A River Divided Read online

  “Forget about it,” he said. “This is risible. You couldn’t even do it with the tiger.”

  “It probably wouldn’t work, even if I wanted to …”

  He had heard her, but he wanted to hear her say it again. “Even if you wanted to do what? Clone? I don’t believe you mean that.”

  Thoughts of cloning were quickly elbowed away by thoughts of his personal loss.

  Halfway through his meal, Michael could no longer endure the uncertainty. Surely what she was thinking could not be as bad as what he was imagining. “Evelyn, nobody has cloned a human. This is not the Tasmanian tiger. This isn’t an experiment, you know. And what about the risks? The obstetric complications? Besides, who’s going to bear the child? If it ever came to that.”

  “Me. I would.”

  Her words made him feel ill. “You would do what? Put yourself at huge risk? ... And you know very well human cloning is banned.”

  “If I didn’t believe it was Him, I never would have thought of it.”

  He could not hold back. “Too bad you’re not a virgin …”

  She leaned back and looked at the ocean. He continued, “Do you even know what you’re talking about? If you fail you die, and if you succeed there goes the Messiah.”

  She turned sharply to face him. “Oh, come on, Michael.”

  He was caught out. He was exaggerating, but there was nothing to hold on to. Evelyn was deaf to all but her own arguments. The loss of hope felt like a physical blow. He could no longer hope for a child with her. What is the meaning of life if the person you love poisons you?

  Mechanically he took a bite of bread dipped in olive oil; it moved down his throat, heavy and tasteless. The idea of cloning was revolting enough, but this was nothing compared to the bitterness of his personal loss. She was rejecting him in the most fundamental way.

  When she was still in love with him, they had talked about having a child. Then she lost her way. This further rejection should not have come as a surprise. Yet, she had not moved on to someone else, not even for sex. So, hope had remained, hidden somewhere deep inside. He was the only man in her life—until now that this skeleton came between them.

  “Anyway, it’s going to be impossible. I might not even try,” he heard her say.

  He knew she was just saying that. In reality, she had already decided. Fatherhood would have been the consolation. With Evelyn in her mid-forties, this would have been his last chance for a child with her.

  His last hope had just turned to despair.

  The more she thought about it, the more conflicted she became.

  Evelyn wove her way through the Saturday crowd on The Corso at Manly, the birthday gift for her six-year-old niece in her hand. She was confused, plagued by unanswerable questions, but the allure of cloning would not go away. What about impregnation? What if I succeed?

  Michael was never far from her thoughts. She would need his help, but how could she ask knowing how much he wanted his own child with her? When she had broken it off, she had emphasized her desire to remain friends, but he had made it clear she was the only one for him. She hid her jealousy when he dated other women. The last thing she wanted was to see him alone and unhappy just because it could not work between them. A part of her still wondered if anything could rekindle her love for him—presumably the same part that kept jealousy alive. Perhaps having his baby would be the way to bond again; perhaps raising a child together might be enough.

  Not really, she thought, as she recalled that her father had had no regrets about abandoning them. A child is not enough. It is not enough to create love; it is not enough to sustain it.

  With thinking no more lucid than before, she arrived at the ocean beach her sister had chosen for her daughter’s party. The greasy smell of takeaway food was replaced by the fresh breeze of the Pacific. Blue waves curled before breaking into white froth and pounding the shore. There was a sheltered cove at the southern end, safe enough for children.

  Evelyn spotted her niece making a sandcastle at water’s edge with her friends. Dripping wet sand through their fingers, the children were building towers with tall spires. They had dug a hole large enough for two of them to shore up the walls from inside the castle, while the other two worked on the moat around it. She stood back and watched.

  If I really wanted a child, I could have one with Michael. Discovering the bones is more than enough for anyone.

  What right did she have to recreate a person, especially when there was no way of foreseeing how it would impact the baby? The science was too limited. She could not predict the genetic implications, let alone the behavioral ones. In worst-case scenario, she would bring into the world a child with DNA so damaged he would not enjoy a decent life. What mother would knowingly inflict that on her child?

  When lunch was announced, the girls abandoned the castle, squealing as they ran to their towels. Kathryn was shepherding the children, fussing over them, loving them.

  This was what was missing in Evelyn’s life. She walked over and gave her niece her present. “Happy birthday, Leanne.”

  “Aunty Evelyn!”

  She lifted her niece in her arms. The girl was very much like Kathryn around the nose and eyes. As they hugged, Evelyn could feel sticky sunscreen smearing across her face and onto her clothes.

  Her niece tore the paper to uncover a palette and a box of paints. “It’ll soon be Monet, Modigliani, Picasso and Leanne,” said Evelyn.

  Leanne looked puzzled and Kathryn said, “She hasn’t heard of all these guys.”

  “I know who Picasso is,” said Leanne. “Come on, Aunty, tell my friends about the tortoise and the hare.”

  After lunch, Evelyn went to swim with the children in the shallows.

  Later she watched Kathryn teach her daughter how to hold out her arms, timing her dive so she entered the water head first, the wave washing over her. A child is what remains after romance evaporates.

