by Tom Clancy
“I still don’t understand. What story?”
“Let me put it this way—how did you think I became pregnant?”
“From Dad. Isn’t that what everybody thought?”
“Because of your dad’s position, that’s what we wanted everyone to think, Dear. Jonathon, the tissue sample taken from you by the doctor in Maine had a single cell extracted which was then used to impregnate an egg from me that had its nucleus removed. After some sort of electrical treatment, the egg was implanted in me. The idea was to make an exact copy of you. In other words a clone.”
On hearing this, Jonathon was stunned. He glanced over at the priest in the corner who, listening to the story, sat up transfixed.
“Now that you know, you must tell your brother he was born because, my Darling, I wanted another son like you. Steve is only a clone. But he has a right to know. He was cloned from your tissue. You’ve got to tell him. I never could bring myself to tell the story to either of you. And the whole thing was a mistake because although he looked exactly like you, he was different. His mind was different. He didn’t think the way you did. You were always practical and loving. He was cold, distant. Always had his sight set on something far away. Instead of spending time with us, he was usually down at the church...altar boy, singing in the choir, helping with the collections....”
The dying woman’s cracking voice was interrupted by a fit of coughing. Jonathon saw a thin trickle of blood on her lips running from the corner of her mouth. He wiped it with his pocket handkerchief as it ran down beside her chin.
“Mother, take it easy. Try to rest.”
“I have an eternity to rest. Right now I want to make sure you understand what happened and agree to tell Steve. I want you to swear!”
“I will, Dear. I swear.”
“What’s the name of that church he’s pastor of?”
“It’s called Holy Rosary.”
“Yes, down there outside of Washington. It has a nice name,” she said, nervously fingering her rosary beads.
“That’s right, Dear.”
On hearing that the clone was a Catholic priest, a pastor at that, the priest in the corner closed his eyes. He felt a mild tremor go through him.
The old woman struggled to sit up. “Where is Steve? Why isn’t he here? If he was here, I could tell him myself....” As she spoke, the dying lady settled back in the bed, her voice trailed off into a whisper. She rolled her head to the side and seemed to fall asleep. For ten minutes her breath came in violent snorts as her pitifully thin chest rose and fell, struggling for air. Her skeletal fingers gripped the rosary beads with feeble, convulsive movements. The priest prayed as the nurse came back into the room and stepped forward readying the stethoscope. Jonathon leaned over the bed with his hands pressed flat on top of his mother’s. His eyes were filled with tears. Then suddenly, her chest rose, her back arched up and with a rattle in her throat, she was gone.
Later, in the hall, after the nurse had left, Jonathon walked over to talk to the priest: “I suppose you heard what she said. About the cloning, I mean.”
“Yes, I did. It’s very strange and you surely know, immoral in the eyes of the church. The church only approves of conception as a result of the marital act.”
“Yes, I understand, but the important thing is that this be kept a secret. You heard her confession before she died. You are bound by the Seal of the Confessional.”
“Yes, I am. However, the confession was ended by the time she began talking to you.”
“So what do you intend to do with this information?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe nothing. Then again, the person we are talking about—your brother, is a Catholic priest. And the church is strongly opposed to human cloning, if in fact, clones can be called human. It is an affront to the teachings of the church. While artificial conception is a mortal sin, in the eyes of the church, cloning may be much worse.”
“Why? I don’t understand,” Jonathon said. “The people—the doctor and my mother, who performed or agreed to the...what can I call it...the ‘union’, may be guilty of serious sin, but surely the newborn infant has only Original Sin on its soul which is removed through Baptism. Isn’t that what the Catholic Church teaches? My brother, Steve was Baptized, I know, I was there.”
“Perhaps. But there is a troubling aspect to all of this. Let me put it this way. The Catholic Church recognizes that the person born of the union of man and woman in the marital act is a valid human being. The church teaches that God is present at the instant of conception and breathes an immortal soul into the fertilized egg.”
“What about in-vitro fertilization?”
“There too,” the priest said, anticipating the question, “the product of a man’s sperm impregnated into a woman’s egg in say, a laboratory setting is also valid although certainly not approved of. The important thing is that in either of these cases, living sperm impregnates a living egg and God is present at this instant of conception as he breathes an immortal soul into the embryo. Without ensoulment, there can be no human being. If Holy Mother Church determines that a clone—the result of a man-made laboratory process, that produces an unnatural twin twenty or so years later, does not have a soul, the newborn is no more than a sub-human, akin to an animal.”
“That’s an ultra-conservative way to look at it. Uncharitable, I would say. Certainly in the eyes of the law, a human clone is as valid as anyone else. My brother, for example, has a valid birth certificate, a baptismal certificate, a social security number, two arms and two legs; in short, no one can say he’s anything less than a human being.”
“Aside from the fact that human cloning is illegal, what you say about the cloned individual is true in the eyes of the law, but now we are talking about the eyes of God. Look, Mr. Murphy, I’m not saying I know the position Holy Mother Church will ultimately take on the validity of a human clone. The Pope’s Curia in Rome will undoubtedly study the issue at length. But there is serious cause for concern, especially since your brother is a Catholic priest. Even if he is found to have validity as a human being, can you imagine the confusion and the scandal of having a clone as a minister of God? Who would want to go to confession, receive holy communion, or be married by what some people would perceive as a laboratory robot in the guise of a human being?”
