Daniel Sada - One Out of Two

After reading the letter, the twins stood perched like two buzzards on the top of a tree, or rather: with the urge to fly away; in a game of sidelong glances, their crestfallen faces failed to find an appropriate expression. They could not, dared not, look at each other. The commotion in their minds was a shade of white and their ideas traced the cruel outline of a hateful outburst, because that sentence: “Everybody’s already gotten married” … had to have been intended as either mockery or menace. Gloria, the one holding the piece of paper, bit her lip and seemed on the verge of collapse, but she managed to rein in her rage and: without asking permission from her other half, she furiously tore it up and hurled the tiny shreds into a nearby basket, while the other, without moving a single finger or saying anything about the other’s rash act, observed her indulgently, trying to understand her motives, which were none other than her very own.

Shreds? Shards? Of the past? Of a bygone chapter … All up in smoke? … Yes, that’s what they’d like, once and for all.

In response to the obvious insult, the shredding spoke volumes, a step forward, a proposal: to hell with the same old story: their aunt with her unrelenting advice, and the twins, considered spinsters, understood that this would be the last letter they would ever read, and if others arrived containing the same song and dance, as could only be expected — they imagined the handwriting even shakier, completely illegible — they would destroy them before opening. Moreover, why should they send pictures and greetings if the central topic was so obdurate and humiliating, if she treated them like dimwits? In addition, this business about her children getting married within such a short time — when were the weddings and when had Soledad let them know? — was nothing but another form of pressure, a despicable lie, an obvious deception designed to propel them into action. Oh well, and still, each held on to her own secret and an event such as this was not about to make them reveal anything.

That’s why they didn’t speak, nor would they; instead, calmly and in spite of everything, they created some order out of all that psychological turmoil, because — knowing their own strengths, their impulses — the heated fluctuations of any discussion would expose the plans they each harbored regarding the beau. It can thereby be inferred that their future loomed, quite vague, and love: don’t even mention that, though for now the only game they were playing was its pursuit and the emotions it wrought.

Around midnight, in their bedroom, they again looked at each other up close, the tips of their eagle-like noses almost almost touching. Their eyes revealed greater wisdom, a unique and sensible vulpinity. More united than ever?: finally, they embraced, for they would share the same fate. A discreet scene in which a single sentence was uttered for no particular purpose:

“I’m glad you tore up that hostile letter,” Constitución said.

The bait was tempting, but Gloria, cleverly, was not about to start explaining her own reasoning: she offered only a blush: a touch of sadness, or to put it indirectly: she grinned like a Cheshire cat. With that, ipso facto, they released their tight embrace. The so-called winner made a hand signal, her fingers sticking out like horns that she moved in and out, flexing her fingers, her mouth keen, implausible thirst: her round lips moist, just look at them, will you!: she wanted to get tipsy, but her twin motioned no: wagging her index finger back and forth. Next came other gestures, hands moving every which way, grimaces, and even irony, they laughed and, what the hell! because any subsequent disagreement would be the opposite of a celebration. Yes … Pantomimes and criteria that made it inappropriate to drink a toast right then — it was neither Friday nor Saturday — tomorrow they would have a lot of work, and … Alas, to sleep.

Chimera? Abyss? Each futile longing with its own de motu … The thing is, neither had the foggiest idea which single notion was indispensable for them to fully embark on a different life: with the burden of their similitude, still facing mirrors, but mirrors that are aging. As such, they seemed like two blind, even delirious women who find no walls or anything else worth groping … Only Oscar: with a stippled landscape behind him: for both of them: in one: dribbles and drabs … From afar, come here! Come now! but no … The virtual sensation vanishes.

Dreams proliferate, come then go; days and duties — lapsing at night—: reality: just as it is: without ebb and flow; likewise the twins, making their usual sounds: grindstone and more grindstone, indeed: a monotony that seeks rootedness, a lethal pretense, or tentative beginnings, because: due to Oscar’s punctual arrival every Sunday bearing gifts — bracelets, brooches, bobbles, and bottles of scent — they fell in love: in a similar way, even if deep down inside each was immersed in her own wiles: and: as time passed, that deeply perforated love couldn’t be avoided but they couldn’t talk about it, either, so in the end it would be an upheaval rather than an opportunity. By the same token, little by little such perfect presents gave the well-scrubbed beau partial license to kiss them gently, to lightly caress their knees, and thighs whenever possible — or rather, as far as the rancher was concerned, the pleasure was purely: his sweetheart sometimes yielding as she defended herself against his touches — so he, confident while riding those buses packed with passengers, could well imagine Constitución’s legginess, and her sex further up — though he was decent: with self-control—: the possibility, whenever he thought about that triangle women have, where the young ’uns later come out, wow! though after all those feints and parries, the wedding would be a coronation, and after that, imagine the affection, the loving welcome when the husband arrives home weary from work and the gaggle of kids as well as his wife gather around him, large meals with proverbial seasonings prepared by his wife, years of the same life, serene: in short: he was savoring his own longing like wine that plumps up the senses before settling in for the long haul. But first, he’d have to knock himself out, fight and win many battles to earn his just reward.

The bad part is that those women were deceiving him, not out of treachery but rather sisterhood: that union so sanctioned that they never allowed themselves to be carried away by the fiddle of tickling fingers or a mouth that insinuates kisses, a current so strict that there’s nothing to gain but restraint and a push to escape whenever it tries to extend its range, in itself a long, drawn-out game: serious later: and grand at the same time, because that blasted birthmark, if Oscar discovered it, you be very careful, and how! … In the meantime, the passage of his hands over the twins’ skins should never include their backs or shoulders — no auxiliary hugs — so nothing but kisses and the real temptation: in between their thighs.

However, there are three mouths — more precisely, two: in one … And the other that accepts: three! and they talk, eat, and laugh, play at being the beginning of something that flows into: does silence hold more hope for happiness? These mouths — so sweet, so sisterly, then devilish, then saintly: transfigurations and time away from being either you or me; we: appearances, twins before all else, and then …

Grindstone and more grindstone, each one with her own credo, because Gloria, when she kissed her supposed boyfriend, would forget about her sister, thereby rendering the memory of those enchanted moments fodder for her dreams: same with the other, and for Oscar, of course. Whether eating, sleeping, or even while keeping their noses to it: many mental journeys.