail coquettishly. She looked fuller and the picture of health. I crouched on the floor, “Here, my pretty one. Come here. Closer, yes, closer.” I purred, outstretching an arm and snapping my fingers silently in what I understood to be a seductive signal. The cat approached me prudently, mewling in a curious and conciliatory manner. She was at my fingertips and nudged her pretty head against my hand.

“We’ve named her Mitzvah,” Mr. Gold told me. “It’s a Hebrew word which means commandment. It is our duty and our joy to protect this adorable creature. She is a blessing in our lives.”

When Kathy and I eventually rose to leave, Mr. Gold wouldn’t hear of it. “Nein, it’s far too late. It isn’t safe. You’ll sleep here tonight and leave in the morning. We have a little room that we use to keep our books. No beds, but a nice thick carpet and we have blankets, warm blankets and soft, feather pillows for you. You’ll be comfortable sleeping there, and I’ll sleep well myself knowing you aren’t in danger.”

The room was small, like a tiny peninsula surrounded by floor to ceiling bookshelves. The mingling odours of lemon oil and old books were soporific. Kathy and I snuggled under large, clean blankets and joy of joys, little Mitzvah joined us. Before falling asleep, Kathy asked me, “Sophie, do you ever wonder why none of us, not a one, has ever met or even seen their model, their original? Don’t you find that peculiar? That it’s never been known to have happened? Do you suppose that they’re eliminated once we’re produced?” I was too tired to answer her, but I thought it was a possibility, yet not the only one. And then I fell asleep.

In the morning, we enjoyed a leisurely pancake breakfast with the Golds. Lise and Henry joined us for coffee. I felt remarkably rested and refreshed. We left a little before noon, after promising to return soon. The sun was brilliant and the air was sharp. I suggested, “Let’s go see that film you were talking about, the one with the rope or ladder in the title.”

“Ah yes, Jacob’s Ladder. You’re certain you don’t want to catch something more upbeat?”

“I’ve got it fixed in my head that I have to see that film, but I don’t want to force you.”

“Fine. We’ll do it. I’m in the mood for a big bag of buttered popcorn. I think the Royal Theatre is pretty close, only a few metro stops. It’s a nice one, eh? Architecturally Art Deco. Should we go directly, or stop off at the flat first to bathe and change?”

“Let’s go directly. The matinee show should run in about an hour, give or take.”

The streets were pretty quiet, it being Christmas and all and the cat problem seemed to have been solved. As for the signs, some of them, quite a few actually, had been ripped off store fronts and posts, leaving a lot of gaudy scraps that looked almost festive, like colourful rags. We passed a newsagent’s shop and I led Kathy inside. A bored-looking shopgirl was filing long, purple fingernails at the counter. I asked her if they carried any copies of The Shibboleth and she raised her uneven auburn eyebrows, “Never heard of it,” she answered without looking up at me.

The Royal Theatre was an imposing structure. It looked formidably posh, but Kathy and I took deep breaths and entered. Neither of us had been inside a theatre before and we were ready to bolt if an other in uniform told us to leave. However, nobody took particular notice of us as there seemed to be just as many clones as persons lining up to buy tickets, The interior of the building was disappointingly shabby and garish. The carpeting was a dirty magenta with a hideous pattern of navy and turquoise geometric shapes.

True to her word, Kathy bought the largest size vat of popcorn at the theatre. I found the smell of the butter, if it even was real butter, cloying, but I didn’t want to spoil her enthusiasm. It took her the entire film to polish off the greasy popped kernels, but she got through the entire tub herself. As for the film itself, we both loved it but for different reasons. For me, it was the ultimate horror story, but Kathy saw it differently. “I think it has a happy ending, Sophie. Jacob loses his terror of death. It’s no longer demonic. He’s fine about climbing the ladder and he’ll be reunited with his son.” I liked her spin on it, but I couldn’t get past the demon images and states of hopeless disorientation.

I tried to find a copy of The Shibboleth once more that day. I popped inside a kiosk inside the metro station and asked the Asian manager, “Excuse me, Sir. Do you happen to carry The Shibboleth?”

