Chapter 16. The Twins' Waists

I

Friday afternoon. The studio’s automatic door opened twice, in succession.

Strictly, it opened once and two people came in. But their footfalls were so in time that I heard it as twice.

“Good afternoo-on!”

The one who called out first was the short-haired woman. A brisk voice. White blouse, slim trousers. A small gold piercing in the ear. A long stride.

“Um — this is our first time, but —”

The woman who followed had the same face.

But her voice was different. A little lower, calmer, the ends of her words rounding soft.

”…Sister, you’re too fast.”

“Eh, but we did book.”

I stopped my reception pen.

The same face. The same height. The same black, large-pupilled eyes. The same brows, the same lip thickness, the same angle of ear. The kind of pairing often described as set face-to-face in a mirror. But the way they stood was different. The first woman had her weight forward, shoulders a shade ahead of her. The second had her weight drawn back, holding her bag in both hands in front of her belly.

The same face, but the air of different people. A strange sense. Two bodies built from the same blueprint, having lived different time, wearing different air.

“Twins,” I said.

“Yes.”

“Could you tell?”

“Well — a little.”

Honestly, I wasn’t confident I could tell by face alone. But I had guessed from how they stood. The first, the older sister; the second, the younger. People remember the order of their birth, unconsciously, in the body.

“Himuro. Seri.”

“I’m the older. Kaede Tachibana.”

“The younger, Tsubaki. …Thank you for having us.”

“The two of us together — is it strange?” Kaede laughed. “Sisters, lining up to be measured.”

“It isn’t strange. Welcome to Life Compass.”

II

I poured barley tea at the counter. They sat side by side.

“What brings you both in?”

Kaede spoke first.

“We’re twins. Identical.”

“Yes.”

“Same face, same genes, but our body troubles are totally different. I get awful shoulder stiffness. She says her low back hurts.”

Tsubaki lowered her brows a little.

”…My sister has the harder job.”

“No, no, childcare is plenty hard.”

They looked at each other and laughed. A perfectly matched laugh. But what remained at the mouth after was different. In Kaede’s smile there was a shadow of fatigue; in Tsubaki’s, a hesitation.

“So,” Kaede went on, “the same genes, but we hurt in different places. We thought we’d like to measure and compare.”

“Compare.”

“Yes. We were curious. In high school we really did have the same body. Same club and everything. As adults, each time we meet, we feel like we’re drifting apart, by a little.”

Tsubaki wrapped her teacup in both hands.

”…We see each other about once a month. I stayed in our hometown.”

“I came out to Tokyo and stayed. So when we meet, the differences stand out.”

“Everyone says my sister’s got thin.”

“Tsubaki, on the other hand, has filled out a little, they say.”

”…Don’t say that.”

They laughed again. But inside the laugh there was a slightly lonely sound, as if they were filling in each other’s absences. Born of the same mother’s womb, with the same face, but having lived apart. What had that time done to their bodies? That was what they had come to confirm.

Tsubaki gave a small nod.

”…My sister insisted. I was curious too.”

I looked back and forth between their faces.

A twin measurement. Same genes, different lives. Where type and story overlap, where they part. A request of a kind I had never measured.

“All right.” I said. “Only, it’s a special kind of measuring. I show your body three-dimensionally, in the air. — It’s your body’s story, so I need your permission.”

“Story.” Kaede tilted her head.

“I can’t explain very well right now. But I think you’ll understand when you see it.”

“Sounds fun.” Kaede’s eyes lit up. “Let’s do it, Tsubaki.”

”…Mm.”

III

The Circle, below. I started Contura.

I decided on Kaede first. Tsubaki sat outside the circle, on a chair, watching.

“Then, Kaede-san. Please stand at the centre of the circle.”

Kaede slipped off her slippers and stood on the circle. No wasted motion in the way she straightened her back. A way of standing polished in the battlefield of a trading company.

“I’ll begin.”

The rings of light began to circle Kaede’s body, drawing rings. Neck, shoulder, chest, waist, hip, thigh. Measurements surfaced one after another. And pale blue particles of light rose and assembled Kaede’s outline in the air.

“Whoa.” Kaede raised her voice. “Incredible. This is me?”

“Yes. Your outline.”

Tsubaki, in the chair, also caught her breath.

“It’s beautiful —”

The outline turned slowly.

