One Out of Two (3 page)

At this point—we should get our bearings—the Gamal sisters were rapidly approaching their forty-second birthday. Across their foreheads and under their eyes, down their necks and along their eyelids, clear ridges had appeared, as if some phantom fiend visited them at night and sculpted their slumbering countenances, and while they were at it, their bodies, with the clear intention of making them look more alike: making them one—poor things—: as if life were pure and vain idealism, for the number two can never be one. Whatever the case, and as for their sameness, we could wax eloquent, speak of dimensions and analogous depths, but …

Constitución and Gloria found in that invitation—by all measures, kind—the key to their perhaps most deeply buried preoccupation: “There’ll be many single men.” Such crass nonsense because: after reading this refrain, the twins saw each other and themselves differently, and from that moment on the ambiguous gift of looking so much alike began to make them uncomfortable. They could not both go to Nadadores.

No matter how badly they now wanted to look different, even with makeup, each on her own: without agreeing or intentionally seeking obvious contrasts: no: their identity was fixed, it was a curse and that was the end of it and nobody knows why. That is: in the past they’d tried: if one dolled herself up, the other wouldn’t; if one wore a dress, the other would put on trousers … But folks aren’t so easily fooled: even if they managed it in Sacramento or Cuatro Ciénegas, or even here, in Ocampo: they were recognized: on the bus, but more to the point: their luck in love was limited to much-too-furtive glances: from the absentminded. Which is precisely why they never went to dance parties: moreover, they were so unsightly that nobody ever chose them, not even the drunks. Hence, their path was narrow and grew ever narrower as the years went by … What horrors! a knife’s edge, a distant glint, and maybe unnecessary.

Then that wedding: an opportunity, an illusion, a short vacation, a break from the routine, even if this marvel of meticulousness was a source of pleasure. Which is why they didn’t have the slightest remorse about being slackers because from seven in the morning till seven at night—twelve full hours of toil, well, except an hour and a half to rest, figured into the schedule and offering concrete benefits, lest we think otherwise: the midday meal, washing up then lying down on different beds: sleeping soundly for fifteen or maybe ten minutes: power naps—every day except Sunday their customers arrived with their fabrics and left satisfied, their garments packed in bags with handles—paper bags—that the twins used because they happened to like them. Though lately, they had so many people traipsing through their door that they were falling behind, so rather than fail to fill orders as promised, they sewed till midnight almost every day. Hence, the stress previously mentioned.

Hence, also, the success—they worked for cheap—that allowed them to forget for long stretches their lack of acquiescence to love: men and their kisses, the sexual divide, those ecstatic shapes of bodies intertwined: over there, in the impossible beyond: tenderness was there, in the heavens.

That’s why this was so disruptive. The wedding. The separation. The attempt to find out if somehow: the gnosis of a miracle: a suitor might unexpectedly appear. But only one would go, because both, they couldn’t, no way. They discussed it extensively, the pros and the cons …

And they finally decide who would go to Nadadores with the flip of a coin. Heads or tails? Constitución won, and poor Gloria: she was left in a terrible predicament! She’d have to work double. One could even say, she’d have to work fast—chuck the usual perfectionism—if she was going to keep up with the orders. For her to fully embrace her defeat would require a change in criteria. To cleanse herself of envy so as to condescend, pretend to be someone who cared, though to tell the truth, deep down she bitterly wished that the other had been the one who’d lost, even if she was her equal. They still looked alike, but Gloria wanted to deny it when tails turned up and her ire rose.

“I hope you find someone good: a real man; but don’t get your hopes up too high.”

Wary dismay, and ultimately: razor-sharp envy; the loser issued her warning in tremulous tones and under the guise of great sincerity as she sewed without looking at her dear sister’s girlish delight, the perspicacious or deeply wise winner knowing how imprudent it would be to say anything that might provoke a silly spat, that it was advisable, for now, to accept the advice, pretending to repress her sense of triumph.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t get my hopes up too high.”

