INCOGNOLIO Read online

  Finally, I know damn well why my writing process has been blocked for the past six months. It started when Micaela handed out the first few chapters of her new project to the writers’ group. Seeing the title of her nascent novel shook me to my core.

  Incognolio! How I had fought to forget that word!

  As children, Gemina—my identical twin sister—and I had made up an entire language of our own, a peculiar phenomenon that is common among twins, and technically known as cryptophasia.

  In our secret language that evolved over time, when the two of us felt totally at one with each other, we called it Incognolio.

  This word captured a feeling that can only be described as sheer bliss, the dissolution of all boundaries between me and Gem, the sense that we completed each other, merged into an ecstatic state of unity and fullness. Perhaps it’s what we experienced when we were together in the womb.

  Entering kindergarten, the two of us formed a unit that largely excluded other children. It was as if Gem and I dwelled inside a transparent cocoon, insulating us from unwanted intrusions upon our shared world, a magical place full of extraordinary imaginings and clandestine communications.

  As we grew up, differences emerged in our personalities. My parents had their hearts set on raising both a boy and a girl, and although they never verbalized their disappointment in having twin girls, I somehow picked up on their disillusionment. Less secure in myself than Gem, and eager to gain my parents’ approval, I became a tomboy while my sister remained very much a girly girl.

  But the growing differences in our styles of dress and demeanor never disturbed the depths of our closeness. If anything, these disparities only intensified the bond. It was as if Gemina personified my feminine side while I embodied her masculinity. The resulting attraction was potent indeed, a binding force that kept us united even in the face of mounting enmity and derision from our peers as we progressed through primary and secondary schooling.

  It was no surprise to anyone that we chose to attend the same college, even sharing a dorm room. Gemina majored in fine arts, focusing on painting, while I majored in philosophy. Gem wore flowing dresses and hair down to her waist, while I preferred flannel shirts, denim jeans, and closely cropped hair. Both of us considered ourselves bisexual and had various flings, but they never lasted long enough to threaten the primacy of our relationship with each other.

  Gem and I had always enjoyed a relaxed physical intimacy, almost as if our bodies belonged to both of us, so it was nearly inevitable that at some point we would experiment sexually. It happened early in our sophomore year, on the night of our nineteenth birthday. Rather than spend it with friends, we decided to go out to dinner alone and splurge on an elegant French restaurant. Returning to our dorm room, tipsy from too much wine, we lay together on Gem’s bed, laughing as we spoke to each other in our private language for the first time in many years.

  It was Gem who recalled the term Incognolio, and in an attempt to recapture that glorious feeling of oneness, the two of us fell into a deep embrace. Tentatively at first, and then passionately, we kissed on the lips, nearly swooning as we each melted into the other.

  Our lovemaking that night was earth-shattering, far beyond anything either of us had ever experienced before. Except for Gem’s long hair, it was as if I were caressing my own mirror image, making love to myself. And yet it wasn’t me, it was my darling sister Gemina, whom I adored more than anyone else in the world. And the awareness that this act was forbidden, that Gem and I were transgressing against the deepest of cultural taboos, only intensified our excitement and pleasure.

  In the morning, hung over and sleep-deprived, the two of us barely made eye contact. We quickly parted, attending our separate classes and trying like hell to put the whole business out of mind. And yet, when we returned to our dorm room that evening, Gem and I fell upon each other like ravenous beasts, tearing off our clothes and diving back into bed, consumed with this burning need to merge, to become one.

  Lovesick, drunk with ardor, reveling in the sight, the smell, the feel of our bodies, Gemina and I entered into Incognolio and neglected everything else—our friends, our studies, our ambitions—caring about nothing except our shared state of bliss. For nearly a week the two of us barely left our dorm room, except to eat. We had always loved each other, but now we were infatuated as well, unable to tolerate being apart for even a minute.

  But taboos as ancient as the one prohibiting incest aren’t so easily broken.

