My friend Elmer is something of a genius. Like me he prefers to stay inside and read, but an important distinction between us is that he is an engineering genius. He has made his family a tremendous amount of money working for computer engineering firms, up to contractors for the US military, and by the time he was 33, he was a millionaire. He still lived in his house in Alabang Hills, where he grew up, but he bought two adjoining lots, and he extended his room to include a studio where created his most complicated creations.

I’ve asked Elmer to invite me whenever he needed anything tested. The wonder I feel whenever I test one of his devices is one of the few things in my life that keeps me from ending it all. And there are very few of those things remaining.

That afternoon, his mom answered the door. They had a very large house. His parents were rich even before Elmer made his millions helping the Obama government with his drone campaigns in the Middle East. Still, they only had a few helpers around the house, because his parents wanted to do everything. This led to Elmer being neglected as a kid. During this time, he tended to smash his toys open to see how they worked.

Ultimately, I considered Elmer someone who is just as obsessed with the truth as I was. He went about it a different way, and meditated on a different aspect of truth: The physical world, the way these physical things interacted so that we may shape the world as we will.

Elmer’s mom has known me for years, ever since her son and I had been classmates in high school. She liked me because I smiled and listened to her and validated her feelings. I feel a sort of kindship, too, with Elmer’s mother, even if she was the type of older woman that had no regard for the truth whatsoever. She had long ago irretrievably confused her own egotistic fantasies and desires for the truth; so long ago that the tendency has completely entrenched itself upon her habits, her behavior, her relationships, her life. But I treated them like the sacred truth, just as she did, and she liked it me for it.

She was wearing a bathrobe, though her hair was totally dry. She must have been wearing it for hours now. At this point, she only had a life of total leisure. She closed the door after letting me in and said that Elmer was in his studio. She greeted me a happy new year and led me to the dining room. “Let’s talk first,” she said. “I want to know what you’ve been up to.”

Despite having visited dozens of times before, maybe even hundreds, the foreign house was still so alien and jarring to me. Just the idea that someone else could feel for this house the way I feel about mine. The idea that people have a history here, the way that I have a history in my own home, that I am totally unaware of. Being in someone else’s house always felt to me like a violation that should be impossible. Or least totally vulgar. For Freud, the room or house in a dream is the representation of the womb, and when I am in someone else’s house I feel as though in some deeply abstract way, though a way that I feel nonetheless, I am sexually penetrating the psyche of its inhabitants, despite not wanting to do so.

She motioned for me to sit at the table, and I did.

“Still like your coffee black?” she said, as she made her way to the counter where they kept their espresso machine, delivered from Milan.

“Yes po.”

We’ve had coffee many times, not only here but occasionally elsewhere. She used to invite me so we could spend time together without Elmer. She would talk to me about her husband, about her family. And she would tell me that she hoped I would tell her if Elmer ever found himself in some trouble he was too ashamed or proud to tell her. And I promised her that I would, and that I would never let anything happen to Elmer, because he was a very close friend of mine.

She made the coffee using the machine and poured us both a cup. She placed both cups on a tray with different types of sugar and cream already on it and placed it in front of me. She sat down at the table across from me.

“So…” She took a sip of her coffee. She nodded a bit, appreciating her own work. “How are you? How’s your mom?”

Once or twice, she called our house and spoke to my mom. I was surprised by how long they spoke. Despite this, they never met in person, and I did wonder what they spent hours talking about, since my mom and her did not seem to have anything in common, apart from being mothers. Then again, being a mother must mean a lot to both of them, and so there was much to discuss with that alone.

“She’s good. Working on our business. But she’s also spending more time with her brothers and sisters in Antipolo.”

“You have a resort there, right?”

“Yes. She spends her time there, with them, and I like knowing that she is spending time enjoying herself.”

“That’s good. Your mom and I… We’re old. So whenever we have time and the opportunity to relax, we should do it. Tell her I said happy new year.”

“Yes po.”

“And you?”

“Nothing’s changed…”

“Ikaw talaga… You’re young. You have talent. You should be exploring. Living your life. Why don’t you try applying for a scholarship abroad? Or teach English in Tokyo? One of Elmer’s friends did that. She’s been there for years. I think she’s going to apply for residency soon. You should ask her how she did it. You know her? Sandy?”

