Sirens and Other Daemon Lovers

My brother is tired—his body is slumping, tugging on the flesh that binds us together. I glance at his face—slack-jawed, one eye drooping half-closed. He frowns at me. People say we look alike; people call us identical. I can see some resemblance, but so many differences as well. I would never curl my lip in such an insolent and unattractive expression; I would never narrow my eyes in such a malicious gaze.

When the surgeons were preparing to cut the band of flesh that joined me to my brother, Sarah Ann was the one who stopped the operation. She and her sister had traveled by train to Philadelphia, two farm girls in the big city.

We were on the operating table when Sarah Ann stormed into the College of Physicians, dressed in her Sunday best and shouting in the voice she used to summon hogs to feeding. “You can’t do this! You’ll murder them both! You can’t.” Adelaide trailed in her wake, as always, following obediently.

The College of Physicians was no match for Sarah Ann. The distinguished head of surgery threw up his hands when she said she would accuse him of murder if he attempted the operation. She threw herself into my arms and swore that she loved me as I was, that I did not have to change for her, she would marry me as I was. While Sarah Ann shouted, Adelaide stood quietly at my brother’s side, watching her sister’s hysterics.

That afternoon, my brother asked Adelaide to marry him and she accepted. We married the next day. I don’t believe that I ever directly asked Sarah Ann to marry me. But after she said that she would marry me as I was, it was understood that I would marry her. There was no more discussion of that matter. So we had a double wedding.

I don’t know when it was that I fell in love with Adelaide. Perhaps it was on her wedding night. My brother and I had drawn straws to determine who would celebrate his wedding night first and my brother had won. So he would spend the night with Adelaide; the next night, I would spend with Sarah Ann.

I remember my brother’s wedding night better man my own. The lantern burned with a steady light on the bedside table. Adelaide was leaning over to blow out the flame when my brother said, “Leave that. I want to see you naked.”

He was smiling lasciviously. As he spoke, he was unbuttoning his own shirt, fumbling with the buttons on either side of the thick strip of flesh that joined us. He dropped his shirt on the floor and loosened the tie that fastened his pants.

Adelaide stood in the light, her hands clasped before her, her eyes cast downward. My brother stepped toward her, and I was pulled along. He unbuttoned her dress, exposing the lace of her chemise. He groped at her breasts drunkenly, cupping one in each hand, then leaned forward and rubbed his face upon them, nuzzling the nipples through the thin fabric.

“Husband,” she said, her voice soft. “Get into bed, and I will come to you.

My brother kicked off his pants and we sat on the edge of the bed together, then we swung our legs up and lay down.

Adelaide had her back to us. She had taken off her dress and wore only the chemise. The lantern light shone from behind her, revealing her body through the fabric—the soft curve of her waist, the gentle swell of her hips.

“Take that off and come to me,” my brother demanded.

I lay still on the bed, watching as she lifted the chemise over her head and stood naked in the lantern light. She turned and the light shone from behind her, casting her breasts into shadow. My brother was fondling himself; I could feel an echo of his touch, like a ghost hand touching me, arousing me. With his free hand, my brother reached out and grasped Adelaide’s arm, then pulled her toward him. As she came onto the bed, she glanced at me and I looked away, trying to give her what privacy I could.

I could smell her scent, delicate as night-blooming jasmine; I could hear her breath catch as he roughly pushed his hand between her thighs. I could imagine that my own hand felt the tickle of pubic hair, the slippery wetness of her.

She cried out when he penetrated her: a high note, like the alarm call of an exotic bird. He moved his hips against hers, and the note repeated, a sweet song of pain and pleasure. My brother grunted beneath her, and I closed my eyes, feeling the rush of his lust. My hand moved of its own accord and I stroked myself, echoing his thrusts. I could not help myself. But I made no sound; I kept my hips still.

My brother groaned like a boar servicing a sow, a base animal sound. And he moaned as he came with a rush, flooding her with his semen.

When it was over, my brother’s breathing grew steady. He slept, drunken and sexually sated. I watched the lantern light flicker on the ceiling of the hotel room. The straw tick mattress rustled as Adelaide stood to blow out the lantern. In the moment before darkness came, I saw that her cheeks were wet with tears.

“Adelaide,” I whispered in the darkness. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she said softly. “Not really.”

“Why are you crying?”