“Merveilleux!” I hear under someone’s breath.
“Bigger than last time!”
“Too beautiful,” someone whispers right beside me.
I stare at the red jellyfish, their bell-shaped heads pulsing in the bright aqua water. It looks like another time, another world, behind the glass. Mesmerizing to watch them undulate and float, trailing all those tangly tentacles. I can’t seem to stop staring. Beautiful up close, I’m up close now. Somehow I’ve walked myself right up to the tank without realizing. I’m inches from the glass, staring deeply into the blue-green of this small sea. The light is what draws me. How it reflects me back to myself in the warped glass. And what I see there. Me as I’ve never seen myself before. Glowing skin. My features sharp as Mother’s. I’m smiling. I don’t feel like I’m smiling, but there I am, smiling in the glass. Gone are the folds around my mouth; the scar on my forehead; my misery lines; the sad, slack jaw and the puffy, dark-ringed eyes. All is sharp and taut. All sparkles. Brightly. Whitely. Beautiful. I look beautiful. Like a film heroine from the forties. Better than even my dream of myself. A red jellyfish swims through my reflection, but I still appear to smile as the tentacles move across my face. Wider, like it pleases me. Tears glisten behind my shining eyes.
And then I hear a gasping sound. Coming from the left and the right of me. Coming from all around. I see everyone’s gathered around the tank. Everyone’s gazing at themselves in the aquarium glass, transfixed. I can’t see what they see. Only their gasping faces, the tears in their eyes. A woman covers her mouth and laughs into her hands. I look back at myself. She’s still there, the other me. Still smiling at me with her red lips. This could all be yours, she seems to say. Like the twins’ mouths whispering right in my ear. I could watch the play of light across her face forever. A jellyfish swims past her, through her, and then through her I see another figure. At the opposite end of the tank, on the other side of the glass. Standing there like I am. Gazing into the water. That man in the hat who was staring up at me earlier. He’s got a black, pointed beard. Circular eyeglasses that make him look vaguely Victorian. He’s familiar too, why?
I stare at his face through the glass. He’s also looking at me, I see. A jellyfish swims between us in the blue-green water. It hovers there, blocking my view. Yet I can still see this man right through the red jellyfish. Like the creature is suddenly translucent, nearly transparent. In that instant, I see something I didn’t before. Through the jellyfish, the man loses his black beard, his ostentatious mustache, his strange eyeglasses. For a flash, it’s all stripped away and I know why his face is familiar. He’s the man I saw at the hotel bar last night. The one who looked like old movies, with his dark suit and hat. Under the brim, his watchful eyes are locked with mine through the water. Looking deep into me. The water makes him look blurry around the edges, like he could dissolve any moment. Is he smiling at me? The jellyfish swims away. And then the man from the hotel looks the strange Victorian way he did before: His black beard comes back. His mustache. His glasses. It all looks like a disguise now. It is a disguise, I realize. “What the fuck?” I whisper.
And then he’s gone.
My reflection’s gone too. Just a tank full of red jellyfish and people with their faces inches from the glass, marveling at their reflections. A woman’s laughing with such violent delight right beside me. She’s clapping her old face with her old hands.
“Oh my,” she murmurs. “Oh my, oh my, oh my.”
The chime music is still playing, louder now. People are swaying with their reflections like they’re slow dancing. One man’s cheek is pressed against the glass, cheek to cheek with his other self. His eyes are closed so painfully, I have to look away. Suddenly, the red curtains close all around the tank. There’s a collective sigh. People stumble away. I hear cries of anguish. The man beside me drops to his knees, clutching the curtains. The old woman is hugging her chest, caved into herself, like she’s clutching a dagger someone stabbed into her heart.
Mother, what sort of spa is this? Did you really come here?
Get out of here, I think. Leave, leave, leave. But where and how? No exits that I can see. Only the grand hall that seems to extend into black. Only bodies hovering by the red curtain as if awaiting a second act. Only the spiraling staircase where the woman in red stands alone now on the landing, sipping her cold stars, watching the tumult below. Though I can’t see her face, I sense she’s smiling. The twins are gone from her side.