Who is Maria?

Maria ran her fingers over faded spines in a box marked nonfiction. She picked one, flipped through a few dusty pages, and put it back. The aroma of salami and peanut brittle drifted from across the cobblestone square and an elderly man played a violin on the corner, a common sight in Cremona Italy.

“Do you mind?” A woman in a large, floppy hat reached across her and pulled out a frayed leather journal.

Maria froze. The voice was her mother’s, but the woman was a stranger.

“Select another book and do not look at me.” The woman scanned the market. “You’re being watched. Eyes are on the prize at all times. I’m here to help you.”

“Who are you, and who says I need any help?” Prickly heat traveled up the back of Maria’s neck and the thump of her quickened pulse drummed in her ears. She stole a glance at the stranger, noticing the dyed blond hair and dark sunglasses.

“If you look at me again I’ll walk away. Please, for your own sake, listen.” She slipped a note in the leather journal and placed it back in the box. “Collect that after I’ve gone.”

“What is it?”

“Where you need to go tonight. I’m sorry about your mother. Noelina was very special.”

Maria didn’t realize she was holding her breath until the ground wobbled beneath her. She was thirteen when her mother died of ovarian cancer, but after five long years, the stranger’s familiar voice was an unwelcome reminder of her loss.

“Why do you sound like her?”

“We’re…related. I don’t have time for questions, so listen carefully. If you ever want a life of your own, you’ll need to remove the locator chip on the back of your left hand.”

When the woman reached for another book, a half-inch scar near the base of her thumb caught Maria’s attention.

“I cut mine out four months ago.” She walked around the table and feigned interest in a vintage fashion magazine.

“A locator chip?” Maria felt the back of her hand.

“That and more. You are GF7-01-22, and your DNA is worth billions. I am GF6-92-12, and I got away. The location of a safe house and an entrance code is in that journal. You don’t want to go, but you have to. Don’t wait, Maria. You will regret it if you don’t. You’re young, but you can do this.”

“What about my father?”

“I have to go. Your driver is watching us. Renato is not your father, he’s a good man that believes in his research. It’s the investors you need to worry about. They own you—every cell in your body.” She turned to walk away.

“How will I find you?” Maria’s hands trembled as she reached for the leather journal.

“You won’t. Trust no one. Arrivederci, Maria.”

*  *  *

The four-hour wait for Renato Castellini to arrive home, felt like an eternity. Maria’s mind bombarded her with a thousand questions as she watched for his car. It was 10 p.m. when the security gate swung open.

“Finally.”

The garage door rattled, and her father’s leather-heeled shoes clicked on the tile floor.

A fresh wave of pins and needles climbed up her back as she waited for him in the hallway.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Her father set his briefcase on the floor and wrapped his arms around her. “This is a surprise.”

“Daddy?” No longer able to maintain her composure, she sobbed and clung to his shoulder.

“Maria, what’s wrong?”

“Everything!”

“Come on now, catch your breath.” Renato held her close and walked her to the kitchen. “Here, sit down and tell me what’s wrong.”

She leaned on the barstool. “Am I—a freak!?” A tormented wail filled the villa. “Are you— even—my father?” She stuttered as she gasped for air.

He rubbed her shoulder, pulled on the back of his neck, and hung his head. “You know I love you, Maria.”

“That wasn’t the question!”

“You are not a freak, and I am, and will always be, your father.” He brushed wet strands of long dark hair away from her face. “Who did you talk to?”

“A woman that sounded just like mother. She was telling the truth, wasn’t she?” Maria searched her father’s face for unspoken answers.

“Come with me. I have something to show you.” He took her hand and pulled her toward him.

Renato had to be her father, she thought as they walked to his office. He looked just like her. Maybe he was a sperm donor. At this point, anything seemed possible.

“You can trust me. I would never lie to you.”

Maria sunk into the soft leather sofa across from his desk. “Am I a research project, like the cloned horse?”

“It’s not like that. Here, let’s start with this one.” He handed her a picture.

She wiped her eyes with her sleeve and looked over the image. “She looks just like mother. Who is this?”

“That is Gabriella Bello. She was born in Barcelona in 1877, and she’s still alive.”

“What? How is that possible? She’s got to be…”

“She is one-hundred-and-forty-years old. She was discovered in 1945 working as a nurse during the Second World War. How old would you say she looks in that picture?”

Maria studied the image. “Mid-forties?”

“She was sixty-eight. She lives here in Cremona, in secret, and could easily live another twenty to thirty years.”

“Is this mother’s great-grandmother?”

“Yes and no. You are Gabriella’s…genetic equivalent.”

“So I’m some type of higher evolved clone? What have you done? Do I even have a soul?” Maria stood up and paced the office.

“Listen to me. Mankind is not evolving, we are devolving. Every geneticist knows that, even if they won’t admit it.” He tapped on the picture in her hand. “Gabriella has a Genetic code with fewer mutations than any other known person. God is the real owner of her blueprint. We are just getting a better look at it.”

“So your team of mad scientists tweaked my DNA so rich people could tap into the fountain of youth?”

“Of course not.”

Maria felt a distance growing between her and her father. Trust no one loomed in the back of her mind.

“If the information in your genetic code could help eradicate cancer, everything I’ve done will be justified. Think about it—no children with leukemia? My research is not about the fountain of youth. It’s about living lives free of disease and dying of old age.”

“Am I one of Gabriella’s snowflake babies?”

“Not exactly.” He sifted through a thick file and handed two pages to her. “This is going to be a lot to take in, but I told you I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Maria scanned a list of numbers.

“What? Noelina GF6-85-7. Mother too? What do the numbers mean?”

“This number tells me that this is a female in Gabriella’s sixth trial group, born in 1985 and the 7th implantation.”

“How many of us are there?”

“You are one of twelve.”

“Then why is my number 22?”

“You are the 22nd successfully implanted embryo of your group.”

“So many. The other ones died?” Maria sat down and rubbed her hands over her legs.

Her father sat next to her and took her hand. “Most do not survive past the first trimester.”

“Is there a place for me in heaven?” Maria pulled her hand away and shoved it into her sweatshirt pocket.

Her father drew her into his chest and kissed the top of her head. “You are as human as anyone else, sweetheart. Do you understand? It’s like being a twin.”

“I guess.” She clutched the note from the stranger.

“I know this is tough to hear. Are you okay?”

“I think so.” She offered him a weak smile.

“You have a surgery consult in the morning.”

She looked at him with weary eyes. “Bone marrow again?”

“No. They want to remove your ovaries—as a precaution.” He didn’t look at her.

*  *  *

Four hours later, Maria stuffed essentials into her backpack and wrote a note to her father. Biting her lip, she made a painful slice at the base of her thumb and removed a rice-sized microchip. She set the note to her father on the kitchen counter and slipped out the door.

From his dark bedroom window, Renato watched his daughter run away from the villa and disappear into the night. It would take her an hour to reach the safe house. Her life was hers now. “May God be your guide, Maria,” GM6-84-37 prayed.

 

 

 

 

 

Image: author’s own design