Entangled

In the hidden symphony of the universe, particles dance in harmony across the expanse of space and time. It unfolds its secrets through a pair of twin sisters. In the mirror of the twins, the son of one of the sisters sees the reflection of his own duality. He finds solace in the arms of familiarity, and yet, the thrill of the unknown.

***

Author's note:

This short story is written in a literature-nuanced ornate, poetic language style. It has light herbal infusions of philosophy, literature, music, art, film, psychology and physics. If you are looking for robust, flailing and wailing action intimacy, this is not for you, skip along.

***

Chapter 1: Novel

Chapter 2: Family

Chapter 3: Shower

Chapter 4: Revelation

Chapter 5: Emergency

Chapter 6: Day 1

Chapter 7: Day 2

Chapter 8: Day 3

Chapter 9: Day 4

Chapter 10: Day 5

Chapter 11: Dream

Epilogue

***

Chapter 1

Novel

James is a fledgling aspiring writer. His single greatest influencer is Haruki Murakami. Although Japanese, his works, translated to English and other languages, are more famous outside of than within his home country Japan.

Languid mood. Banal, mildly flawed protagonists who are riveting for no particular good reason. Sensitive rendering of lone individuals, the human condition and places. Magical realism. He litters his narratives with tender contradictions, then lines them up in some kind of hazy order. Most of all, his uncanny facility to use impossibly simple words to craft the most engaging, vivid, meaningful prose. His narratives have light infusions of music, lit, art and philosophy. The man is his literature soulmate, though self-evidently, he doesn't know James exists at any level.

James has just finished reading Murakami's "A Wild Sheep Chase". The protagonist became entangled with a pair of identical twin sister girlfriends who lived with him in his apartment. They were uncannily identical. At first, he tried to tell them apart, even having them wear numbered t-shirts. But, he gave up after awhile.

***

The novel is not about sex. Sex is incidental to the narrative. But, James wonders a bit what it might be like to be in the situation of the protagonist, who is his age. One twin engaged with him one way, the other, another.

***

Chapter 2

Family

James and his mum, Isabel live in a seaside cottage perched cliffside, overlooking a moor of ocean on the south coast. Quintessential countryside of rambling English poetry and prose. The lay of their tiny sliver of land has a menacing but exhilarating feel to it. It rolls and slopes gently to the cliff edge, then falls away dramatically. No fence, no parapet. The sensation like you would tumble down the cliff if you aren't so surefooted for a moment.

Søren Kierkegaard's fear and trembling. Anxiety, dread and angst are unfocused fear. When the person looks over the edge, he experiences a focused fear of falling. But at the same time, he feels a terrifying impulse to throw himself intentionally off the edge. That experience is anxiety or dread because of his complete freedom to choose to either throw himself off, or to stay put. The mere fact that he has the possibility and freedom to do something, even the most terrifying of possibilities, triggers immense feelings of dread. The dizziness of freedom.

It is said that the heart of danger is the safest place. Like the eye of the storm. This, the edge of danger, has an inexplicable alluring charm. This is the anxiety James feels when he is in the garden. A sort of delicious unease. A misstep and he will tumble ingloriously down the cliff. But, oh, what a beautiful place to die in! For sure, he will die a happy bag of bones.

Their nearest neighbour, a kindly Sir Stu Miles, is a good two miles down the country coast road. The old boy has an air of antique calm.

All charmingly quintessentially English. Except that James and his family are not English at all.

James' dad is from Norway. He came to England to work when he was in his twenties. Enamoured of things English, he stayed on.

Isabel fled a wave of Latin American political upheaval tumult, to England in her late teens.

James has the impression that his mum is the only member of her family to escape the turmoil. She has never talked about her relatives. Thus, James knows no one from his mum's clan, that is, if any relatives survived the wanton convulsions at all. Maybe it is all too painful for Isabel to dredge up her past.

They met and married in England. No other man could help Isabel fly, and hold her down at the same time. What every woman wants but don't know it. A beast with brains. Each time he was not with her, and thought of her, he couldn't help but dance. For a Nordic, that was quite something.

James' dad died in a tragic accident some years ago. Isabel never remarried.

Isabel, fifty-five, is the classic Latin American babe. Think Girl from Ipanema strutting to bossa nova, now mellowed by age.

