Does Vryheid consist of one single farmhouse?
Although I drive slowly, the wheels churn up stones and bits of gravel, making my entry noisy and intrusive. I am astounded that the yard, once I torpedo through the clusters of branches, is still empty. How has no one heard my approach? Perhaps, despite the presence of a small red car, there's nobody home. Maybe they're out working in a field far from the house. I almost use this as an excuse to turn around. Faced with the reality of this place I am tempted to give in to cowardice. I force myself to put the car in park, turn off the engine and open my door.
The house is a squat structure that seems to have sprouted thick legs in every direction. It's not a typical farmhouse, although the original red cedar shingle exterior is common. Over the years someone has obviously added to the small cottage it once was, with no regard for outer beauty. Some of the additions are white cedar, some red siding, some natural stone. A hodgepodge that has even encroached upon the surrounding trees, forcing them to embrace the rooftops, it resembles a motel built by different owners. It doesn't look particularly poverty stricken or cheap, just ill planned.
This does explain why no one heard my car. If they are in a back room, they are probably shielded from any noise from the roadway.
The initial front entry remains. A huge porch all across the front looks new, relative to the rest of the house. Painted brown, it matches the window frames on the center cottage. Twin willows weep over the roof of the veranda, covering the entire front with cool dark shade. See a weeping willow, crying on his pillow, maybe he's crying for me…
Surrounded by giant purple clover, wild grass and geraniums, the effect is a lack of inhibition rather than carelessness. The thick oak door is firmly shut, shaded by a matching screen. Lace curtains frame the small shuttered windows at the front. The place looks deserted, calm and silent. An artificial cake baking in the sun.
My footsteps echo on the wood as I mount the steps. I am nervous, hot and thirsty and doubtful. It's all I can do to reach up and ring the bell. My hand trembles and I feel faint. When the door is yanked open a couple of minutes later, the only reason I stay on my feet is because I have recently experienced an even greater shock looking over my own balcony.
The woman standing in the dim hallway is my mirror image. She has my height, my coloring, my build—my face. We stare for a long universe of a moment. Then I stagger backward just as she pitches forward, so I almost miss catching her in my arms.
My purse tumbles to the porch, scattering papers and lipstick and coins, but I ignore it in favor of bringing us both gently to the surface of the wood, where I sit awkwardly, panting. She lays half on top of me. Her face turns upward. Her eyes roll back.
I hold her head up, wait for her breathing to settle. Study her face with a fascination that's unbecoming under the circumstance. But I can't help myself. The contours of her cheekbones, her lashes, her eyebrows, mouth, nose, neck…every part of her is identical to mine.
Her eyelids flutter and her chest heaves as she regains consciousness. When she does, she sits straight up, an arrow aimed in disbelief. Her eyes are wide with shock. She pushes herself around to face me and we end up in a kiss position.
"Who are you?" she demands.
Other than the rounded-vowel-accent that I lost long ago, even her voice is mine. For a moment, I think I won't know the answer, then I recover slightly.
"I'm Anne Williams."
"You are not Anne Williams, that's for sure."
We scramble awkwardly to our feet where I proceed to gather the contents of my purse, including my passport. She stands frowning at me, hands on her hips.
"You're my twin. Or my ghost. Or…what the hell is this?"
She spits the words at me, angrily, as though I committed the crime of stealing her face. Her skin is red with the blush of emotion, probably mimicking my own precisely.
I gulp and try to recover, but all I can say is, "Can I please have a drink of water? I think this time I might be the one to faint."
There's a bench running all around the porch, attached to its railings. I sit abruptly, grateful that the willows keep the sun off my head. Sweat pours from my hairline and I am parched. The Other Me says nothing, but disappears into the house. She returns quickly with a huge pitcher of ice water and two glasses. We both sit and pour the cold liquid down our throats. It has the earthy tinge of a spring well, full-bodied and delicious.
When my throat feels able, I start to tell her my story.
