Knowing there would be much talking in store, she had secured a relatively quiet corner table for them. At Wicheria’s suggestion, they ordered plain fare and good wine. She quickly brought up the subject of the twins and asked Berenice and Andreas how they had become interested in them and what they’d learned about them since they’d arrived in town. The couple answered her questions concisely and cheerfully, not hiding their disappointment at their dinner with Paul.
Wicheria: “Paul couldn’t possibly accept your offer as ‘not impossible.’ There’s no way he could even dream of saying yes to it. That’s not only because he has a thorny side.
“This is what I think. The two of them are playing one game, the same game. Or putting on one and the same act. One act with two sides to it. Or two actors — for instance: one sort of sweet, one sort of tough, sweet John, tough Paul, John gets affection, Paul gets respect, together they get both. Or at least that’s their plan. I said this is what I think, but I bet you nobody in this place knows them like I do. I have to tell you one other thing. I never talk about Paul to John or John to Paul. And if I did — and if Andreas you did — it’s not John or Paul who could tell you what’s going down between them, only the two of them could do it. I’m not even sure if they sat down one day and laid out the rules, or the thing just evolved, seeing what worked and what didn’t. No matter how they set the game up, they had it down perfect when they moved here, arriving on separate dates, going straight to separate lodgings, drinking in different neighborhoods. Just managing the logistics proves they’d planned it together. You know they’ve never even been seen in the same space, not ever. Although there’ve been quite a few almosts.”
Andreas: “But what’s the point? What do they get out of it?” “Whatever they get they get it as a pair. I’m totally sure each of them knows what the other’s been up to.” Berenice: “What makes you so sure?” “Lots of wiseacres make a point of telling each twin ‘what he may not have heard.’ Then when I talk to either of them he’ll say that he knows these things already — ‘Oh, you should ask my brother John about that’ or ‘That’s Paul’s department.’” Berenice: “You mean they communicate?” “It sure looks that way.” “But how?” “I dunno. Invisible ink? Encryption? I long to get a look inside their Macs, but I almost never get a chance. They both always insist on my place.” Andreas: “What’s that mean?”
Wicheria: “Are you up for a confession? Real intimate?” The couple made it clear they were. “OK. I’ve had affairs with both of them. I’m having affairs with both of them. Very laid back. No strings, no expectations. I love going to bed with them, they’re different but each fun in his own way. Mostly they’re true to form — gentle John likes to make things last forever, steely Paul comes on like a bullet train. Now hear this: Paul likes (read: insists on) making love with the lights out, and I don’t mean down: out. And why? He doesn’t want me to see his body, he’s so shy. Sweetie-pie John has to have all the lights on so he can be sure of seeing my body, otherwise he can’t make it. It’s fine by me either way, but it’s not behavior I’d have expected. To get back to my point: what they’ve done is combine their similarities — what twins are supposed to have — with absolutely separate ways of living. Taking them together, that makes for a whole, or maybe not a whole but a very full life, here in this one place and time. That way it makes some kind of sense — not just in my bed, either.”
Berenice: “At least it’s conceivable. I’ll have to think about it.” Andreas: “Me, too. In the meantime, since you’ve been so frank about yourself, Wicheria —” “People also call me Witchy, for speed —” “OK, Witchy, could you tell us more about how you became the way you are, how you came here, for instance, how you learned to be so ‘laid back’ about sex at only, what are you, twenty-one, twenty-two?” “Close. Plus one.” “So?” “You don’t want to hear my whole story.” Berenice: “Oh yes, we do. We’re very into stories, life stories especially, you have no idea.” “That’s pretty weird. OK. My relaxed attitude about sex was the direct outcome of my tragic childhood.”
They were then regaled with their first hearing of Wicheria’s laugh — bass clarinet to clarinet to softened high flute. She then shook her head, rather solemnly. “It may not have been tragic, I’m not sure what ‘tragic’ means, but it was sad enough. Still, as you must have noticed, I recovered. My last name is Bentwick — maybe five people here know that, and four of them are town clerks. Maybe for starters I should talk about the Bentwick dynasty. It’s not irrelevant, it was relevant from the start, as you’ll see.
“The start means Paul Bentwick, born in 1830 in Maastricht into a family of money changers.
“He was my great-great-grandfather. He left Holland at the age of seventeen after first ‘lightening his father’s overburdened hoard’ of one hundred pounds sterling. He sailed to New Zealand where he invested his cash in a
