TWINS

TWINS                                   

 (by Richard Banks)

I am a twin, identical in every detail to my brother, Jonathan. We are the same inside and out, a symmetry that extends to our personal traits. We laugh at the same jokes, watch the same films, dig the same music, we are affable, outgoing, if there’s a party we’ll be there. We like the same people, have the same politics, are impatient of those who stand in our way. We are clever, equally clever, our IQ is the same, 139.

         Only in our conception are we different. Jonathan is the product of human procreation, myself the handiwork of medical science. I am the spare. To be precise I am a fifth-generation, 28B. In the common vernacular, I am a clone. My function is to ensure the survival of Jonathan. If our father had had his way Jonathan would have been the first of many sons; sons who would have continued his business empire, ensuring its survival for hundreds of years. Why father was incapable of having further children I don’t know; this was not a subject he wished to discuss. What we can be sure of is that he became obsessively protective of Jonathan. Without him, without the children he was expected to provide, his vision for a business dynasty was at an end.  That father was able to afford the best medical care for his son was not enough, he needed to ensure that should Jonathan lose an organ or limb that a perfect match be available to replace it. I was, therefore, brought into this world when Jonathan was two years old, to supply the body parts that might be needed should he fall short of his normal good health. In this plan, I had no say, no right to object, indeed no rights of any kind. As a man-made entity I am the legal equivalent of a household machine. In the eyes of the law, I am inferior to Whiskers, the family cat.

         Our father being the practical, straightforward man of business that he was informed me of my situation when I was eleven years old and about to leave home for Harrow. To him, my existence was a generous act of philanthropy for which I should have been grateful. On finding that I was not he was at first angry but on the intervention of our mother condescended to explain my situation with all the powers of persuasion for which he was renown.

         There was, he said, every chance that I would live a long and happy life. Of course, I was not permitted to marry or have children, indeed the ability to procreate had, at my making, been removed from my biochemical functioning. That was the law over which, he assured me, he had no influence. What was within his gift was to give me access to all the material benefits that his great wealth could buy. In return, I was to make whatever sacrifices were necessary to ensure the good health of my brother. Who knows what they might be, perhaps no more than a pint or two of blood, some glands or soft tissue. Those I could do without. Even if an eye or kidney was required I could manage perfectly well with one. The heart and brain were, of course, another matter but those he hoped would never be needed. There was every prospect that I would live for many years, more or less intact. Until then it was best I put all morbid thoughts aside and concentrate on the good life he intended I should enjoy to the full. As if to illustrate this point he handed me the biggest chocolate bar I had ever seen and sent me out to play.

         Fortunately, optimism is a natural condition of the young and knowing that my brother was possessed of vigorous good health encouraged me to think that I had little reason to be concerned. Also, mother had given me a lucky charm and this I wore around my neck night and day. It was an uncharacteristic act of kindness from her that meant much to me at the time although I am now persuaded that the principal reason for the giving was to distinguish me from my brother, her only true son. Of course, she would also have known me from the registration mark inserted on my person by my creators. A mark that was clearly visible at bath time but, as we grew older and showered in private, was seldom seen, even by myself.

         Harrow I enjoyed, as did Jonathan. Two brothers, together at work and play, straight ‘A’ scholars who were also ever-present in the school rugby and cricket teams until Jonathan was hit by a cricket ball that rendered him bruised and unconscious. It was then that father decreed we be excluded from all sports involving hard balls and hard knocks, a prohibition which did not extend to tennis and athletics at which we also excelled. It was in our final year there that Jonathan took to smoking Scaff, a development I observed with increasing concern. The perils of inhaling addictive substances were well known, but Jonathan was eager for every new experience and when a new brand called Rapture became available he was soon a regular user. This presented me with a moral dilemma. Did I say nothing about this out of loyalty to my brother or did I inform on him to remove a risk to his health that one day might have become a risk to mine? Him or me? It was a stark choice, and once I had decided in favour of me I knew there was no way I was going to lay down my life for his. However, we were a long way from this happening and, as father said, it might never happen. Our form master administered the usual punishment to Jonathan’s posterior and father arrived unexpectedly one evening to do much the same. Suitably chastised and back on the straight and narrow Jonathan sought his revenge by trying to make me second best in every sporting and academic contest in which we were obliged to compete. Fortunately, I had the common sense to let him win and by degrees, we returned to the good fellowship we had previously enjoyed.