The talkative one, however, was a hypocrite, for she rose at dawn, in the dark and stealthily, not making any noise that would rouse she who remained unconscious. Complicated maneuvers to dress: then running euphorically the four blocks to the shop, after leaving on the bed a short note that read: “I’ll be at the shop. I’m going to make a dress out of our finest fabric, because I’m thrilled to be going to Nadadores. This is, after all, my big chance.” These lines, when read by the other, made her think that a fundamental attitudinal change had been wrought. What the devil had Constitución dreamed?

Erroneous notions. Getting all in a tizzy over a make-believe affection.

Now the gloating had come out in the open and was on the verge of flooding the scene or creating total disarray, as if the winning twin wished to provoke, or so the defeated sister saw it, heavy-duty envy or cold indifference or—why else? And that cursed coin toss now loomed large and powerful enough to destroy her twin. Imminent danger of … Gloria thought to herself: “I don’t like the look of things … I’m going to the shop. I’m going to set that girl straight.”

And off she went without even a bite of breakfast. Also running … There Constitución was, nose to grindstone, sewing her dress, her attention so rapt that she failed to notice the other’s noisy arrival, until that one said:

“I can’t envy you because what is yours is mine and vice versa. Isn’t that what we agreed years ago? What? Aren’t we exactly alike? I don’t understand why you came here so early, almost
almost
sneaking out. I didn’t care for your note. What’s wrong with you? Who do you think you are? What’s gotten into you?”

To which the other replied, “You’re right, I shouldn’t get my hopes up too high.”

“Don’t play that part with me. You’re all in a tizzy over something you have no idea about, and I don’t want you coming back sad if you don’t get what you want.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t get my hopes up too high.”

Stubborn as a mule—a hypocrite and a fool—she kept sewing, not paying any attention to the irate protestations of the loser. That same sentence, “You’re right …” et cetera: repeated over and over, as if it were the only thought in her head. And dawn broke and the other—the roles reversed: therefore—expressed her rage till she had nothing left but regret: while Constitución was, as it were, borne aloft by longing: the taste of dripping honey, the slow probing, or the words whispered into her ear by the man of her dreams. Scents and lingering gazes! Sinking gently. Kissing.

In the wake of her foolish outburst, Gloria turned tender. She couldn’t figure out how to look good in the far-gone eyes of her sister, who kept pounding away at the pedal: if she docilely repeated that same meek and innocent sentence, it’s because she didn’t want to gloat over her triumph, which also explains the extent of her conscious restraint.

“Forgive me, sister dearest … I do wish you all the best: I want you to have the most wonderful time ever. I know that all your pleasures and rejoicings will also be mine.”

Herewith a scene of relative closure, each with her own notions looking for subterfuges, paths that would lead them to the core of their own pet daydream, or to a false principle, wherever the power of suggestion reigns.

The interim. Working like rodents, for it was silence that held sway.

All the while, customers came and left, gracious and grateful, like an apocryphal procession of manikins and marionettes. The shop: the setting, and the sisters, each in her own way, pondering separations as well as surprising alliances. About the wedding: say no more; about the toss of the coin: not that either; about luck: maybe … Throughout these fateful days: they ate, they worked very hard in complete silence. Words: only those that were absolutely essential. There was one sentence—at night: just before bed, here’s what Gloria said:

“I hope you come back with good news; I’m going to sleep peacefully, for what is yours is mine, as you well know.”

Full stop, next scene, the day of reckoning.

Constitución left. Her sister stood at the door to the shop and raised her hand to bid farewell. There is always a first time. Always a tearing, loose threads dangling … But Gloria remained stubborn:

“Have a great time and say hi to everybody for me, I hope you bring back—”

She didn’t finish because her sister quickly placed distance between them: such a small and indifferent figure she made. Only an indistinct echo remained in the air. Then: intimacy as an idea that unravels.

Here, her equal, the part that didn’t go: no tears or futile stratagems, no mannerisms, only the closing of ranks and strong convictions. And a quick return to take a look around the work space: a concrete desert filled with squalor and lacking air. Nascent longing and the word
absence
seeping into the sewing machines.

Chin up! for it’s ten o’clock in the morning and a work-day, and no matter what, the customers keep placing more orders, paying down a deposit or the whole amount up front.

