The Sisters Brothers (23 page)

Chapter 60

It was ten o’clock at night when we finally arrived at our shack outside of Oregon City. I found the door knocked off its hinges and all our furnishings overturned or destroyed; I walked to the rear room and was unsurprised to find my and Charlie’s stash gone from its hiding place behind the looking glass. There had been more than twenty-two hundred dollars tucked into the wall, but now there was nothing save for a single sheet of paper, which I took up, and which read thus:

Dear Charlie,

I am a bastard I took your $, all of it. I am drunk but I don’t think I will return it when I’m sober. Also I took your brother’s $ and I’m sorry Eli, I always liked you when you weren’t looking at me cockeyed. I am going far away with this $ and you can try to find me and good luck on that score. Any rate you will both earn more, you were always good earners. It’s a hell of a way to say so long but I’ve always been this way and I won’t even feel bad about it later. There is something wrong with my blood or mind or whatever it is which guides a man.

—Rex

I folded the note and returned it to the carved-away wall. The looking glass had been dropped and broken, and I pushed around the shards with my boot. I was not thinking but waiting for a thought, or a feeling. When this did not materialize I gave up on it and went outside to pull Charlie down from Nimble. Crane had given him a dropper bottle of morphine and he had been more or less catatonic for the duration of our return trip. I had found it occasionally necessary to tie him to Nimble and lead him by a length of rope. And he was several times jarred from his stupor by the realization his hand was no longer attached to his body. It was something that slipped his mind again and again; when he noticed, he was run through with shock and miserableness.

I walked him to his room and he crawled onto his naked, lopsided mattress. Before he dropped away I told him I was going out, and he did not ask where, and he could not possibly care. He clapped his jaws and held up his bandaged stump to wave it. Leaving him to his drugged slumber, I stood awhile at the entrance of our home, taking stock of our wrecked and meager possessions. I had never had any strong feelings for the place; looking around now at the wine-stained bedding and cracked plates and cups, I knew I would never sleep there again. It was an hour’s ride into town. My mind was intent and clean and focused. I had been traveling for many days but was not in the least bit fatigued or compromised. I was not in any way afraid.

The Commodore’s mansion was dark save for his half-lit rooms on the top story. The moon was high and bright and I hid beneath the shaded boughs of an ancient cedar that stood on the border of the grand property. I watched a servant girl leave out the back with an empty washtub under her arm. She was angry about something, and as she made for her cabin, separate from the main house, she cursed under her breath. I waited fifteen minutes for her to exit; when she did not, I crossed the yard in a crouch, moving toward the house. She had failed to lock the back door and I crept fully into the kitchen. It was still and cool and orderly. What had the Commodore done to the girl? I stole another glance at her cabin; all was quiet and unchanged, except she had lighted a single white candle and placed this in her window.

I climbed the carpeted stairs and stood outside the Commodore’s quarters. Through the door I heard him berating and insulting someone; whom I did not know, for the man only mumbled his apologies, and I could not tell who he was or what he had done wrong. When he had had enough abuse he made to leave the room; as his footsteps drew closer I pressed myself against the wall beside the door hinges. I had no pistol, merely a squat, blunt blade, what I have always heard called a plug blade, and I took this up in my hand. But the door swung open and the man descended the stairs with no knowledge of my being there. He left out the back door and I snuck to a window at the end of the hall to follow his movements. I watched him enter the servant girl’s cabin; he appeared in the window, glaring bitterly at the mansion, and I hid in the shadows to witness the hurt in the man’s eyes. His hideous face was descriptive of a violent life, and yet there he stood, bullied and cowed and impotent to defend himself. When he blew out the candle the cabin fell dark and I backtracked down the hall. The door had remained open and I entered.

