WE KNEW, BUT WE DIDN'T KNOW

 

 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN—CARLA

 

 

 

The facility where Carla was supposedly employed, The Willows, was easily accessible by foot. I decided to bite the bullet and see her then and there. My only concern was that Kathy would worry about me, but she had become accustomed to my erratic schedule.

It was a long, cold, windy walk. My cheeks felt bitten, my eyes teared up and my nostrils stuck together. I had worked at The Willows briefly a couple of years back. It was a stodgy little building with a conservative culture but things could very well have changed since that time. At worst, if I wouldn’t be permitted to see Carla, I would discover whether or not she was, in fact, still working there.

The closer I got to The Willows, the fewer clones I saw out and about, but there were even more signs. In some cases, one was partially pasted over another and the effect was a propaganda patchwork. Two schoolgirls passed me by and one of them taunted me, “Nice coat, Zombie. D’jya rip off some granny in diapers?” They burst into laughter and went on their way. I bit my lower lip. Was it so obvious? Even with my reinvented way of walking and remodelled coat, I was conspicuously a clone. How could they tell? What gave me away?

The Willows was even smaller than how I had remembered it. It suddenly struck me as strange that two recovery centers, The Willows and Windmere Heights, were so closely situated to each other. Those schoolgirls had unnerved me, so when I asked for Carla G. at the information booth, I couldn’t quite look the receptionist in the eyes. I had to force myself not to hunch my shoulders. But she was pleasant. She consulted a log book and told me, “Yes, Carla G. She works in the Carer Administration office; that’s down the hall, turn to the left, three doors down — room 133.”

I thanked her, trying to void my face of astonishment. I had never heard of such a thing before, clones working in administration. That had to be a good thing for us, hadn’t it?

I located room 133 easily and immediately recognized the woman sitting behind the vast, cluttered desk. Carla looked up and her jaw dropped straightway. “Well I’ll be gobsmacked, if it isn’t Sophie!” She ran over to me and gifted me with a long, strong hug. “You look stunning, Sophie, absolutely stunning! You could pass for a bona fide other. You know, I think about you almost every day. Ingersoll, good times!”

Carla was a compact, muscular woman. She had put on weight, but had not run to fat. Her greying hair was cropped very short, and she wasn’t wearing even a smidgeon of makeup. She was dressed in a tweed suit and lace-up shoes. No embellishments whatsoever.

I answered nervously, “Were they? Were they really good times? I think that all of my memories are false.”

We sat down and Carla held my hand from across the desk. Her hands were rough and warm. “They were good times, Sophie. We were young and carefree. Poor, poor Sylvia. She didn’t last very long. If she had any remains, I have no idea what happened to them. We aren’t permitted to officially mourn. They’ve decided we have no need of it.”

Her tone was bitter; her small eyes blazed. I had so many questions to ask her that my voice trembled, “What’s going on, Carla? What’s really going on? I feel like Alice in Wonderland, chaos and caprice everywhere I turn.”

Carla let go of my hand and began drumming on the desk. I noticed that she bit her fingernails. The skin around the beds was looked chafed and sore. “Honestly, Sophie, I wouldn’t know where to start. Many reforms are in the works, but just as many have been repealed. I don’t know whether we’re going forwards or backwards, but I can say this much: Membership of the donor programme and completion of clones are no longer foregone conclusions. I myself have a provisional exemption. And I don’t work as a carer. I’m a liaison agent between the donorship programme and clone rights association. In France, Germany, Switzerland, Sweden, Denmark, Norway, Finland, Israel and Canada donations have been outlawed and independent clone lifestyle choices have been decriminalised.”

I was so excited that I found it difficult to make my voice audible. It felt as though it had gone into hiding in my throat. I finally managed to croak, “What about here, in England?”

“Things are much more complicated. I suppose that’s because the entire experiment originated here and there’s the vanity of the pioneer scientists to subdue. Many clones have gone missing and are living undocumented all over the country. A good newspaper to get your hands on is The Shibboleth. It focuses exclusively on clone-related issues. Tell me, Sophie. Please speak candidly. Are you in danger?”

“Not now, not yet. I have an entire year left as a carer, but perhaps it’s not too late to rescue Kathy H.”