"I found some papers…" I don't bother to explain when or where "…which revealed that I was adopted. I didn't know before…" I pause, not sure which 'before' I am thinking of. "This address was listed as my birth mother's. So I came here…"
It sounds lame and stilted, but my brain isn't back to full capacity yet.
"You must be my twin. I mean really, you have to be. Were you…did you grow up here?"
She shakes her head, her lovely me head and puts her glass down.
"I was adopted, too. I found out two years ago."
She glances behind her, as though to indicate the entire household.
"Obviously I know about Dembi, but you…"
"Dembi?"
"He's our brother. Our triplet. We're triplets."
She says the word slowly, as though tasting it on her lips and tongue.
I don't know what I am feeling. I sit as though I haven't heard her. I breathe in the scent of clover and something else sweet. Listen to the birds flutter and chirp overhead. I am afraid that if I move, this will all be real. Or else it's a dream and I am going crazy again.
"What's your real name?"
I blink at her. "What's yours?" I snap back, in the same snooty tone.
"Miriam. Miriam Hunter, though our birth surname was Johnston, in case you didn't know. But I know you can't be Anne Williams."
Wordlessly, my hands shaking even more than they had previously, I hand my passport over to her.
Her own hands tremble now. Miriam looks it over carefully, then stares back at me.
"I don't understand. I just don't know how…"
We are interrupted by the sound of the front door. A tall young man bounces out onto the porch, his face alight with a huge grin. Except for the off-kilter set of his mouth, he is identical to Miriam and me. In fact he's even more beautiful. His skin is a slight shade darker, resulting in a face that's youthful and smooth. Though he is obviously thirty-three years old, he appears much younger. Angelic. His eyes are innocent. His hair is also slightly darker than his sisters', but perhaps the brush cut only makes it look that way.
His clothes are twisted as though he pulled them on in the dark. The t-shirt reflects a Disney character and the shorts are baggy on his gangly frame. His hands, curled and fluttery, seem to probe the air before he passes through it. When he finally becomes aware of the two-ness of us, he stops dead. The smile disappears. His eyes dart from me to Miriam and back again.
I feel as though he is scanning me, a machine-like brain tapping into my pores with a million antennae. He is clearly mentally handicapped, disabled, differently wired, whatever language I should be using. If I had not been shocked and uncomfortable before, I certainly am now. I have no idea how to respond. I realize that I have never, in my pampered and cosseted life, been this close to a handicapped person other than someone begging on the street.
I hear Karoline's voice, silent for so long, suddenly lecturing me should I make a move for my wallet. "He's probably got his Mercedes parked down the street. These people are usually frauds and if not, you don't want to get too close, they have lice."
This man is well dressed and clean, though. He's not on a street begging. Karoline's advice doesn't seem to apply and I flounder. I stay rooted to my spot. Miriam leaps to her feet to hold his hands until his gaze meets hers directly.
"Dembi, this is…our triplet."
She can't bring herself to say my name, unconvinced even by my official identification.
"You know what I mea
n by triplet?"
He nods his head eagerly, tears himself from Miriam's hold. Abruptly he's in my space before I can move or think. His soft hands unfurl and glide over my face, tickle my cheeks, feather my neck.
"Triplet is the same."
His words are thick as though his tongue is several times too big.
"She is Miriam and she is Dembi."
Miriam comes over to his side, gently taking his hands again. She can see the discomfort written in the expression of my eyes and mouth, snapshots of her own without the judgment.
"That's it, Dembi. We look exactly the same."
"Amazing," I manage to stammer. "Obviously you and I are identical twins. And he is our triplet. But he can't be identical. He still looks just like us. But he's mentally…"
I blather, saying the wrong things. Rude selfish Anne bubbles to the surface so easily. Aftershocks from yet another earthquake.
Miriam takes pity on me, though there is a flash of anger and disgust that she quickly abolishes in favor of sympathy.