         Our progression onto Oxford was no more than we expected. That’s not to say we were complaisant, far from it, but for both of us, failure was not an option. We were cleverer than the rest and worked harder, how could we fail. Largely unsupervised as we now were Jonathan again succumbed to the allure of Rapture, an attraction that fortunately was not shared by his girlfriend, Marlena, who detested both its aroma and the strange behaviour it induced. Having given him an ultimatum that it was either her or the weed Jonathan decided that the ample attraction of Marlena was well worth the sacrifice demanded of him. To keep her on the case I let slip that Jonathan was the heir to a larger than large fortune, information that caused her to be as concerned as myself that he should stay safe and healthy.

         Marlena was definitely good news not only for Jonathan and me but also for father who soon recognised in her the qualities he considered essential in a suitable daughter-in-law. Qualities that were only enhanced by the knowledge that she had six siblings, five of whom were brothers. At father’s insistence, they were engaged to be married, their legal union to take place as soon as they graduated. They would then receive a wedding gift of twenty-five million credits followed by five million more on the birth of every son. That each one had to be medically examined to prove Jonathan’s sireage showed that father did not altogether trust Marlena. In this, he was later proved right, as he was in nearly everything else.

         Eighteen months later the three of us collected our degrees and trooped back to father to begin the next phase of our lives. Jonathan and Marlena were duly married, he appointed Vice President of the company’s New York office and myself dispatched to the Nordic Federation to supervise our mining operations there. It was sink or swim and when I doubled our profits even father was impressed. Jonathan, however, was swimming among corporate sharks who were only too happy to see him drown if that furthered their own hopes of advancement. That father knew what was going on I do not doubt but if he expected his son to win through he was to be disappointed. For the first time in his life, Jonathan knew how it felt to be unsuccessful and the feeling filled him with a shame that could only be dulled by narcotics and alcohol. Within a year he became a shadow of his former self, unable to function either in the workplace or in the work of begetting a son. When I received a video call from Marlena asking me to pay them a visit, but not to tell father, I knew that something was seriously wrong and that the something was likely to have unwanted consequences for me.

         I arrived to find Jonathan in bed, knocked out with morphine and covered in cuts and bruises from a fall that had seen him plummet from the balcony of their bedroom. It was, she said, no accident; he had meant to fly, not fall. She took me out onto the balcony and, having pointed out the place of his landing, closed the doors behind us. She wished to discuss what she described as, “our options”. He had, so she told me, broken six bones but the most serious damage was to his liver which was already the worse for wear from his excessive consumption of drugs and alcohol. She felt sure that I no more wished to lose such an essential organ than she to remain within an abusive, loveless marriage.

         “I thought you two were happy?” I said.

         The advantage of asking a question to which you already know the answer is that it gives you valuable thinking time. I recalled my earlier determination that, come push to shove, I was not prepared to give up my life to save Jonathan or anyone else. No doubt once my liver was put into him a replacement would be found for me but this might be only the first of many sacrifices to come. Was Marlena warning me so I could make myself scarce or did she have another plan? Whatever it was I had a feeling that Jonathan’s recovery was not going to be a part of it. Marlena’s recitation of her matrimonial misfortunes came to an end. She waited anxiously for my response.

         “It’s the drugs,” I said. “Get him off the drugs and he’ll be back to how he was.”

         “Not on Hi-Trek he won’t.”

         She had a point. No one had ever kicked that habit.

         “So what’s to be done? Does father know?”

         Marlena shook her head. “Only that he mixes booze and hash. Best it stays that way.”

         “But he’s going to find out sometime.”

         “Well, that rather depends on us. What good would telling him do, it would break his heart, the end of his dreams. And if we did, what would the next few years bring for us? How many body parts would you lose before what’s left of you was put in cold storage? How much shit can I go on taking?”

         “Is there nothing we can do for Jonathan?”

         “If father gets involved his life might be prolonged a year or two, but why put him through that. He’s already lost to us. There are days he doesn’t know who he is, even what he is. It’s only going to get worse.” For a few moments, she was overwhelmed with emotion which I was inclined to believe might be genuine. She slipped her hand into mine. “Of course, there is a way out.”

