One Out of Two (2 page)

Let’s move swiftly to Nadadores, to their new and now bustling life wholly devoid of any thrills or sense of fulfillment; their dear aunt was mother to eleven: mostly brats; her husband: a plump grocer who smoked and always went shirtless, carried an air of uncertainty, and indulged in extravagantly long naps. The quarters assigned to the twins were cramped. They slept in a small room with seven of the other children, who pulled their hair and lifted their dresses. Unbearable. But, because it was a favor, the girls didn’t dare complain.

Since they were still adolescents, the image of this period can be described in simple terms: someone is trying to reach for something high up and gets annoyed because she doesn’t think to remove the blindfold that’s preventing her from seeing, moreover: why should she? Still, she stretches, she gropes, she sets her sights on beauty, longs for it. But in this case, no; Gloria and Constitución developed in the opposite direction: cute little girls, though not even that, and unsightly young women. All that’s left from the difficult years they spent in Nadadores is a fairly rotten stigma.

Stretching and groping, that’s all.

Fantasies destined to develop only so far lest they provoke the most mundane of fears. The time they spent in that town could be summed up in three words: “They found work.” They learned to sew in a small garment factory: yes: there was skill and there was excellence, but never originality, working only from premade patterns, complying only to others’ tastes, without any personal flair; their compensation was a comfortable salary and defective minds. Alas, if only deep down they harbored a few superficial ideas, but not even there. What young women they were! And old ladies, as well!

Locked in their daily drudgery and vain alienation, locked in a plausible equilibrium; to bear up because one must and bemoan one’s fate in silence, sullying the soul. But: it had to happen: a door finally opened a crack. Several years later, when they were already legal adults, they decided to escape from that gouged labyrinth; they’d known for a long time that the house in Lamadrid had been sold, but Soledad Guadarrama, maybe a miser and maybe a crook, had held on to their share. One rainy night—at the dinner table while eating scrambled eggs with onion and garlic—between ahems and ahas and a few dodgy turns of phrase, she told them about the transaction:

“Someone else now owns your house; I made a good sale, and here’s my plan: I’ll give you your money when you come of age. Until then, assume you have nothing. It’s my moral duty not to give any of it to you now.”

And her excuse stretched on: she plumped it up with opportunistic themes, while, under the table, each counted on her fingers the years and months that had to pass before she’d have her share. Only Constitución had the wherewithal to ask for clarification:

“But you’re definitely going to give it to us, right?”

“Of course. What, do you think I’m a scoundrel? I always go to Mass, and I pray a lot.”

“How much is there?” Gloria asked.

The husband, and uncle, but only by name: a huisache bush, far
far
away, without a say and never in the way, smoothed down his mustache: here was his chance to make himself scarce. The children scurried off to bed. Alone, the three women turned to the serious matter at hand. The breakthrough scenario: a bare bulb overhead—incubus—in otherwise shadowy surroundings. With sober self-importance, Soledad pulled out a pencil and paper; she could, if she wanted to, fiddle with the numbers, but those few extra bills would be like poisoned darts in her heart.

Hence, in the act, the magic of numbers pulsated. Division and subtraction, the rule of threes, and: the phantom sum shimmered when named, turning into an object of longing because it was so wholly unsuspected. Like a tree of possibilities. Dreaming of the future through long and sleepless nights, so long, in fact, that they sometimes nodded off at work; their output as seamstresses decreased, and that’s why they made an enormous effort—the unwholesome athleticism of maintaining a more or less cheerful countenance in the bosom of that large family, especially while also: working brutally long hours—and recovered their determination, aware that their imagination had cut them off from the world. For two long years, until they reached adulthood, they were stuck, as the saying goes, between a rock and a hard place. A margin not worth remembering. One day they would flee, but with dignity. The time finally came for the transfer of funds and some decisions.

“We want to leave.”

“But …”

“We want to live on our own. Give us our share of the money … And, yes, we are grateful to you for everything.”

“Can I at least know where you’re going?”