The Commodore’s quarters accounted for the entire top floor of the mansion, and there were no walls in this vast space, no rooms, but the furniture was grouped together as though there were. It was darkened save for the low lights of the occasional table lantern or flickering sconce. In the far corner behind a Chinese folding screen rose a plume of blue cigar smoke; when I heard the Commodore’s voice I paused, thinking him not alone. But as I listened I heard no second voice, and deduced he was only speaking to himself. He was resting in the bath and giving an imaginary speech and I thought, What is it about bathing that prompts a person to do this? I gripped the plug blade and walked across to meet him, following a line of rugs so as not to make a sound. I came around the screen, blade aloft, prepared to stick this into the Commodore’s naked heart, but his eyes were covered with a cotton cloth and I found my arm dropping in degrees to my side. Here was a man whose influence could be found in every corner of the country, and he sat drunk in a copper bathtub, his body hairless, his chest scooped and bony, an overlong ash dangling perilously from his cigar. His voice was reedy:

‘Gentlemen, it is a question often asked, and today I put it to you, and let us see if you know the answer. What is it that makes a man great? Some will point to wealth. Others to strength of character. Some will say it is a great man who never loses his temper. Some that it is one who is fervent in his worship of the Lord. But I am here to tell you precisely what it is which makes a man great, and I hope that you will listen to my words on this day, and that you will adopt them into your hearts and souls, and that you will understand my meaning. For yes! I wish to bestow greatness upon you.’ He nodded, and held up a hand, in appreciation at his phantom applause. I took a step closer to him and leveled my blade at his face. I knew I should kill him while I had the chance but I wanted to hear what he had to say. He lowered his hand and took a long drink of his cigar. This upset the ash, which fell into the bath with a hiss; he splashed the water with his fingertips where he imagined the ash had landed. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Thank you, thank you.’ He paused, sucking in a chestful of air. Now he spoke with emphasis, and loudly. ‘A great man is one who can pinpoint a vacuity in the material world and inject into this blank space an
essence of himself
! A great man is one who can create good fortune in a place where there previously was none through
sheer
force of will
! A great man, then, is one who can make
something
from
nothing
! And the world around you, assembled gentlemen, believe me when I say it is just that—nothing!’

In one quick movement I was upon him. Casting the plug blade to the ground I pressed down on his shoulders so that his head dropped beneath the surface of the water. He began at once to splash and flail; he coughed and choked and made a noise that sounded like
‘Hesch
,
hesch, hesch!’
This reverberated against the walls of the bathtub and I felt it tickling through my legs and up into my trunk. The Commodore’s life instinct was awakened and his struggling became ever more fierce, but I had all my weight upon him and he was pinned and could not move. I felt very strong, and correct, and nothing in the world could have prevented me from seeing the job through.

His washcloth had fallen away from his face and he stared up at me through the water, and though I did not want to look at him I thought it would not have been proper otherwise and I matched his eyes with mine. I was surprised by what I saw, because he was only afraid, just like all the others who had died. He recognized me, but that was it. I suppose I had wanted him to see me and lament that he had not shown me the proper respect, but there was no time for that. Speaking practically, I thought there was perhaps an explosion of colors in his mind, then a limitless void, like a night, or all nights stirred together.

The Commodore died. After this I pulled him up so that his head was only halfway submerged, to make it look as though he had drunkenly drowned himself. His hair was pasted over his forehead and his cigar floated near his face and there was nothing dignified about his closing setting. I left through the front door and rode back to Charlie’s and my shack, where I found him asleep and in no mood for travel. Despite his protestations I roused him and tied him to Nimble and we rode in the direction of Mother’s.

Epilogue

There was silver in the dawn, and heavy dewdrops weighed down the stalks of tall grass. Charlie had finished his morphine and lay snoring on Nimble’s broad back as we rode up the trail to the property. I had not seen the house in years and wondered if it might be in ruins, and what I would do if Mother was not there. When the house came into view I saw that it was newly painted, and that a room had been added to the rear; there was an orderly vegetable garden with a scarecrow, and the scarecrow looked familiar to me. I recognized it was wearing an old coat of my father’s, and also his hat and pants. I dismounted Morris’s horse and approached the visage to check its pockets. There was nothing in them but a single spent match. I put this into my own pocket and stepped to the front door. I was too nervous to knock and so for a time merely watched it. But my mother had heard me walk up and met me at the door in her nightgown. She looked at me with not a trace of surprise, and over my shoulder.

