The Book of Adam: Autobiography of the First Human Clone

  Lyle had ruined her. I had ruined her. But I mustered no pity. I didn’t even try.

  “I’ll never marry you,” I said. “I hate you.”

  She gazed at the locket, then back at me. “You love me.”

  “I hate you. And Adam-1 hated you. He couldn’t wait for a new life without you. It’s why he killed himself.”

  “Liar!” she screamed, shaking the locket. “You always loved me!”

  “He hated you.”

  “Liar,” she cried more quietly.

  “It’s in his journal.”

  “Stopit!” The words were almost unrecognizable. “Not true!”

  “I’ll give it to you.”

  There was a long pause. “No,” she finally replied. Her voice was thin and high. “You’ll marry me.”

  I shook my head.

  She raised the gun towards me with both hands, her entire body quaking. “Then your clone will.”

  “Hey, put that gun down!” someone shouted nearby. I hadn’t noticed, but we had drawn the attention of passersby.

  I turned my attention back to Evelyn. The trance broken. The reality there. In her stillness. In the blood. My God. I’d killed her. I hoped Lily would fire soon so I could no longer dwell on all the pain and death my life had brought. I was ready to face this God who hated me so much, and I’d willingly go to his Hell where I could be punished for my failures and wouldn’t be able to do any more harm. What a fool I’d been for thinking he might have let me, the soulless Antichrist, enjoy a lifetime with one of his angels.

  The snow had started falling thickly. I softly ran my hand over her silent, beautiful face, clearing any un-melted snowflakes. Would my clone remember her face?

  That was the last thought I could remember. The bullet grazed my skull. I crumpled over Evelyn’s body. Lily walked up to my unconscious body, dragged me off of Evelyn, knelt to the ground and put the gun to her own head, her other hand clutching the trembling gold locket.

  “I’m coming, Adam.”

  Table of Contents

  Part III

  The Book of Evelyn

  Wheresoever she was, there was Eden.

  – Mark Twain

  41

  My next memories were muddled ones of riding in an ambulance and brief, detached glimpses of being moved by hospital personnel. And visions. My mom’s voice.

  “You like Evelyn, don’t you?”

  I looked around for her, but saw only the graveyard of my recurring nightmare.

  “I love her!” I shouted. Then I looked down in the pit to see my mom in a casket, cradling a young, dead Evelyn in her arms. My mother didn’t take her eyes off me as she reached up with her free hand and slammed down the coffin lid. I jumped into the grave, trying to pry it open, but I couldn’t. It was held too tight from the other side.

  When I came to, I had no idea how much time had gone by. Hannah’s tear-streaked face was gazing down on me.

  I began crying too, both for Evelyn and the smothering guilt I felt for causing Hannah to lose her only child. Was I alive, or was this my hell? Forever confronted with the mother of Evelyn, reminding me every moment of what I’d done through my lifetime of cowardice. I covered my face in shame. I hoped it was hell. Not real.

  Hannah gently took my hand and held it in hers. “It’s okay,” she said.

  I shook my head. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness.

  “Adam, she’s going to be okay.”

  It took a moment to process what she said. Then hope, like awaking from a nightmare, swept through my body.

  “They’re taking her into surgery,” Hannah continued, “but they say she’ll be fine.”

  Surgery. I thought of the blood welling up from her abdomen. And of Evelyn pulling my fingers away from my lips. I felt panicked. Holding onto Hannah’s hand with my left, I put my right hand on my stomach, not sure I could talk with the swelling I felt throughout my head and face. “reg-net,” I managed.

  By the way Hannah’s face dropped, she understood exactly what I was saying. Perhaps she already sensed that Evelyn might be pregnant. Her mouth fell open, then she nodded.

  “I’ll take care of it,” she said, and left the room.

  She did. Three hours later Hannah returned to my room. She told me that the embryo had died, but that they preserved samples of its DNA. Her general opposition to cloning thawed a little more that day. Hannah’s grandchild could still be born, even if it was that grandchild’s clone.

