CHAPTER EIGHTEEN—STALLING
Some of the overhead fluorescent lights
in the basement were out of order and there were miscellaneous items clogging
the corridor: a broken coat rack, mismatched boots, a few microwave ovens and
large television sets. The door to the book shop was open. My first impression
was that the Golds’ library contained at least twice as many books as this
shabby little room did. A young woman was dusting the shelves. She turned
toward me and said, “Hardcover books cost a quid, and softcovers are 50 pence.
Feel free to browse for as long as you like.”
“Actually I’m here as a volunteer. I’m
the carer of someone who’s registered for a study at Gilcrest, and Mrs. Ruby
suggested that I might find it interesting to work here. I love books.”
The young woman smiled, “Do you love to
collect them or read them or both? By the way, my name is Trina, but please
call me T.”
“Hello T. I’m Sophie. I love to read,
but I could see myself becoming a collector if the opportunity arose.”
“You can always start collecting in a
small way. It becomes quite addictive, but then isn’t everybody addicted to
something? I’d rather be addicted to books than to booze or drugs or love.”
I was surprised that Trina wanted to be
called T when her name sounded so pretty to my ears. I suppose that’s on
account of clones not having proper surnames, just initials. I was ashamed of
my initial as I imagined all clones were ashamed of theirs. T continued, “We
don’t get that many customers here, but there are a few regulars who come
mostly to visit. I met my boyfriend here, so it isn’t a dead loss. And a huge
perk is having free books at your disposal. Oh, I know there are libraries, but
you have to remember to bring your borrowings back by their due dates. I always
have the coffee maker going in the back cubicle, so if you bring your own cup,
you’re welcome to it.”
“Thank you. I will, but the next time
you run out of coffee, I’ll buy more. It’s only fair.”
T smiled and then resumed her dusting. I
understand that this kind of position made sense for someone like me, but I
found her lack of ambition a little surprising. She was a bright, personable
girl. Why would she seek out such an introverted job? I familiarized myself
with the inventory, and discovered that T’s classification system was extremely
casual. Everything was alphabetical, but some books were placed according to
the authors’ first name, others by the surname and still others according to
title. Other than the book shelves, there was very little furniture in the
room: an old school desk and two wooden chairs. A book on the desk caught my eye,
and T noticed my looking at it. There was a photo of a girl on the cover. She
had beautiful dark eyes, pretty hair and an endearing smile.
“Diary
Of A Young Girl. Anne Frank’s diary. She was a Dutch-Jewish girl whose
family went into hiding during WW ll. She kept a diary for a few years, and her
father had it published after he was released from a concentration camp.”
“Are you reading it?” I asked T.
“I finished it only moments before you
walked in. You’re welcome to borrow it. It’s wonderful.”
“Thank you, T. This is a subject which
happens to interest me very much.” Of course, I couldn’t explain my fascination
with Jewish persecution during the Second World War. It would entail describing
my sketchy education and the unforgettable lessons of Miss Veronique. More than
that, I couldn’t say a word about the Golds — their being Jewish and in hiding,
so I thought it best to say nothing more. Anne’s diary engrossed me thoroughly.
I wanted to step inside the book and join her in her hiding place. I knew the
book was a translation. Nevertheless, I found her English so pretty, so
refined. ‘What a well-brought up girl,’ I thought, ‘and how beloved she was.’
There were neither customers nor
visitors my first morning at the book shop. T and I sat in the hard chairs,
absorbed in our books, and when I got up to stretch and bring my feet back to
life, the wall-clock informed me that it was 12:45.
T said, “You can take it home if you
like. I know that I couldn’t put it down. This one, though, isn’t quite as
irresistible.” She had started reading a biography of Mary Queen of Scots, a
monarch I knew absolutely nothing about.
“No, thank you. I’m going to be
disciplined and wait until tomorrow. I think I’ll enjoy it more that way.”
T and I exchanged good-byes. I wondered
if she ever felt lonely or even frightened in her book nook. The long and
winding basement corridor was pretty
creepy. I wouldn’t want to have been passing through it after hours.
Upstairs at reception, Mrs. Ruby was
applying a fresh coat of brown lipstick. I wasn’t standing particularly close
to her, but even so I could smell her coffee breath. “How did you enjoy your
morning in the book room? Trina’s quite a character, isn’t she?” The question
sounded gossipy to me, so I ignored it. “Thank you for your suggestion, Mrs.
Ruby. I think I’ll like volunteering there. Both Trina and I love to read, so
we’ve that in common.”
Kathy showed up only moments later. She
seemed perky enough, but I could tell that something was on her mind. Something
was bothering her. We walked along in silence until Kathy volunteered, “There
were five specialists interviewing me this morning. They picked up on one
another’s questions, and those questions were really personal, really
intrusive. I almost wish I were back at Windmere. At least no one humiliated me
there.”
“What kind of questions, Kath? Can you
give me a few examples?”
“Oh, they were all pretty much sexual.
How many sex partners have I had? Have I ever had sex for money? Have I ever
performed or received oral sex? Do I regularly achieve orgasms? Do I
masturbate? Am I sexual attracted to females? And so on.”
“Well, if you think about it, Kathy,
those questions are not so surprising. If they want to understand us, don’t
they have to ask us all kinds of questions?”
Kathy’s voice, for the first time since
I met her, sounded shrill. “Fuck them. I mean it. They’re so full of shite.
