‘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 s
orrow 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.

  Acknowledgments

  Leslie Napoles

  Gustavo deWitt

  Gary deWitt

  Nick deWitt

  Mike deWitt

  Michael Dagg

  Lee Boudreaux

  Abigail Holstein

  Daniel Halpern

  Sara Holloway

  Sarah MacLachlan

  Melanie Little

  Peter McGuigan

  Stephanie Abou

  Daniel McGillivray

  Hannah Brown Gordon

  Jerry Kalajian

  Philippe Aronson

  Emma Aronson

  Marie-Catherine Vacher

  Azazel Jacobs

  Monte Mattson

  Maria Semple

  George Meyer

  Jonathan Evison

  Dave Erikson

  Dan Stiles

  Danny Palmerlee

  Alison Dickey

  John C. Reilly

  Carson Mell

  Andy Hunter

  Otis the dog

  About the Author

  PATRICK DEWITT is the author of the critically acclaimed Ablutions: Notes for a Novel. Born in British Columbia, he has also lived in California, Washington, and Oregon, where he currently resides with his wife and son.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  Also By Patrick deWitt

  Fiction

  ABLUTIONS

  Credit

  Jacket art and design by Dan Stiles

  Copyright

  THE SISTERS BROTHERS. Copyright © 2011 by Patrick deWitt. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data has been applied for.

  ISBN 978-0-06-204126-5

  We acknowledge the support of the Canada Council for the Arts which last year invested $20.1 million in writing and publishing throughout Canada

  Nous remercions de son soutien le Conseil des Art du Canada, qui a investi 20,1 millions de dollars l’an dernier dans les lettres et l’édition à travers le Canada

  EPub Edition © May 2011 ISBN: 9780062041272

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  Patrick deWitt, The Sisters Brothers

 


 

 
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