I know that Noortje and Bregje de Brouwer are two women, but when I look at them I keep having doubts. No one has the exact same legs, buttocks, arms, or rounded shoulders, the same smile, or the same glance. It is impossible for two people to move so completely alike that even the crook of the big toe and the bend of each phalanx are indistinguishable.
It’s more than just looks. It seems as if the synchronized swimming twins are connected by invisible threads, and perhaps that is the case. Genetic sameness goes beyond the outside. Sometimes I have to look again, and again, because I can hardly believe there is no mirror in the Doha swimming pool. That there is not just one De Brouwer, with her reflection beautifully reflected.
It’s enchanting. Magical, and a bit otherworldly. As if breathing is far too vulgar for these two women, as if moving underwater requires no effort at all, as if gravity simply does not exist, they cleave through the water in Doha. They won a historic medal in synchronized swimming for the Netherlands. A silver medal. The first World Cup medal ever.
Long legs and arms, shiny, towering above the water. You can’t even see where one ends and the other begins. It draws me in, those two completely equal women who move exactly the same. Noortje and Bregje are half human, half water nymph. They are glued to the screen, as if Noortje and Bregje were sirens who catch you and don’t let you go.
If they had their long hair loose, they would grab you with it and pull you under water, to the bottom, to the place where their effortless movement makes it seem so heavenly. But they can’t pull you down. Their long locks have been tamed. Bregje and Noortje have thick layers of gelatin in their hair. The mop of long curls they both have are tightly folded against their heads.
Deeper and deeper in the pool, Bregje and Noortje squeeze out the most graceful movements with less and less oxygen in their lungs. Ordinary people, tangled in their hair, would have died of drowning long ago.
On land, the two water nymphs are a little more human, but still fascinating to watch. They continue to smile broadly, just like in the water. Because they have learned to laugh, to always laugh, even if they see stars, even if it hurts. “Inside you think: I’m going to die,” they say, I don’t know exactly which of the two said it, “but you have to keep smiling.” Or looking angry, during a serious piece of music – that is also allowed.
I keep drinking in the images of those two identical women, who even talk at the same time – one actually says something, and the other moves her lips silently. Because they also think the same. I can’t tear my eyes away from them. “I don’t know who came up with this,” they say, laughing, with their silver medals around their necks, indicating the shiny gelatin cap on their heads.
I don’t know who came up with that either, but I get it. Without tamed hair, Noortje and Bregje would be with their enchanting synchrony be a danger to humanity.
Marijn de Vries is a former professional cyclist and journalist.