  *

  Between the doctors and my AIS, the swelling in my head was nearly completely gone by the following morning. The police interviewed me before I was released. I described everything I remembered, trying to make clear that Lily hadn’t fired at Evelyn on purpose.

  “Do you know where Lily is?” I asked.

  One of the officers nodded. “Mr. Elwell, I’m afraid that, after she shot you, Lily Gardener ended her own life.”

  I thought of the night Mom came in my room to tell me that Grandma Lily was dead. Her clone-daughter was unable to cope with the same monsters – a Lyle who molested her, an Adam who used her and then ignored her.

  “Would you come down with us to confirm her identity?”

  I didn’t answer. Just dazedly stood up and followed them out of the room and down to the morgue.

  Lily was lying still and discolored on the steel table, stitches from the autopsy raggedly holding together her upper chest and shaved head. I nodded for the police.

  “Lily,” I whispered as I felt myself beginning to shake. “Lily, I’m…”

  But I didn’t finish. An apology was too late for her, and too late for me. I picked up one of her cold hands and held it gently in mine, but she would never know that. The last thing she would know was me saying I hated her.

  “I don’t hate you,” I said. “Just me.”

  It was too late, but I apologized anyway.

  It didn’t help.

  *

  Hannah was waiting for me in the lobby and led me into Evelyn’s hospital room where she was fully conscious. She smiled as I entered the room.

  I took both her hands, kissing them, not meeting her eyes. “I almost killed you.”

  “It’s good to see you,” she said.

  I nodded. “Good to see you, too.”

  She only had vague memories of the moments just before she was shot. She remembered Winter Wonderland and Parson Brown and telling me she was pregnant. And fragments of Lily holding a gun on us. I told her everything I remembered. Except how I didn’t return the squeeze of her hand. A part of me wanted to. But a larger part of me wanted to bury that secret forever.

  Table of Contents

  42

  Evelyn was released two days later. We spent a quiet New Year’s at our apartment with Hannah and her boyfriend Martin, watching movies as she stuck to her diet of soup, applesauce, and ice cream. And we made plans for the clone of our embryo.

  We would have to use the artificial wombs at Ingeneuity. The damage to her abdominal area was too extensive for her to carry and deliver a child. Evelyn cried when the doctor told her.

  And then we talked about Lily.

  “Aunt Louise is too frail for another baby,” Evelyn said. “And this way we can keep her away from Lyle.”

  “You’re sure you’re comfortable with this?” I asked.

  She looked at me like I was crazy. “Of course.” My reluctance must have been apparent. “Aren’t you?”

  I nodded. “Sure.”

  *

  The day after New Year’s, I was back in La Jolla. Evelyn stayed in New York to continue her recuperation. I helped oversee the cloning of our child and its implantation into the artificial womb, and then did the same for Lily-2 at the official request of Aunt Louise.

  She hugged me when I knocked on her door. “I didn’t know, honey. I swear I didn’t.”

  “I know,” I assured her. “I know that.”

  “It’s my fault,” she cried.

  “Oh no, not at a
ll,” I said, holding her close. “It’s mine.”

  I heard Lyle-2 coming down the steps.

  “It is your fault,” Lyle agreed.

  Aunt Louise stepped away from me and glanced at both of us. “Let’s not do this.”

  But I wasn’t ready to stop either. “I know what you did to Lily.”

  He grew red. “You know nothing.”

  “I know everything. What you did to Lily, and what your c-father did to her, and to Lily-1, and to my mother.”

  Lyle clenched his jaw. “I’ve lost Lily to another suicide because of you. You’ll pay just like your c-father did.”

  “But you won’t be able to do anything to Lily-3,” I continued. “Evelyn and I are going to raise her.”

  “What?” Lyle turned on Aunt Louise. “What?”

  Aunt Louise nodded at him. Lyle shook his head.

  “Yes,” I said. “She’s over ninety. And as the clone of Lily-1’s former husband, I’d be her next immediate family member over the age of eighteen.”

  Lyle swung at me, but I saw it coming and ducked out of the way while pushing him to the floor.