“The Kathy H?”

“The very same. She’s my case now and she’s survived three donations, including the extraction of a lung. She’s at Windmere, and I worry that they’ll cart her off for completion. Could you stop or at least postpone that?”

“I’ll do what I can. Her seniority should give her special status. I’ll make some phone calls and stop by Windmere as soon as I can find a loophole for Kathy.”

Carla banged the desk with the flat of her hand and announced, “Good then. I’m glad you visited. You did the right thing. Remember to pick up a copy of The Shibboleth. I have a meeting to attend, but I’ll walk you to the entrance.”

Before thanking Carla and saying good-bye, I asked her, “Do you have any memories before Ingersoll?”

She stopped in her tracks. “I’ve wondered about that myself. We only arrived at Ingersoll in 1970, so where did we spend the first five years of our lives? I don’t remember anything, though. For me, there was Ingersoll and before that, nothing. What about you?”

“The same. I know that the others usually have memories dating back to when they were three years old, but not us. That’s something I’ve become quite curious about.”

Carla shook my hand. “I’ll see you soon, Sophie. It’s the dawn of a new era. We have every reason to be confident.” She then lifted her middle finger to her lips and began gnawing on it as though it were a chicken bone.

I was so wound up after speaking with Carla that I couldn’t keep my thoughts linear. I ducked into a generic looking diner, one that I would have normally kept out of figuring that clones wouldn’t be permitted custom. It was pretty empty, so I chose a small booth near the entrance. There was a miniature juke box on the table-top and it was amusing to flip the metal tabs and see the song choices. A harried-looking waitress took my order. When I told her that I wanted only a cup of coffee and a bran muffin, she frowned and slapped the bill on the table.

Should I tell Kathy about what Carla had said? I didn’t want to get her hopes up in vain, but I decided to say something encouraging to her. While waiting for my order, it occurred to me that I had forgotten to ask Carla about Miss Veronique. I couldn’t believe I had been so neglectful.

“You look very much like my daughter. I’ve seen you around, you know. I couldn’t resist the opportunity of telling you how much you remind me of my Naomi.”

I looked up at a large man with big, friendly features. He looked kind. Not knowing what to say, I merely smiled up at him. He continued, “Your habits are awfully peripatetic.”

“What does that mean?” I liked the sound of the word, but I didn’t have enough context to even guess what it meant.

“Oh, it means that you move around a lot, always going hither and thither.” He whisked the bill off the table. “Let me take care of that for you. My daughter’s off at university in London. I feel a little less lonely for her having said hello to you this morning.”

“Thank you, Sir.” I watched him walk to the cash register and I realised with a start that I wasn’t invisible after all. I made an impression, at least on this one man. I reminded him of his daughter. The thought of that brought tears to my eyes although I didn’t know why.

When I walked into Kathy’s room, she announced, “Look, I’m all dressed up as Miss Christmas today.” And indeed, she had achieved her seasonal goal. In her white velvet dress, garnet ring, bright red lipstick and vivid green eyeshadow she looked like a winter goddess.

Capitalising on her apparent cheeriness, I told her a little, just a little, about my conversation with Carla. She seemed both interested and pleased. “Maybe she can turn Keith around. He seems more determined than ever to volunteer for a complete donation. I’ve tried again and again to talk him out of it, but with no success.”

“I think that after he hears what Carla has to say, he may well change his mind.” I was reasonably confident. “Let’s try and get a day-pass for you, Kathy. I’d love to show you my new flat.” She clapped her hands joyously and ran to her locker. “It’ll be harder for the head nurse to refuse me if I’m already wearing my overcoat and boots.” Kathy’s winter coat was just as shabby as mine had been and I felt guilty having two beautiful coats when hers was threadbare.

The head nurse was off duty but a junior nurse signed us out happily and wished us a pleasant day. “Stay out of trouble,” she teased and we promised solemnly that we would.

Kathy found the long walk taxing. We had to stop several times in order for her to catch her breath. We passed a couple of newspaper and magazine shops and I was sorely tempted to inquire about The Shibboleth, but I thought the better of it. My mission was to get Kathy to St. Luke Street before she had a medical setback.