‘What happened with him?’ she asked.

‘He has injured his hand, and is tired about it.’

She scowled, and asked me to wait on the porch for a moment, explaining that she did not like for people to see her climbing into bed. But I already knew this and told her, ‘I will come when you call for me, Mother.’ She walked away and I sat on the railing, swinging my leg and looking all around at the house’s every detail. I was feeling tenderhearted and aching about it. Looking at Charlie, slack on his horse, I thought of the times we had had there. ‘They were not all bad,’ I said to him. My mother called my name and I walked through the house and into the back, the added room, where she lay in her tall bed of brass and soft cotton. She patted her hands over top of the blanket. ‘Where are my glasses?’ she asked.

‘They are in your hair.’

‘What? Oh, here. Yes.’ She put them on and looked at me. ‘There you are,’ she concluded. Her face broke into a frown and she asked, ‘What happened to Charlie’s hand?’

‘He had an accident and lost it.’

‘Misplaced it, did he?’ She shook her head and muttered, ‘As though it is only a trifle or inconvenience.’

‘It is no trifle to me or him, either.’

‘How did he lose it?’

‘It was burned, and then infected. The doctor said it would kill his heart if Charlie forwent the surgery.’

‘Kill his heart?’

‘That is what the doctor said.’

‘He used those exact words?’

‘Words to that effect.’

‘Hmm. And was the operation very painful?’

‘He was unconscious for the actual cutting. He says now there is a burning, and that the stump itself itches, but he is taking morphine, which helps. I should think he will be healed soon. The color has returned to his face, I noticed.’

She cleared her throat, and then again. Her head began to tick and tock, as though she were weighing her words; I implored her to speak her mind and she said, ‘Well, it’s not that I am not happy to see you, Eli, because I am. But could you tell me just what prompted your visiting me after all this time?’

‘I felt a need to be near you,’ I told her. ‘It was very strong, and it overcame me.’

‘Yes,’ she said, nodding. ‘And would you explain to me, please, just what in the world you are talking about?’

This made me laugh, but then I could see she was serious, and I made an attempt to answer honestly: ‘What I mean is, all of the sudden, at the end of a long and difficult piece of work, I didn’t understand why we should not be near each other, when we were always so close before, you and I, and even Charlie.’

She did not appear to think very much of this answer; or perhaps she did not believe it. As though to change the subject, she asked, ‘How have you been in terms of your temper?’

‘It will get away from me on occasion.’

‘What of the soothing method?’

‘I still use the soothing method from time to time.’

She nodded and took up a cup of water from the nightstand. After drinking, she dabbed her face with the collar of her gown; in doing this, her sleeve dropped and I saw her crooked arm. It had been set improperly and looked irregular, as though it might cause her discomfort; at the sight of it I felt a ghostly pain or what some call a pity pain in my own arm. She caught me looking and smiled. Her smile was beautiful—my mother was a famously beautiful woman when she was young—and she said gladly, ‘You look just the same, do you know?’

I cannot state how much of a relief it was to hear her say this, and I told her, ‘When I see you, I feel the same. It is when I am away that I lose myself.’

‘You should stay here then.’

‘I would like to stay. I have missed you very much, Mother. I think of you so frequently, and I believe Charlie does, also.’

‘Charlie thinks of himself, is what Charlie thinks of.’

‘He is so hard to get ahold of, always breaking away.’ I felt a sob growing in my chest but I pushed this back and extinguished it. Exhaling, I gripped myself. Soberly, I said, ‘I don’t know if I should leave him outside like that. Might I bring him in the house?’ I was quiet for a time. I waited for my mother to say something, but she never did. Finally I told her, ‘We had many adventures together, Charlie and I, and we saw things most men do not get to see.’

‘And is that so important?’

‘Now that it is over it seems so.’

‘Why do you say that it’s over?’

‘I have had my fill of it. I am after a slower life, is the thing.’