He smiled kindly and answered, “We used to, but we haven’t received it for over a month. I think it’s no longer being distributed. Very few copies were actually sold, as least from here. A lot of the smaller newspapers seem to have disappeared from circulation.” He shrugged his narrow shoulders. “I suppose people figure that if the news is important, they’ll find out about it one way or another.” Because he had been so nice to me, I bought a bag of crisps and two ready-made egg salad sandwiches. Kathy and I devoured everything on the metro ride home. I rolled the cellophane sandwich wrapper and empty crisp packet into a little ball and stuffed them into my handbag. We clones had been taught that littering was a social sin for everyone but even more so for us because we were purposed beings and designed to be solutions and not problems. And then I looked upward at the adverts on the tube walls. These posters generally interested me because I learned something from them: newly coined or reinvented words, fashion and food trends and hotspots. They had all been replaced by the sinister slogans, and among these cryptic messages one in particular was a standout.

It featured a cartoon, a caricature of two old women, both of them shockingly wrinkled and evil-looking, like crones in a fairy tale. One was hideously skinny and bald; the other was grotesquely fat and clad in a diaphanous pink nightgown, her sagging breasts lewdly conspicuous. They were sitting near a table upon which were money bags, wads of bills stacked to the ceiling, and a gaping treasure chest crammed with glittering jewels. The caption on top of the illustration read:

 

                           𝐀𝐫𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐆𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐨 𝐀𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐭     

                             𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐎𝐮𝐭 𝐎𝐟 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐑𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐟𝐮𝐥 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞?

 

I pointed it out to Kathy, who muttered under her breath, “That’s vile, truly disgusting.” There was an elderly couple sitting diagonally across from us. It was obvious by their body language that they had taken note of the poster. They were holding hands and looking down. The woman was biting her lower lip and the man’s cheeks were fiercely reddened. I thought of the Golds in hiding and breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever was going on was clearly dangerous for them and I wondered how far it would go.

When we emerged from our metro station, we were on the lookout for similar signs but we didn’t see any. We spoke very little, but Kathy did say this much. “That’s a truly stupid and hateful campaign. Don’t they know that they’ll be old too one day? What do they even want? Do they want the present to cheat them out of their rightful future?”

I answered glumly, “I guess they’re not thinking that far ahead. They’re only thinking about what they can confiscate now. But what I can’t fathom is how this can possibly be legal. It makes no sense to me whatsoever. I mean, politicians have parents, grandparents…”

“That’s probably the point, Sophie.” Kathy laughed sadly and then she began to cough. Her coughing fit became so savage that she was forced to stop walking. I gave her a few tissues, and she hacked dryly into them, but I was relieved to see that there were no drops of blood.

Once back inside our apartment building, we were greeted by the strong smell of nicotine and I knew straight off who the culprit was. We walked up the stairs slowly because Kathy was short of breath and Snappy called down to us, “What’s taking youse so long? Been running the marathon, have you.” She cackled at her own wit.

When we reached our landing, I blinked in astonishment. What a sight she presented! She was flaunting a rhinestone encrusted cigarette holder and bedecked in a crimson tulle ball gown, which exposed dangling flab on her upper arms and chicken skin on her freckled chest. “In case you’re wondering why I’m all dressed up, I’ve been invited to a Christmas dance at the Gossamer Club. I’ve been trying on my fanciest gowns to see which one suits me best. I think red is the colour of choice for Christmas, yeh?”

“Red, green or gold, “Kathy answered politely.

“Would you girls be willing to come in and have me model a few others for you? That way, you can tell me which one you think is just right.”

I declined for both of us, “Any other time, we’d love to, but Kathy isn’t feeling very well, and truth be told, I’m very tired. Sorry.”

But Kathy lingered a moment on the landing. She asked Snappy, “What do you make of those ageist posters we’ve been seeing recently? Do they alarm you?”

Snappy snapped, “They’ve nothing to do with me, hinny. I’ll worry about being old when I am old and not a day sooner.” With that she flounced into her flat and slammed the door on us. In turn, we entered our flat and closed our door behind us. Kathy shook her head, commenting, “What a number.” Then she sat down on the gleaming floor in front of the broad television set. Neither of us was very keen on TV, not having grown up on it. Nevertheless, it was suddenly available for us to explore. She fumbled a little with the remote and then the news bulletin assailed us.

An elderly man, retired university professor, Mr. Samuel Stavis, aged 71, had been arrested for threatening social workers and later police officers with a loaded handgun. The social workers had visited his home to add him to the census of people over 70. He refused to admit them. Instead, he brandished his weapon threatening to “blow their blooming heads off.” When police officers were called in, he actually fired two shots, injuring one officer in the foot. He was restrained and arrested. He died of a heart attack while in custody in a police vehicle.

