Daniel Sada - One Out of Two

Next: they got up to clear the table: sleepwalkers loath both to act and to resign themselves completely. Lights on: switch them off: night and irritability and the awareness that tomorrow is Monday and there are heaps of clothes in the shop: like pulling apart a colorful cake: work — and harmony and diligence and … — all of this remembered before falling asleep. To return to their credo of energetic principles. A difficult week awaited them: ugh: full of intense effort, and … Best to forget all about their obligations, because, anyway: it made more sense to go straight to sleep where their dreams could hold anything at all.

And the switcheroo: they had similar dreams: in black and white: flat, without pain or any emotion — they got out of bed very early and bathed, just like any other day: together: soaping each other — and once the cold water had revived their senses, they told each other: nothing: Oscar had vanished, though obviously they would remember him in their vigils, but, what a strange test for them! Then, identical preparations. Taking even more care with their lipstick and hair. Every single shining detail. Ready, set: which is which? Just as they were: they sat down at the table: a quick breakfast: a bite of whatever, then they were off.

A little before seven o’clock they opened the door of their shop. May the customers come, but those who did were not really customers but rather busybodies, and since the shop rarely opened so early, only a few straggled in, two by three, or one by one: stubborn early risers, just to confirm the rumors they’d heard: “Does one of you have a boyfriend?” “Congratulations!” “Brava!”; laughing to themselves: cynical. So annoying. Tightlipped: because the opinions of those inquiring were unwelcome. A boorish onslaught, but with a purpose. “How lucky you are! and at your age, it’s not so easy to …” “I hope he has good manners!” “ He does,” was Constitución’s cutting reply. Such comments are forbidden, and Gloria pointed with the longest needle she could find at the sign they had so recently hung up: … RESTRICT YOUR CONVERSATION TO THE BUSINESS AT HAND … SINCERELY: THE GAMAL SISTERS. The visitors were rendered speechless, the words balancing on the tips of their tongues, slippery or not, then scurried out the door with their tail between their legs. Stooges! But mostly: Deadbeats! The twins, then, wondered if it was better to keep their noses to the grindstone with the shop door shut so as not to have to dodge and duck all those people, so they could simply plug away — in blessed peace, we might say — with only the usual interruptions … Doubts lingered … but if they hung up said sign: on the door: outside: they would need to get a large nail and hammer it in hard, and, oh drat! what a waste of time! Moreover, truth be told: it would make them look far too stuck up. So …

Everything as it’s always been and carry on. Fortunately, the higher the sun rose in the sky, the less besieged they were, and they didn’t bother rehashing any of it with each other … what? As for the customers, the good ones, that is, those who knew the rules, one or another arrived every now and then, so the twins, in silence alone with each other, got a lot done.

Comments were still made, casually tossed off, by this person or that, while their garments were being handed to them and they paid: “You be very careful, now! That man might be a freeloader.” Or: “So, when’s the wedding?” Impossible to respond amicably, for their words sounded like jeers more than anything else. An “I don’t know yet” from the real girlfriend would surely suffice, because people didn’t insist; such a simple answer was all that was needed for a different and even more entertaining rumor to make its way through Ocampo.

The town was so small, so infernally small, that the gapers and eavesdroppers, though few in number, were already in hot pursuit.

You be very careful, now!

That imperative banged around in their brains because it was such excellent advice, whereas: they still hadn’t given any thought to “the wedding,” the date, and other such sacred problems, and although the twins did not talk, that is, during the days that preceded the following Sunday, the strain between them increased in tandem with all those nonsensical comments and the various directions, all clearly erroneous, they led to; meanwhile, the Gamals focused on the mountains of garments they needed to finish as well as new orders coming in, which, thank God, were not that complicated: cut to fit, that was the extent of it, with not very fine fabrics and no fancy finishings, their daily bread, ergo, they stayed up late working, wanting to recover in short order the prestige they had lost, according to their own deductions, as a result of their romance, and they deliberately left the shop door wide open so that people would see that they were still professionals, whether love was in their lives or not.

But every day and as if on purpose, the prattle and tittle-tattle reached their ears. Their customers continued to make crass comments that were, whether intended or not, insulting, like getting pecked at from behind and kept, as if, under siege — but: what choice did they have? A week of silences, to spite them, as if these martyred virgins were playing some kind of trick, though: at bedtime they deigned to acknowledge the gossipmongering, realizing that it was not in fact a good idea for one of them to spy on the other as they had been doing, it was only a matter of time before the gapers, as well as the giggling gaggle of kids, prying bandits that they were, who tailed whoever clung like a spider to the walls, would station themselves in different spots, near where the nopales grew so densely, along the green bank, to the south, to observe the openmouthed kisses Gloria or Constitución shared with her beau, and this would create an explosion: of enormous consequence.

To make matters worse, right around that time, on a Friday, a letter from their aunt was slipped under the door to their house: the old lady from Nadadores who’d been held in suspension, whom they’d thought dead, or something of the sort, or maybe just lazy or decrepit: somehow beyond hope, because she no longer wrote them weekly missives as had been her wont till then. So they tear open the envelope and see the shaky, not to say deathly ill, handwriting: Girls, how have you been? I heard that one of you is going out with —this part was illegible— mna from gud ffamxili —then things improved— the best of Ciudad Frontera: the Seguras, because even though —again, more gibberish from the scribbler— they arnt vari reech the half vari gud manurs. Anyway —this next part was very clear— I don’t know which of you it is. I beg you to tell me before I die, my rheumatism never gives me a moment’s rest. I hope we hear wedding bells when we least expect them; let me know so I can come … Anyway, please tell me what’s going on, and if you don’t want to bother going to the post office to buy letter-sized envelopes and airmail stamps, as they now require, even though the letter will go by bus anyway, those shameless pencil pushers, if that’s what’s stopping you it would be easier for you to just come here and visit. Nadadores isn’t so far away from Ocampo. I’m sure you could get here much faster than any letter you might write … And I want you to know that my husband and I would love to see you, I will personally cook you a delicious dinner … I hope —here, again, more scribbles— thither also haza bxyfrend … re mmbre is hurribl living witot ckildrn or witotha husband, watif sudnly one of u dize? txe othr —followed by the really awful part despite the spelling and handwriting being impeccable— who will still be in the land of the living, poor thing! she’ll be left all alone and completely abandoned, and it’ll be even worse if she’s got some horrible disease, dear me! I can’t stand even thinking about it. That’s why I keep telling you what I’ve been telling you for as long as I’ve known you: Get married! Please! … Here at my house —and the next sentence was impressive because clearly the aunt wanted to draw some very large and round letters— EVERYBODY’S ALREADY GOTTEN MARRIED. I’M THE HAPPY GRANDMOTHER OF ELEVEN GRANDCHILDREN … YOUR AUNT WHO ALWAYS SUPPORTS YOU AND WANTS ONLY WHAT’S GOOD FOR YOU … P.S. DON’T FORGET TO WRITE BACK.