Her Fearful Symmetry

by Audrey Niffenegger

  He moved through the flat, turning out lights, turning off the computer. The flat was strange to him; Martin felt as though he had not seen it for years, as though he was dreaming this unknown flat, this lost twin which somehow housed clones of all his stuff. There were the patches of sunlight coming through the windows where Julia had ripped off the newspaper. Martin held his hands out and the sunlight filled his palms.

  When it was time to leave he stood at the door, one hand on the doorknob, the other clutching the handle of the suitcase. It's perfectly fine. It's only the stairwell. You've been there before. Nothing hideous has ever happened there. It is not necessary to count. Martin thought it might be good to bring some gloves, though. He went back, found a wad of surgical gloves, put them in his jacket pocket. Then he opened the door and stepped out onto the landing.

  There. I'm out of the flat. Martin took stock of himself. A bit tight in the chest, but okay. He locked the door. Still all right. He began to lumber down the stairs with the suitcase. When he arrived at the first-floor landing he stopped, kissed his fingers and touched the door just above Elspeth's name card. Then he continued on.

  On the ground floor he knocked on Robert's door. He heard Robert walk to the door and stand there, breathing. 'It's me,' Martin said softly. The door opened about an inch, and Martin could see Robert's eye regarding him. It made him more nervous. The door opened and Robert silently gestured at him to come in. He did, pulling the suitcase along. Robert shut the door.

  Martin was startled by Robert's appearance. The change was indefinable, but extreme, as though Robert had been ill for months: his eyes were undershadowed by dark circles; he stood hunched as though in pain. 'Are you all right?' Martin asked.

  'I'm fine,' Robert said. He smiled. The effect was grotesque. Robert cleared his throat. 'I've seen a few miracles in the last day or two, but this is perhaps the most gobsmacking of them all. Where are you going?'

  'Amsterdam,' said Martin. 'Are you sure you're okay?'

  Robert said, 'Everything's under control. Does Marijke know you're coming?'

  'No,' said Martin. 'But if you think back, she did actually invite me.'

  'I'd love to see her face when she realises you've braved cabs, trains and buses for her. She'll just swoon.' He smiled again. Martin suddenly, urgently wanted to get away. But he needed to ask a question first. He said, 'Robert, do you know of any reason why I shouldn't go? ... Has she ...? Is she ...?'

  'No,' said Robert firmly, 'I don't believe she has. Or is.'

  'Well, then ...' There was a pause.

  'Deep subject.'

  Martin held out his hand. Robert shook it, then recognised his mistake when he felt Martin recoil. 'Her address?' Martin requested.

  'Sorry. Here it is.' Robert gave Martin a large envelope.

  Martin opened it, read the address. 'I was close, wasn't I?'

  'Only two streets off. Amazing.'

  Martin had the feeling that Robert was waiting for him to leave. 'I'd better go. But ... thanks.'

  'Erm ... not at all.'

  Martin turned and then said, 'Did it work out all right?'

  'What's that?'

  'The seance. The matter of life or death.' Martin stood not quite touching the doorknob, thinking about Julia.

  'Things derailed a bit, but the end result was ... interesting,' Robert said. 'By the way, how did you manage to keep Julia upstairs?'

  'Duct tape and charisma.' Martin opened the door, stepped into the hallway.

  Robert said, 'Ring us up sometime. Tell us how it goes.' He smiled more naturally as he shut the door.

  Martin glanced at his watch, saw that he should hurry. This propelled him across the hall and out the front door without too much hesitation. Halfway up the garden path he turned and looked back. Julia was watching him from her parlour window. He waved; she waved back. He glanced down at the ground-floor parlour and saw someone - Julia? - sitting in the dim room. Well, it can't be Julia. How odd. He shook his head, looked up at Julia and smiled. She stood and watched as Martin turned away and walked through the gate, carrying his suitcase lightly. What did he see? Julia wondered.

  Elspeth watched Martin disappear through the gate. Goodbye, my friend. She heard Robert come into the room. He stood behind her. 'There he goes,' he said quietly.

  'It's quite inspiring, really. He must be terrified.'

