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Les Jumeaux (The Twins)
by Linda Tiernan Kepner

Bishou Howard knelt on the garden soil and carefully troweled a trench, pulling out some tiny weeds along the way. She could feel the heat of the New England sun on her bare shoulders. From the onion sets on her plat, she firmly placed a tiny onion every three or four inches, and covered it again. There had been a late frost this year, even for New England, in May. Now, in June 1969, it was finally safe to set out onions.

Hands rested on her bare shoulders – oily hands, above the line of the tube top she wore. “You’ll burn if I don’t rub this in,” said Bat, suiting action to words. Jean-Baptiste Howard looked like his younger sister Bishou in the face. They had the same dark hair and clear features, and the same general body type. Bat’s bronze arms, bare below the tee-shirt sleeves, displayed the bulging muscles of an ex-soldier. His hair, now grown out, was a scissors cut.

“Thanks. Just because I’ve been in Virginia doesn’t mean I’m used to the sun.”

Bat nodded. “Just the heat.” He re-capped his bottle of oil. “Feels like you’ve lost some muscle tone.”

“I did. I’ve been a university desk jockey for too long.”

“Put on a little weight, too? Your chest looks bigger.”

“If it was, you shouldn’t be looking anyway.”

He nodded again, unperturbed. “C’mon, I’ve got beer.”

She rose and dusted off the knees of her pants. “Best words I’ve heard all day.”

Bat and Bishou went back into the cabin, to the kitchen. He got two bottles of beer from the fridge, opened them, and motioned to the screen porch. Maman was there in the corner, in her wheelchair, staring out the screen. She wore thick eyeglasses, hiding an aging but pretty face. They both kissed her. They took seats at the other end of the porch.

One could never tell from looking at Bat and Bishou that they were a year apart in age. Everyone called them “the twins.” It was a mind-set, not a birthright. Now that Bat’s hair had grown out, it was easy to see they had the same black hair, the same gray eyes. The mind-set had helped them keep the family together after their parents’ car crash. It had also taught them an economy of words.

Bat sprawled his legs up on another chair, and observed, “Still waiting.”

“Not worried.” Bishou sipped good, cold beer. “I did a good dissertation, and defended it well. If they didn’t like it, that’s their pigeon. I can do it again if I have to.”

Bat, still unperturbed, nodded and took a drink from his bottle. Maman, however, wheeled over to scold her daughter. “You speak as though this weren’t the most critical period of your life, Bishou!”

“It isn’t, Maman.” Then she smiled into her mother’s eyes. “At least, that is what I am telling myself, until the letter comes in the mail. Then, we’ll see.”

Maman leaned forward, placed her hands on either side of her daughter’s head, and kissed her hair. “You two,” she said. Then she wheeled over to her previous place at the other end of the screen-porch, to stare out at the woods and grasses.

Bat shook his head, ever so slightly. The way the twins had discussed everything for years. Wasn’t critical. Didn’t matter. Not the end of the world, no matter what the parents thought. She nodded, just as slightly.

Bat murmured, “What about Louis?”

She murmured back, “Well, what about him?”

“What you said in your letter.”

“One hurdle at a time.”

“Gonna look him up?” Bat cocked an eye at her.

She frowned, exhaled, did not reply.

“Yeah,” said Bat. “You’re gone on him.”

“Labor-intensive.”

“And this isn’t?”

“And unfair to you. You matter, brother.”

They leaned forward, bumped fists, sat back.

“Don’t blow it for my sake,” said Bat.

She shook her head. “We had a deal. It’s your turn.” The deal was, his Marine hitch, her University degree, and they took turns keeping an eye on their parents and their younger brothers.

“I know. Deals can change.” Bat got out a cigarette and lit it.

Bishou watched him carefully. “You have a setback?” She watched his eyes as he looked up from his cigarette, and realized for the first time that something was wrong. “Yes.”

Bat said nothing.

