3 is not a Crowd

I find it just as easy — perhaps easier — to believe that we are simply born the way we are. If you can believe that a handful of genes and chromosomes determine our precise physical makeup, everything from the shapes of our noses to the patterns on our fingertips, I don’t see why it should be any harder to believe that those same genes and chromosomes determine our personalities. They are more and more coming to believe that mental illness itself is physical, either chemical or glandular or whatever the latest theory maybe. Biochemical to one degree or another. If this is so, it seems eminently reasonable to me that less radical personality traits are also biochemical, and predetermined from the moment of conception. Or from the moment of birth, if you’re astrologically inclined. Grace is, by the way. Wanda and I are not.

WANDA: All of which is a roundabout way of saying that Peter thinks we were born perverted.

PETER: Not perverted. Kinky.

GRACE: What’s the difference?

PETER: Perverted is nasty and sick. Kinky is just tons of fun.

WANDA: Then we were perverted and we gradually turned kinky.

PETER: Absolutely wrong.

WANDA: What, then?

PETER: We were born kinky, and the world turned us perverted, and now we’re just kinky again.

GRACE: Do tell.

PETER: There were just the two of us. No other brothers or sisters, that is. My mother did have another child when I was five. A stillbirth, he would have been a boy. I gather he was deformed.

WANDA: Physically kinky, dear.

PETER: Wanda and I were always very close. From the cradle, so to speak. We were so close in age, you know. Just thirteen months apart. I’m sure the parents didn’t plan it that way. I rather suspect I was a misconception.

WANDA: We were both accidents, dear. Mother told me once, in a fit of pique. We were neither of us hoped for. She would have preferred to have no children, she confided.

PETER: Filthy bitch. Can you picture the two of them together? Her with one eye on the clock, I’m sure. I’m glad they’re dead.

WANDA: Don’t say that.

PETER: Why on earth not...? Where was I? As I was saying, Wanda and I were very close. As far back as I can recall, early in childhood, I took it for granted that someday I would grow up and marry Wanda. I vaguely remember being told that I couldn’t do this, that brothers and sisters couldn’t marry one another. And this struck me as grossly unfair. Of course I was going to marry Wanda. I loved her and would marry her and we would have children together.

WANDA: Perish forbid.

PETER: Quite. Our genes aren’t that worthy of perpetuation, are they? And in combination we’d have to produce an utter monster. The thalidomide babies would pale by comparison. I did manage to impregnate Wanda once, as it happened.

WANDA: I was fifteen.

PETER: She was aborted in the third month, and I didn’t even get to see her after the operation; they shunted her right off to a funny farm. Now both my angels are on the pill, so there will be no little St. Johns. I rather wish they didn’t keep finding out new bad things about the pill.

GRACE: Oh, they’re twisting it all out of proportion. I heard that the Catholics are behind it.

PETER: All a papist plot? You really heard that? No, I’m afraid it’s more than that. I’m afraid the pill is really bad for you. Not as bad as being pregnant, but not as good as Vitamin C. Rather a shame Vitamin C doesn’t keep one from getting pregnant.

I suppose I shall eventually break down and have a vasectomy, but something within me has kept me from doing that yet. We’ll see what happens.

To continue, the first time Wanda and I had sexual relations was when she was nine and I was eight.

WANDA: We had played before this. Showed each other what we had.

PETER: Which was precious little at that age.

WANDA: We took baths together, you see, and were naked around each other rather often. And we would touch each other. I remember being absolutely fascinated by Peter’s little penis. I thought it was just the cutest thing. I don’t know whether I wanted one of my own or not.

PETER: You could always have borrowed mine. All you had to do was speak up.

WANDA: Psychiatrists suggested this, that I wanted a penis of my own, that I wanted Peter’s penis. So I can’t really say whether this was true or not because it was suggested to me so often. I know I loved to watch him urinate, and sometimes I would hold it for him when he did, and I would move it around to make little patterns in the bowl.

PETER: We could still do that, if you want.

WANDA: Do shut up.