"You're right. Obviously up until now I thought we were fraternal twins, not triplets. And yes, he's different. But you will be amazed by Dembi in so many ways. If you stay long enough to learn."
There's an accusation in her tone. An assumption that I am simply on a research mission to gather the bare facts but unwilling to live with what I discover. She is not entirely wrong. She's my twin and she can see through my façade, my fancy L.A. clothes, my ridiculous responses. But I am determined to prove that only Ice Queen Anne would have responded negatively. That I have evolved. I am loved. I have learned regret and humility and layers of emotion. I am no longer Surface Anne.
"I would like to stay long enough, Miriam."
I don't know how to describe my journey to her. Who I am. What I am. "I killed my best friend. I threw her away like a bag of unwanted clothing. Then I came looking for my family." Might not be a good way to introduce myself.
"I'd like to get to know you and Dembi. I'd like to meet our mother…"
Dembi clasps my hands. His own slightly unfurl in my palm as though he has relaxed in my presence. I feel somehow complimented.
"You stay with us. You are us."
Tears come unbidden, slipping down my cheeks. I am not used to handling these feelings that well inside me. I begin to sob. There are no controls, no handbook. No Karoline to help me through this part. No voices at all.
My siblings sit on either side of me as though we have done this all our lives. That circle of three re-created by blood and luck.
When I am calm once more, Miriam sits up straight and slides a distance away from me on the bench. Dembi remains glued to my side. He's so close that I can feel the heat from his body. Hear the beat of his heart. He hums a sad song in my ear, very softly, comforting himself and me.
"I can't do anything until you explain how two sisters can have the exact same name," Miriam says. "I realize that we were all adopted out, but to believe that two of you ended up being Anne Williams is ridiculous."
"I'm sorry, I don't know what you mean. What other Anne Williams?"
"The one who's been coming here for the last three years. The one who found our mother first, eventually contacted me, brought me here. The one who helped with our mother's illness and Dembi's needs. Our sister. Anne Williams. She lives in Los Angeles."
Suddenly I understand. How could I not? This is a repeat of what she did with Giulio and Paolo. I unfold my wallet, slide an old square out from the hidden pocket and hand it to Miriam. It's one of those photos from a fair. Karoline and I squished into a booth. Eyes widened by the flash. Mouths opened in unabashed fun. My twin stares at it for a century, silent and confused.
"She was my friend," I say, stumbling slightly on the last word. "Her name was Karoline."
Miriam's eyes fill with tears. I feel the reactions of dismay and disappointment at the betrayal as though they are my own, which indeed they are. For a moment I wish I could put my arm around her narrow shoulders but a wall of doubt prevents me from doing it. Old cold Anne struggles with the emotionally immature new one.
Dembi has no such qualms or conflicts. He goes to Miriam's side, puts his arm around her. His head on her shoulder, he stares down at the picture.
"Sister," he says.
Sister, friend, mentor, guide, colleague, genius. How many faces had Karoline presented? Clever, deceitful, unforgiven Karoline.
A couple of squirrels scream above our heads, leaping frantically across the branches. Just then a big grey and black tabby cat strolls onto the porch, heaving himself at Dembi's feet.
"Rolly," he says in delight.
He picks the big feline up like a toddler, cuddling him on his shoulder. The animal purrs and settles into Dembi's arms, an obviously frequent embrace. The squirrels are not so impressed by the presence of a cat.
Still there is silence from Miriam, though she smiles briefly at our brother and his pet. At last she turns to look into my eyes. It's a weird sensation having that face inches away, identical yet separate. Her thoughts her own, the vibrations and expressions so similar.
"Why would…Karoline…do this?"
Despite the fact that more tears are struggling to be released I keep my gaze on hers. I angrily push my sorrow back, tired of the emotional wreck I've become.
"I don't know. I just can't explain it, Miriam. She had a breakdown, a complete mental collapse."
