Daniel Sada - One Out of Two

And, of course, every time each went his or her own way, he or she carried a piece of the other. A triangle, to put it simply: three gnawed points and a conjugation: or to put it indirectly: two similar points and a third one far far away.

Passion conjugated: repressed, obsessive, in full conformity with the rules of the game; in fact, one could say that because there was so much uniformity in their actions — always stopping halfway — in all three of their igneous heads flowered a convulsive urge to tell all, but they had to wait.

However …

We must agree that between identical beings, mimicry also includes sanctuaries of sorrow that are impervious to being aired or traced, as well as very short-lived yet incommunicable points of view. Hence, after all those years they had learned to intuit each other from afar, to know without meaning to that they were being observed by the other. But, let’s get to the point: currents ran between the Gamal sisters even when they were sleeping, yes, indeed, they were twins, to the n th degree, and proud of it, and here is one example:

Whenever one of them looked in the mirror for any length of time, for example, when she was getting all gussied up on Sunday, two hours or so before the beau arrived, the one looking would feel like it was her sister who was looking back at her out of that enormous and paradoxical full moon, intentionally imitating her primping, a form of mockery, and every once in a while — why not? — would quickly wink; then reality would return when her twin suddenly appeared beside her to hurry her along: because: with four of the same: oh, dear! which of them was who? If the reflection was accurate, they were all ghosts, or the other way around. Then, an outright denial when they left the gleaming, and the gleaming itself: would it flicker without them?

Also, in the shop or while eating lunch or dinner, when they were concentrating in total silence, one of them would suddenly say: “Don’t worry about that. Oscar is dependable. He’ll be back.” To which the other, a bit taken aback yet pleased by the divination, in order to maintain the flow but not the sadness, would respond: “I’m so glad you think so, because sometimes I have my doubts. I don’t know, maybe one day he’ll regret our proper courtship.” From there would ensue a conversation, which would then be abruptly cut off in order to tamp down their fears.

More recently, that is, when one Sunday followed another, they stopped spying on each other, only every once in a while, out of ghoulishness or avarice, but not systematically. Let’s agree that for the one whose turn it wasn’t, the best thing to do was get into bed and wait there for her equal’s return. The thing is: it didn’t make much sense, given their mutual intuition, the other anyway would know nearly straightaway all that happened out there in the walnut grove. Also, they spoke sparingly about the specifics of any particular outing, unlike how it had been at the beginning; from this it can be seen that each on her own never neglected a single detail: the same tone of voice, the same graceful charm: which meant that there wasn’t a chance in hell that even by that time the boyfriend suspected there were two rather than one. How could he have?! Only the idle one would make a few terse comments: “Things didn’t go so well; you were bored. He talked about pigs, don’t deny it.” Or, on the contrary: “It was an inspired afternoon, wasn’t it?” and the other would nod.

One weighty reason not to go around spying on each other was that even the lowliest of the town’s inhabitants were already aware of the glorious romance. They likely drummed up their own hackneyed conclusions, mostly because there’s a whole lot of dead time in this town. And here, any courtship is a downright puzzle until finally the date of the wedding can be surmised or is announced; it stops being a problem once the not-so-fair maiden explains to whomever is asking the specific reasons for the glacial pace. But since the sign in the shop read: DO NOT DISTURB … RESTRICT YOUR CONVERSATION TO THE BUSINESS AT HAND … the Ocampan gossip mill was running at full tilt. Moreover, still pending — and this is conditional — was which of them the man had set his sights on, as well as the glaring doubt about whether that stranger already knew both of them and if he could differentiate between them based on a single feature anywhere. No. Indeed. It was of course better for them to keep those details secret.

And, the final twist: why in the walnut grove, why there, when all couples meet — and always have met — in the town square, the only square in town? This is a very serious issue, in the opinion of many, and it is highly likely that at least one spy observed them from behind some bushes. None of the three, however, noticed any movement or peeping eyes in case there were any nearby; and anyway they weren’t going to go farther away — past the nopales or anything like that — just because they’d been seen or heard.

The upshot, alas!: love sprouted, and grew, like ever-searching ivy: inwardly: by necessity: never flagging: a secret force that loses its way because it’s all so unfathomable; in the same way, hypocrisy was born: between the twins: how unbecoming!: and although they sensed it, they didn’t utter a peep about this dreary development because they wanted to avoid, they thought, a probably foolish confrontation. Their usual kindnesses: everything they had so diligently nurtured to avoid anger between them, now — and this now looms quite large—: they no longer cared; they had vaguely fallen in love, like two capricious adolescents, and that’s why they were teetering on the verge of hysteria … Well, really because there was a subject they couldn’t broach between them: the blessed nuptials, the critical future.

The big proposal: which Sunday would it come? To wait: but for how long? … It’s just that sometimes Oscar, when sitting on one of the tree trunks next to his beloved, would suddenly stare off into the horizon, as if the colors of the afternoon held the key to the tribute he would pay. Tense moments when he’d babble incoherently, and, not daring to mention marriage, would turn to his favorite subject: the weaning of she-goats and the complications that arise from the fattening of swine, as well as his alabastrine desire to one day open, next to any road whatsoever, a huge restaurant for truckers only, serving carnes adobadas and fresh tortillas, where there would be a jukebox and a dance floor and some shabby sluts — who would double as grub-slingers — available for pickup.

A great business venture, maybe.

Oscar churned the project over in his mind with a daring that bordered on madness, but his plans didn’t include his Constitución, who could, after all, be put in charge of the kitchen; maybe he didn’t because he thought that a good wife should stay at home, taking care of her brood.

Frankly, Gloria was not the least bit interested in such blather, but Constitución found it amusing. As for the former: the takeaway from all this was to feel loved by a real man until the day death put an end to the pleasure, to have him always near, to love him with determination, and now she’d had her chance … What else could she ask for? Whereas the other was interested in quickly starting a family before she got too old. So, when she studied her boyfriend’s features, she sketched in her mind the faces of her children.

These discrepancies, even if conveniently concealed, led to the Gamal sisters becoming a bit rude. A hint of rude, because words never wound as much as deeds, and accordingly, a lack of consideration, or a certain indifference, became more pronounced as the days went by. Shouldering her own plan, each forgot she had an equal, and their similarity slowly became an obstacle: like putty in their conscience; so, in the shop — the first to wake up went early to open. And washing and leaving (quickly dressed) without telling the other — they could work all morning without once looking at each other; at home: remote: at lunch and dinner, each staring at her own meager plate, though still — more to be cynical than urbane — one would make as if to share with her twin her small portion of poached eggs in salsa or her frijoles charros or whatever morsel she had; and above all: when it came to outings with their beau, she who was left behind to twiddle her thumbs, also sealed her lips: the idle one, she who was consigned to her bedroom.