"Better make it tea," Dr. Takamura replied. "And I think I'll sit out here. I've been inside all day."
Kira looked at Jim. "I'll have some too," he said. She hurried into the house.
Jim looked over at Dr. Takamura as the older man seated himself. The man was still here at the university, still working at the same research center that had produced the clones, and now Kira was studying with him. Jim shuddered. He usually felt uneasy around the original participants in the experiment. He could never be sure whether they regarded him as a subject or were trying to recapture their friendship with Paul.
"How's everything, Jim?" The older man still retained a youthful appearance and was active, in spite of being in his seventies. "I haven't seen you for a while."
"I haven't been around the house much."
"I have seen you from a distance, wandering around the university with a very attractive young woman."
"Oh. Moira," Jim said. He paused, thinking he should say more. "I met her last winter. I was at home here, tuned in to a lit discussion, and we got into a debate. Then after the discussion was over, we stayed on the screen, just talking, so finally I asked her where she lived, and I went over to her dormitory. She's gone home until August," he finished lamely.
Kira returned and sat down next to Dr. Takamura. "Ed'll bring the tea out," she said. Jim looked at her face—his face, only more feminine—high cheekbones, large green eyes. She looked back, eyes questioning him: Everything all right, Jim? He tried to smile back at her.
"We were just discussing the young woman I've seen Jim with." Kira appeared startled. She brushed some of her thick brown hair off her face and leaned forward. "You know," Dr. Takamura went on, "she resembles a girl Paul was seeing when he was about your age, when we were both at Chicago. Rhoda something, her name was. She left for Israel a couple of years later. He was very serious about her for a while."
Jim began to feel uneasy. Kira sensed his mood. "It sure is raining," she said. "Must be about three inches by now."
Jim leaned toward Dr. Takamura. "What was she like?" he asked. His hands felt sweaty. Kira was still watching him.
"I didn't really know her that well," the older man said. "She seemed, well, distant somehow. She was always friendly, sometimes very talkative, but she always seemed to be holding something back somehow, never really telling you anything about herself. Paul was always with her. He practically lived at her apartment, and they were thinking of getting one of their own."
The weather seemed to be colder. Kira coughed softly. "Certainly took me back," said Dr. Takamura. "I haven't thought of that whole business in years."
"What happened?" Jim mumbled. "What happened?" he said more clearly.
Dr. Takamura was gazing out at the lawn. "She broke it off. I don't think she ever told him why. Paul was pretty depressed for a while, apathetic about everything, but he pulled together. Jon Aschenbach and I managed to get him through his finals."
Jim shivered. "That was a long time ago," said Dr. Takamura.
Ed came out on the porch carrying a tray with three mugs of tea. Jim took one of the mugs and looked on as his brother exchanged greetings with the older man. Ed was the most austere of the clones; he was clean-shaven and wore his hair cropped close to his skull. He spent most of his time on his mathematical studies or his music, and his only close friends were the clones themselves.
Jim heard their voices but not their words. He saw Paul and Rhoda on the Chicago streets, Paul and Moira. . . . He had thought Moira could not bring herself to accept him because he was a clone. Perhaps it was not that at all, but something else. That should console me, he thought.
No.
This was worse.
I'm living Paul's life, he thought. He felt paralyzed. He saw himself as a puppet walking through an ever-repeating cycle. I'll go through it again, his mind murmured. I'll go on feeling the way I do, acting the way I do, and I won't have any choice. it all happened before and I have no way of changing it.
Moira was gone. He knew it. Moira was gone from him for good. Rhoda had not come back to Paul. Paul had eventually forgotten Rhoda, and Jim supposed he would forget Moira too. The thought, instead of cheering him, simply sat there in his mind, cold and damp, with no power to move him at all.