The unfilled orders. So much to do, and along came someone who asked the inevitable, “Where’s your sister?” and the response was necessarily friendly though laced with a certain trace of evasiveness. Many other such questions ensued, which she answered between clenched teeth. The barrage of interrogations let up only in the afternoon when Gloria closed the door and continued pedaling till midnight. Alone, self-contained, restrained.

The action started just as her fatigue set in, at bedtime. She imagined the shindig, the enveloping music, and her sister sitting on a chair, alone, silent, a woodpecker perched on a branch, a toy bird, poised and waiting for a polite man of reasonable height to ask her to dance, but not even the midgets bothered. Lying in bed, Gloria conjured that sad scene, suffered in her own flesh the moment her aunt approached to try to coax her out, lead her enthusiastically over to the heart of the wedding party: the young newlyweds mingling, the toasts, the
Cheers!
Where everyone was milling. Where shoulders were rubbed and introductions made …

That opportunity, that moment, aah … Gloria closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep. Inside, in her mind, there was a series of reversals, furtive exchanges, evocative stencils of bodies in full abandon. Then, as things unfolded, improbable shapes arose out of somewhere: soft and gentle nakedness …

Untethered, floating, alone and bewildered. Then the couplings: in a blue space, Gloria kissing an otherworldly man, surrendering fully to the initiative his hands and tongue were taking, while her twin staggered around with mouth agape, unable to get anywhere near no matter how hard she tried. Yes, then a sequel with a smoky hue, a pursuit, and proximity: melting into an illusive silhouette of passion and desire: hence, only a tiny taste of satisfaction. Insinuations of such vast pleasure! How unattainable, though, for both of them!

/

Welcome to the wedding … What a lovely dress! Why didn’t the other one come? Yes, I understand, now you’ll have a better chance of finding a man. Best thing to do is just smile, at everybody …

/

Handshakes fade. Dance steps and glasses breaking. Swirls of laughter and dropped words. It smells like alcohol, meat, a little bit of a lot of things … Swoons, faces, blurry figures, and her aunt keeping an eagle eye out … from the shadows, at a certain distance, because that’s how it should be done …

/

It all started up again the morning her sister bustled into Ocampo: her hair down and her silhouette suddenly framed in the doorway of the shop. Gloria, to avoid an effusive greeting, pretended not to see her, sat steadfastly at her machine, the pedal going below, focused on the next stitch and the one after that; she probably had a good excuse, or—how to put it?—was formulating one.

She had the habit, as did the other, of keeping her eyes on her work except when a customer spoke to her; a quirk like that can be advantageous, and that goes for both of them, because losing one’s concentration under those circumstances could even cause an accident. Knowing this, her sister didn’t say a word, preferring to approach quietly, so she removed her high-heeled shoes and left her bag where it was. Once in front of the other, she uttered her best sentence ever:

“I danced all night with a slender man of interesting age.”

At that, the loser, both incredulous and wary, looked up. Eyes meet by way of divination, and embarrassment: eyes no longer identical: not now: then a tremulous lapse that seemed to last too long; the one sitting down now more tentative, and the one with her hair down, racier. But Gloria laughed as if the dance didn’t matter at all, for according to her, it was nothing but a trap, though in fact: a spiteful and invidious guffaw, that then ended: when:

“He’s coming to the shop next Sunday; I gave him this address. The plan is to go for a stroll. I think I’ll take him to the walnut grove at the edge of town.”

For a brief instant Gloria wanted to remind her of their agreement, about how what was yours was mine and vice versa, but then she thought it better to listen, knowing that one had to be astute when it came to affairs of the heart: or, as ranchers say, sneaky as a snake. The other, in the meantime, was excited, and with her sister’s implicit permission told the whole story from beginning to end. The encounter, the wedding as setting.

A bold exchange of glances that insinuates restiveness and invites approach, sweet words in short supply: from one to the other and back again in a move to tantalize, to kiss: why not? Though in this case: wait! for Constitución, based on her aunt’s advice, it was important to first learn something about the man’s background and social standing.