  'He seemed calm enough. Julia's been slipping him pills.'

  'Ah. I hope they linger in his system long enough to get him to Marijke's doorstep.'

  Robert said, 'Martin came to your funeral.'

  'Did he? How sweet. And brave.'

  'Very brave.'

  'Robert. Why only "interesting"?' she asked.

  'Sorry?'

  'You told Martin the end result was "interesting". Would you rather it was Valentina and not me?'

  'I can't seem to justify sacrificing Valentina to have you.'

  With some effort Elspeth turned to face him. 'What exactly do you think happened last night?' He was standing near her, but not touching. Robert looked down at her, hesitated before he answered. 'I couldn't see anything until you came into ... Valentina's body. All I know is that you're here, and she isn't. What am I supposed to think?'

  'She couldn't do it. She wasn't strong enough. I could have put her back a few minutes after she died - or she would have had to be a very strong ghost like me, and it took me months to get to the point where I could move a toothbrush, let alone a body.' She put the palm of her hand on her chest. 'At first you have to make everything go by pushing and willing it. You have to breathe with lungs that don't know how to breathe. You have to make the blood move. You have to seal yourself in and become the body. Valentina was just a sort of mist. She hovered over the body and then ... dispersed. And I thought, Right, I'll take it then.'

  'But do you think she knew? Do you think she decided not to come back?'

  'I don't know. I don't remember that phase very well.'

  'But the whole thing was a deception, then. It would never have worked. She couldn't have come back - why didn't you tell her?'

  'How was I supposed to know? It's not as though we were scientists; we made it up as we went along. She would have killed herself anyway.'

  'No ... she might have run away. She just wanted to leave Julia - she didn't want to die.'

  'She was in love with you,' Elspeth said. 'She was trying to be your ideal girl, and you were in love with a ghost. Now your ghost is alive and Valentina is a ghost.' She paused. 'So what are you going to do?'

  'I don't know. I can't ... Elspeth, right now I just despise myself for having any part in this.'

  'Are you going to leave me for your new ghost?'

  He turned away from her. They had been speaking very quietly, for fear of Julia overhearing them, and somehow this increased the horror he had of her; this whispered argument in the dim parlour suddenly became painfully absurd to him.

  'You said you wished I could come back ... You wanted me to come back ...'

  He could not answer.

  Julia stood at Robert's door. I know you're in there. It was quiet behind the door. She didn't knock. She stared at the little card that said FANSHAW. What was Martin looking at? She tried to come up with a plausible reason to be standing at Robert's door. She couldn't think of a thing. She knocked anyway.

  In the parlour Elspeth and Robert were silent, listening. Finally Elspeth looked up at him. He bent to her and she spoke into his ear. 'I'll go out the back door. See what she wants.' Robert helped her to take off her shoes, helped her walk to the back door. She sat down on the fire escape, breathing strenuously with her shoes in her hands.

  Robert walked very slowly. He stood at the door for a moment, then unlocked and opened it. Julia stood there. She looked tired and distraught, her dress hanging askew, misbuttoned, her hands clasped in front of her like a penitent.

  'Hello, Julia.' I'm sorry, Julia. I've killed your sister.

  'Hey.' You look really freaked out, Robert
.

  'Are you okay?' I didn't mean to kill her. She insisted.

  'Can I come in?' What are you hiding?

  'Erm, yeah, sure.' It didn't work out quite the way she thought it would.

  Julia walked into Robert's hallway. She took a few steps and turned back. 'Can I look around?'

  'Why?'

  She didn't reply, but ran into the front room, stood looking for a moment, raced into the parlour, through the dining room, across the hall and into his bedroom. She stood panting, taking in the candles and roses, spent matches, dishevelled bedclothes. She went into the bathroom and came out holding a comb. Silvery hairs wafted around it like the iridescent tendrils of a deep-sea creature.

  'This is Valentina's.'

  'Yes.'

  'Where is she?'

  'Julia ...'

  'I know, but ... something is wrong.' Julia was turning, trying to see, looking for the thing that would explain what was wrong. 'I don't feel like she's dead.'