“Yes, tita. I know her.”

“Oh, diba? You should talk to her.”

“Yes, Tita.”

I finished the coffee. I offered to wash it, but she refused in the impatient way that hosts do when the guests offer to do work cleaning up. I insisted once, and she insisted, too. And that was that.

---

She led me up the stairs to Elmer’s room. She knocked. Nothing.

“Elmer!” she screamed. “August is here!”

Elmer opened the door and let me in.

“You boys have fun,” Tita said, and then Elmer closed the door.

“You called?” I said.

Elmer was handsome long ago. He had a powerful, manly jaw and large eyes, further enlarged by his thick, wireframed glasses. But he never cared about the way he looked. Early on, he got a girlfriend, and they’re still together. I rarely ever saw her, but I’ve always thought that she was an insignificant, unambitious woman who adore Elmer for his good looks when he was younger and now for his money. Elmer didn’t care because I had severe doubts in the first place regarding his capacity for love and suspected that he only used her to satisfy his lust, which was a constant for him the way that it is for any other person but he found to be an inconvenient and annoying weakness.

Elmer beckoned me to a door at the far side of his room. One expected it to be lead to a bathroom or maybe a closet, but in fact it led to his studio, which was much larger than his room, and had all sorts of tables and shelving and industrial equipment.

All his other projects were there. I recognized them because I encouraged him always to talk to me about his latest ones. He had more typical things: supercomputers, RADAR equipment, lasers, miniature robotics, etc., but there were also the odd ones. A machine that could sterilize something until it is edible. A peep hole that can allow you to view any place on Earth (he could never calibrate it so that it goes to some specific place, thus is it was never bought by the US military).

“Look at this.” Elmer stood beside a machine that I recognized as new, although the way that he put the things together made it seem battered and old. I had a feeling that he needed a shell over the internals and so used corrugated steel to cover it all up without needing much work.

I shook my head and shrugged. No idea what that is.

“Cloning.”

“Excuse me?”

“Cloning.”

“What about it?”

“This.” He pointed at the machine. “Cloning.”

“That clones things.”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“People.”

“You know you could have found a way to clone food and that would solve world hunger.”

“Tried it with money, but I realized that it would probably only be considered counterfeit, since only money circulated by the central bank is legitimate.”

“Yes. That would cause massive inflation. But what you could have done is make way to multiply food so that it becomes so cheap everyone can eat. Did you know that?”

He didn’t say anything. His massive, magnified eyes blinked.

He pointed at the machine with his thumb and said, “This clones people. Want to try?”

“No. I do not.”

“Why not?”

“Because this is how people die or, worse, turn into hideous monsters. I do not want to be a cautionary tale against the hubris of scientists.”

“That’s more than you’ll ever achieve in your life,” Elmer said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “You should be honored.”

I know he’s joking. But when he jokes, he doesn’t smile or change the way he speaks. Maybe he wasn’t joking.

“How does it work?”

“Technically?”

“No, like…” I’ve known for a long time never to ask about the actual engineering of his creations. Not only do I not understand but he insisted on explaining everything until I did. I had to beg him to stop so I could go home. “What do I have to do?”

“You just come in here.” He opened the door to a chamber. “And your clone is going to appear there.” He pointed at another chamber on the opposite side of the room. “It won’t work if the other chamber is any closer. Interference.”

“Right. Of course… Interference…”

I looked in the “chamber.” It was only large enough for me to stand in it; it was like a coffin, but with a conical top. Just looking at it made me feel claustrophobic.

“You go in,” he said. “Then, I set things up on the console. It will take at most thirty minutes. Forty-five minutes, tops.”

“I don’t know if I could stay inside there for that long.”

“Why not?”

“It doesn’t even have windows. I’ll feel trapped.”

“Glass would shatter if I tried to do that.”

I shook my head. “I don’t know, El.”

“I do.”

I thought about it for a moment. All the other times, although there had been glitches, they were mostly minor. An electrical zap. Minor burns. Indigestion. He had, once or twice, assured me that he would never let me try anything that might actually hurt me, although there was always a first time for everything. And he only needs to make a fatal mistake once.