“Not too far, but to a different town,” Gloria replied immediately.

“For heaven’s sake, just tell me where!”

“No, we won’t,” Constitución cried out. “Didn’t you hear, not far? Somewhere in the desert, yes, where it’s hot.”

Sacramento, Castaños, Cuatro Ciénegas, or a bit beyond: Australia and Finisterre, et cetera: which one? The aunt, after shuffling through names and guessing wrong, said, now finally resigned:

“Okay, I understand, but you must never forget that we’re family. I’m here for you, whether you need me or not; come visit us whenever you want. I’ll send you off with one final piece of advice: get married soon and have loads of children! Children are life’s gift to women. Without any more fuss, I’ll ask one small favor: send me your address so I can write to you!”

Soledad went straight to the mattress under which she’d stashed the plastic-wrapped sum of miraculous proportions. She handed them each a wad of bills, tried to act aloof, but then cried and brought her hands to her face with the utmost humility. The twins, indifferent, set about counting the bills. Once tallied: done: a large sum, everything they needed to make a real go of it, especially when combined with their savings, accumulated in dribs and drabs.

“I’m going to say it again: get married.”

How could they ever get married when they spent all their time together?

Which would he pick? To feed both—now there’s a thought—with luscious bodies, but their faces: better to keep lips sealed: that’s what a possible suitor would most likely think … They were, are, good women, singularly talented and well educated, but you couldn’t tell as much by looking at them. This is where desire comes into play: it’s possible that someone someday would win their hearts: one as opposed to the other: interesting because: “to each her own …”: indeed. Things get more complicated when we remember that because of their rare curse—having been marked before they were born by the hand of God or the Devil—the ingrates looked more and more alike as the years went by: a genuine conjugation, and apparently unavoidable. But, fortunate? Hmm … Next, they took the necessary step: to pack their suitcases. Two each, neither too heavy. No possession is worth much when there is so much money to spend.

Now for their send-off. Hands waving: farewell! in front of the house, like an embossment of such deep relief it perforates the page: the aunt, the shirtless smoking husband, and around them: the urchins, holding still: their mischief kept under wraps; they would have loved to run after the twins and lift up their skirts one last time, so they’d never forget their innocent pranks.

But there is restraint and irritability, if you will: ephemeral sorrows: yes: that seem to complement each other; there are: knots in throats that are easy to untangle and eyes staring long and hard in this direction: at the girls, who turn to look back out of a sense of duty, to express their gratitude with subtle effusion. Farewell … oh, dear! Then, they turn to face forward and catch a glimpse of a blurry figure that has yet to take shape; but sorrowful departures must not be prolonged or repeated, because saying good-bye more than once, according to a local superstition, is like spilling salt, or even like returning whence one hailed, because all paths are erased once taken. A curtain is drawn and behind it an improbable space opens up and … No. The Gamal twins sped up their steps: identical strands of hair blown in the breeze. To tell the truth: they were not heading anywhere in particular, at least not in spirit.

/

Pedaling—in the present—to the rhythm of a song: there’s always something, here in Ocampo, for these machines that are almost human to do: their clientele has grown and will continue to do so if they keep at it … These days Constitución and Gloria think complacently of their humble beginnings. What a difficult position to take off from! Here: they’ve been settled for ten years after wandering from place to place looking for just the right conditions. Ocampo is it and will continue to be for as long as things go well.

Now let’s tell their tale: after they learned to work morning, noon, and night, their ambitions became so thoroughly sealed by the absolute value they placed on money that one peso poorly spent, they feared, would ruin them. With this as their guiding principle, they sustained the flow, and despite constant increases in costs and prices, it never devolved to a trickle. They never went under because they had learned their fundamental lesson: to live without luxuries.

Except—for to be miserly is also to err—they dipped into their capital to buy a portable black-and-white camera. It was very important that the pictures they took be true to their similitude: to prove it, constantly, but no, not even this was enough.