  A cool southerly change cut the party short. Evelyn helped her sister load food, toys and fractious children into the car. She then walked back toward the harbor ferry, passing through the greasy food smells again before arriving at the welcome scent of freshly ground coffee at The Corso.

  She began noticing children everywhere. Their presence was so intense that it felt as if previously they had not existed. They were strong, healthy and happy. Seeing the kids play reminded her of games she had played with her sister. Kathryn had always wanted to be the mother, forcing Evelyn into various other roles—baby, milkman, gardener, husband. When she was older, Evelyn had insisted on playing the doctor and even the scientist after they were given a microscope for Christmas.

  Most of her university friends had drifted out of her life after they married. She had gone to their weddings and christenings, dutifully happy for them. She sensed they were secretly sorry for her for being childless, but she had rarely felt the lack. Children were something to be put off until some distant date. Unlike Kathryn, she had never felt the burning desire to be a mother.

  Babies never settled quietly in her arms. They seemed to sense she was anxious holding them. She didn’t understand them and was intimidated by their vulnerability—their soft skulls and tiny bodies. She had been unwilling to hold even her niece when she visited Kathryn at the maternity hospital. But her sister had insisted, and she remembered the feeling of cradling Leanne and how she snuggled against her chest—it had been beautiful, but uncomfortable. When inevitably Leanne cried and Kathryn expertly calmed her, Evelyn felt inadequate.

  On The Corso, there was a young street singer, his skateboard resting against a palm tree, his amplifier and speakers behind him, the case of his guitar with its rich red interior open in front of him. He was singing an old tune, The House of the Rising Sun. Two girls were sitting cross-legged on a bench behind him, their bodies moving in synch with the rhythm. Two other girls stopped, one of them bending to leave a coin. Everything was moving slowly, except her thoughts.

  If she were to go through with her plan, she would have to commit to being a mother. If the cloning worked, it would mean looking after a child, a real baby, not some ephemeral experiment. This was something that would go on forever—for the rest of her life. This was not a job where she could close the lab and go home. And unlike Kathryn, unlike most women, she would be setting out to do this without a partner. All alone. Is this what I really want?

  On the other hand, Kathryn had what she wanted—a child, someone to love and to be loved by. Evelyn reflected on things her sister had exulted over—the first word, the first step, the first day at school. She started feeling something that was more than just emotional; it was physical. It was as though her body had awakened and was demanding a child. And I could raise a child who might make a difference.

  Drops of rain started to fall. Her eternal optimism about the weather did not serve her well—she was without umbrella. Neither was her thinking on cloning anything rational. She was jumping the gun on every occasion. First of all, she had to extract viable DNA—a huge ask. There were hardly any animal studies to use as a guide, let alone human data. And then who knows what the consequences would be for the child?

  She shivered. What if cloning shortened telomeres and the child aged prematurely? There could be other genetic defects. It was impossible to know. What would it be like raising a child with a disability?

  Kathryn was always anxious about health issues with Leanne. Imagine a child who would need constant care for the rest of his life. It dawned on her she was not sure she was willing to sacrifice her science, her lifestyle, herself for a hypothetical child, especially given the risk of things going wrong, horribly wrong—for the baby, for me.

  She had now reached the middle of The Corso—the halfway point between a turbulent ocean and a safe harbor.
If I am serious about having a baby, then I need to think like a mother. I need to decide what is best for my baby. In that case, I should not clone. End of story.

  And, besides, she would be suppressing the data. She would be depriving the scientific community of the discovery of His remains and herself the pleasure of publishing it. If she followed one road, the other would be forever forfeited.

  But not quite, she thought. Not forever. If cloning failed, I would still have the chance to publish the find.

  The display board at the terminal showed the ferry departing in three minutes and she quickened her pace to catch it.

  She sat on the outdoor section that would give her views of the North and South Heads and, between them, the Pacific Ocean. At the end of the journey, she would pass meters west of the Opera House.

  But I was so close with the thylacine, she reflected. So close. I could have corrected a human error—the extinction of a species. The tiger would have graced again the Tasmanian landscape.

  If I give myself a chance, I might correct a far greater injustice. If ever there were a reason for cloning …

  Out of habit, Michael tapped out a tune on Evelyn’s red front door, feeling anything but jaunty.

  Three weeks had passed since she had mentioned the possibility of cloning and they had not spoken of it again. Standing on her steps, his mind ran through possible variations of the impending conversation. He was not yet sure how he would react if she persisted with the cloning idea. Was it an idea or had it become a plan? He wanted to be prepared, but anxiety prevented him from thinking clearly. He had even tried to talk himself out of going altogether.

  In the end, something she had said weakened his resolve to distance himself. On the phone, when inviting him to dinner, she had mentioned how the sight of her sister with little Leanne had triggered a yearning for a child of her own. She had said it in passing, but it set off bells in his head. I need to know what she wants from me, he thought. Although he was trying to keep his mind free of expectations, his hopes were soaring—perhaps now the time was right for them to start a family together, couple or not.

  “Finally, you are here,” Evelyn said with excitement, but he could see the smile did not reach her eyes.