“Wait a minute,” Jonathon argued, growing angry, “there’s a big difference between a robot and a clone.”
“Is there really?” the priest countered, very conscious of the fact that the dialog had broken down into an argument. It prodded him to a decision. Walking abruptly back into the death room, he collected up his things, nodded as he brushed by Jonathon on the way out and went straight to a telephone to call Bishop Rhinehart in the Archdiocese of Washington. It was this call that set in motion Bishop Rhinehart’s investigation into the cloning of Reverend Stephen Murphy and his subsequent decision to remove Murphy from his parish.
20
At Boston’s Logan Airport Steve rented a car and drove to a nearby religious haberdashery where he was fitted with a black suit complete with Roman collar. Since he was a perfect 44 long, the only tailoring required was to cuff the trousers. While waiting, he decided to walk down the block to a shoe store where he bought a pair of black shoes. On a lark, he stopped in a sports store for a short-sleeved Boston Celtics T-shirt.
Finally, suited up, he looked at himself in the haberdashery shop’s full length mirror. Seeing a gauntness in his face, “not good,” he muttered under his breath, “but not too bad considering I just got out of the hospital and also considering I spent a couple of days hiking through the Sonora desert.”
Steve drove to a nearby Catholic Church where he sat in the back row during the noon Mass. Feeling buoyed up, he happily succumbed to the nostalgic urge to drive out to Boston’s western suburbs via the scenic route: first through historic Lexington, then Concord and on past Walden Pond into Wayland. As he drove into Wayland, the town where he had been raised, his mood changed abruptly.
He stopped briefly at the side of the road to peer through the sycamore trees at the palatial home of the Murphy family. He had little desire to enter the property. His memories of growing up there were not pleasant. As his mother’s alcoholism had become more pronounced she became increasingly reclusive. He remembered how the family had lived in near total darkness in the house because the shades were pulled down and drapes closed almost all the time. She said the light bothered her eyes. The only bright periods came when his father returned from Washington after the legislative sessions ended. In later years, after his father died, the situation grew much worse. Steve was never able to decide whether the physical or verbal abuse was more difficult to bear. Visitors to the house were few. Social life non-existent. There were no other relatives he could appeal to. Although his brother Jonathon was sympathetic, he was careful to avoid getting into their mother’s line of fire. As soon as he was of age, Steve left to prepare for the priesthood while Jonathon remained at home, doing what he could to care for their mother.
Despite the unpleasant memories, Steve found himself looking forward to seeing his brother again. Their only meeting in years had occurred in the brief encounter at their mother’s funeral. Afterwards, Jonathon had gone on to assume the duties as executor of the estate and Steve had returned to Washington convinced that he was not in line to inherit anything substantial of the estate’s assets. Nor was he troubled by this since he was reasonably comfortable in a financial sense. His wants were few and the acquisition of wealth had never interested him. He regretted not being able to get a timely flight from Washington to be at his mother’s bedside before she died. Later, back in Washington after the funeral, he had offered up a Mass and made a special novena at Holy Rosary parish church for the repose of his mother’s soul. It was only a few days after his trip to Boston to attend the funeral when he had received the letter transferring him to Catholic University. Then, a few months later, the transfer to the Passion Brothers Monastery in Arizona.
*****
Steve sat at a desk across from Jonathon in the Murphy Real Estate office. It was Sunday afternoon and the sign on the office door was turned to ‘CLOSED’. The two saleswomen who worked for Jonathon were out of the office for the day sitting on open houses. Jonathon’s long-time office manager, Marge, probably had the day off. Steve got up and walked over to the big picture window in the office. He saw that the white steepled church across the street, the library, the Wayland National Bank, the small red brick post office, and the drug store were exactly as he remembered them. This was the heart of Wayland, the place he rode to on his bike when he went ‘downtown’.
Jonathon walked up to the window and stood beside his brother. “Just think, I’ve been here all my life,” he said, motioning with one hand at the buildings across the street that made up the heart of the town. “Never went anywhere except into Boston. Although I did take a weekend trip to New York once. Nobody’s ever had any trouble finding me, Steve. I’ve been here up to my ears running the family businesses. Spend half my week here in the real estate office, the other half running the tax office.”
The same tiresome old complaint, Steve thought. I’ve left him holding the bag. I notice he doesn’t complain about having all the property and most of the money.
“Do you ever get the feeling you’d like to pitch in? I could bring you up to speed in no time and I really could use some help. I don’t know the time frame for this damn medical problem I’ve got and I don’t want to know, but somewhere down the road I won’t be able to handle all this stuff.”
“I’m sympathetic Jonathon, really I am, but when the time comes some other arrangement will have to be made. I’ve got a lifetime job.”
“Get real, Steve, your church doesn’t want you. They ship you all over the place and now you’re a renegade—on the run.”