Though there is a kind of subtle English rose Helen Mirren mixed into her quality that is hard to place. Maybe it comes from having been in England since her teens.

The conditioning of climate, weather, food. Maybe even a touch of chill Germanic blood in her pulsing Latin veins. Her accent is English, but there is a cut-glass quality to it.

Isabel was a kickass power-suited corporate animal in her hey day. In the giant anthill of a capitalist society, she thrived. Life went nicely for her. Opportunities opened out before her on every side. Life extending prizes to her with both hands.

Not too shabby for a penniless scrawny child of a revolution who landed fresh off the boat in England with a total worldly possession of a rucksack on her back, thrown into the wilderness of a humourless reality to fend for herself.

Later, she retooled herself to a career in the creative sector, something closer to her inner disposition. A massive turn of career reinvention. Corporate machinery to ranging artist. Ground to cloud. Whole new ways at looking at the world.

***

What sauce do you get when you stir arctic Nordic into sunny Latin? James.

***

Chapter 3

Shower

A winding, dizzy trail hewn into the cliff face, connects the garden to a secluded cove beach. The beach is accessible by this trail only, making it effectively a private beach. The entrance to the trail is through a nondescript gap in the garden bush. A kind of secret entrance out of a mystery novel.

***

Isabel and James climb down to the beach. They swim to the island three hundred feet away. Touch the rock. Execute a racing turn. Swim back.

They chill on the beach, then climb back up to the garden.

They hit the outdoor showers at a corner of the garden. Flush the sand grains off their swimsuits and bodies before entering the cottage.

Mother under one shower head, son the other. In an act of socially conditioned modesty, James tries to face away from his mum to give her a modicum of privacy even though both are in swimsuits.

Isabel hooks her fingers underneath her one-piece swimsuit shoulder straps. Lifts the straps to allow the shower water to flush the inside of her swimsuit. More sand grains are collected in her swimsuit than usual today.

She pauses a moment like she is deliberating something. She glances over at James, pauses again, then pushes her swimsuit down.

James senses her movements. He can't help but steal a surreptitious peek. From behind, he sees the beginnings of the dark cleft between her buttocks. The scene has that quality of the pale brilliance of a leg suddenly revealed under a lifted skirt. He looks away as if he has been caught out.

She slips the suit farther, over her hips, slowly past her thighs. She bends down to push it past her knees. The swimsuit falls freely to the tiled floor. In all their past showers together, she has never done this before.

Her back still to her son, she glances over her shoulder.

Matter-of-factly, "I'm fifty-five. It shouldn't surprise you that I've wrinkles and age spots, if that's what you're thinking."

She may be a little annoyed. But he knows she is not embarrassed. He cannot remember her ever being embarrassed.

In a slightly provocative tone that can be interpreted in any number of ways, "Go on. Take a proper shower."

At this point, he supposes he has no choice. He has to man up. Take a proper shower. Like a mum chiding a blustering teen. Though he wonders if this is at all proper in front of his mum. It's not like they are a seasoned nudist family.

He strips off his surf shorts. Lets them drop to the floor.

For the rest of the time, they face away from each other. James can't help but feel strange that there is a naked woman not two feet from his naked self. What's happening? A sneak attack of oedipus complex? At age twenty-three? Kind of late in the Freudian lifecycle, especially when he has no dad to kill?

They finish off. Wrap themselves in towels.

The spell ended.

***

Chapter 4

Revelation

Nothing has the same ability to soothe souls as the ocean. Calling gulls. Lapping waves. Salty smell. Spacious views. The wind is taking its survey of the ocean. The sound of the wind itself is swallowed by the expanse of the ocean.

Isabel and James are chilling at the cliff edge of the garden. They hang their bare feet over the edge. Like two teens hanging out on a boardwalk. Perhaps this is the social origin of the term hang out?

A playful breeze blows from their left, sending a ripple through the pile of leaves, scattering them. They hear small lapping sounds from below, as if a kindly sea monster is taking discreet sips of water from a large goblet.

What was that song again?

Oh, when the sun beats down

and burns the tar up on the roof

And your shoes get so hot you

wish your tired feet were fire proof

Under the boardwalk, down by the sea, yeah

On a blanket with my baby is where I'll be

Out of the sun

We'll be havin' some fun

People walking above

We'll be fallin' in love

Under the boardwalk

Yeah boardwalk...