  The turning point came one afternoon when Dawn, a close friend of ours, entered the dorm room without knocking, just as we were engaged in mutual cunnilingus. The look of horror and disgust on Dawn’s face as she slowly backed out of the room jolted the two of us out of the stuporous spell we’d been under ever since that first kiss.

  Dawn clearly couldn’t keep such a juicy secret to herself, and soon our friends were avoiding us in the cafeteria. Even students whom we didn’t know stared and giggled as we walked through campus.

  How swiftly our shared paradise shattered, each of us blaming the other for initiating the affair. Our days of rapture morphed into a nightmare of hysterical shouting matches, petty bickering, and even a fist fight, from which we both emerged with nasty bruises and black eyes.

  I finally arranged to move to another dorm across campus, and over the next several months avoided running into Gemina at all costs. So completely did I shun my sister that it was weeks after the fact that I discovered she had dropped out of school.

  I was devastated. I longed for Gem unceasingly, mourning her loss like a part of me had died.

  Eventually I learned to compartmentalize the pain and return to my studies. I completed my B.A. in philosophy and went on to obtain a Master’s in creative writing. I married a fellow grad student who proceeded to drop out of the writing program, grow wealthy as a commodities trader, and then leave me for another woman. But the generous divorce settlement allowed me plenty of time to write. Over the next five years I managed to publish two novels—though they didn’t sell particularly well, criticized by reviewers as overly tidy and intellectualized, lacking in emotional depth.

  I was just starting a new novel when Micaela showed up at my writers’ group with the opening pages of Incognolio. Upon seeing the title, I emitted an involuntary gasp. My heart fluttered and my stomach churned. A decade’s worth of callousness dissolved in an instant, and longing for Gem flooded my consciousness.

  I’ve had zero contact with my sister since she left college. Each time I come across a notice in the newspaper of a gallery showing her work, I toy with the idea of popping in, but I lack the nerve. Now, if I am to actually take over writing Incognolio, I have no choice. I must see Gem.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  ANIMUS

  I‘m not ready to see my sister yet. Not by a long shot.

  I have avoided psychotherapy up until now, telling myself that dwelling on the past is counterproductive. But at this point I have to admit that I need professional help.

  Micaela had offered to put me in touch with her therapist, Baraka. But if I’m going to be taking over Micaela’s novel, also sharing her therapist seems a bit, well…incestuous.

  Lacking any other recommendations, I am hard pressed to know whom to call. So late one night, after Micaela has gone to sleep, I go through the list of psychologists in the yellow pages and listen to their phone messages, ultimately deciding to go with Dr. Heydar Ramazan, whose voice sounds compassionate and soothing, without a trace of arrogance.

  I speak with him the following morning and, thanks to a cancellation, am able to see him in the afternoon.

  An older man, Dr. Ramazan has a kind face and gentle manner that immediately put me at ease. Haltingly at first, but with increasing openness as the doctor lets me talk without interruption, I recount the history of my relationship with Gemina and explain why I wish to renew contact with her.

  “How do you imagine Gemina might react if you were to visit her?” he asks.


  “I have no idea,” I reply. “That’s what makes it so scary.”

  “What exactly do you fear?”

  “That she’ll refuse to talk to me, take out a restraining order, or pull out a gun.”

  “Holy cow. You must really be angry with her.”

  “Me? Why do you say that?”

  “You have absolutely no idea what’s going on in your sister’s mind, Paige, and yet you imagine such extreme hostility. Could these fantasies reflect your own feelings?”

  “Ah, I see. Projection.” I grin. “Very astute, doctor. Well, I am angry. She didn’t even have the decency to come to my wedding.”

  “Did you personally invite her?”

  “No, but I mailed an invitation.” I pause, looking up and to the left. “Oh, wait…um…that’s right…I decided not to send it.”

  “Have you made any attempt in the last ten years to reach out to her?”

  I shake my head.

  “So you cut Gemina out of your life, and then blame her for not fighting her way back in?”

  When I roll my eyes and slouch down in my seat, I become aware that I’m pouting.

