Hey Nostradamus! By Douglas Coupland

"Why on earth would I want to do that?"
"Jesus, Barb. It's Kent's memorial. You have to do something." This was not strictly true, but I'd pushed
a guilt button.
"You're right."
She went outside and joined a trio of Kent's friends with Reg. I stood nearby so I could hear their
conversation.
Barb said, "Reg, I'm glad you could come."
"Thank you for inviting me."
Barb turned to Kent's friends. "What were you guys talking about?"
"Cloning."
Barb said, "This Dolly-the-sheep thing must be raising a few eyebrows."
One friend, whose name was Brian, said, "You better believe it." He asked my father, "Reg, do you
think a clone would have the same soul as its parent, or perhaps have a new one?"
"A clone with a soul?" Dad rubbed his chin. "No. I don't think it would be possible for a clone to have a
soul."
"No soul? But it would be a living human being. How could it not . . . ?"
"It would be a monster."
Another friend, Riley, cut in here: "But then what about your twin grandsons? They're identical, so when
the embryo splits, technically, one nephew is the clone of the other. You think that one of them has a soul
and one doesn't?"
Barb, trying to lighten things, said, "Talk about monsters - if I miss feeding time by even three minutes,
then I become Ripley, and they become the Alien."
Reg wrecked this attempt at cheeriness. He'd obviously been thinking hard, his face sober like a bust of
Abraham Lincoln. "Yes," he said, "I think you might have to consider the possibility that one of the boys
might not have a soul."
Silence. All the real smiles turned fake.
"You're joking," said Riley.
"Joking? About the human soul? Never."
Barb turned abruptly and walked away. The three guys stood there looking at Reg. Then Barb returned
with one of the wooden folding chairs, holding it sideways like a tennis racket.
"You evil, evil bastard. Never ever come back to this house, ever."
Page 46