  They both went for the same side for a kiss on the cheek, and, without meaning to, they kissed on the lips.

  “Are you hungry? Shall we eat straight away or would you like some wine first?”

  “It smells nice.” It was his favorite of Evelyn’s dishes, roasted rack of lamb with vegetables. “We can drink with dinner.”

  He sat opposite her at the oval table, served the food and poured the red shiraz. “You know, you’ll have to give up the wine if you get pregnant.”

  Evelyn smiled in a way that revealed nothing. She kept talking about her lab, her niece, the construction delays for the upcoming Sydney Olympics, and kept asking about his work—everything but the reason he was there. He responded automatically as he glanced around the room. It was familiar, cozy. He had to remind himself he was just a guest. The creaky velvet couch, so inviting and soft, was draped with the batik she had bought on a trip to Indonesia. Her niece’s paintings were stuck on the walls and on the fridge. Even the off-white walls seemed warm. He had hired an interior designer for his own house, but it always felt far from the home he envisioned sharing with her one day.

  Right here was what he wanted, but it could just as well have been in another world. If only she would give in to her feelings … I know she loves me. If I believed she didn’t, I would be able to let go.

  He cut her off mid-sentence. “Let’s not beat around the bush, Evelyn. We might be many things, but not hypocrites. Tell me straight. What’s going on?”

  She repositioned the salt and pepper grinders and smoothed a nonexistent crease on the tablecloth. “Michael, honestly, what do you think? Am I dreaming or could it really be Him?”

  “There are alternative explanations.”

  “But the scroll and the dates?”

  “You still can’t be certain. You only know of one crucifixion and you think it must be Him. What about the thousands of others?” He saw her take a deep breath. Was that a sign of doubt or frustration?

  “I understand that rationally, logically, what you say is right. But I know, I know, even without hard evidence, this skeleton belongs to Him.”

  “Evelyn, that’s hardly science.”

  “What can I say? All the circumstantial evidence is consistent. I haven’t fabricated anything. I’ve exaggerated nothing.”

  “You have joined the dots and ignored the gaps. You cannot be certain, even if you feel you are.”

  “But what more should I expect? Some sort of death certificate? I mean, this isn’t a mathematical proof. The scroll and the—”

  “What you’re saying might make gut sense to you, Evelyn, but to someone else …”

  “Yes, well, I believe it. I think I’ve found Him.”

  “You have a hypothesis looking for evidence.”

  “For me, it’s the only hypothesis that fits the evidence.”

  They stared at each other. Confronted with her certainty, he tapped her glass with his. “You certainly found somebody.”

  “Michael, we were in love with each other once and now you’re my best friend. There is no one as close to me as you.” She paused, biting her lip.

  Her words made him uneasy—compliments laid to soften a blow. He recalled the magic dusks they had spent on Maroubra Beach and thought of the photo on his bedroom dresser—the two of them embracing in front of rolling waves. A relic of a romance lost.

  “I want to have a child, but …”

  Perhaps she just wants my technical help, he thought. Maybe she wants me to be the father; could I hope? He tried to meet her eyes again, but her gaze kept roaming around the room. “Evelyn, you’re stubborn and as distant as the dark side of the moon. But I’d like to know if I can help.”

  She was now looking at him intensely. It seemed this was exactly what she was hoping to hear. “I know you objected when I mentioned it,” she said. “But I want to produce a clone and impregnate myself with the embryo.”

  The words streamed from her mouth in perfect diction, but they were not what he wanted to hear. Her eyes were still fixed on him. He cursed his own naïveté. What did he think she was going to say? How could I have been so unprepared?

  “I know you will not like me for this,” she continued. “But this is my plan, my hope. I need to have my eggs harvested so I can combine them with the nuclei from the cells of—”

  He couldn’t listen anymore. “That’s where I come in, right?” he interrupted. “Technical gynecological support.”

  “I know I’m asking for too much. It’s unlikely I’ll succeed anyway …” her voice trailed off.

  He stared at her. Her face had gone white. She knows she needs me, he thought. Nobody else will help her. But what about me? Maybe I am mistaken. She can’t be saying this is all I am to her.

  He took a big breath. “So, what then?” he prompted. “I imagine you have some sort of back-up plan involving me.”

  “I was thinking, if I fail,” she said, as though weighing her words, “I would still be able to go through with IVF and sperm donation. I haven’t really planned that far ahead. Maybe I would just give up.”

  She stopped, but only for a moment. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but will you help me? I need an obstetrician and I can’t go to anyone but you.”

  “It is ‘a lot to ask,’ Evelyn.”

  His worst fear was confirmed. If only he could go and leave it all behind.

  “How do you think I feel?” he finally asked. “Have you any idea? Do you really think you have good enough reasons to justify this? You’re doing all this, you’re rejecting me, on the slimmest of evidence.”

  She was silent. He agitated his glass of wine, watching the red fluid swirl. She was obsessed with the idea. He felt weighed down by anger. In silence, he tried to reason—she is a clever scientist, but she can also be so naive. I loved that about her, but not in this way. Not now.