  Robert nodded. 'I know.'

  'She's here.'

  'No,' he said. 'Julia ... I know it's impossible to believe, but she's gone.'

  'No,' she said. Julia began moving through the flat again. Robert followed her.

  'Do you want some breakfast?' he asked. 'I have eggs, and orange juice.' She ignored him, kept orbiting through the rooms as though velocity would answer her question. In the dining room she turned on him.

  'It's your fault. You killed her.' This was so much his own feeling that he could not answer. He stood with his hands at his side, ready to accept her verdict. 'You ... if you hadn't ... You killed Elspeth, and then you killed Valentina.' He saw that she was only trying to hurt him.

  'Elspeth died of leukaemia. Valentina had asthma.' How delicately language skirts the issue. How meaningless it is.

  'But ... I don't know. Why did she die?'

  'I don't know, Julia.' She stared at him, seemed to be waiting for him to say something more. Suddenly she ran out of the room. Robert heard her slam his front door and run up the stairs.

  This is unbearable. He wanted to go to the cemetery, to walk off this sense of things being too real, too wrong. But Elspeth was sitting on the fire escape. He went to collect her. When he opened the door she was huddled on the bottom step looking miserable and boneless. He scooped her up and brought her in without a word. When he had settled her on his bed he sat next to her, facing away. 'We have to leave here,' he said.

  'Of course,' said Elspeth, relieved. 'We'll go anywhere you like.'

  He left the room. She heard him dialling. Where are we going?

  'James? May I come over? I'm bringing someone ... I'll explain when I get there ... No, the situation is a bit unusual ... Yes. Thanks, we'll be there directly.'

  Martin had imagined this journey countless times. In his head parts of it were quite tangible and specific and other things were left vague. There was no question of flying. He knew he could not bear to sit strapped in 30,000 feet up in the air; his heart would burst. He had decided to take the train.

  First he had to convince himself to get into the minicab. The driver had waited patiently, had finally opened the door for him and let him insert and extract himself several times before he sat down and allowed the driver to shut the door. Martin sat with his eyes closed for a while, but eventually felt secure enough to look out the window. There's the world. Look at all the new buildings, and the cars - there are so many strange cars. He had seen pictures of the cars in adverts: here they were. A black Prius cut off the minicab and there was a mutual exchange of hostility at the next light. Martin closed his eyes again.

  Standing in Waterloo station he was immediately overwhelmed. It had been completely refurbished since he'd been there last. He was an hour early. He made his way very slowly across the open space of the station, looking straight ahead, counting his steps. People flowed around him. In the midst of his anxiety Martin was able to discern a kernel of excitement, pleasure in his re-entry into the world. He thought of Marijke, of what she would say when she saw him, how proud she would be of him. Look, darling. I've come to you. Martin shivered in the cool dead air of the station. Unconsciously he closed his eyes and arced his head forward, as though expecting a kiss. A few people looked at him curiously. He stood still before the board that announced the trains, imagining Marijke's embrace.

  He had bought a first-class ticket on the Eurostar, one-way for luck. He waited in the lounge, standing apart from the other travellers. Finally he was able to step onto the train and walk to his seat at the end of the compartment. The train was quieter and cleaner than the trains he remembered. Martin bowed his head, clasped his hands and began counting silently. It was a five-hour journey. He was grateful not to have to take the ferry. The train would move straight ahead, on rails. It would not fly through the air; it would not sail the seas. He had only to sit still, change trains in Brussels, and take one more cab. It was doable.

  Jessica opened her front door. Robert stood on the doorstep clutching what seemed to Jessica at first to be a wounded child; he held it under its arms as if it were about to slide to the ground. Though the day was temperate, the figure was shrouded in a scarf. Robert's head was bowed over the small figure and he slowly raised his face and looked at Jessica with an expression of profound sorrow.

  'Robert? What's happened? Who is that?'

  'I'm sorry, Jessica. I couldn't think where else to go. I thought you might help us.'

  The figure turned its head; Jessica saw its face. Julia? No. 'Edie?'

  'Jessica,' it said, and tried to straighten, tried to stand on its own. There was something about it that made Jessica think of a newborn foal, unsteady but ready to flee.