The early July weather was hot. The grass was beginning to look scorched, the flowers were wilted. The sun glared down at the earth, only occasionally disappearing behind a cloud and then emerging once again to mock at the stifled world below. Jim sat on his heels removing weeds that threatened the bushes alongside the house. His hair was tied back on his head. He had debated with himself about
shaving his beard, and decided against it, knowing he would regret it when winter returned. There was another reason for not shaving it, he knew. The beard was his way of differentiating himself from his brothers.
He put his trowel down, sat back, and looked over at Kira. She was seated under one of the trees reading a book. She held the small microfiche projector to her eyes with one hand, turned a small knob on the projector with the other. Jim still preferred the feel of a book in his hands, enjoyed turning the pages, liked the smell of print and old paper. He had insisted on keeping the books in Paul's library, even though they took up more space than the tiny bits of tape he could have purchased to replace them.
He was like Paul in his attachment to old things. Paul had remained in his old slightly run-down house in the area surrounding the university while other researchers and professors had moved to living units inside one of the new pyramidal structures only a few minutes away from the campus by train. Paul had remained on earth while many of his colleagues in astrophysics had gone to the moon, and he had decided he was too old to go. He had raised the clones in the peaceful, almost timeless atmosphere of the university, feeling that this would best prepare them for the complex, almost chaotic world outside. He had wanted them to have a quieter place where they could discover themselves and gain intellectual tools. The universities, so disorganized during Paul's youth, were once again oases of liberal education. Those who had wished for activism had set up their own colleges in the disorderly cities of the continent; and specialists in many fields had their own research centers on ocean floors, in wilderness areas, and on the surface of the moon and Mars. The university had been, in a sense, a retreat for the clones, and Jim wondered if they might have become too easily adjusted to it and afraid to look beyond.
"Why don't you go inside?" he said to Kira. "It's a lot cooler there."
"It's too cool," she replied. "I don't think the regulator's working. I shiver all the time and I had to put blankets on my bed last night."
"I guess I better check it one of these days." He wiped sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. He continued to watch Kira as she resumed reading. She had pinned her hair up on her head and wore a sleeveless blue-green tunic that barely reached the tops of her thighs. To Jim she suggested a woodland sprite who at any moment might disappear among the trees.
In spite of the heat and some painful blisters on his hands, Jim felt content, more at peace than he had been in a long time. He and Kira had been busy since the day Moira had gone home, making repairs on the house, painting the kitchen, putting some new shingles on the roof. He had buried himself in physical work, tiring himself so he could sleep soundly, hoping to keep the thought of Moira at a distance. Kira, too, had time on her hands. Dr. Takamura had gone to Kenya to aid in training scientists there who wished to clone needed animals for wildlife preserves. He and Kira had worked together, laughing and joking most of the time, exhausting themselves. One day Jim had realized that his sorrow had receded a little, only returning in force during the night, just before fatigue pushed him into deep sleep.
Yesterday had been different. They had been sitting with Ed on the front porch, talking about one of Jim's poems, listening to Ed play his violin, discussing some of the work Kira had done with Takamura. They talked for a long time, their minds drawing together, communicating i
deas and feelings with perfect understanding. Then Al and Mike had joined them and they sat there until very late, finally giving in reluctantly to sleepiness, and Jim realized as he lay in his bed that he had not thought of Moira all day.
"Hey," he said to Kira, "how about driving up to the lake for a swim? It's too hot to do anything else."
Kira put down her projector. "I'd love to," she said, "but you know there'll be a mob there. I went up with Jonis last month, you could hardly find a place to put a towel down, so we went over to the nude beach and it was worse there. And there were picnickers all over the woods, and empty containers just thrown all around." Kira sighed and pulled up her legs, wrapping her arms around them. "They think the containers'11 just disappear, they don't think it takes months for them to dissolve completely. Jonis said she heard that guys go up and take pot shots at the eagles. They don't care—after all, we can always clone more. It makes me so damned mad. I wish they'd kept it closed after reclamation."