The story horrified us, but before we could discuss it, the next news item captured our attention. Three clones were making a documentary about their lives. They were poised and remarkably articulate. One explained, “This documentary isn’t just about the disposability of clones. We also address some key questions — existential questions.”

The second clone continued, “It has never been revealed to us whether we are genetically sterile or surgically sterilised. And, more importantly, perhaps some or many of us are fertile. This entire aspect of our existence has been ignored.”

“Moreover,” the third clone, a Kate Moss lookalike, added seamlessly, “we wish to gain access concerning our models, cloners, mothers. Specifically, we want to know if our DNA, although identical, can manifest itself differently. In other words, are we necessarily spitting images of them? Furthermore, why have we been denied the opportunity of meeting them? Where are they? Who are they? We want to know.”

The original speaker wrapped it up. “And what about our lifespan? Is it normal or is it roughly half of what yours is? And by lifespan, I mean our natural lifespan, not the artificial one you have imposed upon us through the donorship programme.”

Kathy pressed the power button on the remote. Enough was enough. We both stared at the blank television screen, which certainly needed a good cleaning. After several moments of silence, Kathy commented, “Fucking unbelievable.”

“Which,” I asked, “the ballistic geezer or the clone trio?”

“Both, I suppose. It’s a lot of news to process. I know I should be more interested in what the documentary clones have to say, but I stand stop thinking about that poor, beleaguered old man. Weren’t his rights being violated?”

“I don’t know, Kath. Some censuses are optional; others are mandatory. But I have a creepy feeling about what’s been going on with the elderly. I think it’s a very good thing that the Golds are in hiding. I’m beginning to wonder if we should be too.”

“I’m pretty sure you have that wrong, Sophie. It seems to me that clones are on the brink of a new social status. I think we’re about to be regularised. Look at all the strings that Carla was able to pull for me? And my case can’t be an isolated one.”

But I wasn’t particularly optimistic. The way I saw it, we were in some kind of lull that wouldn’t last forever. I had no idea what the outcome would be. Perhaps my mood was influenced over the realisation that Joe and I would never be proper lovers. We had missed the boat. I was niggled by a myriad doubts. They stung like darts. Did I have bad breath? Had my casual hygiene turned him away and off? Was it my lack of education and sophistication? Maybe his change of heart had nothing to do with me. Maybe he was reconciling with his wife or possibly he had found somebody more suitable, older, established, a real person.

By the time Kathy was scheduled to return to Gilcrest after a three-day Christmas break, I had pushed thoughts of Joe into a far corner in my mind. He hadn’t stopped by once and I got the feeling he had passed the holidays elsewhere.

The day we returned to Gilcrest was almost balmy. The air smelled milky-sweet. We were both wearing pretty coats, new boots and our long hair was freshly washed. This time, Mrs. Ruby wanted to speak to me as well. She ushered us into her cramped but immaculate office, and looked at me kindly. She must have been in her late fifties, and I wondered if she was worried about the “age issue,” but that remained the white elephant in the room. Her perfume had an odd, almost unpleasant odour and her brown lipstick didn’t look appealing, at least not to me, but her manner was pleasant.

“Sophie, I’m afraid you’re going to find your time at Gilcrest very boring. If you like, you could work a few hours a day at the second hand book shop we have here. It’s in the basement. We also have a daycare for the young children of staff members. They can always use a helping hand. Does either of these jobs interest you?”

“The little kids, no. The book shop, yes. Definitely.”

She smiled at me kindly, and I wondered why anyone would want to wear brown lipstick. Pointing the way to the shop, Mrs. Ruby then turned her attention to Kathy and was starting to tell her something when I interrupted them.

“Do you know what time Kathy’ll be having her lunch break.”

Again, the kind, brown smile. “She’ll be all finished by 1 o’clock. It’ll be like that on most days. So you girls will have your afternoons free.” At that moment a procession of little ones filed by. They were on their way outdoors, led by a solid young woman with a booming voice. “Now don’t let go of your friends’ hands.” There was another adult at the end of the line, a bored-looking woman who seemed too old to be doing that kind of work. I knew almost nothing about small children, so I couldn’t say how young they were. They were stuffed into heavy clothing, and their faces were smothered in woolen scarves. I felt sorry for them. I was certain they would have far preferred to be at home with their mums sipping cocoa and watching cartoons on television.

Mrs. Ruby simpered, “Aren’t they adorable?” I nodded politely, but I noticed that Kathy looked sad. Perhaps she also felt sorry for them. We said our good-byes and I went off in search of the book shop.