Nudging her, "A penny for your thoughts! You look a hundred miles away."

She smiles. And only when she does, tiny lines of wisdom and delight appear at the corners of her eyes.

He looks at her for the thousandth time in his life. Her beauty is wholly unlike the sweet young things he meets, and mostly enjoys, though sometimes despises. It is the opposite, a beauty of experience. She has a firm grasp on it, knows how to use it, whereas the beauty of the girls he knows is without purpose, undirected, unsure. She lends a touch of class to everything she does. If she lights a candle, it would be like she is opening the Olympic Games.

"Looking at the ocean makes me miss people. Hanging out with people makes me miss the ocean. Don't ask me why it's like that. It's weird."

"People in London are lonely. People in Cornwall, not."

Leaning into James, "But right this moment, I've all the company I need."

She says this with way too much soul in her voice. It makes him melt a little.

She smiles. Her smiles are so slight. But, say so much.

"I always see you with your e-reader. What are you reading now?"

"You know I'm a fan of Haruki Murakami. I like his languid, placid, sensitive style of rendering people, places and moments. I draw my writing inspiration from him. I'm reading A Wild Sheep Chase."

"Anything fascinating?"

"Hmmm... Yes."

"What?"

"Hmmm... a bit awkward to say..."

"Now you really have me properly piqued. Come on. Out with it."

"Sex is only incidental to the story. The protagonist, who is about my age, has two live-in identical twin sisters girlfriends. The trio are intimate. At first, he tried to differentiate them. But, he gave up. They are uncannily identical in every way."

He continues, "I can't help wonder what it'd be like to be in the situation of the protagonist. Does he have two lovers? Or, two instances of the same lover? What does it feel like when he is engaged with both?"

She is thoughtful for a moment, "Intriguing. But, a happy problem. Metaphysics. The Philosophy of Identity, but with a wicked twist."

"So, mum, what do you think?"

"I don't know. You've to live the experience to know."

"I guess..."

Birds are singing on a branch of a tree. The upper registers of a flute recital.

He bends his head to kiss her bare knee for no particular reason. She puts one hand on the top of his head. She likes the way he surprises her with little impulsive frivolous acts.

Life is the meticulous summation of little moments into some semblance of whole. But sometimes, one little thing does the trick.

***

They watch a miraculously beautiful sunset. Everything is soaked in brilliant red. Their hands, faces, the wine glasses, the sauvignon blanc turned rosé, the garden, ocean, the world. Some special kind of fruit juice has splashed down on everything.

She gets a little pensive.

"I know I've never spoken about my side of the family. The tumult I went through in my young days is not something I can discuss easily."

"I kind of know that."

"This will come as a shock to you. I've a sister here. Isabella will be visiting next week. She'll be staying with us five days."

"What's she like?"

"I'd rather you find out for yourself. That'd make it more interesting and meaningful."

"Hmmm... you're being rather mysterious."

"You two will connect famously. I just know that."

A gentle smile plays around the corners of her mouth, as if something wonderful is about to occur. Her earrings glint brightly in the setting sunlight.

***

They enjoy the comfortable silence between them. She tilts her head slightly as if to view things from a new angle.

"Put your head on my shoulder."

James leans into Isabel. He gets her all lit up. She wishes that this moment lasts forever. Well, forever and a day.

They embrace in companionable silence for a few minutes. Is it his imagination or is the wind is pushing them closer together?

The wind grows colder. Now, they turn and face each other, so that he blocks the wind.

"Should we stay or go indoors? It's so beautiful out here, despite the wind. Or, is it because of the wind? The huffing and puffing. Nature in a dance."

"Wait here a sec."

He goes into the cottage, then returns.

Pushing her away, he puts on an oversized jacket. He opens the jacket, pulls her inside, zipping it up around them.

"We are one."

"Indeed. Straitjacketed."

They laugh at what a funny sight they must be in the evening light on the cliff.

Gazing at the far horizon, he considers what it means to belong, to become part of something.

***

Chapter 5

Emergency

"I've an unforeseen emergency to attend to. Shit happens. I've to go away from this afternoon."

"Is there anything I can help you with?"