  “What if you were to visit her and find that she’s glad to see you?” asks Dr. Ramazan. “Might that feel threatening as well?”

  “I don’t see how. I want us to reconcile.”

  “Do you, really?”

  Now I’m beginning to feel irritated with this man, and wonder whether the sound of his voice might have misled me.

  “I thought therapists are supposed to be supportive,” I mutter. “You seem to challenge everything I say.”

  Dr. Ramazan laughs heartily. “Typically, I would take things at a slower pace. But I’m pushing you today, Paige, because I don’t think it’s likely that I’ll see you again.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because over the years you have built up such a massive wall that wards off your feelings toward Gemina. I think you’re terrified of exploring what lies beyond that wall.”

  I sit quietly for some time, looking around the office. A colorful painting catches my eye and I walk over to it to get a better look.

  It’s an oil painting that suggests an interior landscape, a map of the psyche, reminding me of the work of the Chilean painter, Roberto Matta. The composition is full of mystery, conveying great beauty and immense pain. Sure enough, Gemina’s signature graces the lower left-hand corner.

  I begin weeping, overcome with the deepest grief, and fall to my knees howling in pain, feeling like I want to die. How I miss Gem! How I regret the lost years, cut off from my dear sister, estranged from my very self.

  Soon I feel the warmth of Dr. Ramazan’s hands on my shoulders. He gently helps me to my feet and then holds me as I continue to cry, my entire body convulsing, purging the pain I’ve held in so long.

  When I’ve calmed down, we both return to our seats and the doctor discloses that he bought the painting at Animus, Gemina’s gallery in the South End.

  “I long to see her,” I say softly. “I really do. But I’m afraid…of…”

  “Of what, Paige? Becoming sexually intimate again?”

  I nod.

  “But you were nineteen at the time. Adolescents often experiment. Don’t you feel that you have greater self-control at this point?”

  “I’d like to think so. But I want some assurance.”

  “I can’t give you that, Paige. You need to trust yourself. And to do that, you must find a way to forgive yourself—and Gemina—for what happened.”

  With that, the session comes to a close. The doctor asks if I’d like to return next week, but I tell him that I’ll call to schedule an appointment. I know he’s right; I have no intention of seeing him again.

  After a cup of coffee at a nearby café, I make up my mind, get back into my car, and head toward the South End, using my GPS to locate Animus.

  I park and then walk around the block, stopping in at several other galleries, my heart starting to race. Perhaps I should drive home and come back another day, bringing Micaela with me to help defuse the tension.

  I’ve already unlocked my car when I hear Gem call out my name. She’s standing in front of Animus, a beseeching look on her face. After a pause, I find myself dashing across the street and into her arms.

  Both of us are smiling and crying at the same time as we tightly embrace each other. Then I hold Gem at arm’s length and study her face—older and sadder, yet even more beautiful than ever.

  She invites me into her gallery and shows me around. Collections by several painters and sculptors are on display, each more remarkable than the next, all of them exhibiting wild flights of imagination. One corner is devoted to Gemina’s work, each painting a world of its own, each one evoking the deepest mixture of feelings within me. They all seem familiar somehow, as if I had painted them in a dream.

  “You’re brilliant!” I tell her. “I can’t even put into words how astounded I am by your talent.”

  Gemina smiles modestly. She compliments me on my two novels, but I can tell that she was disappointed by them.

  Gem brews chai tea and the two of us sit and talk, occasionally interrupted by customers who have questions about some of the artworks, a couple of them making purchases.

  At closing time, I invite Gem to dinner at my house, and Micaela joins the two of us out on the deck for cocktails.

  “I can’t get over how alike the two of you look,” Micaela says. “And yet your personalities are so different.” Then Micaela asks Gemina whether she has a partner, and I can’t help noticing a trace of flirtatiousness in her voice.

  “I’ve had various boyfriends and girlfriends, but no one at present.” Gem smiles. “I tend to get bored too easily.”

