Read The Sisters Brothers Online
Authors: Patrick Dewitt
It was after dark by the time we came to the next town, and the trading post did not look to be open for business. But the door was unlocked and the chimney was smoking, and we knocked and entered. The room was warm and still, the smell of new goods strong in my nostrils—pants and shirts and undershirts and stockings and hats filled the shelves in neat piles. Charlie knocked his boot heel on the floor and a spry old man in a sagging undershirt emerged from behind a heavy black-velvet curtain. He did not return our greeting but moved silently from place to place, lighting the lamps on the counter with a thin stick of pine, its end glowing and bobbing in his hand. Soon the room was bright in the golden glow, and the old man laid his hands on the countertop, blinking and smiling inquisitively.
‘I am looking for some new clothes,’ said Charlie.
‘Top to bottom?’ said the old man.
‘I am thinking of a new shirt, foremostly.’
‘Your hat is tattered.’
‘What do you have in the way of shirts?’ asked Charlie.
The old man studied Charlie’s torso, reading his measurements with a trained eye, then turned and scurried up a ladder just behind him, pulling from the shelves a short stack of folded shirts. He descended and laid the stack before Charlie; as my brother sorted through these, the old man asked me, ‘And you, sir?’
‘I am not looking for anything this evening.’
‘Your hat is tattered, also.’
‘I like my hat.’
‘You seem to have known each other a long while, judging by the sweat rings.’
My face darkened and I said, ‘It is impolite to speak of other people’s clothing like that.’
The man’s eyes were black and slick and he reminded me of a mole or some other type of burrowing animal: Quick and sure and single-minded. He said, ‘I did not intend to be impolite. I blame my line of work. Whenever I see a man in compromised attire I am drawn to him in sympathy.’ His eyes grew wide and innocent but while he spoke his hands, working independently, laid three new hats out on the counter.
‘Did you not hear me when I said I wanted nothing?’ I asked.
‘What will putting one on hurt you?’ he wondered, propping up a looking glass. ‘You’re just passing time while your friend here tries out shirts.’ The hats were black, chocolate, and dark blue. I laid mine next to them and had to admit it was in poor shape by comparison. I said I might try one on and the old man called out sharply, ‘Rag!’ Now a pregnant and markedly ugly young girl emerged from behind the curtain with a steaming cloth in her hand. She flung this at me and returned without a word from whence she came. I stood handling the hot rag, tossing it back and forth to cool it, and the old man offered his explanation: ‘If you wouldn’t mind wiping down your hands and brow, sir. We can’t have the merchandise sullied by every fellow who enters the room.’ I set about cleaning myself while he turned his attention to Charlie, busily buttoning up a black cotton shirt with pearl snap buttons. ‘Now,
that
is a beautiful fit,’ the old man said. Charlie stood before a long looking glass, moving this way and that to view the shirt from each angle. He turned to me and pointed at the garment, his eyebrows slightly raised.
‘It is a handsome one,’ I said.
‘I’ll take it,’ Charlie said.
‘And what do you think of your friend in this?’ the old man asked as he put the chocolate hat atop my head. Charlie considered my profile, then asked to see what the black one looked like. When the old man swapped them out, Charlie nodded. ‘If you were after a hat, you could stop right there. It’s not going to get much better than that. And I think I might like to see the blue one, while they’re out.’
‘Rag!’ said the old man, and again the pregnant girl emerged to hurl a steaming cloth over the counter, and again she returned, saying nothing. Wiping his forehead, Charlie smiled. ‘That your woman, old man?’
‘She is,’ he said proudly.
‘That your child in her belly?’
His face puckered to a scowl. ‘You doubt the quality of my seed?’
‘I had no plans to discuss your seed.’
‘It is impertinent.’
Charlie raised his hands to make peace. ‘I am impressed with you, is all. I meant you no offense, and wish the both of you a long and happy life together.’ In this way the matter was settled, and whatever hard feelings that remained were put to rest by our purchases: I bought the hat and also a shirt, and Charlie, in a frenzy of commerce, was outfitted from head to toe. The old man went to bed forty dollars richer, and was glad to have risen from his slumber and seen to our needs. As we rode away in all our finery I said to Charlie, ‘That is a tidy business.’
‘It is tidier than killing,’ he agreed.
‘I believe I could settle into a life like that. I sometimes think about slowing down. Didn’t it seem pleasant in there? Lighting the lamps? The smell of all the brand-new goods?’
Charlie shook his head. ‘I would go out of my mind with boredom. That mute girl would come rushing out of her hole for the hundredth time and I’d shoot her dead. Or I would shoot myself.’