Still, I had nothing to do for the next few years. My life has been a terminal bore for a very long time now. And once or twice I have thought of ending it all, so if this is how I die, then fine—and what an interesting story. Perhaps I’ll make the second page. It will certainly be on the Daily Mail.

It was worth it for the Daily Mail-worthy death.

So, I took a deep breath and stepped in.

It was snug. I tucked my arms in so that I fit inside it. Elmer looked at me through the crack in the door and gave me a thumbs up before shutting it completely. He didn’t even ask if I felt okay or if everything was fine. He didn’t care. At this point all he cared about was knowing whether his machine worked.

It was dark in there. It was sealed with foam at the edges, so that even the air was cut off. I was beginning to feel very hot, and just as I expected the closed space was creeping me out. I felt as though it was closing in, and that I would never be able to get out. I tried to breathe deeply, but the anxiety was overwhelming me.

Then, a noise—the sound of an engine starting up, and the noise became louder, and louder, and louder, until it was so loud that I thought my head was going to explode. My skull was rattling it was so loud. I gritted my teeth and tried to bear it, but after around 30 seconds to a minute of the same thing, I banged on the door to push it open. It was locked.

“Let me out!” I screamed. But even I couldn’t hear myself.

It was beginning to heat up. I felt like I was being cooked alive, and before long the sides of the chamber were hot to the touch. I tried to tuck my body in, but my legs were being scalded.

I kept banging on the door. The chamber was beginning to sway. I was thinking that if he wasn’t going to let me out, then I was going to break through.

I was screaming, and screaming, and pushing and—

“We’re done.”

The door was open, and Elmer was standing there.

“What the fuck!” I went out.

I was drenched in sweat. There were some burns on my calf.

“You almost killed me,” I said.

He was going to say something, but at the far side of the room there was a noise. A loud banging. “Get me out of here, you piece of shit!”

It was my voice.

We approached, but before we could reach the second chamber wobbled from someone struggling with in, until it tipped over with a loud clang of metal. Sparks flew as several electrical cords were disconnected. It rolled to the wall and then the door swung open.

Elmer and I went over, and there I was, lying there, looking up at both of us. I was wearing the same clothes, the same shoes. And I looked exactly like myself.

Elmer helped the clone up. Because of the way the chamber rolled, he was more burned than I was, and he was a bit bruised. But he didn’t look too injured.

When I was standing in front of myself, we looked at each other. And at the same time, we said:

“Shit.”

---

Elmer had rolls of medical bandages and all sorts of balms and creams and ointments specifically for times like these. My clone wrapped his legs in bandages after applying burn lotion on them, while I sat on the bed and Elmer pored over his schematics.

“Well,” he said. “We can say with confidence that it worked.”

“Oh boy did it,” my clone said.

“What now?” I said. “There can’t be two of us now. I thought this was just a test.”

“Excuse me?” My clone looked up at me. He was seated on the floor, one leg outstretched so that he could wrap it. “Now that you know it works, what are you going to do, take me out back and shoot me in the back of the head?”

“Can we do that?” I asked Elmer. But he didn’t see me because he was writing on his blueprints. “El, can we do that?”

He looked up. “Do what?”

“Put him down,” I said.

“That’s murder,” my clone said.

“No one is ever going to believe what really happened here,” I said. “You shouldn’t even exist.”

“Neither should you.”

“I was born here.”

“So was I.”

“No. You weren’t.”

“Why am I here then?”

I tried to think. I shook my head and shrugged and came up with: “Quantum mechanics.”

We both looked at Elmer.

“Technically correct,” he said.

“Aha.” I said.

“I’m still here, and I’m still alive.” He finished with one leg and started putting lotion on the other. “And I don’t want to die. Just as much as you don’t want to die.”

“How do you know I don’t want to die?”

“Because I’m you, you idiot.”

I conceded. “Technically correct,” I said.

Seeing that I had nothing more to say, my clone continued until his entire leg was smothered and then wrapped the bandage around his leg. Now, both legs were wrapped, and it looked as though he were a being mummified but forgot that he left the stove on.

