Bradley was born with the future in his eyes. He emerged from the belly of their mother with bright brown eyes that did not roll aimlessly in the manner of babies, but rather sought out the corners of the cave where interesting things were happening, where movement was about to occur, where life was being lived. Before he developed the muscle strength and coordination necessary to crawl, he mimed crawling, seeing how it was that he would someday move.He was the easiest of all the babies to care for, easier even than Carlo, who had no needs other than water and soil and cooing reassurance. Toilet training: As soon as he understood what was expected of him—they used the downstream-most bend of one of the underground rivers—Benny could be relied upon to begin tottering toward the spot in sufficient time to drop trou and do his business in just the right spot.(Alan learned to pay attention when Bruce was reluctant to leave home for a walk during those days—the same premonition that made him perfectly toilet-trained at home would have him in fretting sweats at the foreknowledge that he has destined to soil himself during the recreation.)His nightmares ran twice: once just before bed, in clairvoyant preview, and again in the depths of REM sleep. Alan learned to talk him down from these crises, to soothe the worry, and in the end it worked to everyone’s advantage, defusing the nightmares themselves when they came.He never forgot anything—never forgot to have Alan forge a signature on a permission form, never forgot to bring in the fossil he’d found for show-and-tell, never forgot his mittens in the cloakroom and came home with red, chapped hands. Once he started school, he started seeing to it that Alan never forgot anything, either.He did very well on quizzes and tests, and he never let the pitcher fake him out when he was at bat.After four years alone with the golems, Alan couldn’t have been more glad to have a brother to keep him company.Billy got big enough to walk, then big enough to pick mushrooms, then big enough to chase squirrels. He was big enough to play hide-and-go-seek with, big enough to play twenty questions with, big enough to horse around in the middle of the lake at the center of the mountain with.Alan left him alone during the days, in the company of their parents and the golems, went down the mountain to school, and when he got back, he’d take his kid brother out on the mountain face and teach him what he’d learned, even though he was only a little kid. They’d write letters together in the mud with a stick, and in the winter, they’d try to spell out their names with steaming pee in the snow, laughing.“That’s a fraction,” Brad said, chalking “3/4” on a piece of slate by the side of one of the snowmelt streams that coursed down the springtime mountain.“That’s right, three-over-four,” Alan said. He’d learned it that day in school, and had been about to show it to Billy, which meant that Brad had remembered him doing it and now knew it. He took the chalk and drew his own 3/4—you had to do that, or Billy wouldn’t be able to remember it in advance.Billy got down on his haunches. He was a dark kid, dark hair and eyes the color of chocolate, which he insatiably craved and begged for every morning when Alan left for school, “Bring me, bring me, bring me!”He’d found something. Alan leaned in and saw that it was a milkweed pod. “It’s an egg,” Bobby said.“No, it’s a weed,” Alan said. Bobby wasn’t usually given to flights of fancy, but the shape of the pod was reminiscent of an egg.Billy clucked his tongue. “Iknowthat. It’s also an egg for a bug. Living inside there. I can see it hatching. Next week.” He closed his eyes. “It’s orange! Pretty. We should come back and find it once it hatches.”Alan hunkered down next to him. “There’s a bug in here?”“Yeah. It’s like a white worm, but in a week it will turn into an orange bug and chew its way out.”He was about three then, which made Alan seven. “What if I chopped down the plant?” he said. “Would the bug still hatch next week?”“You won’t,” Billy said.“I could, though.”“Nope,” Brad said.Alan reached for the plant. Took it in his hand. The warm skin of the plant and the woody bole of the pod would be so easy to uproot.He didn’t do it.That night, as he lay himself down to sleep, he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. He couldn’t sleep. He got up and looked out the front of the cave, at the countryside unrolling in the moonlight and the far lights of the town.He went back inside and looked in on Benji. He was sleeping, his face smooth and his lips pouted. He rolled over and opened his eyes, regarding Alan without surprise.“Told you so,” he said.
