Stuart Woods - Palindrome

"Good evening," she called out. "Hello, Miss, uh…"

"I'm Liz," she said, walking over. "You having a good time on the island with your father?"

"Yep," he said. Apparently a man of few words.

"You been to the beach yet?"

"Nope."

"Well, I live up at Stafford Beach Cottage. When you go to the beach, why don't you get your dad to bring you to see me?"

"My dad's going to Jacksonville tomorrow, and I can't go with him," he said.

"Maybe your mother can bring you to Stafford."

"Mom's leaving tomorrow. That's why Dad's going to Jacksonville. He's taking her to the airport. I'm staying with Germaine."

"Well, if I can arrange it, would you like to come up to Stafford for lunch tomorrow? You can go in the water, and you can play in the dunes, too." He looked doubtful.

"Maybe I'll even let you drive my Jeep," she said.

"Oh, boy, yes!" he practically shouted. "Will you ask my mom?"

"Sure, I will."

He scrambled down from the tree. "I'd better go now. I've got to have my supper with Ron in the staff room."

"Okay, I'll see you later." He ran up the steps and into the house; she followed more slowly.

The front porch was deserted, and when she entered the house, so was the main floor. She had a look in the living room and library, then turned into the little self-service bar. She was pouring herself a Wild Turkey when a familiar man entered. "Evening," he said, "drinking alone?"

"Not anymore," she replied. "What's your pleasure?"

"Can you make a decent martini?"

"Just watch me." She grabbed the gin and vermouth and went to work. It took her a minute to place the man. "How's your book coming, the one on twins?"

"Pretty good," he replied. "We're looking forward to a publication next fall. I'm sorry, I didn't get your name last time we were at the inn. You're here for some photographs, I believe?"

"That's right. I'm Liz Barwick."

"Douglas Hamilton. Call me Ham. This is our third time down here this year; we love it."

"So do I." She handed him his drink. "How's that?"

He sipped it and stared at the ceiling. "Classic. How's your work coming?"

"I'm getting a lot of beautiful stuff. It's easy on Cumberland; all you have to do is point the camera."

"Good." He sipped his drink, and they both seemed at a loss for words.

"Doctor… ah, Ham?"

"Mmmm?"

"Can I engage you in a little shoptalk for a moment?"

"Sure," he said, flopping down on a sofa. "Let me guess. You have this friend and she has this problem."

"Nothing like that. Just a hypothetical question about twins."

"Shoot."

"These twins"

"Male or female?"

"Male."

"Identical?"

"Perfectly. They're fortyish. They had the sort of ultraclose relationship as boys that you described as typical of identical twins the last time we met."

"I remember. The closest of all human relationships."

"Until they were eighteen."

"What happened when they were eighteen?"

"Nobody knows. Or nobody who'll say, at any rate."

"They grew apart?"

"No, one day they just stopped speaking to each other."

"For how long?"

"Until the present moment."

The doctor's face registered surprise. "Extremely unusual. I remember one case of women twins who fought over a man. They were both in love with him, and when one of them announced their engagement, her twin wouldn't speak to her again."

"For how long?"

"For a couple of years, until the couple were divorced. When the twin with the man had to choose between her husband and her sister, she eventually chose her sister."

He sipped his martini. "These hypothetical twins of yours, what do they have to say about each other? Haven't they ever given anyone who knows them a clue to what breached their relationship?"

"No. What's more, neither will so much as acknowledge the other's existence."

The doctor's face collapsed in astonishment. "That's very disturbing," he managed to say.

Liz was worried by his reaction. "Why disturbing?"

He didn't answer at first. "Well," he said finally. "For identical twins who have grown up ultraclose, as you put it, not speaking to each other for twenty years would put an unbearable emotional strain on both of them. I've known of cases where identical twins were forcibly separated from each other, and the effects on both were, in each case, terrible-worse, perhaps than losing a twin to death, because each knew that the other was alive somewhere, and they couldn't reach each other. There was a case in World War II where one twin ended up in a concentration camp, and the other escaped. The twin in prison died of the effects of the camp, and the other-well, pined to death. Wouldn't eat, because he knew his brother was in that camp."

Liz didn't speak.

"With your hypothetical twins-it's difficult even to imagine a trauma that would cause them not to speak for so long a time. But that's not the really disturbing part. The fact that neither will even acknowledge the existence of the other is terrifying; psychiatrically, what you're talking about is a kind of voluntary schizophrenia."

"I see," Liz said, for lack of anything else to say.

"Liz, if your twins were real, and not hypothetical, then I have to tell you that I believe they would both be very seriously disturbed human beings." There was the sound of footsteps on the stairs outside the door, and, a moment later, Hannah Drummond walked in.

"Good evening, Liz," she said brightly. "Are you tending bar?"

"Sure," Liz managed to say.

"Then I'll have a Scotch on the rocks, please."

Two couples entered the room, talking cheerfully. Dr. Hamilton got up and came to the bar. "I'll have another martini, as long as you're at it," he said. He produced a card from his pocket. "We're leaving in the morning," he said quietly, "but if you ever want to talk further about this, please call me." Liz poured the Scotch and mixed the martini, but, under the countertop, her hands were trembling.

"There she is," a voice said. Liz looked up to see Germaine leading an elderly man into the bar.

"Liz, I want you to meet Dr. Blaylock. Doctor, this is Liz Barwick, the lady I was telling you about."

"I'm very pleased to meet you," the man said in a courtly manner.

"Liz, Dr. Blaylock is the head of the Anthropology Department at the University of Georgia. He's brought a group of students down to move the family graveyard."

"Yes, Hamish told me about it. Angus wants to get it onto higher ground, doesn't he?"

"Afraid of the crabs getting his bones, I think," Germaine replied. "I wonder if you'd do us all a favor and photograph the place before they move the graves? No matter how perfect a job they do, it's never going to look quite the same again, and I'd like to remember it the way it is now."

"Sure, I'll be glad to," Liz said.

"I'm afraid we'll have to get you up early," Dr. Blaylock said. "We plan to get an early start tomorrow morning."

"Suits me," Liz said. "I'm an early riser. You've got one empty grave down there, you know."

"Empty?"

"Better tell him about Light-Horse Harry Lee," Liz said to Germaine. She looked up to see Hamish enter. He came around the bar next to Liz and made himself a drink while Germaine introduced him to Dr. Blaylock and explained to the anthropologist about the Lee grave.

"That looks like a lot of work for one man," Hamish said to the man.

"Oh, I've got half a dozen students who'll do the dogwork," Blaylock said. "My job is just to direct them and to restrain their enthusiasm for their work. They have to be taught to go slowly, given the age of some of the graves, or they'll just make a mess of it."

"Are your crew staying in the inn?" Liz asked. She hadn't seen any students.

"No, they're camped out with our equipment, down near the cemetery." He sipped his drink and laughed.