“Who told you that?”
“I learned it from Bishop Rhinehart. Yes, I called his office. I was worried. Find that hard to believe? After you left Catholic U, nobody knew where you were. All I could learn was that you were somewhere in Arizona. Even your friend Janet came up here to inquire about you. She was worried too.”
“Janet actually came to see you?”
“Yes. And by God, Steve she’s a beauty. And I’ll let you in on a little secret, although you probably know already.”
“Know what? That she’s married?”
“That she’s head over heels in love with you.”
“Perhaps, but maybe she just thinks she is.”
Jonathon put his arm around his brother’s shoulder. He believed he meant it as a friendly gesture but Steve saw it as an opening gesture in attempting to exercise control. Whenever Jonathon had tried to bring his younger brother around to his way of thinking in the past, it was always with the arm around the shoulder. “Come on, Steve, give it up. Marry the girl and live happily ever after. Have kids, settle here in Wayland. Concord’s her hometown, she’s a New England gal, you wouldn’t have any trouble getting her to agree to settle down here.”
“There are just a couple of hitches,” Steve said. “First of all she’s married. And although they were separated, they may be back together. The other problem, and I know I sound like a broken record, but I’m a priest and plan to remain a priest.”
“Well whatever happens Steve, one thing you don’t have to worry about is money. You may not be aware of the fact that after Dad died, mother remembered you in her will. I guess toward the end she started feeling guilty. If you hadn’t disappeared, you would have learned about it.”
“I didn’t disappear, I was transferred. When I got to the monastery there was no way to write or call out.”
“The account is in your name in the Wayland National Bank. It’s sitting right there across the street. It’s a sizeable amount. Of course, I hold all the family real estate and titles to both businesses, but that could be remedied if you decided to settle here and pitch in. Frankly, I have far more in the way of assets than I will ever need. Why don’t you think about it? I’ll be here in Wayland... whatever you decide.”
Steve walked to a desk and sank into a chair. Although the day was cool, he found the office uncomfortably warm. He removed his suitcoat and Roman collar with black dickey as Jonathon went to the rear of the office and brought out a couple of soft drinks from a refrigerator.
“Celtics fan?” Jonathon asked with a smile.
Looking down at the Celtics T-shirt front, Steve laughed. “Used to be, but it’s hard to keep up on the team when you’re in a desert monastery with no television sets.”
As the brothers sat talking, Steve noticed something odd, something he had either never noticed before or never paid any attention to. Somehow, it gave him a strange, uneasy feeling, although he would have been at a loss to explain why. He sat examining two moles on his brother’s right wrist and a small bony lump a few inches away. He realized all three body markings were the same size and in the same location as his own. He also observed something the average person probably would not notice—a slightly misshapen ear lobe on the right side. It looked like a v-shaped indentation. Steve realized his own right ear had an identical imperfection. Then as he studied the features of his brother’s craggy, lined face, he had an eerie feeling he was looking at a twin of himself— but a twin almost twenty years older. How could it be? It was like looking into a demonic mirror and seeing himself twenty years in the future. My God, he thought, is this the aged face on the painting of Dorian Gray? Only this isn’t a painting. This is real. He was confused. His mind raced.
“What are you thinking?” Jonathon asked, studying Steve’s contorted face.
“Something peculiar just struck me. I never really noticed it before, but I see that you and I have some extremely similar physical characteristics.”
“Does that bother you?”
“Frankly, I never paid any attention to our resemblance, even when people years ago were always saying how much alike we looked and how we had the same mannerisms. I guess I t
hought that’s how brothers tend to look, but now I wonder. This seems to be more than that.”
“You’re right, Steve, it is more than that. We are more than brothers. We’re identical twins.”
“Utterly ridiculous,” Steve said with a smirk. “You’re almost twenty years older than I am.” He thought his brother must be making a sick joke. But his skepticism soon changed as a thought occurred to him. He felt a slow burn coming on as he grew red in the face. It was anger not embarrassment stemming from a sudden, sinister suspicion. He leaned forward, glaring at his brother. “I remember that Mom and Dad had grown apart. You remember they had separate bedrooms. Did Mom have an affair?”
“Not really. I have to tell you that I was involved, although it was inadvertent.”
“That’s ridiculous. How could you not know?” Slowly, Steve’s mouth drew up tight. He felt his fists clenching. “If I actually thought I was the product of an incestuous relationship, I’d beat the hell out of you.”
“Funny thing for a priest to say,” Jonathon replied.
“Well, tell me, straight out. You seem to know who I am. So, tell me— who am I?”
“It’s not incest, Steve. At least, not the type you’re thinking of. Don’t get mad at me about it, I wasn’t aware of it when it was happening. I went into the hospital for some kind of tests and a doctor took some blood and tissue samples. Mother was in the hospital at the same time getting some kind of treatment. They said she had contracted an infection from a bug. They said they were testing me for the same infection.”
“Where did all this happen?”
“It was a hospital way up in northern Maine, out in the boondocks, close to the Canadian border. I think it was more of a medical research center than a hospital.”