We can always clone more. He looked over at Kira and suddenly felt sorry for the cloned eagles. "We could drive to the park. It's always pretty empty," he said. "It'll be cooler there than here, and we could take some supper for later."
"Great," she said. "At least we'll get away from the house for a while." She stood up, brushed some grass from her tunic, picked up her projector by the handle, and walked toward the house, tanned arms swinging loosely at her sides.
Jim watched her until she disappeared around the corner of the house. She had inherited Paul's gentleness and concern for others. When one of the clones was depressed or worried about something, it was always Kira who was willing to listen or offer moral support. Her creation had been the result of curiosity about how Paul's qualities might manifest themselves in a female. As it happened, she was essentially no different from the brothers, and the concern she expressed for them was probably the product of her studies. She spent as much of her time in seminars discussing ethical problems raised by the biological sciences as in the laboratory. Perhaps she was more mature than he or the others, and there were often times when he thought she was more like Paul than any of them.
He picked up his trowel and followed her inside.
The night air was still warm, but pleasantly so. They had jogged around the perimeter of the park until the heat had subdued them. Then they had climbed up the hill to the stone wall overlooking the automated highway. They sat on the wall, legs dangling over the side, as they drank beer and finished the remnants of supper.
It had been a pleasant afternoon, but Jim had grown more silent as the sun set. He sat quietly, ignored the highway below, and watched the rising moon. Al had often spoken of going to the moon, joining the people there who were carrying on Paul Swenson's work. Jim tried to concentrate on the lunar disk, tried to ignore the tendrils of thought brushing at the edges of his consciousness. A warm breeze stirred the trees behind him.
He sat with Moira on the wall, held her hand lightly. He gestured toward the moon as he told her of his father's hopes and tried to communicate the reasons behind Paul's dreams. He looked at Moira as she sat listening quietly, seemingly interested, then heard her soft sigh of impatience.
He looked at Kira. She, too, was watching the moon. He wondered what Moira was doing now. He had managed to keep from calling her since she had left, afraid that she would misinterpret his motives. He should not have come to the park. It had only deepened his pain, bringing it to the surface once again. Kira turned slightly and her eyes met his.
"I never," he said, "really told you much about Moira, did I? Not even that time . . ." He looked away in embarrassment. He was standing on the wall, ready to hurl himself toward the brightly lit highway. Kira clung to his arm, silvery tears glistened on her face. "Jump," she shouted. "Jump, but you'll have to take me with you." "Very melodramatic performance," he mumbled, and felt her hand on his arm.
"Don't degrade your pain, Jim," she said softly.
"She didn't just go home for the summer, you know. I don't think she wants to see me when she returns."
"I know," said Kira. "I could tell. You don't have to talk about it, Jim."
"I don't know what's wrong with me," he went on. "It's funny I should care so much about Moira when, if I were honest about it, I'd have to admit I never really knew her. I know she didn't understand me. She never really tried to, she just withdrew." He looked at Kira. "That sounds so cold," he said.
"Don't dwell on it," said Kira softly. "You can't analyze a thing like that, and you'll just feel worse if you try." She swung her legs over the wall and stood up. "Want to take a walk? My legs feel a little stiff."
"Sure." He picked up the small picnic basket and followed her.
They walked along the narrow path that wound through the woods. The path was lighted by the moon. The trees on either side of them were a dark and impenetrable forest. There was a smell of pine and wildflowers. Above him he could hear the movement of a small creature along the limbs of a tree. An owl hooted and was answered by crickets.
Moira stopped, leaned against one of the trees, and smiled at him. He moved to her side, put his arms around her slender waist, and she rested her head contentedly on his shoulder.
Jim halted to rest against a tree. His stomach was a closed fist inside him, his face was hot and his mouth dry. He struggled to restrain a moan. The picnic basket slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a muffled thud. The handles clattered loudly against the sides of the basket.
"Jim." Kira stood in front of him, clutching his shoulders. "Jim." She released his shoulders and embraced him, cradling his head with one hand. "I know," she said softly.
