The night air was still warm, but pleasantly so. Jim and Kira had jogged around the perimeter of the park until the heat had subdued them. Then they had climbed the hill to the stone wall where they sat with legs dangling over the side as they drank beer and finished the remnants of supper.
It had been a pleasant afternoon, He was silent as the sun set, sitting quietly, ignoring the highway below and watching the moon rise, remembering Paul. He 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, holding her hand lightly. He gestured toward the moon as he told her of his father’s hopes, trying 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 saw himself standing on the stone wall again, ready to leap to the highway. “Very melodramatic performance,” he mumbled, and felt her hand on his arm.
“Don’t degrade your pain,” 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, I could tell. You don’t have to talk about it.”
“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 just withdrew if it was too much for her.” He looked at Kira. “That sounds so cold. The whole thing, it’s like a fever or a drug maybe. You keep doing things that make it worse, destructive things, you don’t care about anything else. And you don’t really want to shake it off either, even when it hurts the most, you know you’re alive, that you can feel, and occasionally something happens that makes you so happy it’s worth all the grief. It’s as if you’re the only two people in the world.”
“Don’t dwell on it, Jim. 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, Jim 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; his face was hot, his mouth dry. He struggled to restrain a moan. The picnic basket slipped from his fingers and hit the ground with a dull 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, Jim, 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. 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 in 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. 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 naked in front of him at last, and 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—and he was in her arms, holding her tightly, afraid to speak. Kira was trembling. He stroked her hair.
He loosened his shorts with one hand and dropped then 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 and held her breasts gently as she watched him. Her face resembled Ed’s in the moonlight, ascetic and austere. Then suddenly she smiled, reminding him of Al in one of his playful moods. She touched his penis, running her thumb lightly over its tip, then grasping it firmly.
His fear faded. She thrust her hips up and 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. 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 the 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. 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, becoming 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.
At last, unable to bear it any longer, he thrust again and she moved to meet him, gasping quietly at first, then crying out
, shattering the night silence. He spurted inside her. He trembled, moving with her, suspended in a pocket of timelessness. He was adrift with her in a universe contained by the skin of their bodies, and he called out as his pleasure compressed itself in his groin, then erupted throughout his body. He cried out again, no longer caring which cries were his and which were Kira’s.
Then it was over and he realized with a tinge of sadness how short a time it had actually been. He withdrew from her slowly but remained beside her, resting his head in her arms. He became aware of the sweat which covered their bodies. Now he kept his eyes from meeting hers.
Kira held him more closely. “Don’t, Jim,” she whispered. “Don’t feel ashamed. I love you, I’ve known it for a while. How could I help it?” She was right, of course; the old codes and ancient prohibitions could not apply to them, had not even allowed for their existence.
He looked at her face. She lay at his side, stroking his hair. It was Paul’s face that watched him, smiling, gently reassuring him, protecting him with love. He curled up next to her.
The thunderstorm had passed by morning, leaving behind it cool air and large fluffy clouds. The sun, previously a malevolent eye peering balefully at the earth, was now a friendly presence, occasionally hiding behind one of the white clouds as if ashamed of its former fit of temper. Jim had carried the light plastic chairs off the porch and placed them on top of old newsfax sheets and computer print-outs in the front yard. Aiming his spray can at one, he began to cover it with a surface of gray paint.
He glanced at Ed and Kira. They had moved the old beige car out into the road and were washing it down with the hose. Their shorts and shirts were plastered against their bodies. Kira hooted as she aimed the hose at Ed, drenching him completely. He grabbed the hose from her and began to spray her with water. Kira danced on her toes, laughing loudly.
Jim moved to spray the next chair. He had been trying to accept and understand his new link with Kira. He turned it over in his mind, trying to view it objectively: it wasn’t harming them, it affected no one else, it gave them pleasure. Yet it seemed cold and somehow negative to think of it that way.
“Is it so strange, Jim?” Kira had asked. They had been sitting on her bed, legs folded in front of them, elbows on knees, heads in hands, perfectly matched. “Wouldn’t it be stranger if we didn’t feel this way, weren’t drawn to each other?”
He continued to spray the chairs. How do I feel about it? he asked himself. I’m able to reach someone else, able to love and communicate without rejection. He thought of Moira. His love for her had been nervous and feverish, an uneasiness that was always with him, occupying his entire mind, refusing to let go. With Kira he was at peace, except for the occasional guilty doubts that nudged him from time to time, then retreated under the onslaught of his rationalizations. With Kira, he could work at his writing or talk, easily sharing his thoughts and feelings and understanding hers as well. Then he wondered if he were simply using Kira to mend his wounds, and refusing to admit it consciously.
Kira and Ed were walking toward the house, leaving the hose on the lawn. They seemed to be discussing something. Ed gestured with his right arm as they climbed the steps to the front porch and disappeared into the house. Jim
finished spraying the last chair and glared at the hose. He was annoyed that Ed and Kira had not rewound it and put it away; it was not like them.
The chairs would have to dry before he moved them back to the porch. He ambled to the front door, depositing the can on the porch, and went inside.
The house was silent. Al was on the day shift at the university child care center and Mike had gone to do some lab work. Jim wandered through the living room and into the kitchen.