Mid-build. Shoulders solid, the waist nipping shallow. The curve from chest to waist was powerful, springy. The muscle lay well. The type was clearly mesomorph — a sturdy, active, fighting body.

Kaede was looking at her own outline with the eyes of one meeting a stranger for the first time. A twin, with the same face, face to face with her luminous self. A composition like a double mirror.

But, looking closely, the heights of the two shoulders were subtly different. The right sat a little high. And the trapezius — the muscle from neck to shoulder — was abnormally ridged, hardened into a凝固.

“Your right shoulder is up.” I said.

“Ah, I figured.” Kaede smiled wryly. “The mouse is on the right.”

“Long desk hours?”

“Foreign trading firm. Morning to night, mail and meetings. English and Chinese and Japanese, toggling between three, calling out lies through lies.”

Kaede rolled her shoulders. Dry pops sounded.

“Even on days off I can’t put the phone down. The massage therapist says my shoulders are like boards.”

“Boards, huh.” I looked at the shoulders of the outline. “Certainly. Even in the luminous outline, the shoulder area looks凝固.”

I checked the numbers. Core Number — FFMI — was higher than expected. More core than the looks suggested. The body that had kept moving in the trading firm had built muscle for fighting.

IV

Next, I measured Tsubaki.

Tsubaki stood at the centre. The rings of light circled the same way.

When the outline stood up, I caught my breath.

They were alike.

The foundational outline — the skeletal frame, shoulder width, waist width, the position of the nipped-in waist, the spring of chest — was astonishingly the same as Kaede’s. The same bone shape made by the same genes. The type, too, was the same — mesomorph. The measurements, near identical.

You could tell without putting the two outlines side by side. Two bodies built from the same blueprint. So this is what twins are, I felt, standing before the light, for the first time.

But — there were differences.

Where Kaede’s shoulders were hard, Tsubaki’s shoulders hung soft. Instead, her low back — the position of the pelvis — tilted forward, and the lower half of her back was rounded. The line from waist to hip was, gently but surely, tilting forward.

“Your back is rounded.” I said.

“Ah, I thought so.” Tsubaki gave a small laugh. “Childcare. When you pick up the little ones, you’re bent forward. Like this, all the time.”

“The motion of picking up a child has become a habit.”

“Yes. Dozens of times a day. Standing up, crouching down. When I said my back hurt, my sister dragged me here.”

“Forcibly?”

”…Gently, forcibly.” Tsubaki looked down, embarrassed.

Her Core Number was a little lower than Kaede’s. But the muscle lay of the lower body — the thighs especially — was equal or greater. The strength of legs that had been lifting children continuously.

I displayed the two outlines side by side in the air.

Same type, same measurements, different stories.

V

“Let’s put them side by side.”

In the air, two pale blue outlines floated next to each other. Left, Kaede; right, Tsubaki.

Coh’s voice resonated in my temples.

“Look, Seri. The same type. Same somatotype, same measurements. But the stories are utterly different.”

”…Yes.”

“The type is the starting point. Only the framework genes draw. But from there, life cuts in. Whether you carve battle into the shoulders or love into the low back. On the same paper, a different picture is drawn.”

I translated Coh’s words into my own.

“Kaede-san, Tsubaki-san. Look. Your outlines — the type is the same, mesomorph. The measurements are nearly the same too.”

“It’s true.” Kaede stared at the outlines. “Shoulder width, waist — almost the same.”

“But, if you look closely, they’re different. Kaede-san, your right shoulder is up and the trapezius has hardened into凝固. Tsubaki-san, your low back tilts forward and the lower back is rounded.”

“Ah.” Tsubaki’s breath leaked. “It’s true. My back is completely rounded.”

“Same genes, but you’ve stiffened in different places.” Kaede murmured. “Why, I wonder.”

“It’s how you’ve lived.” I said. “Even if you’re born with the same body, if you use it differently, the body changes into a different shape. Kaede-san, you fought on, toggling three languages in the trading firm. That fatigue was cut into your shoulders. Tsubaki-san, you lifted children up, over and over. That gentleness was cut into your low back.”

”…The same measurement has a different meaning, you’re saying.” Kaede’s eyes grew a little wet.