Bradley was born with the future in his eyes. He emerged from the belly of their mother with bright brown eyes that did not roll aimlessly in the manner of babies, but rather sought out the corners of the cave where interesting things were happening, where movement was about to occur, where life was being lived. Before he developed the muscle strength and coordination necessary to crawl, he mimed crawling, seeing how it was that he would someday move.
He was the easiest of all the babies to care for, easier even than Carlo, who had no needs other than water and soil and cooing reassurance. Toilet training: As soon as he understood what was expected of him—they used the downstream-most bend of one of the underground rivers—Benny could be relied upon to begin tottering toward the spot in sufficient time to drop trou and do his business in just the right spot.
(Alan learned to pay attention when Bruce was reluctant to leave home for a walk during those days—the same premonition that made him perfectly toilet-trained at home would have him in fretting sweats at the foreknowledge that he has destined to soil himself during the recreation.)
His nightmares ran twice: once just before bed, in clairvoyant preview, and again in the depths of REM sleep. Alan learned to talk him down from these crises, to soothe the worry, and in the end it worked to everyone’s advantage, defusing the nightmares themselves when they came.
He never forgot anything—never forgot to have Alan forge a signature on a permission form, never forgot to bring in the fossil he’d found for show-and-tell, never forgot his mittens in the cloakroom and came home with red, chapped hands. Once he started school, he started seeing to it that Alan never forgot anything, either.
He did very well on quizzes and tests, and he never let the pitcher fake him out when he was at bat.
After four years alone with the golems, Alan couldn’t have been more glad to have a brother to keep him company.
Billy got big enough to walk, then big enough to pick mushrooms, then big enough to chase squirrels. He was big enough to play hide-and-go-seek with, big enough to play twenty questions with, big enough to horse around in the middle of the lake at the center of the mountain with.
Alan left him alone during the days, in the company of their parents and the golems, went down the mountain to school, and when he got back, he’d take his kid brother out on the mountain face and teach him what he’d learned, even though he was only a little kid. They’d write letters together in the mud with a stick, and in the winter, they’d try to spell out their names with steaming pee in the snow, laughing.
“That’s a fraction,” Brad said, chalking “3/4” on a piece of slate by the side of one of the snowmelt streams that coursed down the springtime mountain.
“That’s right, three-over-four,” Alan said. He’d learned it that day in school, and had been about to show it to Billy, which meant that Brad had remembered him doing it and now knew it. He took the chalk and drew his own 3/4—you had to do that, or Billy wouldn’t be able to remember it in advance.
Billy got down on his haunches. He was a dark kid, dark hair and eyes the color of chocolate, which he insatiably craved and begged for every morning when Alan left for school, “Bring me, bring me, bring me!”
He’d found something. Alan leaned in and saw that it was a milkweed pod. “It’s an egg,” Bobby said.
“No, it’s a weed,” Alan said. Bobby wasn’t usually given to flights of fancy, but the shape of the pod was reminiscent of an egg.
Billy clucked his tongue. “Iknowthat. It’s also an egg for a bug. Living inside there. I can see it hatching. Next week.” He closed his eyes. “It’s orange! Pretty. We should come back and find it once it hatches.”
Alan hunkered down next to him. “There’s a bug in here?”
“Yeah. It’s like a white worm, but in a week it will turn into an orange bug and chew its way out.”
He was about three then, which made Alan seven. “What if I chopped down the plant?” he said. “Would the bug still hatch next week?”
“You won’t,” Billy said.
“I could, though.”
“Nope,” Brad said.
Alan reached for the plant. Took it in his hand. The warm skin of the plant and the woody bole of the pod would be so easy to uproot.
He didn’t do it.
That night, as he lay himself down to sleep, he couldn’t remember why he hadn’t. He couldn’t sleep. He got up and looked out the front of the cave, at the countryside unrolling in the moonlight and the far lights of the town.
He went back inside and looked in on Benji. He was sleeping, his face smooth and his lips pouted. He rolled over and opened his eyes, regarding Alan without surprise.
“Told you so,” he said.