The kitchen was empty. Jim was surprised, having assumed Kira and Ed had come in for a sandwich. He left the kitchen, went back through the living room and up the stairs, deciding he would ask them if they wanted help with the hose, or if they wanted to have some lunch with him. The door to Ed’s room was open and there was no one inside. He went past Mike’s room, then his own, and stopped at Kira’s door.
It was closed. He knocked, heard the sound of someone moving in the room. “Kira?” he said. He knocked again, then opened the door.
Kira and Ed were sprawled on the bed. Both were naked. Ed turned and looked at Jim. Kira seemed calm. “Oh, no,” Jim said. He clenched his hands into fists. He felt himself shaking. The twin faces on the bed were watching him.
He wanted to pound his fist into the wall. He wanted to hurl one of his sister’s potted plants through her window. He turned and fled down the hall to his own room. He stood there trying to sort out the thoughts that tumbled through his mind.
He heard soft footsteps coming down the hall. They stopped at his door. “Jim.” He did not move. “Jim.” He turned and saw Kira standing in the door, a long red robe draped over her shoulders.
He gestured at the robe. “Your one concession to modesty,” he said bitterly. She came into the room and closed the door.
“Why are you so angry, Jim?”
He turned from her and sat on the chair at his desk. “There’s no reason to be angry,” he muttered. “I found out that we’re interchangeable to you too, that’s all.”
“No, Jim,” she said softly, leaning against the door. “That’s not what you found out. Do you think for one moment I confuse Ed with you? Forget about yourself for one minute and think about him. He’s just about given up trying to reach out to anyone, including us. He’s so quiet about his problems, it’s easy to pretend he’s just shy or not that interested in people. You know how you felt, how lonely you were, but at least you kept trying with Moira, and you could reach me. Ed gave up trying, and about all you’ve accomplished today is to reinforce the way he feels. Now he’s sitting in my room feeling guilty and ashamed.”
Jim looked over at Kira. She was looking at the floor, folding her arms across her chest. “Oh, I don’t know, maybe I have my own problems too. Don’t I have a right to solve them, or at least try? Am I supposed to limit myself to you, and ignore Ed? Has this business really changed anything you might have found out through me?” She sighed. “Maybe it’ll be harder for us, Jim. We have to find our own answers in our own way, and we don’t even have the rough guidelines everybody else has. Some people would look at us and talk about incest taboos, and others would probably find it strange if we loved anyone else but the other clones. The point is, we have to try, and maybe we’ll make mistakes, but…”
She turned and opened the door. “I still love you, Jim, just as much as I did before. Maybe none of us will ever feel the same way about anyone else, maybe we really can’t. Ed needs me too.”
She left his room, but did not close the door. He sat at the desk, trying to sort out his thoughts. He considered himself and the others, turning over their problems and relationships in his mind, wondering what he should do now.
Jim lifted the suitcase and put it in the back seat of the rented car. Al was leaning against the open car door. “We’ll miss you,” he said.
“I won’t be gone long,” he replied. He turned to Kira. Her forehead was wrinkled with worry. He reached over to her and grasped her shoulders. “Come on, cheer up,” he said. “I’ll be back in a month or so, I’m not running away. I know what I’m doing, and I know why.” He wondered if the others sensed his uncertainty.
“I think you’ll be gone longer than that,” Kira said. “I have a feeling…” She smiled at him tentatively and he kissed her lightly on the forehead. Then he climbed into the car, waving his arm at the porch where Ed and Mike sat.
He had explained himself to them as best he could and was satisfied that they understood him as well as could be expected. He would drive up to Moira’s home first. He would not make demands of her, would not force himself on her. He would not give up if she drew away from him. He would leave and go to a poetry workshop in Minnesota he had heard about, meet people there, work, be like anyone else. The plans ran through his head like
a litany; he clung to them.
Kira had come to his room the night before. They had lain on his bed, arms and legs entwined, as he told her about his hopes and his plans.
It would be easier to stay with Kira, easier to give up on other people. He would not let himself do it yet, not until he had tried and failed many times.
He started the car and drove away from the house slowly. When he got to the end of the narrow road, he turned his head and looked back. Kira and Al were walking to the front porch. Suddenly he felt doubtful about his resolve, wondered if he should leave, asked himself if he really wanted to go.
He drove on until the house was out of sight and he was on the road leading to the automated highway. He put the car into automatic. He thought of Kira again, saw her head resting on his shoulder, and wondered if he were making a mistake. Will anyone love me the way you do? Will I love anyone else in the same way? The image of Kira faded from his mind. She had given him as many questions as answers.
The world out there was just as worthy of his attention as his own personal problems. It was a world very different from the sheltered enclave of the university, a world of neatly organized cities inside pyramids and under domes; and disorganized, dirty cities that sprawled across the landscape. It was a world of people who looked beyond earth to the stars, and people who sought to preserve old customs and ancient ways. It was a world with shiny glass surfaces capturing the energy of the sun and mud huts next to wood fires. It was a world of abundance for many and starvation for some, of green and fertile reclaimed wildernesses and eroded deserts. It was time that he tried to understand his own place in this world.
The car rode onto the bypass. He punched out his destination and leaned back as control took over, guided his car around the curved bypass and shot him forward into the stream of cars on the highway.
“The suppression of knowledge appears to me unthinkable, not only on ideological but on merely logical grounds. How can the ignorant know what they should not know?”
Cloned Lives Page 15
