The Man Who Folded Himself Read Online Free PDF Page B

twin brother.”
    I looked at him again; he stared unabashedly back. He was almost delighting in my confusion, and he had hit on one of my most secret fantasies—of course. He couldn’t help but know, he was me. When I had been younger, my greatest desire had been the impossible wish for an identical twin—a second me, someone who understood me, who I could talk to and share secrets with. Someone who would always be there, so I would never be alone. Someone who—
    I gaped helplessly. It was all happening too fast.
    He reached out and took my hand, shook it warmly. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Don. I’m your brother.” At first I just let him shake my hand, but after a second of his silly grinning at me, I returned his grip. (Interesting. Some people shake my hand and their grip is too hard. Others have a grip that’s too weak. Don’s grip was just right—but why shouldn’t it be? He’s me. I have to keep reminding myself
of that; it’s almost too easy to think of him as Don.) The touch of his hand was strange. Is that what I feel like?
    We went to the races.
    Oh, first we bounced back twenty-eight hours; both of us. He flashed back first, then I followed. We both reappeared at the same instant because our target settings were identical. (He was wearing a timebelt too—well, of course; if I could be duplicated, so could the belt.) I couldn’t shake the feeling that this fellow from the future was invading my home—even though it was meaningless—but he seemed so sure of himself that I had to follow in his wake.
    When I glanced at the kitchen clock, I got another start. It was just a little past ten—why, I was still at Uncle Jim’s funeral! I’d be coming home in an hour with the lawyer. Maybe it was a good thing that Don had taken the lead; there was still too much I didn’t know.
    As we walked out to the car, Mrs. Peterson, the old lady in the front apartment, was just coming out of her door. “Hello, Danny—” she started, then she stopped. She looked from one to the other of us confusedly.
    â€œThis is my brother,” said Don quickly. “Don,” he said to me, a gentle pressure on my arm, “this is Mrs. Peterson.” To her: “Don will be staying with me for a while, so if you think you’re seeing double, don’t be surprised.”
    She smiled at me. I nodded, feeling like a fool. I knew Mrs. Peterson—but Don’s grip on my arm reminded me that she didn’t know. She looked back and forth, blinking. “I didn’t know you were twins—”
    â€œWe’ve been—living separately,” said Don quickly, “so we could each have a chance to be our own person. Don’s been up in San Francisco for the past two years.”
    â€œOh,” she said. She turned on her smile again and beamed politely at me. “Well, I hope you’ll like it in Los Angeles, Don. There’s so much to do.”
    â€œUh—yes,” I said. “It’s very—excitin g.”
    We made our goodbyes and went on to the car.
    Abruptly, Don started giggling. “I wish you could have seen your face,” he said. “Well, you will—tomorrow.” Still laughing, he repeated
my last words, “Uh—yes. It’s very—exciting. You looked as if you’d swallowed a frog.”
    I stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-side door. (It seemed natural for him to take the driver’s side; besides, I was unsure of the way to the track.) “Why didn’t you let me explain?” I asked. “She’s my neighbor.”
    â€œShe’s my neighbor too,” he replied, giggling again. “Besides, what would you have said? At least I’ve been through this once before.” He opened his door and dropped into the driver’s seat.
    I got in slowly and looked at him. He was unlatching the convertible top. He didn’t