‘You have come to the right house for that.’ Pointing around the room she asked, ‘Did you see all the improvements? I keep waiting for you to compliment—anything.’

‘Everything looks splendid.’

‘Did you see the garden?’

‘It is fine. The house, also. And you. Are you feeling well?’

‘Yes and no and in between.’ Thinking, she added, ‘Mostly in between.’

A knock on the door, and Charlie entered the room. He took off his hat and hung it from his stump. ‘Hello, Mother.’

She watched him for a long time. ‘Hello, Charlie,’ she said. When she did not look away he turned to me. ‘I didn’t know where we were at first. The house was so familiar but I couldn’t place it.’ Whispering, he said, ‘Did you see the scarecrow?’

Mother sat watching us with something like a smile on her face. But it was a sad smile, and far away. ‘Is either of you hungry?’ she asked.

‘No, Mother,’ I said.

‘Neither am I,’ said Charlie. ‘But I would like to take a bath, please.’

She told him to go ahead and he thanked her, making to leave. As he stood in the doorway to face me his expression was guileless and straight and I thought, There is not the slightest bit of fight left in him. After he had gone, Mother said, ‘
He
looks different.’

‘He needs a rest.’

‘No.’ She tapped her chest and shook her head. When I explained he had lost his shooting hand she said, ‘I hope the two of you don’t expect me to lament that.’

‘We expect nothing, Mother.’

‘No? It seems you are both expecting me to pay for your food and board.’

‘We will find work.’

‘And what would that be, exactly?’

‘I have given some thought to opening a trading post.’

She said, ‘You mean you will invest in one? You don’t mean you will work in one? With all the customers, and their questions?’

‘I have imagined doing it myself. Can’t you picture it?’

‘Frankly, I can’t.’

I sighed. ‘It doesn’t matter what we do. Money comes and goes.’ I shook my head. ‘It doesn’t matter and you know it doesn’t.’

‘All right,’ she said, relenting. ‘You and your brother can sleep in your old room. If you truly mean to stay on, we can add another room later. And when I say we, I mean you and Charlie.’ She reached for a hand mirror and held this up before her. Smoothing her hair she told me, ‘I should probably be glad you two are still a united front. Since you were boys, and it was always the same.’

‘Our alliance has been broken and mended many times.’

‘Your father brought you close.’ She lowered the mirror. ‘We can thank him for the one thing.’

I said, ‘I think I would like to lie down, now.’

‘Should I wake you for lunch?’

‘What are you making?’

‘Beef stew.’

‘That’s fine, Mother.’

She paused. ‘Do you mean: That’s fine, don’t wake me? Or: That’s fine, do?’

‘Do wake me, please.’

‘All right then. Go and get some rest.’

I turned away from her and looked down the hallway. The front door hung open and presented me with a block of pure white light. Passing under mother’s jamb I thought I heard her voice; I swung around and she watched me expectantly. ‘Are you all right?’ I asked. ‘Did you call for me?’ She beckoned and I crossed the room. Standing beside her bed, she reached up and gripped my fingers. Now she pulled me to her, hand over hand up my arm as though she were scaling a rope. She hooked her arms around my neck and kissed me below my eye. Her lip was wet and cool. Her hair and face and neck smelled of sleep and soap. I walked away to my and Charlie’s old room and lay down on a mattress on the floor. It was a comfortable and clean space, if small, and I knew it would do for a while, and in its way was perfect. I could not recall a time when I was precisely where I wanted to be, and this was a very satisfying feeling.

I dropped into sleep but awoke with a start some minutes later. I could hear Charlie in the next room, washing himself in the bathtub. He was saying nothing and would say nothing, I knew, but the sound the water made was like a voice, the way it hurried and splashed, chattering, then falling quiet but for the rare drip, as if in humble contemplation. It seemed to me I could gauge from these sounds the sorrow or gladness of their creator; I listened intently and decided that my brother and I were, for the present at least, removed from all earthly dangers and horrors.

And might I say what a pleasing conclusion this was for me.