My sister hasn't noticed that I use the past tense for Karoline, so I try to gentle my voice when I tell her.
"She committed suicide."
Miriam gasps but Dembi is too wrapped up in Rolly to take note. I'm not sure he would even understand the word.
"Oh my god, that's horrible. That's…" Miriam bursts into tears. "I was so angry with her for abandoning us. She just stopped all contact. No more visits, calls, just silence. And all along, she was…"
She lifts her tear-stained face to study my expression.
"How did you handle all that?"
"I had a severe bout of depression too when I found all of this hidden information about my own life. I still don't understand how she could betray me like this. I can't quite forgive her. Or myself for that matter."
"Yourself?"
I choke back the urge to tell her everything.
"I didn't do enough to save her. She broke down practically in front of me, but I kept thinking she'd come back to herself. Maybe I was just lazy or in denial, or whatever. In any event, she's gone."
Miriam weeps quietly. The tears track slowly down her cheeks. Her shoulders hunch over.
"I grew to love Anne," she says, then corrects herself. "Karoline, I mean. I don't understand either. Maybe now we never will. But she found me and led me to Memé and Dembi, so I can't quite be angry. Just very confused."
She turns around and puts her arms around me, drawing me close to her in a fierce hug. At first I am startled into my usual reaction, an instinct to pull away. Then I feel the heat from her skin, the dampness of her tears. Smell the light perfume that she wears. I respond to the energy flowing from her. I wrap my arms around her, too. I cling to this other version of me. My blood and my cells twinned in another human being who'd loved Karoline.
"And now I have you, too."
Miriam is so natural and gentle. She's already open to accepting me, giving her love to me. I know that I can learn a lot from her. We both cry for a while, soaking each other's shoulder, both with regret, though mine is a much different version from my sister's.
When we part I notice Dembi sitting at our feet. His arms encircle our legs, giving us unnoticed comfort. True anonymous charity.
Oblivious to the human drama, Rolly stretches out on the porch.
"Triplets," Dembi says.
Something about the forlorn sound of his voice makes both Miriam and me smile. We reach down at the same time and pull him into our circle.
I am nearly breathless from the strange emotions zinging through me. I feel as though I have my formidable trio ba
ck again.
Miriam lifts her head from the huddle.
"I hadn't heard from Anne…Karoline…for months. I called and there was never any answer."
I think of the deserted telephone in Karoline's room. We'd had separate lines for so many years that I hadn't even thought about it. She must have unplugged it that night. Had she anticipated what was going to happen?
"I assumed she couldn't handle Memé's condition."
I focus once again on Miriam.
"Who's Memé?"
Dembi heads excitedly for the front door, pulling me along. "Memé!"
"Wait, Dembi," Miriam says, her voice stern. "Let me tell Anne first."
"Anne?" He looks around, searching. I realize he expected Karoline to be standing there.
"I'm Anne, too," I tell him, pointing at myself. "Anne, too."
"Anne, too," he says, astounded. "Triplet Anne."
Miriam and I laugh together.
"Exactly," I say.
"Okay. See you."
He strides through the doorway with Rolly in his arms. The screen slams behind him. We hear him humming for a while as he traverses the hallway.
Miriam grasps my hand. She talks without looking at me. Facing the door, she lectures the facts. A distancing technique I recognize well.
"Our birth mother's name is Elizabeth Johnston."
Elizabeth. My adopted mother hadn't truly given up on her sister after all.
"She was a beautiful girl, known as Libby. She grew up on this farm. A free spirit, really, not very smart, always loose and running through the fields. I get the impression that her parents drank a great deal and didn't pay too much attention to their offspring. They were tobacco farmers and made a really good living, but they liked a good time a little too much. You can see they had money…"
She waves her hand over the landscape and the rambling house.
"But they pretty much drank it away. Anyhow, Libby became pregnant several times over the years, beginning at fourteen years of age. In all she birthed twelve children."
Sweet Karoline Page 12