‘It struck me as restful industry. I’ll wager that old man sleeps very well at night.’
‘Do you not sleep well at night?’ Charlie asked earnestly.
‘I do not,’ I said. ‘And neither do you.’
‘I sleep like a stone,’ he protested.
‘You whimper and moan.’
‘Ho ho!’
‘It’s the truth, Charlie.’
‘Ho,’ he said, sniffing. He paused to study my words. He wished to check if they were sincere, I knew, but could not think of a way to ask without sounding overly concerned. The joy went out of him then, and his eyes for a time could not meet mine. I thought, We can all of us be hurt, and no one is exclusively safe from worry and sadness.
We set up in a drafty, lopsided hotel at the southernmost end of town. There was but a single vacancy and Charlie and I were forced to share a room, when we typically kept individual quarters. Sitting before the washbasin I laid out my toothbrush and powder and Charlie, who had not seen these before, asked me what I was doing. I explained and demonstrated the proper use of the tool and afterward smacked my jaws and breathed in deeply. ‘It is highly refreshing to the mouth,’ I told him.
Charlie considered this. ‘I don’t like it,’ he said. ‘I think it’s foolish.’
‘Think what you like. Our Dr. Watts says my teeth will never rot if I use the brush dependably.’
Charlie remained skeptical. He told me I looked like a rabid beast with my mouth full of foam. I countered that I would prefer to look like one for minutes each day rather than smell like one all through my life, and this marked the end of our toothbrush conversation. My talk of Watts reminded him of the stolen numbing medicine, and he retrieved the bottle and needle from his saddlebags. He wanted to try it on himself, he said, and I watched him inject a goodly amount into his cheek. Once the medicine settled in he began to pinch and wrench his face. ‘I will be goddamned,’ he said. He beckoned me to slap him, which I did, lightly.
‘I feel nothing,’ he said.
‘Your face is hanging like a griddle cake.’
‘Slap me again, but harder,’ he instructed, and I did this. ‘Remarkable,’ he said. ‘Slap me again, one last time, only do it hard as you please.’
I pulled my arm back and slapped him with such force that it stung my hand. ‘You felt that one. Your hair jumped. I could see the pain in your eyes.’
‘A recoil from the blow, but no pain,’ he said in wonderment. ‘A smart man could make use of this.’
‘Perhaps you could go from one town to the next, inviting frustrated citizens to clobber your head for a fee.’
‘I’m being serious. We have in this bottle something which makes the impossible, possible. There is a profit in there somewhere.’
‘We will see how you feel about the miracle solution when the effects wear off.’
His mouth was slack and a stringy length of spittle ran down his chin. ‘Makes me drool,’ he said, sucking this up. Shrugging, he put the bottle and needle away and said he wished to cross the street to the saloon. He invited me along, and though I did not much want to watch him grow hoggish with brandy I likewise did not wish to spend my time in the hotel room by myself, with its warped wallpaper, its drafts and dust and scent of previous boarders. The creak of bed springs suffering under the weight of a restless man is as lonely a sound as I know.
I awoke at dawn with a nagging pain in my head, not so much brandy-sickness as general fatigue, though the drinking had not helped the situation. I dunked my face in the water basin and brushed my teeth, standing beside an open window to feel the breeze against my skull. It was cool out but the air was enveloped in warmth; here was the first taste of spring, which brought me a satisfaction, a sense of rightness and organization. I crossed the room to check on Charlie’s progress against the day, which I found to be poorer than my own.
‘I was feeling shaky myself,’ I told him, ‘though I am better all the while. I believe there is some healing element to that tooth powder.’
‘Call me a bath,’ he croaked, hidden in quilts and sheets. ‘Tell the woman I want it scorching.’
‘A bath cost twenty-five cents,’ I said. I knew this because I had seen the sign in the lobby; I mentioned it because back home a bath cost a nickel. But Charlie was not concerned with the price: ‘If it costs twenty-five dollars, I don’t care. It will save my life, if it’s possible to save my life. I want the water hot enough to cook a bird. And I will ask you to fetch me medicine from the chemist’s.’
I said, ‘I wonder what the Commodore would think of a lead man so frequently sick from alcohol.’
‘No more talking,’ he pleaded. ‘Go and find the woman. Scorching, tell her.’
‘I will be back after the chemist’s.’
‘Hurry, please.’
I found the woman downstairs in the lobby, sitting behind her counter, mending a pillowcase with a long needle and thread. I had noticed her only perfunctorily when we checked in, but now I could see she was somewhat pretty, young and pale and plump and firm. Her hair was sweat-pasted to her forehead and her arm worked speedily, extending to its limit as she pulled the needle back. I knocked on the countertop and her eyes landed upon me with undisguised annoyance.
