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“Taken where?” Renie broke in. “We heard he killed
himself.”
“Oh!” Jim recoiled in horror at Renie’s blunt speech.
“That’s not true! He wouldn’t! He couldn’t! Oh!”
“Hospital gossip,” Judith said soothingly. “Please,
Mr. Randall, don’t get upset.”
“How can I not be upset?” Jim Randall was close to
tears. “Bob was my twin. We were just like brothers. I
mean, we
saved my life when we were kids. I fell into a lake, I
couldn’t swim, but Bob was an excellent swimmer, and
he rescued me. . . . If he didn’t kill himself, what happened? I mean, I’d understand if he did. I’ve felt suicidal sometimes, too. There’ve been days when I wished
Bob had never saved me from drowning. But Bob
wasn’t the type to take his own life. He had everything
to live for, that is.” Jim fought for composure.
“Nancy . . . Bob Jr. . . . Did they . . . ?”
“Did they what?” Judith prodded.
“Never mind.” Jim gave himself a good shake, shedding some of the moisture from his baggy raincoat. “I
should have been here, with Bob. I should have kept
watch over him. I’ll never forgive myself.”
“Where were you?” Renie asked, popping a piece of
cantaloupe into her mouth.
Jim raised his right arm and used his sleeve to wipe
off some melted snow from his forehead. “That’s the
irony. I was here, in this very hospital, having an MRI.”
“Goodness,” Judith remarked, “that’s a shame. I
mean, that both you and your brother had medical
problems at the same time.”
Flexing his left leg, Jim gave the cousins a selfdeprecating smile. “It was to be expected. You see, Bob and
I are—were—mirror twins. It’s a fairly rare phenomenon.
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Mary Daheim
We faced each other in the womb, so everything about us
is opposite. Bob was right-handed, I’m left-handed; he
was good at numbers, I’m not. And he’s been lucky with
his health over the years, except for the kinds of injuries
athletes suffer in their playing days. Nothing serious,
though. But unlike Bob, my constitution’s not strong.
I’ve had my share of medical problems. An MRI, a CAT
scan, an ultrasound—you name it, I’ve had them all.”
“That’s a shame,” Judith commiserated. “Nothing
serious, I hope?”
“Not so far,” Jim said, adjusting his glasses. “But
then Bob’s right knee went out, so my left one goes.
That’s part of the mirror-twin effect, you see. I planned
to have my surgery after Bob got back on his feet. But
now . . .” Jim’s voice trailed away.
