Interpoetry

Double

On the day his father died, Martin saw an exact double of himself rise up out of his own body and walk over
to the bed. He watched as the double bent over and kissed his father, gently cupping the white-stubbled
face with its hands. His father sighed, and was still, and the double turned and walked back into him.
He felt it settle itself, turning awkwardly inside his head and chest and limbs, until it was facing the
same way, looking out through his eyes. After a while, it began to cry. Its tears trickled down Martins'
cheeks and caught at the corners of his mouth.A nurse came in. When she saw his face she went quickly
over to the bed and looked at his father. He heard her say, "I'm so sorry, Mr. Thompson," and felt her
put one hand on his left shoulder, the other on his right elbow. He rose to his feet obligingly. It was
more difficult than he had expected. His double was heavy with grief. He grunted and took the strain,
walked them both out of the room.

The double managed to gain control of itself during the walk down the corridor, and by the time the nurse
had him seated in a warm room with too many chairs, far away from where his father had died, Martin's face
was dry. However, the double became emotional again when the nurse brought tea and a female doctor
came to talk to them. It stood suddenly, its legs from the knee down still inside his legs, and then it
stepped out of him completely and began walking up and down with its arms clasped tightly across its
chest.

Martin saw himself from the double's point of view, still sitting on a chair in the corner, face impassive,
and for a moment he was unsure as to his position in the room. Was he sitting down or walking backwards
and forwards? It was only a moment or two before he was back in his own head, watching his double's face
go ugly and shameless as it started to cry again. It was a strange feeling. At first, the double had been
transparent; he had seen his father clearly through its head when it bent to kiss him. Now it was more
solid. Translucent rather than transparent.
"Are you all right, Mr. Thompson?"
"Yes," he said, and stood to go. The double joined him, and once again its tears overflowed onto his face.
On the way out, the double kept straight ahead when he turned a corner. This time it felt as if he was
the one peeling off, rather than the other way round. He went back, out of curiosity, and found it on the
phone.It was talking to his wife. "It's OK," it was saying. "There was nothing you could have done.
It wouldn't have been good for the kids anyway."
He heard her voice emerge from the holes in the handpiece, tiny and meaningless.
"Yes, I'm OK," the double said. "I'm coming home now. No, don't worry, I'll see you shortly." It hesitated.
"And Kate... Thank you for letting me get on with this in my own way." There was another pause. Then,
softly, "I love you." It put down the phone, walked quietly back into Martin, and let him dry its eyes.

The double was quiet in the taxi, content to let Martin shoulder the responsibility. He looked out of the
window in a kind of daze, thinking, My father has just died and I'm going home to my family.
The words seemed empty to him, devoid of meaning, but repeating them seemed to build a wall that kept
something out. Father. Dead. Family.

His wife opened the front door as the taxi drew up. She was trying to look sad and welcoming at the
same time. He turned away and leaned down to the drivers' window to pay. The double detached itself and
went up the path, faster than he would have done. It hugged his wife, making her smile. It was nearly solid
now. Only a very faint impression of his wife could be seen through its body, and that was fading.

Martin stopped to kick some dry lumps of soil back into the garden, and then he walked into the double,
ending up in his wife's arms. Before, the double had seemed to emerge from inside him. Now he had entered
it, and its body felt like a protective suit over his own. The feeling was not unpleasant.

The double walked him into the house, with his arm inside its arm around his wife’s waist. He enjoyed
the feeling of being carried, being able to sit back and let someone else take over. The three of them
went upstairs and looked through the half open door at the children in bed. He was glad they were in bed.
If they'd been awake they'd have been all over him, asking questions, looking directly into his eyes,
turning his head back when he tried to look away. They always made him feel as if he was taking
advantage, fooling them into loving him just because he was their father.

When the double and his wife put the night light out and went back downstairs he stayed behind. It felt warm
and safe in the dark. His children breathed softly. A car door slammed. Footsteps echoed, faded round the
corner.

"I just thought you'd be much more... down," his wife was saying as he entered the living room.
"Well, I'm not exactly jumping with joy," said the double.
"No," she said hastily, "Of course not. But you seem to be taking it better than I thought you would.
I mean, you never did sort things out with him, did you?"
"No," he started to say, but the word died in his throat as he heard the double saying, "Well, yes. Yes I
did, at the end."
It was a strange feeling, to be contradicted by himself. A great sadness overwhelmed him.
"I just realised that I was more capable of bending than he was. He was like a rock. He couldn't move. I
just went over and held him. I don't know whether he knew I was there. It didn't matter anyway. It sort of
completed a circle for me."
The double was crying again, but it was half laughing as well, as if remembering something joyful. His wife
was crying too. They were holding each other. Her face was looking straight at him, over the double's
shoulder, but she didn't see him.

He went over to them and carefully merged his hand with the double's, where it cupped the side of her head.
The hands were pointing in opposite directions, but she rubbed her head against them anyway. He felt her
tears on his fingertips.
"He was a stubborn old bastard," his double said, its voice stronger. "He never gave me credit for anything,
but then he never gave anybody credit for anything. Not even my mother." They laughed, properly this time,
and broke apart.
"I always felt so sorry for her," she said, holding both of its hands. "It was almost like peacocks. Him with
his big display, and her all drab and almost not there, just fussing around him."
"And she never got the chance for any peace and quiet," it said. "She always said she knew she'd go first,
and she did."
She was shy suddenly. "I'm so glad it’s worked out like this. I-" Abruptly, she began to cry.
"I... I thought..."
She mastered herself, forcing sobs back down her throat. "It’s so stupid, but I thought... it might be the
end of us. I thought you... I thought he'd take you down with him somehow."
She was crying helplessly now and it shocked him. Not the level of her distress, only the showing of it,
the lack of control.
But his double had her in its arms again. It was rocking her gently, soothing, whispering.