‘My brother is brandy-sick and in need of a scorching hot bath.’
‘Thirty cents,’ she said monotonously. I looked at the sign above her, which still read twenty-five cents, but before I could speak she told me, ‘It was twenty-five yesterday. It is thirty, now. Someday soon it will be thirty-five.’
‘A boom time for the painters of signs,’ I said. But the woman only continued her sewing. Pushing on, then: ‘I had better pay immediately, before the prices get away from me.’ Not so much as a smile from the overworked hotel maiden. To irritate her further I paid with a twenty-dollar piece. She regarded the heavy coin for several long seconds before sweeping it into her filthy smock pocket and fishing out the change. She made no effort to camouflage her dislike of me and I thought it prudent to warn her, ‘My brother is not so patient as I am, ma’am, and he is in poor spirits this morning. He asks for a scorching hot bath and he had better get one. He is not one you will wish to upset, and you can take my word for it.’
‘It will be scorching,’ she said. Tucking the pillow under her arm, she turned to fulfill her duties. As she ducked behind the beaded curtain separating the lobby from the kitchen and boilers, I noticed a sliver of her dress was stuck between her buttocks. She removed this with a single dainty tug—a thoughtless, automatic action on her part, but I felt a great fortune to have witnessed it and began whistling a wild, snappy tune.
I left the hotel, searching distractedly for a chemist’s or a doctor’s, but found myself focusing mainly on the subject of women, and love. I had never been with a woman for longer than a night, and they had always been whores. And while throughout each of these speedy encounters I tried to maintain a friendliness with the women, I knew in my heart it was false, and afterward always felt remote and caved in. I had in the last year or so given up whores entirely, thinking it best to go without rather than pantomime human closeness; and though it was unrealistic for a man in my position to be thinking such thoughts, I could not help myself: I saw my bulky person in the windows of the passing storefronts and wondered, When will that man there find himself to be loved?
I located the chemist’s and purchased a small bottle of morphine. Returning to the hotel, I met with the woman clomping down the stairs. She held a tin tub under her arm and her side was damp with bathwater. She paused a moment; I thought she wished to greet me and I took off my hat, offering my version of a smile. But now I saw she was breathing heavily and harboring some bitterness or unhappy feelings. When I asked her what was the matter she declared, and loudly, that my brother was a heathen, and that the hottest waters of hell would not cleanse him. I asked what he had done but she did not answer, she only pushed past me into the lobby. I heard the sound of her beaded curtains, and the crash of the tub hitting a wall. Now I stood awhile on the stairs, listening to the hotel sounds floating all around, the invisible footsteps and creakings, doors opening and closing, muffled laughter and talking, a baby crying. I noticed an unlit candle on the stairwell wall before me. I lit it, then blew out the match, propping this against the candle. Looking to the top of the stairs, I saw that my and Charlie’s door was ajar; as I approached I was surprised to find him speaking, and speaking to me, though for all he knew I was not there. He was speaking aloud in the bathtub, a habit he had picked up in childhood. I snuck to the door and listened:
‘But I
am
the lead man. Yes. Well, I am. You? You cannot lead your horse without assistance. Also you are sickly. Yes, you are. You invite sickness and worry. If you were not a blood relative I would have kept you back a long time ago. In fact the Commodore asked me to do just this, but I said no. He admired my faithfulness. It seems I cannot lose with him. “Faith will be repaid with faith,” he said. He has faith in me. Yes, he does, brother. There you go, laugh. You laugh at everything. But I ask you this question, and it is a serious one. Who do you know that has faith in you?’
He paused to dunk and scrub his body. I knocked upon the door as I opened it, stamping my feet ridiculously and clearing my throat. ‘Charlie,’ I called out. ‘I have your medicine with me.’ I puffed myself up to make my voice sound natural but my tone reflected the hurt I had suffered by the unkind words of my brother. When I entered the bathroom he was leaning halfway out of the tub, his body bright red from the waist down as though he were wearing pants. He was retching into a spittoon and I watched his sides spasming as he pushed out his poison bile. Holding up a finger and gasping, he said, ‘Don’t go anywhere.’ He continued his retching and I pulled up a chair to sit beside him. My knees were shaking and I wished, impossibly, I had never heard his speech. Finally I decided I could not stay in the room with him. I stood and laid the morphine on the chair, pointing to the door as though some pressing task awaited me on the other side. He did not notice my leaving, I do not think, preoccupied as he was with his vomiting and unwellness.