Read The Separation for Free Online

us, there was something unmistakably ridiculous and histrionic about it. Back in our rooms in college, Joe and I had Heil-Hitlered each other and our friends, goose-stepping about, laughing and laughing. The guard lowered his arm stiffly. He leaned down by the passenger window and stared in at us. He was a youngish man, with pale blue eyes and a fair moustache, neatly cropped. He glanced suspiciously into the compartment of our van, where our luggage was stowed, leaned back with his hands on his hips while he regarded our shells strapped to the roof, then held out his plump fingers. Joe gave him our passports. He looked through both documents slowly, turning the pages with precise motions of his fingers. The sun was beating down on me through the window. I began to feel anxious.
    ‘[These passports are for the same man,]’ he said, not looking up. ‘[J. L. Sawyer twice.]’
    ‘[We have the same initials,]’ I replied, beginning what was for us the familiar explanation. Joe was always Joe. I was sometimes called Jack, but usually JL. ‘[But our names - ]’
    ‘[No, I think not.]’
    ‘[We are brothers.]’
    ‘[You are both initialled J. L., I see! Some coincidence. Joseph, Jacob! That is how they name twins in England?]’
    Neither Joe nor I said anything. The officer closed the second of our passports, but he did not hand them back.
    ‘[You are going to the Olympic Games in Berlin,]’ he said to me, looking across. I was in the driver’s seat, but from his point of view the right-hand drive must have put me on the wrong side of the vehicle.
    ‘[Yes, sir,]’ I replied.
    ‘[In which event do you propose to compete?]’
    ‘[We are in the coxwainless pairs.]’
    ‘[You have two boats. Only one is necessary]’
    ‘[One is for practice, sir. And as a reserve, in case of accident.]’
    He opened our passports again, closely scrutinizing the photographs.
    ‘[You are twins, you say. Brothers.]’
    ‘[Yes, sir.]’
    He turned away from us and walked to his office, a solid-looking wooden hut built beside the barrier. Several large red flags with the swastika emblazoned on a white circle hung from poles standing out at an angle from the wall. There was no wind in this sheltered spot surrounded by trees and the flags barely moved.
    ‘What’s he doing?’
    ‘It’s going to be all right, Jack. Relax ... we haven’t broken any rules.’
    We could see the guard through the wide window at the front. He was before a high desk, turning the pages of a large, ledgerlike book. Two other guards were also in there with him, standing back and watching. Behind us and beside us other vehicles were arriving at the border post, but they were being waved through by more guards after only short delays.
    Presently our guard returned. He glanced briefly at the trucks grinding slowly past us.
    ‘[English,]’ he said. ‘[You speak German remarkably well. Have you visited the Reich before?]’ He handed back our passports, directing his question deliberately at Joe. After the first salute, Joe had not spoken during the exchange. He continued to stare ahead, past the barrier pole, along the road that led into Germany. ‘[Do you speak German as well as your identical brother?]’ the guard said loudly, banging his fingers on the window ledge.
    ‘[Yes, sir,]’Joe said, smiling with sudden charm. ‘[No, we have not visited Germany before.]’
    ‘[They teach German in your English schools?]’ ‘[Yes. But we also have a mother who was born in Germany]’ ‘[Ah! That explains everything! Your mother is a Saxoner, I think! I knew I was right about your accent! Well, you will know that we are proud of our sportsmen in the Reich. You will find it difficult trying to beat them.]’ ‘[We are pleased to be here, sir.]’ ‘[Good. You may enter the Reich.] Heil Hitler!’ He stepped back. As we passed over a white line painted across the surface of the road, Joe made a perfunctory return raising of his arm, then wound up the window on his