“Wanna go for a walk?”

“Can’t talk about it yet,” said her brother.

“My God, Bat.” Bishou stared at him – the big, muscled, hard-headed sergeant major – as if she was seeing him for the first time. He was hurting inside. She stood. “We’ll go for a walk anyway.”

“I’m not talking.”

“Then we’ll walk along and say nothing,” she said firmly.

Slowly, he stood. His expression never changed, but his body language said he didn’t want to do this. They carried their beers with them, told Maman they were going for a walk, and stepped out the screen door.

They walked along the edge of the backyard field, then out of sight through the trees beyond. They headed toward the road, which was quiet on a weekday. They crossed the road, climbed over some guard rails, and down to a creek bed. The creek was fairly dried up this time of year. There was plenty of space to walk along beside it. They walked upstream for a while, still without speaking, listening instead to the sounds of birds conversing in bushes, leaves rustling in the slight breeze, and water kissing the stream bed.

Bishou felt empty when she thought of Louis. But she had to let him go home. Louis had been lucky the government had allowed him to come to America, with his record. They had been “tres correct” while Bishou served as his University translator, but they’d been through a lot together. Bishou still found it hard to admit that when the quiet French widower went back to Africa, her heart had gone with him.

A bird burst suddenly from a bush, chirping madly, startling her. Bat jumped alertly, and watched it flee. His Vietnam reflexes were still there, Bishou thought. It could have been a sniper.

“I think that’s a friendly bird,” she said, and he grinned.

“Depends on what it drops on us,” he rejoined.

She grinned back. “I suppose so.”

Bishou did not press Bat to talk. He would, with time. They moved on.

They were much farther upstream when he finally sat on a boulder to finish his beer. She sat nearby and did the same. The beer was almost flat now.

“So what about this Louis?” Bat asked. “Was he hot?”

She would have told anyone else to mind his own business. “Yeah. Sex in a white package, they called him. The only one who wasn’t aware of it was him.”

“How come white?”

“Tropical business suit.”

“Oh, yeah.” Bat tipped up his beer to finish it. “Nice boy?”

Who else but Bat would ask that? “Absolutely.”

“Hot for you?”

“Non. But some of the other guys were jealous as hell of him anyway, and tried to cut in.”

Bat grinned. “Any trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle, thank God.” This time, Bat laughed. It occurred to her that she hadn’t seen him really laugh her whole trip home, and thought: Neither did Louis. “Bat, who died?”

The laugh vanished. “Oh, Goddamn it.”

“No, you didn’t give it away. I made an educated guess.”

“A chopper pilot.”

“Friend?”

Brief nod. “Amy MacStay.”

“AMY MacStay?” She stared at him.

Perched on his boulder, Bat brought his knee up, bunched his fist hard, and placed his mouth against it. He’s trying not to cry, she realized in astonishment.

“Oh, Goddamn it.” Bishou hitched herself up off her rock and put her arms around her brother. She felt him shake, trying to hold it in. “No, that’s what sisters are for. Let it out.”

He started to sob, small sobs, still under control. But his face was agony, eyes clenched tight shut, tears nonetheless. She held him and stroked him.

“That’s the problem with you macho men. You don’t have practice dealing with meltdowns, especially your own,” she murmured, still holding him tightly.

He sobbed, “Her hitch was almost over.”

She understood. They’d been talking marriage. “You always said it’s the last three months that get you.”

“Yeah. Yeah! And I’ve held my breath every goddamned mail delivery, worse than you with University. Fear that the letter would be there – from her sister, somebody. And it came!”

“Any chance she’s a POW, or something?”

He shook his head. “They got the body. I went to the funeral. Maine.”

Bishou remembered Dad saying Bat took a trip up to Maine earlier this year. He’d kept his grief from his family, not even wanting to tell his sister. “Mel and Irene, that phoned here?”