On the contrary, each revelation fused them more fully together: grimaces of hilarity and grimaces of gravity: one out of two or two in one or … Pretending they were poor was an affirming and robust lesson that stripped them of all incident and regret, and from such a tender age to eagerly envisage their endless toil at tailoring and dressmaking, see it with lyrical eyes and absorb it into their spirits, know that they might fall headlong into an absurd abyss if they strayed even a little—that’s what they gleaned from such dogged dedication.

In the meantime, they remained single—what of it? Enviable privilege and great courage were required to counter the advice of their aunt, with whom they kept in touch via exceedingly concise missives; from time to time Gloria sent photos and the other sent others: all against a backdrop of desolate desert landscapes and adobe walls: they sent them out of a sense of duty, and the response was always the same—arriving with alacrity wherever they were living: “Get married, you silly girls, and be quick about it! But don’t flirt with the first young man you meet; you have to be coy, give yourselves airs, or you’ll regret it …” They opened the envelopes together and with delectable malice. What mirrored mirth! So much reiteration was like a riddle without enough clues, an agonizing idea that never breaks through its own closed sphere.

But if we wished to draw conclusions, we’d be wrong to assert that they dug in their heels. Nothing of the sort! … “Better alone than in bad company” is a well-known expression they heard all too often throughout their long and arduous wanderings, and living without a husband’s agreeable ways made them feel more fulfilled … Sacrifice and faith: this is what they learned from remaining in their immaculate state, no matter where they happened to be, and the rewards of motherhood would come later.

Their eyes never strayed from their goal: not even a peek at that wad of bills, for caprice too often trumps reason—yes, indeed! they knew this all too well—and they found work in a variety of places to pursue their larger purpose of becoming accomplished seamstresses, earning humiliating salaries in exchange for learning those sundry skills. Luck was on their side, even in this, for every town and every village needs somebody to make clothes. They became so proficient, whether sewing by machine or by hand, that they were able to formulate a theory. This, then, is the principle:

“The secret is in the needle after the scissors have made their cut.” And a long explanation follows.

One was the other’s teacher and the other also had to be hers. Their nighttime conversations, accompanied by romantic music and generous libations, usually turned on the conundrum of velocity versus perfection: which?: one has to be better, but according to what or to whom?

At that point, they really did have to think about their future. That’s why they looked at the stash still packed away in that plastic bag Soledad had given them … The truth is, they hesitated, but … They considered Ocampo, a peaceful town with friendly people, and found plenty of reasons to test their luck there.

They made their decision one bright, sunny day: to go there right away and invest most of their inheritance. Nearly sight unseen, they bought a not very big house with a rather rustic patio; they also bought a couple of used sewing machines: Singer, top of the line, as well as a spot to set up their new shop. They doled out money for furniture, necessities, knickknacks, making purchases here and there and … Finally, all of it: the whole story in Lamadrid, their parents’ horrendous accident and—to top it off—profane burial, then their life in Nadadores, their setbacks, their recoveries, at some point all got spirited away: cruel memories: except Soledad, their legendary aunt whom they never visited because they didn’t want to quarrel, for by now they were in their thirties and had their own opinions, though they appreciated her for her honesty, for having helped them get on their feet: but not for her own self, not for her company.

“We have to write to our aunt.”

“You’re right, we should tell her where we’re living.”

Time passed: one day, under their front door: the twins found a large, lovely orange envelope. It was undoubtedly a letter from … They opened it and read: “You’re invited to the wedding of my son, Benigno; my boy is getting married. Both of you should come, we’re throwing a big shindig. I suggest you do your hair differently: for example, one could wear it down, and the other, piled on top of her head in a tower. And don’t dress the same, and don’t stick together the whole time. Take my advice. There’ll be many single men and you might just catch one. No matter what, I’m sending you my blessings, and remember, we always have a big bed for you in my house, because: things are better around here, not like before, now we even have enough money to travel. Anyway, it would be our pleasure to welcome you into our home again. Fondly, your aunt who misses you, Soledad Guadarrama.” The date of the wedding was written along the bottom of the blue card, especially for them … In four days’ time.