by Mildred Ames
He hurried out in time to meet her coming into the lobby. As they left the building, he asked, “What did you say the name of your mother’s -- I mean the little girl in the dream -- what was her mother’s friend’s name?”
“Clara.”
“Clara what?”
She shook her head.
She doesn’t remember, he thought. And she won’t remember because she couldn’t possibly know. “That’s all right,” he said. “It doesn’t matter.”
Anna said, “I think it was something like Miller -- or maybe Muller. Yes, Clara Muller.”
On the ride home, Rowan said, “I’ve heard of race memory. Do you suppose you’re experiencing something like that?”
“Race memory . . . ,” Anna repeated dully.
“You know -- it means that our genes hold the important memories of our ancestors, and that sometimes we even have recall to those memories. Of course, in your case -- ”
She glanced at him sharply. “I know what it means. And I know what you were going to say. In my case, race memory wouldn’t exactly apply. Anna Zimmerman wasn’t really my ancestor. In fact, you might say that I am Anna Zimmerman. Maybe I should remember what happened to her.”
“Anna, it was only a dream. You’ve got to keep telling yourself that.”
She had the feeling that he didn’t believe his words any more than she did. “It was real, Rowan -- something that really happened. Somehow I know. Anna Zimmerman was the little girl in the concentration camp. She was there in the very last days of the war. I figured that out from her age. That was the only reason Clara could save her. In that book I just looked at, it said that in the earlier years in the camp, they killed all the young children.”
“I’m sorry now that I ever thought of the library.”
“It doesn’t matter. At least I know that I couldn’t have made it up. What worries me is what it all means.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Oh, Rowan, I’m so afraid it means that I’m Anna Zimmerman. I don’t want to be Anna Zimmerman. I want to be someone else. I want to be Me.”
He fell silent, and she could tell that she had really upset him. Perhaps she should never have shared her strange problems with him. After a long time, he said, “I don’t think you should tell Mom or Dad about this.”
“Why not?”
“Because it would worry them.”
“You mean they’d think the clone experiment was going sour.”
“That’s not what I meant at all!”
The outrage in his voice told her that was exactly what he’d meant. “What do you think is happening to me, Rowan? Are you afraid I’m starting to self- destruct?”
“Don’t be silly. What’s happening to you is simple enough. You learned something about yourself that shook you up so much that you still haven’t adjusted to the idea.”
Anna sighed deeply. “I wonder if I ever will.”
“Of course you will. It just takes time. And you don’t have to be another Anna Zimmerman. After all, she lived in another time. Your environment is completely different. That’s got to count for something toward making someone into an individual.” Anna gave him a weak smile. Although she said nothing, she somehow thought it would take more than a different environment to give her the selfhood she lacked. She was merely an extension of Anna Zimmerman; she had all of the woman’s memories in her genes and was simply adding her own life experiences to them. “Don’t worry, Rowan. I won’t tell Mom or Dad. It wouldn’t do any good anyhow.” He said, “If it makes you feel better, you aren’t the only one keeping something from them.” He studied her for a moment, then added, “I guess there isn’t any reason why I shouldn’t tell you. That is, as long as you can keep a secret.”
“Of course, I can keep a secret. I know you don’t think I can do anything right, but one thing I can do is keep a secret.”
“I know.”
“So what’s the secret?”
“Well, I haven’t told Mom or Dad yet because I don’t know if anything will come of it, but I’m trying for a scholarship to a school in Japan.”
Japan! So far away. What would she do with Rowan gone? Whom would she talk to then? Who would even believe the things she had been telling him? No one. Yet Rowan did, she was sure. Already she felt an acute sense of loss. “When are you leaving?”
“Hey, not so fast. I probably won’t even make it. This is a tough one with plenty of competition. I only got through the first play-off recital yesterday. The last one isn’t due until the twenty-seventh of February, next year.”
If he was telling her this to help take her mind off herself, he was not succeeding. Then she told herself that he had uncomplainingly listened to her problems. The least she could do was listen to his. “What did you have to do?”
“Well, first came the prepared part. I had to play something from the classic period. I was ready with Mozart for that. For the romantic period, I used Paganini, and for the modem school, Bartok.”
From the eagerness in his voice, she guessed that he had been itching to talk about it. “Were you scared?”
“Scared? I was petrified -- sweating like crazy. Especially during the sight-reading. They give you unfamiliar material and only a few minutes to look it over.”
“I’ll bet you did well.”
“I don’t know.”
“Why do you want to go so far away?”
“It’s not that I want to go far away. It’s just that I want to go to that particular school because they’re the best if you’re interested in composing.”
“I thought you were going to be a concert violinist. Dad said -- ”
He broke in angrily. “I know what Dad said. That’s what he wants me to be. He’d like to manage my career. I don’t want to hurt him, but I just can’t swallow it. I’ve got to go my own way in music, even though he’ll think I’m being ungrateful. I don’t expect him to understand, or anyone else for that matter, but I’ve just got to be my own person.”