“Yes. The number shoulder width 42 is, for Kaede-san, the width of the battlefield you fought on. For Tsubaki-san, it’s the width of the small bodies you enfolded. The number waist 68 is, for Kaede-san, a belly tightened in tension. For Tsubaki-san, a gentle arc that kept lifting children up.”

The basement air trembled a little.

Tsubaki was crying, silently. She didn’t try to wipe the tears.

VI

Coh’s voice.

“I’ll read, Seri.”

I nodded. The numbers in the air burst; letters surfaced.

Above Kaede’s outline.

Your shoulders hardened, fighting in three languages.

Kaede held her breath.

”…How.”

“Your body is saying it.”

“After a Chinese-language meeting, my right shoulder always hurts. Only the moment I switch back to Japanese and feel relief — only then does the pain pull back. — You know that?”

“The bias of凝固 in the shoulders. The asymmetry of the collarbones’ spring. The body remembers the hours you fought between languages.”

Kaede looked up at the words in the air. Her strong eyes wavered a shade.

Next, above Tsubaki’s outline.

Your back is a gentle arc that lifted up small hands, countless times.

Tsubaki bit her lip.

”…That’s — too much. I’m just — doing my job —”

“It isn’t too much.” I said. “The rounding of your back is the trace of bending down to children’s height, looking down, for hours. Hundreds and thousands of times, you picked up small hands. That gentleness remains in the shape of the bone.”

Tsubaki cried. This time with her hands over her face. In front of her luminous outline, her shoulders shook small.

Kaede rubbed her sister’s back. Without a word. The gesture was so natural I could tell the sisters had been leaning together like this for years.

“Tsubaki.” Kaede said. “You were carrying that much.”

”…You were, sister.”

“I was only fighting.”

“The fighting sister had the harder time.”

The two of them wore the same face with different expressions.

VII

Above the outlines, two Titles floated.

Above Kaede.

Trilingual Warrior

Above Tsubaki.

Little Hands’ Arc

They looked up at their own words, then at each other’s.

“We’ve got the same face, but we got totally different medals.” Kaede laughed.

”…Yeah.”

“But, Tsubaki. My stiff shoulders are my story. Your rounded back is your story. On the same paper, a different picture. — That’s not so bad, is it.”

“No. …Not so bad.”

Tsubaki smiled. For the first time, there was no hesitation in the smile.

I looked at the two outlines. Same type, same measurements, different stories. Type is not destiny. Type is only the starting point of the story. From there, the time a person lives changes the body, by degrees. Even the same genes, lived in a different life, become a different shape.

That I learned today from the twins’ outlines. A truth written in no textbook and no manual, a truth only the body knows.

That is the body’s story.

VIII

After the measuring, we went up.

Kaede said, at the counter, “Himuro-san, thank you. — I’m going to do something about these shoulders. I won’t stop fighting in three languages, but I’ll make time to rest.”

“Yes.”

“Tsubaki, you?”

”…I’ll try to stretch my back. At the nursery. With the children.”

“Nice. The kids’ll love that.”

They looked at each other and laughed.

“Sister — from now on, want to get tea together, once in a while?”

“Yes, yes. Even late. Ping me.”

”…Can I stay over, sometimes?”

“Of course. Your room is exactly as you left it.”

Tsubaki laid her arm gently through her sister’s. Kaede looked a little embarrassed, and a little glad, and patted her sister’s arm.

They walked out through the automatic door side by side. The Aoyama dusk painted their backs the same way. But the way they walked was different. Kaede in front, Tsubaki half a step behind.

But the distance was close. The distance of sisters, leaning in.

I saw their backs off.

Same genes, different lives. Same type, different stories. The twins’ waists held the same shape, with different meanings.

“Seri.” Coh’s voice. “Did you understand.”

“What.”

“Type is not destiny. It is the starting point of story. The same type, lived in a different life, becomes a different outline. — That is the truth a Reader knows.”

”…Yes.”

“Next, a different type will come. Dancing legs.”

I turned. “Dancing legs?”

“The next client.” Coh laughed a little. “Look forward to it.”

I slipped Contura into my pocket. On the Circle below, it still felt as if the resonance of two lights lingered. Two outlines of the same shape. But two different stories lived in them.

Type is not destiny. Only the starting point of story.

That, the twins taught me today.

Climbing the stairs, I put a hand, without thinking, to my own shoulder and waist. My type was my starting point. What story would I write from there?

That, I did not yet know.

But I could begin to write.

—