The thirteenth tale Read Online Free Page B

I’d ready read, and passed
on to the next. It was identical. I was puzzled. Why would I have two birth
certificates?
     
    Then I saw it. Same father, same mother, same date of birth,
same ace of birth, different name.
     
    What happened to me in that moment? Inside my head everything
came to pieces and came back together differently, in one of those
kaleidoscopic reorganizations the brain is capable of.
     
    I had a twin.
     
    Ignoring the tumult in my head, my curious fingers unfolded a
sec-id piece of paper.
     
    A death certificate.
     
    My twin was dead.
     
    I knew what it was that had stained me.
     
    Though I was stupefied by the discovery, I was not surprised.
For ire had always been a feeling. The knowledge, too familiar to have ever
needed words, that there was something. An altered quality in the air to my
right. A coagulation of light. Something peculiar to me that set empty space
vibrating. My pale shadow.
     
    Pressing my hands to my right side, I bowed my head, nose almost
to shoulder. It was an old gesture, one that had always come to me in pain, in
perplexity, under duress of any kind. Too familiar to be pondered until now, my
discovery revealed its meaning. I was looking for my twin. Where she should
have been. By my side.
     
    When I saw the two pieces of paper, and when the world had
recovered itself enough to start turning again on its slow axis, I thought, So
that’s it. Loss. Sorrow. Loneliness. There was a feeling that had kept me apart
from other people—and kept me company—all my life, and now that I had found the
certificates, I knew what the feeling was. My sister.
     
    After a long time there came the sound of the kitchen door
opening downstairs. Pins and needles in my calves, I went as far as the
landing, and Mrs. Robb appeared at the bottom of the stairs.
     
    ‘Is everything all right, Margaret?“
     
    ‘Yes.“
     
    ‘Have you got everything you need?“
     
    ‘Yes.“
     
    ‘Well, come round if you need to.“
     
    ‘All right.“
     
    ‘They won’t be long now, your mum and dad.“
     
    She left.
     
    I returned the documents to the tin and put the tin back under
the bed. I left the bedroom, closing the door behind me. In front of the
bathroom mirror I felt the shock of contact as my eyes locked together with the
eyes of another. My face tingled under her gaze. I could feel the bones under
my skin.
     
    Later, my parents’ steps on the stairs.
     
    I opened the door, and on the landing Father gave me a hug.
     
    ‘Well done,“ he said. ”Good marks all round.“
     
    Mother looked pale and tired. Going out would have started one
of her headaches.
     
    ‘Yes,“ she said. ”Good girl.“
     
    ‘And so, how was it, sweetheart? Being home on your own?“
     
    ‘It was fine.“
     
    ‘Thought it would be,“ he said. And then, unable to stop
himself, he gave me another hug, a happy, two-armed affair, and kissed the top
of my head. ”Time for bed. And don’t read too long.“
     
    ‘I won’t.“
     
    Later I heard my parents going about the business of getting
ready for bed. Father opening the medicine cupboard to find Mother’s pills,
filling a glass with water. His voice saying, as it so frequently did, “You’ll
feel better after a good night’s sleep.” Then the door of the guest room
closed. A few moments later the bed creaked in the other room, and I heard my
father’s light click off.
     
    I knew about twins. A cell that should ordinarily become one
person inexplicably becomes two identical people instead.
     
    I was a twin.
     
    My twin was dead.
     
    What did that make me now?
     
    Under the covers I pressed my hand against the silver-pink
crescent on my torso. The shadow my sister had left behind. Like an
archaeologist of the flesh, I explored my body for evidence of its ancient
history. I ‘as as cold as a corpse.
     
    With the letter still in my hand, I left the shop and went
upstairs to my flat, he staircase