He nodded. “Her parents.” He pulled a filthy handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his eyes, blew his nose, and recovered himself. “Maybe that’s why I don’t like to see you waiting and waiting, Bishou. Finding excuses for not taking the leap. Saying, just a little longer. It might not be there.”

“Louis jumped in, and look where it got him.” Notoriety and a prison record.

“There’s a middle road. You know it. But what I mean – “ Bat wiped his eyes, blew his nose again, and began to sound more like himself – “was, that was my plan, Bishou, marry Amy, move back here near the family so we could take care of the boys, maybe even start a family of my own. And the plan’s gone.” He snapped his fingers. “You want to run away for a while, you want to travel, I’ll cover you. Because I’m sure as hell not going to be doing anything else.”

She hugged him closer. “You sound so bitter.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t I be? You know and I know it’ll change with time. We’ve both been through this crap before.” He put his arms around her body. “You’re a woman, and, little sister, you are hot. I may be your brother, but that doesn’t mean I have to be stupid about things like that. You want that man, get him. You want that job, get it. Do it.”

She pressed his head against her chest. “I want that sheepskin first. Then we’ll see what happens. We’re just going to mark time for a little while, okay, brother?”

She felt him nod. “Sounds fair. Family time, what we can get.”

“Absolutely. Then I’ve got to check my finances, too.”

“Sell the car.”

“I will. But I only have a little cash reserved. I’ve got to check my assets.”

“Got a job as a manager for New England Transit. I’m fixed. I can lend you some.”

“Good. I might need it. Don’t know what I’m going to do yet, but I’ll do something, I promise.”

It was a few days later that the telephone rang. Bat answered it. “Howard residence.” He listened, then said, “Yeah, Bat, Jean-Baptiste, that’s me.” A smile started to appear on his lips. Then he said, “Yes, sir,” and pressed the phone receiver against his muscular arm. In his best sergeant-major’s voice, he shouted, “Doctor Roth on the phone wants to speak to Doctor Howard! Front and center, Doctor!”

Bishou took the phone receiver from him as her brothers galloped down the stairs. Her father appeared from a corner, looking delighted. Maman had actually wheeled herself in from the screen porch, looking happy. “Dr. Roth? Is that you?”

Her advisor was laughing. “I told the sergeant-major to make it loud and clear. You’ll get your letter in a few days, but I thought I would phone. Will you be able to make it back here the Saturday before Labor Day, for the Conferral of Advanced Degrees?”

“You bet I can,” Bishou replied. “I’ve got to dig up a gown, don’t I?”

Dr. Roth replied. “Your Doctoral gown has already been paid for – by a tobacco subsidy.”

“Oh, I will be damned,” said Bishou. “Not Gray Jackson.”

“No, not at all. Louis Dessant.”

“Louis Dessant?”

“He left the money with President Lanthier before he went back to Reunion Island. The President delegated that little chore of purchasing it to me. Not a problem, I know where I got mine. So come and look us up when you get here. We’ve got your costume.”

“Oh my God.”

“Just come. Third woman doctorate, the place is alight. Expect to be the highlight of the season, Bishou.”

“You and me both, Dr. Roth. I’ll be there. See you the day before, probably.”

“All right. You know the way. We’ll see you then.”

She hung up, stunned. Her father hugged her. Her mother bade her bend down for a kiss. Bat wrapped his arms around her and asked, “What was that about a gown?”

“Mine’s already been paid for,” she said slowly.

“What? By the University?” Bat stared.

“No. By the tobacco people. By – Louis Dessant.”

“As in Dessant cigarettes?” her father asked in surprise.

“Oui, as in Dessant cigarettes,” Bishou replied slowly.

Smiling down at her in his arms, Bat told her, “You may have to go thank him.”

“Oui, I think I do,” she said.

“Maybe I’ll need those black-and-whites I bought, after all,” he said.

“Maybe you will,” agreed his sister. “After all.”