  After dinner, Gem and I go for a walk along the beach. I pour my heart out to her—expressing how confused I was by our sexual affair, how much I’ve missed her, how lonely I’ve been these past years—while she listens with compassionate interest.

  It’s fantastic to get all this off my chest, and I feel wonderfully close to Gem, walking along the sea hand in hand. Only one thing dampens my high spirits: Gem repeatedly asks me to tell her more about Micaela.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  FLIP, SIP, OR STRIP

  For the next couple of weeks, Gemina, Micaela, and I are inseparable. Gem arranges to have her assistant take over at Animus, and I put Gem up in my second guest room.

  The three of us spend our days at the beach, sunbathing, swimming, kayaking, and sailing. In the evenings, we have cocktails on the deck, go out for dinner, hang out at a local jazz club, then head home to drink some more, smoke weed, and talk and laugh into the wee hours.

  With each passing day I grow more jealous of the intimacy that has developed between my sister and Micaela, but I’m so thrilled to have Gem back in my life that I do what I can to suppress the disagreeable feelings.

  One night, unable to get to sleep, I tiptoe into Gemina’s room and slip into bed beside her. For a while I just lie there watching her sleep, her breathing so gentle and childlike, her face angelic in the moonlight. Absentmindedly, I begin to stroke her long blond hair, sleek and silken to my touch.

  “Who’s that?” Gem mutters, stirring.

  “It’s me,” I whisper. “I can’t get to sleep.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I dunno,” I say. Then, without thinking, I blurt out, “Are you falling in love with Micaela?”

  “What?”

  “I see the way you look at her, Gem. I know something’s going on.”

  Gemina, now fully awake, searches my eyes.

  “I don’t know, Paige. I suppose I’ve got a bit of a crush. She’s an intriguing woman.”

  I sigh and turn away, shifting to my back. Gemina reaches out and caresses my cheek.

  “It doesn’t change anything between us,” she says. “I’ll always love you best.”

  I remain silent and sullen, thinking dark thoughts.

  Gemina softly kisses me on the foreh
ead.

  I begin to cry, blubbering, “It’s just that I’ve missed you so much. I want you all to myself.”

  She smiles sadly, and her tears fall onto my face.

  Impulsively, I raise my head and kiss her full on the lips, breathing in her familiar scent.

  Gemina pulls back. “Careful, Paige. This is dangerous territory.”

  “I don’t care. I don’t want to lose you.” I draw Gem to me and kiss her hard, running my hand down the curves of her body.

  Gemina breaks away from my embrace. “So control yourself. If you don’t want to lose me, then we can’t risk getting sexually involved. It’s that simple.”

  I want to argue back, but I know that she’s right. Instead, I sulk, and eventually return to my own bed.

  I sleep badly and wake up with a sore neck. Thinking back on what happened in Gem’s bed, I realize that I acted foolishly, but still resent my sister for pushing me away.

  Breakfast is awkward. I feel like the proverbial third wheel, silently sipping coffee as Micaela and Gem flirt and laugh, having a grand old time.

  I decide not to go to the beach with them, and they don’t put up much of a fight. Instead, I try to work on Incognolio, but I’m too pissed off to concentrate. Now I wonder why the hell I thought reconciling with Gemina would make it easier to write.

  Instead, I go for a long walk to clear my head. I tell myself that I’ve sexualized my wish to be close to my sister. Being intimate doesn’t mean having to fuck her. And it doesn’t necessarily mean merging with her. Incognolio was fine when we were young kids with fluid boundaries and magical thinking. Now, we’re adult women, and adults don’t merge.

  By cocktail time, I’ve managed to straighten myself out and no longer feel so angry. The three of us drink piña coladas as we listen to reggae and tell funny stories.

  At dinner in town the wine flows freely, and by the time we get back home everyone’s stewed. Gem and Micaela are hanging all over each other and even exchanging little pecks on the cheek. I egg them on to prove I’ve transcended my petty jealousy, but in the back of my mind, I’m wondering whether Gem might agree to a threesome.