“It’s beautiful!” she uttered as we approached the cherry red door.

“Wait until you see my flat!” I rejoined.

Kathy was thoroughly winded by the time I opened the door to my apartment. I regretted there were no chairs for her, but I was very proud of the cleanliness of my new home.

 

“The floors are golden!” she exclaimed. “They’re unblemished.”

“Look at all the counter space!” she gushed when I showed her into the kitchen. “And the floor reminds me of the sea. Everything is so new and shiny.”

A note was affixed to the sparkling fridge with a lovely rose-shaped magnet:

Sophie,

Please ring me up when you’re ready to move in. I would love to help you. To celebrate your first night here, I want to take you out to dinner. I’ll be in and out of my flat, so if you have a walk through (or two) before your actual moving date, stop by. I miss you.

                                                       Joe

 

“I hope he’s in. I’d love for you to meet him. Let me show you the Blue Lagoon. That’s the nickname I’ve assigned to the loo.”

As we were leaving the kitchen, there was a rambunctious knock on the front door. I strongly suspected it belonged to Snappy and I wasn’t wrong.

She stood there looking like a giant daffodil in a pale yellow velvet frock. She had braided her hair and it hung to her waist in two thick ropes. “What Rapunzel would look like in her granny years,” I thought.

I introduced her to Kathy but she didn’t want to waste any of her time on irrelevancies. “I’ve gone through my closet, and there are quite a few stunning outfits that no longer fit me. I was wondering if you’d be interested in seeing them.”

“I was about to express eagerness when she continued, “They’re all in excellent vintage condition and I can sell them to you at a very good price.”

I flushed in anger and a scathing remark was on the tip of my tongue when Kathy interceded, “Oh yes. How exciting. May we have a look now?”

“Absolutely,” Snappy answered and we followed her across the hall. I didn’t know how long she had lived there. It couldn’t have been very long because the building itself was new, but her flat was in a state of utter disarray.

There were stacked chairs, piles of magazines, heaps of clothing and small appliances all over the living room floor. The windows were closed, the heavy curtains were drawn and the air was nicotine-infused. I was worried about Kathy’s having a respiratory crisis in such an unwholesome environment, but she looked rosy and excited.

“Look at all the stuff,” she marveled.

“Yes, I’m quite a collector,” Snappy said. “You never know when something will come in handy.” She led the way into her dark bedroom, which exuded an even ranker odour of stale cigarette smoke. On a surprisingly tidily made bed, lay piles of garments: dresses, skirts and tops. “Be my guests,” Snappy instructed after lighting a long, slender cigarette.

Kathy and I began lifting items and making admiring comments, but the exercise was futile. Everything reeked. I was feeling as yellow as Snappy’s dress. Kathy held up a lavender chiffon top and asked, “For example, how much would you be asking for this camisole?”

Snappy squinted and answered, 20 quid if that’s all you bought; the more you buy the lower the cost per item.” Kathy let the top fall and said, “That’s too pricey for me, way out of my league, I’m afraid. I’d like to leave now. I don’t want to waste your time. What about you, Sophie?” Kathy looked hurt and I realised that she had expected the garments to be near donations.

I decided not to mince words, “Truth be told, many of these clothes look beautiful, but I agree with Kathy, we don’t have that kind of money to spend. What’s more, it’s the odour factor for me. I certainly can’t afford dry cleaning and I wouldn’t know how to get the smell of cigarettes out of these fabrics.”

Interestingly, Snappy appeared to take no offence. “Oh that would be easy enough. You’d hang them out on the clothesline for a day or two. Didn’t you notice the back door balcony off your kitchen? You’ve a lovely, long clothesline. All the units do.”

I hadn’t, and was eager to see it. “I have an idea, Snappy. Why don’t you speak to the sisters running the flea market in the alleyway a few doors down? Perhaps you could come to some kind of arrangement with them.”

But Snappy was already out of the bedroom. Now that she had lost the opportunity to extract money from us, she seemed in a hurry to see us leave. “Well, thanks for looking anyway,” she paused, stumbling over the noun she wanted to use “girls. If you change your minds, you know where to find me.”

