When she arrived home, Marie handed the cupcakes over to the maids. They stuffed them into their mouths. She couldn’t resist eating one herself. It was sublime. When she looked in the mirror later, her lips were still blue from the icing. As though she had just been murdered.
* * *
Marie was intrigued and repelled by the other Mary. She could not get her out of her head. When she looked in the mirror, she didn’t know whom she was looking at. She kept expecting her reflection to speak back to her. To tell her things she didn’t know about herself.
She had always thought of herself as the prettiest and most cultured girl in the neighborhood. She had always believed she deserved special treatment because she was so splendid and unique. The idea of this kind of equality was horrifying. It was as if money didn’t matter.
She had a dream she was in a hall of mirrors. There were a hundred reflections of herself. They were all reaching out to her as though they wanted her to come to them. But she held her hands tightly to her side, refusing to be beckoned. She was the original. She did not act in unison the way they did. But on the other hand, they were all acting in unison like an army.
She began to have recurring dreams of multiple Marys. There was a carriage of young women that stopped in front of her. She paused to allow the passengers inside to dismount. One by one they climbed out. There were six Marys who looked just like her. She wasn’t even sure how all those Marys had managed to fit in the carriage. There was something terrifying about all the Marys. She knew there was no way to share everything she had with them. She would become one of them instead of the other way around. Why couldn’t they allow her to be the exception?
She woke up in a cold sweat. Her blankets had crept to the end of the bed, as though they were an animal that was terrified of her. She realized from her dreams the Marys were coming for her.
* * *
Marie decided she would go and speak to Mary at the bakery again. She thought if she were to see Mary this time, she would realize they didn’t look the same at all. And if anything, their similarities would prove to be superficial. She would get over this peculiar bewitchment. She had just ended her obsessive attachment to Sadie, but this one was far more threatening to her sense of identity.
When Marie arrived in the bakery, she found herself pressed into the small space with a dozen other people, all of whom were jostling about, crying out in French to get the attention of the salesgirl. Marie wanted to get to the front so she could ask to see Mary. There was a sudden presence behind her back. She turned. There was Mary holding a box, standing in the doorframe.
Mary’s shadow seemed to fall on Marie perfectly, causing only her to be in darkness while the rest of the shop was still bathed in light. It occurred to Marie she had never been able to lean in a doorway in public like that. Mary suddenly had so much power. She was in her element. She could do what she wanted in a way Marie could not. Mary made a gesture with her head that Marie should follow her. Marie hurried out.
“Would you like to come up to my room for some tea?” Mary asked. “I’ve finished work. I have to go to sleep in a couple hours. I work all night. I’m nocturnal now. I can hardly even stand to be in the sunlight. It makes me so sleepy.”
Marie nodded slightly and followed her up the iron staircase that scaled the side of the building to the second floor. Marie was afraid to look down as she climbed. It seemed like an acrobatic feat, not something a person would do several times a day. She stood behind Mary on a small landing as she unlocked her door.
The apartment was incredibly dark. There was green paint on the walls that had chipped off in places. It was decorated in a very sparse manner. There were very few objects. There were two upholstered chairs. They had been sat on so many times the upholstering was almost black, although Marie could still make out the pattern of sparrows that had been embroidered into them. Marie was surprised the woman lived alone, even if it was a dingy apartment.
Marie realized how little she knew about anybody from this class. She didn’t know anything about the pasts of her maids. It was as though they had appeared at her home fully formed.
Mary set her box on the counter and went to heat up some tea on the stove. The teapot was the first object in the apartment Marie had spotted that seemed to be of any worth. It was quite beautiful, crafted out of fine China with a green parrot painted on it. For some reason, she thought the girl must have stolen it. For a moment she was worried for her safety. Marie sat down at the small table.
“How old are you?” Marie asked suddenly.
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-four.”
“Twenty-four.”
“You are the same age as me?”
“You are the same age as me.”
So it hadn’t been the result of an awkward first encounter. This was very much the manner in which Mary acted whenever she was questioned. It had a strange rhetorical effect indeed. Mary intended to dominate this conversation and steer it wherever she wanted it to go.
Mary pulled on the ends of the gold bow on the cake box. The sides of the box all fell down, revealing a small round cake with white bows made out of frosting along the edges. She sliced a piece for Marie. She put it on a china dish that again looked too fancy for the apartment. She sat directly across from Marie.
Marie felt comforted when she held the saucer and the teacup in her hand. They were from her own world, of that she was sure. And the cup was probably so delighted to be held by her.
“Where are you from?” Marie asked.
“Where are you from?”
“Montreal, of course.”
“Montreal, of course.”
“Everybody in the city knows who I am.”
“Everybody in the city knows who I am.”
Marie looked closely into the other girl’s eyes to see if she were deliberately provoking her, as though she were peeking into a keyhole trying to spy on the nocturnal, hidden activities behind it.
“My mother died when I was a baby,” Marie said.
“My mother died when I was quite young.”
“She killed herself.”
“Mine was murdered.”
“She was!”
“She was.”
“And what of your father?”
“My father is your father.”
“What do you mean?”
“What do you think I mean?”
“Do you have proof of this?”
“I have the bakery, don’t I?”
“Because you lost your finger in one of his machines.”
“Don’t be stupid. You’ve seen what having a finger cut off gets you. It gets you a turkey. It doesn’t get you your own business. Besides, it was only a pinky. Ask yourself what exactly a pinky is good for. And ask yourself, what could you trade a pinky for?”