He was a child again, curled on Paul's lap. "I know," Paul whispered, stroking his hair. "Let it out, Jimmy. Don't ever be ashamed to cry." He squeezed his eyelids together, but the tears would not come. She brushed his hair from his forehead.
She seemed to understand his pain almost instinctively. He rested against her and felt some of the loneliness subside. "I guess," he said finally, "this place must have brought it all back." The tightness of his stomach began to ease.
He stood up straight, arms still around her, and looked into her green eyes, level with his own. She was a dryad, a part of the forest in her tunic and sandaled feet, and it seemed that she might suddenly release him and vanish. He held her more tightly.
He felt his penis stiffen. Startled, he let go of Kira and stood awkwardly in front of her, arms dangling at his sides. She did not move away but continued to stand with her arms around his shoulders. Her face was pale in the moonlight. She tilted her head to one side. Don't move away, her eyes seemed to say. Don't retreat. She moved closer to him and kissed his lips gently.
The park had grown silent. He was paralyzed, rooted to the ground as surely as the tree against his back. He strained to hear the sounds of the forest, but there was only a thundering in his ears.
She released him and they faced each other, silent and still. He tried to raise his arms. They trembled slightly as he reached out to her.
She unfastened the sash around her waist and let it flutter to the ground. She grasped her tunic with both hands and pulled it over her head. Then she slipped off her pants, balancing first on one leg, then the other. She moved slowly and as precisely as a dancer. She stood in front of him, and at last she met his eyes again.
He saw apprehension and fear on her face, as well as love and concern. He moved toward her, taking one step, then a second one—and he was in her arms, holding her tightly. He was afraid to speak. Kira, too, was trembling. He began to stroke her hair.
He loosened his shorts with one hand and dropped them on top of Kira's rumpled tunic. He ran his hands along her smooth back to her buttocks, only slightly wider and rounder than his own. She was no longer trembling.
They knelt, then lay on the ground together. He reached out, held her breasts gently as she watched him. Her face looked like Ed's in the moonlight, ascetic and austere. Then she suddenly smiled, reminding him of Mi
ke in one of his playful moods. She touched his penis, running her thumb lightly over its tip, then grasped him firmly.
His fear faded. She thrust her hips up, pulled him to her. He thought of the uncertainty he had always felt with Moira, the lonely climaxes. There was no uncertainty with Kira. She was his female self, reaching for him now with the same urgency and impatience he felt. Her hand held him and guided him inside her.
She drew up her knees and they lay on their sides, facing each other. Still gazing into his own green eyes, he thrust with his hips, ran his hand along her thigh. Her lips parted and he heard a soft sigh. He continued to move and was conscious of her response; she was moaning now, clutching his shoulders tightly. He saw himself as a woman, receiving a man, opening to the hardness that plunged inside her, and knew that she was seeing herself as a man, moving inside the wet and welcoming orifice. They moved together, grinding their hips in perfect rhythm, and he felt the core of his excitement increasing, threatening at any moment to hurl him outside himself for a few timeless seconds.
This has never happened before. He suddenly realized that as he moved inside her, sighing his responses to her moans. Never before. He saw generation after generation evolve, become more differentiated, genetic structures changing and mutating. He saw millions of men and women seeking mates, trying to find those who would complete them, make them whole again, yet always separated from them by the differences passed on to them by eons of change. He saw Kira and himself, reflections of each other, able to move along their individual paths and yet meet in perfect communication. She was no longer his sister, but his other self, closer to him than a sister could have been, merging with him so completely and perfectly that they were one being.
He moved with her, breathed with her, sensitive to every movement of her hands on his body. Then he stopped, held his body absolutely still, prepared himself for the final thrust. She was still also, waiting, watching him with wide eyes. Her lips were parted and swollen, the warmth inside her body had grown even more intense.
Clones Page 20