With those words, she closed her door on us and we burst into laughter. “People are incomprehensible, aren’t they?” she asked me rhetorically. She grasped my hand, “Can we go back to your flat, Sophie? I have to pee.”

While Kathy was in the Blue Lagoon, I stepped out onto the back balcony, and true to Snappy’s words, a long, taut clothesline was strung. I had never used one, but I found the notion poetic. Most of my clothes had been purchased on the cheap at thrift shops and had come into my life smelling used and stale. I wondered what garments hanging under a warming April sun would smell like. I imagined that they would smell the way water tastes. It then occurred to me that I didn’t know if my building had a laundry room. If not, I had to find out where the closest laundromat was situated.

Kathy was waiting for me in the kitchen. She had opened the refrigerator door. “Golly, Sophie, it’s just as sparkling on the inside as it is on the outside. I have a feeling you’re going to be very happy here despite her.” She tilted her head sardonically in the direction of Snappy’s flat.

“Could we go back to Windmere now? I feel totally knackered.”

“Are you up to the walk, Kath? If not, we could hail down a taxi.”

“I think I’ll be fine. We’ll take it slow, okay?”

Once back in Windmere, Kathy crawled under her covers and was out like a light. I pulled up the chair, sat down and watched her sleeping. “She’s 34 years old, but she looks like a child,” I thought wonderingly. Yet Carla is my age —25 — and she looks middle-aged. I supposed that the same was true with the others, that there was a large range of normal and a myriad variations. I couldn’t help wondering how long clones could live if we weren’t obliged to be organ donors. Could our lifespan match that of our human counterparts? Could it surpass it? And more importantly, weren’t we technically human beings as well?” Kathy’s rhythmic breathing in the quiet of her room began to make me sleepy and I slumbered in my chair until a raucous voice awoke me abruptly.

“Sleeping on the job, are you?” Carla chuckled and startled me with a hearty slap on the back. Kathy gasped and sprang into a sitting position. Carla extended a chapped hand for her to shake. “And you must be Kathy. I’m pleased to meet you. Sophie and I have been discussing your case and I can help you, that is, if you want me to.”

Carla plopped her broad bottom onto Kathy’s bed and tossed a clipboard onto Kathy’s narrow little lap. She continued, “Without boring you with all the annoying details, you can register for a number of programmes which will defer another donation for at least six months. After that, we’ll get you inscribed in a different programme. By then, enforced donorship will likely have been abolished. All you have to do is sign here.”

Kathy seemed entirely alert. She queried, “And which programme am I signing myself up for?”

 

“I chose the Empathy Study because you’ve been such an exemplary carer. You qualify for quite a few studies, but this one is the least demanding and you don’t have to live at a government facility. There will be a small stipend in addition to a decent allowance for food, shelter and other essentials. Basically, all you’ll have to do is report for a couple of hours from Monday – Friday to be interviewed. Trust me, it’s a piece of cake compared to the kind of work you’d been doing.”

“Would I be leaving Windmere immediately?”

“The sooner the better,” Carla answered.

I chimed in, “That’s not a problem, Kath. You can move in with me. I’m going to ring Joe up today and ask him when he can help me move.” I turned to Carla. “When can she sign out of Windmere?”

“If she has a place to stay, I can start the paperwork immediately. You can check her out first thing tomorrow, but I’ll have to confirm that you still qualify as her carer. Your supervisor may decide to reassign you.”

“Can you speak with Mrs. Ellington today and let me know what her position is?”

“No sweat.”

“But could you…could you get something from her in writing. I don’t want any nasty surprises. What do you think, Carla?”

“Look, if it’ll make you feel better we can both go to see her right now, as soon as Kathy signs.”

“But what if Kathy’s application is refused?”

“Sophie, you don’t get it, do you? I’m the chief coordinator of these programmes. If I say it’s okay, it’s okay. Trust me.”

I wanted to. Trust her. But I knew it wasn’t that simple. What if she didn’t have as much power as she prided herself on having? But of course, I couldn’t share that doubt with her. And at that moment, I knew exactly what I was going to do and I knew that I was going to do it as quickly as possible. It’s as though I had woken up from a disturbing dream into an even more perturbing reality, but at least I had a known plan of action and a secret plan of action.