There were countless problems beyond Anna’s understanding, This was not one of them. “I know how you feel.”
“You couldn’t. No one could,” he said, then caught himself and stared at her as if seeing her with new eyes. “Yes -- yes, I guess you do.”
14
For a time Anna’s one sustaining comfort was the new and growing friendship between her and Rowan. She had never before needed anyone to confide in. Now she no longer felt she had to bury herself in a calculus book for diversion or solace. Talking with Rowan eased her tensions in a different way. Terrified that she might lose that friendship, she tried hard to avoid doing the things she knew he disapproved of.
Her first test came at the academy just a couple of weeks after their visit to the library. She was early for calisthenics that afternoon. The previous class was just leaving the locker room. Ever since the time, their classmate, the plump redhead, had forgotten to lock up her valuables, Anna, when she was early, had made a practice of trying the girl’s locker door. In all that long time she had never found it open, although the girl was often still in class.
That day Anna jiggled the door handle more out of habit than anything else. To her surprise, the door swung open, and she could see that the redhead’s belongings were still inside. Anna glanced quickly around the room. Empty. Probably the watch wasn’t even in the locker, she thought. The girl might not wear it every day. Hurriedly, Anna groped around the shelf to find she was in luck. The watch was, indeed, there. She drew it out. Yes, it was every bit as attractive as she remembered. She closed the door. All she had to do now was lock up by spinning the dial of the combination lock and no one would ever guess the door had been open. The redhead would undoubtedly think she had left her watch elsewhere. Anna, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Rowan’s words flashed through her head. She remembered how she had assured herself that, of course, she could keep promises, could control her actions. I’ll never do it again, she’d said. All she had to do right now was return the
watch to the shelf, leave it just as she’d found it. Hurry, a voice inside her said, there isn’t much time. Put it back.
Still she held off. It was such a beautiful watch. She stared at it, entranced, unaware of how long she stood there. The next thing she knew a breathless voice panted out the words “What are you doing with my watch?”
Startled, Anna stared up into the narrowed eyes of the redhead. At a loss now, Anna said, “I -- I -- you left your locker open.”
“That doesn’t mean you had to take my watch.” Anna pulled herself together. “I didn’t take anything. Your locker was wide open, so I thought I’d have a closer look at your watch.” She handed it to the girl. “It’s nice.”
The redhead snatched it from Anna and hastily put it on. Obviously she didn’t believe a word Anna had said. She glared at Anna. “I hope you got a good look, because you’ll never get another.”
Anna shrugged, pretending indifference. After the girl left, and while Anna’s class was filing in, Anna thought about what she had done. She had meant to put back the watch. She really had. Yet why hadn’t she acted immediately? Although she wanted to feel that she would have followed through, she had hesitated too long to be sure. Perhaps she couldn’t control her acts after all. The idea frightened her. She consoled herself with the thought that even if that were true, there would surely be some way to learn.
Finally she decided that every time she was tempted she would make herself do something she hated, hated so much that the thought of punishing herself that way would spoil all the pleasure of taking something that belonged to someone else.
That very afternoon she subjected herself to one of the worst tortures she could imagine. She forced herself to play the tedious piano exercises Michaela had assigned, as many as she could get through, and each one, twenty times. She detested the exercises, but she stuck with them, feeling she was cleansing herself of whatever it was that made her act without the conscience that seemed to mean so much to people like Rowan. She kept wondering how she could have given a thought to something as trivial as a wristwatch when she was caught up in a problem that was monumental.
When she finished the exercises, she decided the punishment was not enough. The next day she went to the library in the complex and checked out as many books on the Holocaust as she could carry. She spent every free moment reading each of them from cover to cover. Now and then she came upon a picture or a description that transported her back into the dream or the memory, whichever it was, and she was again a little girl with the stench of death all around her, the sound of the women’s orchestra loud in her ears, the vision of Mama disappearing from sight. Then Anna would cry -- for Mama, for the starving brutalized people in the camps, and for all the others, thousands every day, who were gassed, then burned in crematoriums.
And every night she had nightmares. She could hear the little music box playing in the distance, always the same tune, Reverie. Then the music would come closer and closer, grow louder and louder until she awoke with a start. When the memory of the tune faded from her ears, the voice came.
Anna, let me come in. Let me come in . . .
Did it come from without or from within her? Anna couldn’t tell. And the biggest part of her punishment was that she would not allow herself to tell Rowan, because that would lighten the suffering. Anna became obsessed with the idea that if she suffered enough, she would purge herself of the desire to steal. She had to know she could control her own acts.
More than once lately Rowan had tried to talk to her, but each time she managed to have something more important, more pressing to take care of. She could tell that he was bewildered, perhaps even a little disturbed by her sudden turnabout. But that, too, was part of her punishment. She would not even allow herself a confidant. If she had once felt that Michaela, and even Rowan, were trying to torture her, she now had a need to torture herself.