  “No!” Aunt Louise shouted, standing between us, her arms outstretched. She was shaking in fear. It drained all the fight out of me.

  Lyle continued to sit on the floor, silent, staring at me with a lack of emotion that shook me up more than his attempt to strike me. “You know nothing.”

  *

  I knew I wanted away from there. I apologized to Aunt Louise and left the house. And then I tried to stop Lyle-2 from ever being in a position to harm my family. So as Lily-3 and my unborn son began to grow in their artificial wombs, daddy went on a little witch-hunt at work. I used some more of the arsenal my c-father had left me to encourage two more Lyle loyalists to resign from the board of directors. Then it was a matter of making sure no one would stand in my way.

  At the time we had one CEO for Ingeneuity and another for its subsidiary, U.S. Cloning Systems. The CEO of Ingeneuity was going to be retiring in a few years. My goal was to eventually take over as CEO of Ingeneuity and draw USCS completely back under the parent company, thereby making sure Lyle-2 would never work for any part of his c-father’s company. Despite my age, I knew my unique background had made me the public face of the company, and I was determined to use that to my fullest advantage. My coworkers and the board of directors knew it, too. I could use my unique power to support or hinder them, and they far preferred my support. So I tried to strengthen my bonds with those who would be on my side, and encouraged the others to retire as their terms expired.

  And then I eagerly flew back to New York in time for the first preview performance of Farewell Dolly. Evelyn was well enough to join me in the audience. And although she was proud of her understudy’s performance, it also redoubled her determination to build up her strength and get back to the stage before the show’s Broadway opening set for my birthday.

  She was rehearsing by the end of January, took the stage in the ensemble in mid-February, and had her Broadway premiere as Dolly two nights before the official opening on March 11, 2060.

  That was the morning I woke up to find Evelyn sitting on the closed toilet of our one-bath Bohemian apartment. Her hair was a mess, dark, heavy bags under her eyes. I didn’t think she’d gotten more than a couple seconds sleep during the night.

  “Happy Birthday,” she said.

  “How are you feeling?”

  She frowned up at me. “Terrified.”

  I grinned. I thought I was the only one who got stage fright. “Want me to go on for you?”

  Her lips slowly wrinkled into a smile. “No.”

  I feigned a little umbrage, and then opened up my arms. “How ’bout a birthday hug?”

  “Wow,” she said. “You really need to use the toilet.”

  Well, I did. But I also wanted to give her a hug before she left for the theatre and her Broadway debut.

  As we’d all see, her fears were unwarranted. Opening night was the first of more than 800 shows for Farewell Dolly, and Evelyn Green’s career on Broadway roared to life through her portrayal of a sheep. On June 6, 2060 she accepted her Tony Award.

  She didn’t want to win. She was afraid the vote would be more out of sympathy for the shooting than for her performance, and she believed there were more deserving nominees. Unfortunately, I think that took some of the excitement away from her when they announced her name. But she was still touched and honored, and the audience rose as she accepted her award.

  “I want to accept this award on behalf of the other nominees. You don’t know how much you’ve moved me with your work,” she started. “And I also want to thank the inspiration for this role, sparked seven years ago when my husband gave a speech thanking Dolly. Adam thanked Dolly for all that her life made possible for him and his family and all clones.

  “I, too, want to thank Dolly and the scientists who made her life possible. But I also want to thank Adam, and his courageous mother who I was lucky enough to meet, and all clones who found themselves in a world that didn’t always welcome them.

  “Life can be a painful struggle even for those born into loving families who never know poverty, or what it’s like to be looked down upon for being a certain color, or for believing a minority religion, or for your sexual orientation. Or just to be lonely.

  “So I try to imagine being the first and only one.” She met my eyes. “Coming into this world hated by so many. Not for anything you’ve done, but simply because you were born. And then I imagine embracing the world anyway. To be hated and lonely and scared, but to still love. These are my heroes. My father. My husband. So many others who inspire me and challenge me. And these are the inspirations for great stories as told by one of the first clones, Stephen Sondheim-2, and as told by non-clones who see and learn and teach, like my friend Jack Lewis and our brilliant writer, Thomas Wilson.”