He sat there with his legs splayed out. And I was there on the bed. Elmer was at his desk, beside his computer, working on his schematics, occasionally moving to his computer so that he may adjust something or other on his CAD program.

“Well…?” I said, finally. “What are you going to do about this?”

Elmer turned from the monitor. “Hm?”

“What are we going to do with this clone?”

“He’s yours,” Elmer said. “Enjoy.” Then he returned to his computer.

“I’m not some slave,” the clone said. “I’m a living, breathing person. Totally complete. And I think the way you do. I have feelings. I have ideas. I have dreams, ambitions.”

“See,” I said. “That’s weird. Like, who are your parents? Who are your friends? Are they my parents? My friends? How could that be, when they’re mine?”

“But I’m you.”

“No. You’re not. You look like me. Sound like me. Think like me. But you’re not me. The me who is me is sitting on this bed, talking to you. You’re there on the floor with bandages on your legs.”

“If I shoot you right now and live your life for you, it’ll be like nothing happened,” the clone said. “You know that, right? I could start exactly where you left off.”

“Won’t be the same.”

“It would. How do you know it won’t?”

“Because you came into being barely an hour ago. El, did you not make something to liquidize these clones? Or at least distinguish them from the originals?”

“Good idea…!” Elmer clicked on his mouse and then began to type on his keyboard. “Great idea…”

I didn’t know how to deal with the clone. Elmer didn’t really care about it. As far as he was concerned, his machine worked. What mattered then was improving his current design—apparently now including leaving some indelible mark on the clone, so that it could be distinguished from the original. Someone with his intellect should maybe have thought about that immediately, pre-alpha, but early on in my life I’ve come to realize that even the best of the best could make the most ridiculous, even comical, mistakes.

I thought that, because Elmer created him, that the clone should stay with him. Maybe he could use it for his experiments. In any case, was a clone a human person the way that a natural-born person was? That’s something for the philosophers to decide in the upcoming centuries, but if I had to come up with a quick and easy rule for now, I would say no.

Still, Elmer insisted that he had a lot of things to do, especially with the things he learned that day, and so we should go back home. I said that the clone did not have a home, but he said that the clone was a perfect replica of me, so it stands to reason that his home is my home. Like all men I knew and ever loved, Elmer adopted whichever argument seemed beneficial at the time. His genius did not prevent this.

At some point, Elmer made it clear that he wanted us out. He dropped lines like: “It’s getting late,” and “You guys have a ride home?” and “Boy, am I tired.”

I finally left a little after sundown. Elmer’s mom was watching television and we had to pass her. I went down first and said goodbye. She said goodbye without looking. Then, my clone followed and said goodbye as well. She said goodbye again but she turned around quickly and blinked a few times.

We went into the ride share and got off at a 7-Eleven. There was no way that we were going to be able to pull off some kind of Parent Trap situation. At some point someone was going to come in the room and realize that there were two of us. Not to mention the fact that we would have to consume twice the amount of food.

So, we went there to think. We realized too late that people were looking at us because we were dressed exactly the same, apart from having exactly the same appearance.

We both sat down at a long table that faced the window.

He said, “Well, what do you want?”

“If you’re really exactly like me, then you’d know what I want.”

“Bubblegum slushie and shumai.”

“Damn. Elmer’s a genius.”

“Who’s going to get it?”

“Well, you asked.”

“So?”

“So, you get it. Since you asked.”

“We’re operating on seniority here,” I said. “I’m more than a day old. So I am you senior.”

“You should do it because you’re an elder. We’ve always believed that being in a position of power entails a corresponding level of responsibility.”

“How dare you use our correct and accurate beliefs against me.”

He shrugged. “Truth hurts.”

“Rock paper scissors?”

“Okay.”

I lost and had to get it. I got double the amount of everything.

I paid for it and sat down and he thanked me. It was weird, being there with myself. And people on the street were looking in, and at least one group of men openly pointed and laughed. But we didn’t care. After everything we’ve been through at that point it felt like we were prepared to take anything, and no amount of humiliation or pain would be able to stop us from enjoying our shumai and slushies.

At some point, while eating, I said: “I dunno what to do.”

And he said, “Me neither.”

So we ate and kept quiet and just sat there.

End of Part 1