At one point Rowan said, “I really don’t understand you, Anna. A little while ago you were begging me to listen to you and help you. Now you act as if you don’t even want to talk to me.”
Without meeting his eyes, Anna said, “It isn’t that, Rowan. It’s just that I have to work some things out by myself.”
She could tell he didn’t understand, but she couldn’t bring herself to tell him about the watch and about the punishment she was exacting from herself.
Another time Graham Hart took her aside and said, “Anna, I’m worried about you. You aren’t acting like yourself. Is anything wrong?”
“No, I’m all right,” she said.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure.”
“Well, just remember, Anna, if you have anything on your mind, anything at all you want to talk about, I’m always here and ready to listen.”
Although she believed his offer sincere, all she could think of was the night she had overheard him talking about her. No, she had nothing to tell him. How could you confide in someone who thought you were a freak? All she could say was, “Thanks, I’ll remember that.” She could tell that the words didn’t satisfy him, but they were the best she could do. Even Michaela commented. “You’re looking very pale these days, Anna,” she’d said at one of their Saturday sessions. “Do you feel all right?”
“I feel fine,” Anna said. She strongly suspected that Michaela would have enjoyed knowing that she was suffering. I wonder why she dislikes me so much, Anna thought. Then the obvious answer immediately presented itself. Because I’m not very likable. And why should it matter what Michaela thought? Anna had never before cared whether anyone liked her or not.
“I think you’re changing, Anna,” Michaela said.
Anna’s eyes widened. She felt as if Michaela were reading her mind. She half expected the woman to tell her that she was nicer to be around these days or something of the sort.
Instead, Michaela said, “You seem to have grown quite a lot taller in the short time I’ve known you. I wouldn’t expect someone of your age to start shooting up so fast.”
She might have known she would never get a compliment from Michaela. “I guess I’m just a late grower,” Anna said.
Anna may have looked pale, but apparently Michaela considered that no reason to back off on the endless exercises and the strict piano discipline. She was a hard taskmaster who, Anna felt, delighted in making her pupil miserable. But as miserable as Anna was, she would not allow herself the indulgence of complaining.
Several times Anna tested herself in the shops of the domed complex center. Each time, she failed, finding that she wanted to slip some attractive piece of merchandise into her carryall as much as ever. Only the thought of the punishment she had chosen for herself kept her from it. But there was still the thought, and she had to punish herself for that.
One evening after dinner, when Anna had gone to her room to do homework, Sarah Hart looked in on her. Anna was sitting at her desk, a book of chemistry open before her, but her mind was far away.
Sarah Hart sat down on the studio bed. “Anna, I’d like to talk to you.”
“Oh, sure, Mom.” As Anna turned her chair around, she was struck by the tall, slim figure of the woman she still thought of as her mother. How like Rowan she was. The same dark eyes and hair, the same olive complexion. Even Dad was dark. How could I have ever thought I was one of them? Anna wondered.
Sarah Hart said, “Rachael Lesser called me today.”
Although Anna immediately guessed what had prompted the dean’s call, her eyebrows lifted innocently. “What did she want?”
“She says your grades have suddenly fallen off.”
Anna was well aware of that. “I just can’t seem to keep my mind on school anymore.”
“Are you feeling well?”
“I’m all right.” It occurred to Anna that she hadn’t even had one of her headaches for a long time now.
“Then what’s wrong, dear?” She reached over and took Anna’s hand.
What’s wrong? Anna wasn’t sure she could have put it into words
, even if she felt like trying, which she didn’t. It had something to do with knowing what she was, yet not knowing who she was. She simply shrugged. “I don’t know what’s wrong.”
“Are you upset about learning your true identity?”
“I don’t know,” Anna said, then after a moment added, “Maybe.” That was as close as she could come to admitting her misery to the woman who, she felt, had betrayed her. If it hadn’t been for Mom, and sometimes Anna almost choked on the word Mom, she might never have had this problem, might never have even existed. Anna drew her hand away.
Once again Sarah Hart went through the same old patter about how privileged they both were, how proud they both should be. Anna paid scant attention, only aware of a voice rattling on and on. When it faded, she said, “I’ve been thinking, Mom. I’m wondering if I shouldn’t change my whole program in school.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, maybe I shouldn’t be a physicist after all. I don’t seem to feel very interested in it anymore.”
Sarah Hart looked appalled. “Anna, you can’t mean that.”
“Why not? Why do I have to be a physicist just because she was?”
“I told you why before. Because they’re counting on you.”
“They -- always they! Who are they anyhow?” Looking thoroughly distressed now, Sarah Hart said, “They are a group of reputable American scientists. And your government. It’s not only important that we have a breakthrough on the replicator, it’s vital.”
“Why?”
“You know why. It isn’t exactly a secret that we’re fast depleting the world’s resources. We have to find an answer to that, and soon.”
“Then let the other Anna Zimmermans look for it. I don’t think I want to.”
“Anna, you’re just upset. It’s my fault, I know. I should never have told you when I did.”