         “What’s that?”

         “Do you remember how you use to steal kisses from me while pretending to be Jonathan? Don’t look so coy. We both know it was you. When it went no further than that, there could only be one explanation, that you didn’t want me to see the telltale mark on your backside. Is it still there?”

         I replied that I had had it removed in NorFed.

         Her hand tightened its hold on mine. “I thought that might be the case. There’s so much now that can be done on the black market. All strictly illegal, of course, but don’t worry I won’t snitch on you. But then you knew that or you wouldn’t have told me. Would I be right in thinking that the same person who removed your mark would be equally skilled in inserting one of identical appearance?”

         “That would be big bucks,” I said.

         “But feasible?”

         I nodded.

         “Then this is what we must do.”

                                                *****

Fifty-seven years have passed since Jonathan was encouraged to fly again, this time from cliffs overlooking the Dover Straits. The initial stir caused by the discovery of his body was soon stilled by the news that it was only that of a clone, the property of a Star Zone businessman. The body was parcelled up by the Civil Bureau and sent to father in the clothes it was wearing, along with my watch, the contents of my wallet and the chain that mother had given me when a child. A few days later a Certificate of Determination was also received attributing the demise of the clone to an accident or genetic malfunction. The possibility of foul play was, of course, never considered, there being no crime on the statute book relating to the murder of a cloned being. The owner’s rights in the wilful destruction of his or her property rested only in the taking out of a civil action to secure compensation. As most clones were insured, like any other item of significant value, it can only be supposed that father put in a claim that returned to him the cost of my creation. Did father ever have any doubts about the identity of the body on the beach? Being father it would be surprising if he didn’t. Perhaps that was the reason he invited me to join him in the sauna of his club. When the next day he told me he wanted a grandson by the turn of the year I knew for the time being, at least, I was in the clear.

         In the matter of children, he was, of course, to be disappointed. I was, to use a tawdry expression, firing blanks, a deficiency, however, much appreciated by Marlena who saw motherhood as an affliction worse than the plague. Returned to New York, this time as President, I took my revenge on Jonathan’s persecutors and oversaw an expansion of the company’s business that had me winning the Achievement in Commerce Award. While father was suitably impressed he left me in no doubt that I was failing him in my primary objective.

         “Did I need a new wife?” He asked.

         I replied that Marlena was well up to the job and to prove it a month later we declared a pregnancy that soon after became a miscarriage. Eighteen months later we pulled the same stunt again. Father’s anger at these reverses slowly cooled to a smouldering frustration, and when I pointed out to him that he had only fathered one child, the muted response I received indicated that he was now blaming himself as much as me. When more time passed without a grandson he changed his will naming Henry, his nephew’s son, as his heir after myself should I remain childless. The young man, as he was then, has been provided with a thorough grounding in the family business that should enable him, once his turn comes, to be a worthy successor to myself.

         Now that father is no more I am Henry’s sole advisor and confidant. It is a role I have taken much trouble in, spending many hours in his company. He is suitably grateful, as well he should be. I sometimes tell myself that I do this because that’s what father would have wanted, but the main reason, if not the whole reason, is that I like being Jonathan and want nothing more than to be him after my death.

         When I die medical scrutiny may reveal me to be the imposter I am. If so, I will be incinerated with other household waste. That’s why I have written this account of my life, my unexpurgated testimony. This, Henry, is for your eyes only. Allow no autopsies! no medical fussing! See me decently buried in the family tomb, make sure I am remembered as Jonathan, the man who gave sixty years of his life to the company which will soon be yours. Also be generous to Marlena who, if she outlives me, could be charged with my brother’s murder. Remember that without her intervention you might never have become what you are today. Remember also that every corporate document I signed with Jonathan’s name would, if the truth is discovered, be open to legal challenge. All good reasons for doing as I ask.

                                             *****

I am the spare brought into this world to ensure Jonathan’s survival into old age, a resource to be disposed of once my usefulness was at an end. Made in his image I was imbued with all his flaws and virtues. Am I less worthy than he? A greater villain? Would his loyalty to me have been more than mine to him? I doubt it. He was the template to which I was made. How then can I be worse than him? Find fault in my construction, not in me. If man must make man make them better not the same.  

[2,991 words]

©  Copywrite of author