"No. In any case, you've to be here. Isabella is arriving tomorrow. Can you be a dear to host her? Right now, I don't know for certain when I can return."

"Cool"

***

Chapter 6

Day 1

The door bell chimes.

"Mum! You're back so soon."

"Hello! You must be James. I'm your Aunt Isabella."

"What?"

"I take it that my sis omitted to tell you that she has an identical twin sis."

"Indeed. I guess she plotted to surprise me. And she has succeeded."

"Aunt Isabella, welcome to our home. Really pleased to meet you."

"Pleased to meet you too, James."

"Call me Isabel. Everybody does. I know that's your mum's name too. But, she is not here, and in any case, I'm sure you call her mum."

***

Isabella settles in quickly. James keeps reminding himself that this is his aunt, not his mum. After the fifth time James inadvertently called her mum, they laughed and agreed that James should just mum her.

***

Evening.

Chilling at the cliff edge. They hang and swing their bare feet over the edge. Like two teens hanging out on a pier. There is a sense of connection and warmth. A pleasurable tingle of anticipation of something. But what? Like young people at that wonderful time of life when every moment together is a potentially life-changing experience.

"This is so beautiful. What was that song again?"

Sittin' in the mornin' sun

l'Il be sittin' when the evenin' come

Watching the ships roll in

And then I watch 'em roll away again, yeah

I'm sittin' on the dock of the bay

Watching the tide roll away

Ooh, I'm just sittin' on the dock of the bay

Wastin' time

***

"You know the peace I get here. It's insane."

"You love the ocean?"

"I do. To look at. To immerse in. To listen to. To smell. The scent of seawater on my skin in the sunshine."

"Uncanny!"

"Why?"

"Mum said exactly those words."

"Soul sisters. That's us. Maybe we're a freak accident of nature that stranded an organism up the wrong path without a way back?"

"When we were six years old, a uni research team studied us. They put us in the same room, then in different rooms, and observed us. Nothing intrusive. They didn't stick pins in our heads or anything like that. They just observed us unobtrusively."

"The findings?"

"We were too young to know then. By the time we were old enough, the info was lost. The revolution turned our world awry."

"But, I recall the researchers mentioned something about Quantum Entanglement. This meant nothing to us."

"I've heard of it."

"Oh? What is it?"

"One of the great mysteries of Physics to this day."

"Pray tell."

"In 1935, Einstein and some scientists observed a strange phenomenon in the behaviour of particles of the subatomic world."

"Instead of subatomic particles, let me try to illustrate using a relatable human example."

"Imagine Jane and Jill, who don't know each other before, are in the same location. They interact with one another. They're so-called 'entangled' in Quantum Physics lingo."

"Then, Jane and Jill are separated from one another thousands of miles away. No possibility of communication with each other. They don't even know where each other are."

"Scientists observe Jane's and Jill's actions. The scientists can correlate their action patterns, as if Jane and Jill are communicating and coordinating with each other."

"Say, if Jane turns her face to gaze left, Jill will be observed by the scientists to gaze right."

"Conversely, if the scientist with Jane randomly tells her to gaze right, Jill will be observed to gaze left."

"If you know the action of one person, you can deduce the action of the other so-called entangled person."

"How is it possible when there is no possibility of them communicating with each other to coordinate their action patterns? Strange magic."

"Now, suppose we imagine that Jane and Jill are indeed communicating via some mysterious, outlandish sci-fi movie type means, maybe by some long-range brain waves or something we don't understand or can't measure. Scientists have computed that such communication will have to travel faster than the speed of light, in order for Jane and Jill to communicate and coordinate. Physics says nothing can travel faster than the speed of light."

"So you think the scientists correlated my and my twin sis's action patterns when we were in separate rooms?"

"We can't know for sure. But, if you heard the words 'Quantum Entanglement' being mentioned repeatedly by the researchers, and it's quite impossible that you could've imagined those words yourself, there is that likelihood that the scientists likened you and mum to being 'entangled' in the Quantum Physics sense."

"Spooky!"

"You said it! Einstein called this spooky-action-at-a-distance."

She is thoughtful, "So, in the hidden symphony of the universe, particles dance in harmony across the expanse of spacetime. It unfolds its secrets through a pair of twin sisters."

"Poetically put."

"Thank you."

"And you're one half of that secret."