“When I heard about John and Paul, I thought that theirs was a story that should be told; best of all by them. Not the story of their similarities — fascinating enough but no surprise to anyone the least bit familiar with the lore of identical twins — but the story of their obstinate separation from one another, something hardly imaginable. Ideally, an account by each of them would be the best, but I realized that initiating such a project would inevitably make me an actor in their relationship, whether for good or bad — it has become almost a scientific cliché that one cannot ‘objectively’ evaluate a question without modifying its givens, something I earnestly hope to avoid. So it would have to be one or the other who told the tale, at least initially; and from all I was able to glean about their temperaments, Paul struck me as the better choice. I was afraid John’s reputedly generous nature would tinge with sentiment whatever might be dark and difficult in their relation; whereas Paul’s openly stubborn, bluff drive had something of a juggernaut in it, meaning less caution and more frankness in his account. What I saw of him today seemed to confirm my intuition. We’ll see. I’m here in any case to try and convince him to write his version of events. It should be a great occasion if he accepts.”
“Thank you. I heartily agree. Now I must tell you at once that I too came here because of them, although with no purpose as practical as yours. As you may have guessed, I am a professional psychologist, of the behaviorist school. I study and teach how and why people do what they do independently of their feelings and will. It’s not only genetics. Think of my uncle’s ginger poodle.” (If Andreas let the reference pass without a smile, it was also without irritation.) “The behavior of identical twins has long exerted a fascination on those in my profession — and, darling Andreas, I must confess that I am hopelessly fascinated by people’s behavior, and not only in my work — I go around peering at the habitants of our world and at every step my scientific precautions desert me.
“And these two! They’re not conducting themselves the way they’re supposed to! When I first read about identical twins, perhaps in the same journals you did, impetuous curiosity, and a desire to observe and, if I could, know them, started worrying my brain and my nerves. Why this compulsive separation of two lives that are in agreement about virtually everything? Can they be happy? If not, why did they both settle in the same distant little town? What might I do for them if ever they confided in me? (I admit to that unlikely dream.) So I’m here for no reason but the impression — a distant impression — gleaned or more likely fantasized from anonymous gray printed matter. And I expect that in the end there will be nothing to show for this expense of enthusiasm. Except you.”
“I do hope and pray that ‘we’ last. How did you meet John? You’re half way, let me point out, to realizing your first wish.”
“On my way into town I stopped at a café just past the upper road. It’s in a run-down neighborhood, which sets it off effectively — its freshly painted shutters, well-polished brasses, its general cleanliness and gaiety of note. It is pleasantly run. It offers acceptable wines and good coffee, of which I was drinking a cup when John unexpectedly accosted me and asked if he could sit for a moment at my table. Of course I said yes, trying not to show my pleasure. He spoke to me most gently, at first asking me obvious questions: When had I arrived here? How long was I planning to stay? I suspect he is attracted to older women. (I spoke of you as soon as I could tactfully do so.) We soon went on to less obvious matters, a conversation that after half an hour or so led to his eulogy of feelings, remember? To which he may have been helped by the wine we were by then drinking. I liked him extremely and am glad to think he liked me too. I made no mention of Paul. Next time, perhaps.”
“Congratulations! My feelings are: singly we may know only one of them, together we know them both. It’s a start. What wine were you drinking?” “Sardinian Vermentino.” “Excellent. What do we do now? I thought of dropping a note at Paul’s lodgings and asking him to have dinner with me, or with us, as you think best.” “Shall I ask John to join us?” “Given what we know of them, he’ll surely refuse. In time maybe, when they know us better.” “I suppose you’re right. By the way, the Hydes have asked us to dine with them tomorrow evening. We’ll see what they have to say about our young men.” “I fear I know all to well what they’ll say. In the meantime I suggest that we draw up a list of subjects — books, politics, and so forth — to start filling in the blanks of what we don’t know about one another.” “If you like. I must say