  The exit music began to play.

  “I want to thank all those who allowed me to play this role, and all those who gave me the inspiration to play it. This is for all of us who have ever been treated like an outcast, and it’s for everyone who offered an outcast love.”

  Table of Contents

  43

  Evelyn left the show the day before our first wedding anniversary. We spent September 25 enjoying the day in Central Park and revisiting the haunts we’d seen a year before. And the next day we flew back to La Jolla to await the birth of our son.

  We named him Cain. Hannah thought there was no worse omen considering how the first Cain turned out, but Evelyn and I had wanted to prove, as Shakespeare had written, that there wasn’t anything in a name, and our son wouldn’t have his fate determined by an ancient namesake. If anything, it might encourage him to change the connotation.

  Or perhaps I was simply obsessed with people being forced to overcome their ancestry.

  Cain was born on September 28, 2060, the same year Isaac Newton had predicted Armageddon would descend on the planet and Christ would return for his reign of a thousand years, prompting one obscure religious sect called the Newtonians to proclaim that Cain was the Christ child reborn who would redeem the world using the name of the first murderer.

  One day, as we walked around the zoo, a member of that church stole the baby blanket that we had in Cain’s stroller so that they could use it as a sacred relic, which they venerated as his “swaddling clothes.” It all made us a bit uneasy. But nothing bad ever came of it, and later Cain was sort of flattered by the whole thing.

  Christ reborn or not, Cain’s birthday was a day of rebirth for me. On the morning he was born from the artificial womb – a womb created using Evelyn’s DNA – I had another chance with the son I’d lost on Christmas Eve. He might not have been the exact person who would have been born had the shot not been fired, but he was still ours. I cradled him close to my face, tracing his cheeks and chin with my fingertip. He had a little of my Gerber baby nose, but mostly resembled his mother with his eyes and wisps of dark brown hair,
and with the square jaw of Evelyn’s father. Something besides memories had survived the church bombing and the terrible night in Central Park when the embryo of Cain’s c-father had been lost, and that something was now squirming and making strange noises in my nervous but loving arms.

  Then came Lily. The other soul who was lost that night. The clone of the woman who had killed Cain’s never-born c-father. I could have seen Lily-3 as another opportunity to be good to Lily and see what kind of person she could become when not suffering the physical abuse of a Lyle and the psychological abuse of an Adam. But I saw the past.

  We decided to move back to La Jolla to raise them. Cain would have both a grandmother and a grandfather nearby. Hannah’s boyfriend, Martin Schenk, had comforted her through the frightening holidays and moved out to San Diego with her. They married a few months later in a private ceremony conducted by a rabbi friend of Hannah’s. I had my doubts that the relationship, forged in so much trauma, would last, but I underestimated Hannah’s judgment. They are still together today.

  In April 2062 we made Hannah’s wish and Evelyn’s prediction come true, all of us journeying up to the cabin in the Sequoias to see Halley’s Comet as it headed back out into the nether regions of the solar system. Evelyn swore she could see Mark Twain still riding around. Most of us weren’t convinced, but it’s hard to say with certainty what Cain and Lily saw. They were eighteen months old and not yet able to describe their observations in any detail. But Cain did look and point up to it when we pointed, and later he would describe it as his earliest memory (while loyally backing up his mom’s Twain hallucination).

  Growing up as fraternal twins, Cain and Lily were inseparable from the start. Too often, instead of simply enjoying seeing them play and laugh and learn from one another, I would think of Lily-2 and the pool of blood in Evelyn’s abdomen, and I could only look on with a plastered grin. It was the same grin I had as Evelyn would spin Lily-3 around or play Peek-a-boo or go through teaching exercises with her, with Lily giggling easily during all of the above. It was also the same grin I forced when Lily turned her attentions to me, which was often. She begged to play with her “Uncle Adam” several times a day, and I played as much as time allowed. There was a gentle healing in seeing Lily happy and carefree. But the dread always lingered in the background. It was an association I knew was wrong but couldn’t, or wouldn’t, shake.