From now on, I’m going to sabotage their interviews. I’m going to give false
answers to everything. They make me sick.”
I allowed Kathy her rage and didn’t say
anything. Every time I had tried to make sense of our existence, I came up
empty. Kathy eventually resumed speaking, “Now they want to test me to see if I
am fertile. Can you believe it? We grew up believing that we were mules, but
now they tell me that it may be possible that I’m not sterile. Oh, and I almost
forgot to tell you. Guess what intrigues them most about me?”
“Your beauty? Your grace?” I was joking
of course, but I really did mean the compliment. I found Kathy unusually
beautiful and graceful and I was convinced that everyone else did as well.
Kathy either laughed or coughed and told
me, “My age! I’m a goddamn geriatric in the clone-world. I may well be the
oldest living clone. How do you think that makes me feel?”
I answered, “It should make you feel
good. It should make you feel special and in a good way. You’re strong, Kathy.
Even after three donations. We’re going to outsmart them. I promise you. We’ll
find a way. The Golds have offered to share their secret annex with us. Perhaps
we should simply disappear until we’re sure it’s safe.”
Kathy stopped walking and faced me. She
put her hands on my shoulders. “But what about the new flat, Kathy? What about
Joe? What about our new privileges? I know I’ve been bitching about my
situation, but the truth of the matter is that I’ve never been happier than I
am now. Life has never before offered me so many sweet surprises. Do we really
want to give everything up and become invisible fugitives?”
I paused to consider and then I tackled
her points one by one. “The new flat is lovely, Kath. I even love the smell of
the building, well, aside from Snappy’s nicotine stench. But if it isn’t safe
for us to be there, its charms are meaningless. What about Joe? His attraction
to me is so —vague. I’m afraid we’re not destined to have a dramatic love
affair. He’s becoming a friend, and that’ll have to be okay. But I can
certainly live without him. Kathy, if it’s a choice of being completed or being
a fugitive, I’ll gladly choose the latter. What we really need now is some
solid information, but that seems to be impossible to glean.”
Our metro ride home was solitary for
each us. Some of the posters had been removed, but the ones that were left
seemed to illustrate variations of the same ominous message:
I knew that Snappy was smoking on the
landing before I saw her. Kathy muttered, “Oh, crap.” And there she was, in all
her gaudy glory! A jarring vision in a floor-length purple velvet skirt and
brown and pink polka-dotted blouse. She assaulted us, “Girls, I’ve spoken to
Joey and he told me that you’re definitely to help me with my housework. It’s
in your contract; it’s your legal obligation.”
“Sod off, you old cow,” Kathy yelled,
arms crossed belligerently. At that moment, Joe opened his door. He had a
pained expression on his face as he wearily climbed the stairs to join us on
the landing. His tone was conciliatory. “Ladies, ladies, please. There’s no
need for this acrimony. Snappy, you have it wrong, dear lady. The
dual-residency concept is intended to foster a climate of mutual support in the
building, but there’s nothing specific written in stone. You and Sophie are
clearly not a good match. There will be others.”
“When?” Snappy barked. “That’s one of
the main reasons I moved in. You told me a clone would be my carer in exchange
for a reduced rent. Is that really going to happen or is it a fairy tale?”
“You’re the one in the fairy tale,”
Kathy shouted. “The ugly old witch. And you’d better look out because the age
police are coming to get you and wipe you out.”
Snappy’s jaw dropped and her jowls
trembled. I was overtaken by pity despite my deep dislike of her. I didn’t
understand how anyone could be so old yet so childish. Joe leaped to the
rescue. “Enough bickering, ladies. I have some good news for all three of you.”
Snappy lit a cigarette and fixed her
posture. Kathy’s eyes stopped squinting and resumed their pretty, wide shape.
We listened to what he had to say.
“Over the next day or two, there’ll be
new tenants moving in: an older couple, and a young man, a carer. Snappy, this
young man may be a good helpmate for you. If not, there are still plenty of
vacancies and I have quite a few applicants to interview in the new year.”
“Right then” Snappy muttered, apparently
somewhat mollified.
“Moreover,” Joe resumed, “I’d like to
throw a New Year’s Eve bash, just a little one, in apartment eleven. Conrad and
his Nancy will come, and you three of course, and the new tenants, I hope. What
do you say? Can I count you in?”
Kathy answered in a heartbeat, “That’s a
big, fat yes for Sophie and me. I’ve never been to a New Year’s Eve party. I’m
over the moon with excitement about it.”
“What about you, Snappy?” Joe asked.
“Okay, okay,” she mumbled ungraciously,
and then asked, “Do I have to bring anything?”
“Just bring yourself,” Joe answered
kindly, and Snappy seemed mollified. We said our good-byes on the landing, and
I was relieved to be away from Snappy’s belligerent tongue. The expression on
Kathy’s face, however, yanked me out of my confusion over Snappy’s childish and
selfish behaviour.
“I don’t recognize myself, Sophie,” she
began to speak quite tentatively. “I don’t understand where all my rage has
been hiding. It’s surfacing so fiercely now that I don’t have the means to hold
it back, you know, restrain it.”
“Maybe it’s not such a good idea for you
to rein all your anger in, Kath. Let’s face it; we both have plenty to feel
angry about. All of us do. Whatever happens, though, don’t let them touch your
body, promise? No blood tests, no x-rays, no surgical procedures. Stall for
time.”
“And then what? After I’ve stalled for
time, then what?”
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