To Live Again

Kaufma

Mark Kaufma

It was a torrent, an avalanche, a cascade. Uncle Paul swept through his synapses with violent impact. A tide of raw sensuality came first; then a sudden stab of gastric pain; then a set of precise, instantaneous, all-encompassing calculations for the purchase, lease-back, and depreciation of a four-square-mile area in Shanghai’s northern suburbs. On top of that came an overlay of family scheming, a nest of intricate and poisonous interpretations of taut relationships. In the first ten seconds of contact with his uncle’s soul, Kaufma

The contact broke. Kaufma

“Well?” Santoliquido asked. “Do you know your uncle better now?”

“The ruthless old bastard!” Kaufma

“He’ll be back.”

“Yes. Yes.” Kaufma

“I hope you’re joking, Mark.”

“Not really. Paul and I belong together. I know, I know, it’s against the law to transplant a persona to so close a relative.”

“Don’t forget that your uncle directly requested in his will that he not be transplanted to any member of his own family.”

“As though he didn’t know about the law,” said Kaufma

“Roditis can handle your uncle’s persona,” said Santoliquido. “He’s got the strong personality that’s necessary. What we must guard against is giving Paul to someone who’ll be overwhelmed. The host must always remain in command. Roditis would.”

“But he’s got no scruples. He’s nothing but an unprincipled buccaneer. And Paul was a principled buccaneer. Bring them into harmony and—”

“No decision has been taken,” Santoliquido said brusquely. “Do you wish to inspect the three potential personae your daughter has selected?”

“Yes,” Kaufma

“You know I’ve never done anything like that.”

“Of course. Of course. Well, it’s an amusing novelty. I often think our prejudice against transsexual transplants is foolish. If a man could incorporate at least one female persona, or a woman at least one male one, there’d be far less anguish in this world. But I suppose we’re not yet ready for that radical a step. And I suppose few people are really eager to allow their personae to come to life in a body of alien sex. Oh, they’d like to try it for a few days, but as for making it permanent—” As he spoke, Santoliquido was deftly inserting one of Risa’s choices into the sca

The apparatus hummed. “This is X,” said Santoliquido. “Killed last year in a power-ski accident at St. Moritz, age twenty-four.”

In the thirty seconds that followed, Mark Kaufma

Giving him no pause for evaluation, Santoliquido said, “And now Y. Drowned off Macao last summer, age twenty-eight.”

More of the same: the slow throb of the flesh, the lazy tremor of vaginality. In his brief contact with the mind of the dead girl, Kaufma

“Z,” said Santoliquido. “Twenty-six years old. Pushed or jumped, eighty stories up.”

Pushed, Kaufma

“You may find yourself slightly impotent tonight,” Santoliquido was saying. “I suppose I should have warned you. There’s a kind of sexual confusion that sets in after you’ve done some transsexual sampling. But it wears off in a day or so. How did you find it, being female?”

“Interesting. Not very appealing, though.”

“Well, of course, these were young, shallow girls. I could find you female personae that would give you a real jolt of character. But the outward manifestations are unusual, aren’t they? You never dreamed it was like that, so different, to belong to the other sex?”

“I’m glad to have had the opportunity. I can’t say I’m impressed by any of my daughter’s choices.”

“Which would you prefer her to take? She’s going to pick one, you know.”

Kaufma