  'It's Elspeth, Jessica,' Robert said.

  Jessica put out her hand and braced herself against the door jamb. She experienced one of those rare moments when understanding of the world alters and a previously impossible thing is admitted, if not understood. 'Robert,' she cried out, 'what have you done?' From inside the house James called, 'Jessica, are you all right?' She paused, then called back, 'Yes, James.' She stared at them, uncertain and fearful.

  'We'd better go,' said Robert. 'I'm sorry. I shouldn't have--'

  'But how is it possible?'

  'I don't know,' Robert said. He realised the enormity of his mistake. 'Jessica, I'm sorry. I'll come back and see you when I've thought it all through more carefully. Just ... please don't mention this to Julia or her parents. I think they would rather not know.' He picked up Elspeth and turned to leave.

  Jessica said, 'Wait, Robert ...' But he was already walking away. Elspeth wrapped her arms around his neck. James came to the door as they reached the pavement and were hidden from view by the hedge. 'What happened?' he said. 'Come inside,' said Jessica. 'I have to tell you something.'

  Martin sat on the train and the world flowed. Everything is still out there: the rooftops and chimneys, the graffiti, the office towers and the cyclists; soon there will be sheep and that immense sky they keep out in the countryside ... Once I thought there were two realities, inner and outer, but perhaps that's a bit meagre; I'm not quite the same person I was last night, and when I get to Marijke's I won't be the same man she married or even the one she walked out on ... How will we recognise each other, after all that's happened? How will we manage to realign our realities, which are moving away from us even as we travel towards them? Martin wrapped his fingers around the vitamin bottle, which Julia had slipped into his pocket. Everything is so fragile, and so glorious. He closed his eyes. Here it comes ... here's the future ... and here it is again ...

  At the railway station in Brussels he bought a ham sandwich and a pair of sunglasses; he was nervous and the extra protection soothed him. He peered at himself in the shop's mirror. Bond ... James Bond. The Thalys train was more crowded than the Eurostar had been, but no one sat next to him. Three more hours. He began to eat his sandwich.

  The cab disgorged Martin at Marijke's front door. He stood in the crooked narrow street
and tried to remember if he had ever been there before. He decided he hadn't. He stepped up to the door and rang Marijke's bell. She wasn't home.

  Martin panicked. He had not considered what would happen if she didn't answer. He had imagined the scene exactly as it must happen; he had not allowed for having to stay outdoors for any length of time. He tried the doorknob. He felt his heart racing. No. Don't be silly ... just breathe ... He sat on his suitcase and breathed.

  Marijke wheeled her bike into the street; preoccupied, fishing in her bag for her keys, at first she didn't notice the man gasping on her doorstep. As she came closer he stood up and said, 'Marijke.'

  'Martin - oh goh - je bent hier!' She was immobilised by the bike, then hurriedly propped it against the building and turned to him. 'You've come to me,' she said.

  'Yes,' he said, and held out his arms to her. 'Yes.'

  They kissed. There in the sun, under the kindly gaze of anyone who happened to walk along that street, Martin embraced Marijke, and the years fell away. He had found her again.

  'Come inside,' she said.

  'Of course,' said Martin. 'But we'll go out again later?'

  'Yes,' Marijke said, smiling. 'Of course.'

  THE END OF THE DIARIES

  EDIE AND JACK stayed in London for two weeks. Every day they showed up at Vautravers before breakfast, collected Julia and whisked her off to visit their old friends, to see London through the prism of Edie's childhood, Jack's first days of working at the bank, their courtship. Julia was grateful to be busy, though the pace seemed forced and there were moments when she caught her dad looking confusedly at her mom, as though the stories weren't quite the same ones he remembered.

  One day, when Edie and Jack arrived, Robert went out and intercepted them in the front garden. 'Edie,' he said, 'I need to talk to you. Just for a sec.'

  'I'll go upstairs,' Jack said.

  Edie followed Robert into his flat. The flat had an abandoned feeling; there was little furniture and though it was tidy enough Edie sensed that things had been subtracted from it.