The brothers

Chapter four

Mike had fallen asleep sitting up with his head craned over his chest. He woke up feeling dismal, still tired, angry at God-knows-what. He fumbled across the room and pulled socks from the top drawer of his dresser. He pulled them on standing up, teetering over each pull. In the closet, he ransacked the neat piles of clothes lined up along the floor and found a pair of jeans. He pulled them on, grunting and sighing. 

    He leaned against the counter, waiting for the coffee to brew, thinking of what animals needed feeding, what required fixing, what time it would be when he would come in from the chores and make love to her in that kitchen -- white skin sweating on the linoleum and her breasts rising, pink tips erect, central to the vent as a tree on Christmas -- something beautiful for that ten minutes would leave him quiet and relieved and one day closer to something, or possibly just one day ahead of where he had been yesterday. The ritual of days moved through him with the coffee, cigarette, animals, chores, sex, dinner, and the cold bed sheets straight and starched by hand, and to fall asleep again in that same sitting position. 

    Happy. 

    At that moment his coffee stopped sputtering. He opened the fridge and took out the cream and poured it into the coffee and spooned the sugar, two spoons, and stirred. A ritual of the ritual finished. He raised his cup to the long awaited drink when suddenly the daily ritual paused and a greater, no less common, yet more epic, ritual began. 

    "Mike," Mari called. Firmly holding the girth of her swollen belly, she came into the kitchen. Her swollen wide-open eyes articulated the pain, made it audible, then they closed satisfied, relieved. 

    "Oh hell," she said. 

    Mike dropped his spoon and, seeing the wet on her gown and knowing what he knew about that wet, he dropped his mug too. Coffee spilling, he ran past her to the bedroom. He fumbled and found the keys in yesterday's pants. 

    A foot of new snow covered the ground one foot thick and stretched to the horizon where it glowed in the morning sun, a pink rim of the white world, like a frail piece of china. Mike tore out of the house wildly, pounding through the white powder and using his whole body to sweep snow from the truck's windshield. He heaved gusts of steam through his nose. He broke the ice off the door, slid onto the cold vinyl seat and turned the ignition. He turned the heat on full power and left the truck running in the yard. 

    Back inside Mari sat at the table softly crying with her hand on the phone. Mike looked at her hand resting there and knew immediately who she had called. Mike charged into the bedroom and grabbed the bags that Mari had packed weeks ago. He took change from the dresser, a pen (God-knows-why) and a pack of chewing gum. Back in the kitchen, Mari was bent over clutching the table as if letting go would release her into oblivion. 

    Mike led her by the hand to the truck. All the way he kept saying, "That's my girl. Watch your step. That's my baby." Reaching over her enormous belly, he smelled her, the scent of an animal, instinctual recognition, ownership. His lips curled into a smile. He turned, pulled the seat belt across her, across the place where his child lay, moving now, making descent, wet, putrid, fighting its way into this world. Bloody, undeserving, demanding to be born. Mike clicked the belt into place and paused. He took Mari's chin and turned it so he was staring into those green illuminated eyes, and he kissed her. 

~

Mahon and Danny did not shower. They did not eat. They barely clothed themselves but ran out through the snow and jumped in the truck. Danny jerked it into gear and they sped off up the drive. At the road, Danny swung in an enormous 'U' and came thundering back down the parallel driveway. In front of the big stone house, he braked hard, ran up the porch and pounded the door. There was a shuffling in the hall and the door opened. Even at this hour Hoff stood fully dressed in his black vest with his hair wet, newly combed, smelling of shower and musk. 

    "Hoff—"

    "What the hell are you doing pounding on my door on Sunday morning?"

    "I know she must of called you too."

    "What is that to you?"

    "I don't know, but your daughter's about ready to give birth and you better come on down to the hospital if you ever care to see your grandchild. You can ride with us if you want."

    Hoff paused, immense, towering, the cold air disturbed now by the warm air of the house spilling out and Danny smelled the meat and eggs and coffee. Danny looked into Hoff's eyes, dark indecisive stones mulling over this moment that could never be had again. Hoff did not answer. The door swung shut. 

~

    For the first time, Mike felt alive. For the first time, he understood such illusory concepts as friction, as momentum, as time. They weighed heavily against his progress, these invisible visceral beasts vibrated through the wheel in his hand. He felt his life dependent on the interlocking gears and rods and cogs and tires and ice. He glanced at Mari, now so large. Pink rims beneath her eyes. Shadows slanted down her cheeks. Wrinkles around her brow. Such fierce beautiful determination. "Fuck," he shouted. The back tires skid. He pumped on the brakes. "Fuck," he said again, this time quiet, as the tires righted themselves. He looked again at Mari. She stared ahead as if she still had not heard. She was carrying his child. He carried for her a love so large he had not imagined anything could be so big. In the truck at that moment with the heat rolling over them, blowing hot, they were in tune with this one thing happening. 

    He reached out and took her hand. She smiled. Thin, showing no teeth, and in his eyes too, he smiled. 

    The empty roads allowed him to run the lights through town. Sirens followed. He ignored them. He rolled down his window and lit a cigarette. He drove until he saw the hospital and he pulled in beneath the arch and jumped from the truck. The police ran to Mari's door first and lifted her out. Mari panted, holding her belly, and making noises like an injured rabbit or a cat in heat. Mike stared wide-eyed as she was lifted onto a stretcher and taken up on white linens and wheels and carried away in just that same position, with her bright eyes reflecting his dark form. She looked back out at him in that separate horror, one that could not be shared. He chased the speeding stretcher down long corridors he could not remember afterwards.     They pulled her behind doors that closed to him, and without a word he was taken to a separate room. 

    He sat alone between Mahon and Danny waiting for the doctor to return. Danny talked on and on about his trip. Mike listened to bits about Charles and his brothers, but the words meant nothing to him. He could not comprehend what they meant. Finally, a door opened and the news came that not one child but two had arrived through Mari's body like some vehicle. He remained silent, unable to speak. 

    "They are both boys," the nurse told him. "Brothers."

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