3
Geoffrey Hyde was saying, “Certainly there’s something odd behind the twins’ relationship, but I can’t begin to imagine what.”
Berenice and Andreas had walked the half mile to the Hydes’ house. On their previous visit they had found the front door locked, without bell or knocker. This time it lay invitingly open, and they had walked straight in to a cheerful welcome from their hosts. They were now at table, enjoying the main course: baked fish, locally called hunting horn, white-fleshed and strong-flavored, garnished simply with salt, pepper, and olive oil. With it they drank a chilled aligoté burgundy from the Côte Chalonnaise.
To Andreas’s ears, Geoffrey’s comment on the twins only echoed the town’s opinion. Margot shook her head rather somberly and half demurred: “I find their behavior more than a little upsetting.” Berenice asked, “Because it was such a scare?” “Oh no, not a scare. The way they made places for themselves in the community was so natural and, well, elegant. Hardly scary. It’s the utter unlikeliness of their attitude towards one another that bothers me — saddens me, actually.” “Have you come to know them at all?” “Not really. Geoffrey sees Paul from time to time in his position as the town’s economic supervisor — what is your official title, dear? I’m never sure of getting it right.” “‘Mercantile Assessor for the Borough.’ It dates from an earlier age.” Andreas: “And when you assume your function, how are you to be addressed? Mr. Assessor? Mr. Mercantile Assessor? Mr. Mercantile Assessor for the Borough?” “Geoffrey usually, frequently Jeff.” “I mean,” Margot continued, “they never even communicate, or not in any detectable way.” “That’s not quite true, Margot. They do share one very visible companion, who might well act as a go-between.”
At this Andreas perked up. “Aha! Who is that?” “He probably means Wicheria, accented on the second syllable, I believe.” Geoffrey: “Who else?” “And who is Wicheria?” Berenice asked. It was almost the tone of hope. “She is our one-woman bohemia,” Geoffrey replied. “She wears outlandish clothes, like green velvet pantaloons and musketeer boots, if you see what I mean. She often dyes her long full hair a kind of dark smoldering red. Her smile fairly glitters. She is in fact almost beautiful, in her mildly provocative way.” Then, with a slight change of voice, “I approve of her completely.” Margot added, “Do you know Charley Kipper? Our captain of police. He told us that after a clique of old farts insisted he investigate the young woman, he had found her innocent of any hint of troublemaking. She does not traffic in drugs. She does not peddle her charms. She does not pilfer. She does not pursue married men, or wealthy ones. She simply expresses her love of life in a slightly provocative way.”
Geoffrey: “She has a most beautiful laugh. It starts in the bass register, but as it rises through her body it also rises in pitch, until it spills from her mouth in a diminuendo of short, bright sighs.”
Like Berenice, Andreas had followed this exchange attentively. He asked, “You said John and Paul ‘shared’ Wicheria. What does that mean?” “It’s an ambiguous word that I probably shouldn’t have used. Both John and Paul are friendly with her, perhaps even close friends. They are often seen with her, separately of course, having dinner and on rare occasions at the Hunting Horn, our ‘palais de la danse.’ The girl dances uproariously, leaping, twirling, her red mane swinging around her head in keeping with a general air of witchiness that was apparently the source of her nickname. When they dance with her, Paul keeps to his more measured if acceptably up-to-date movements. John does his best to follow his partner’s gyrations, or if he doesn’t follow, at least mimics them.” Margot: “I’ve always considered this a token of his charming tact.” Andreas: “Have you spoken to her about them?” Geoffrey: “I feel that it’s wiser for someone in an official position not to show curiosity about private affairs. In any case, I hardly know Wicheria well enough to question her about her friends.” “Yes, that’s more to the point,” Margot concluded.
On the walk back, Berenice took Andreas’s arm, less out of tenderness than for support. The evening had left her dizzy. She had kept all her intense fantasies concerning the twins intact, but her knowledge of them was still minimal: there was a gap between these extremes like an unmapped pit. She felt she was coming home not from her neighbors’ but from the shore below, or from a day spent on the ocean, or from some place at the end of the world. She exclaimed, “Do those boys really exist?” Andreas answered, “The story will tell. It’s taking an operatic turn, isn’t it?”
What did he mean? He stopped them on a bridge crossing a little brook and they listened to the water warbling. “Sometimes,” she went on, “I feel this place doesn’t exist either.” “Then we’re making it up rather well. But we’re still only spectators.” They walked on through the night toward their bed.
4
The following week Berenice and Andreas in turn invited the Hydes for dinner. Berenice served local fare: smoked red mullet from the Kaufmann smoke house, a
