The Sisters Brothers (5 page)

Chapter 16

I had nowhere to go, and did not wish to be seen by anyone for fear they would recognize my sadness, and so for several minutes I simply stood in the hall, shifting my weight and breathing and attempting to clear my mind of every recognizable thought. I noticed the candle I had lit was once again out. I assumed a draft had snuffed the flame but on closer inspection I saw my match was gone; I repeated my previous action of lighting the wick and propping the spent match against the candle in its black metal holder. I had the sensation of conversing, with whom I did not know, likely the hotel woman. Might I leave her a secret note? But I had no paper or ink and at any rate what would I say to her?
Dear Miss, I wish you would wash your face and be nice to me. I have money. Do you want it? I never know what to do with it.

I sat on the stairs for twenty more minutes before returning to the room. Charlie was sitting on his bed, wearing his new shirt but no pants. He held one of his new boots in his hands, patting and admiring it. He had drunk a third of the morphine and its powers had taken hold; his eyes were sagging at their edges and he looked pleased as a pig on holiday.

‘Headache’s gone, brother?’

‘No, she’s still there, but the medicine makes it so I don’t mind her.’ Flipping the boot to study its interior he said solemnly, ‘The skill and patience involved with the making of this boot humbles me.’

I felt repulsed by Charlie then. ‘You make for a pretty picture.’

His lids were rising and falling like a pair of blinds being lifted and dropped. He shrugged and said, ‘Some days we are stronger . . . than others.’

‘When do you want to get moving?’

Now he spoke with his eyes closed: ‘I cannot travel in this state. Another day in town won’t matter. The woman mentioned a duel in the morning. We will leave just after that.’

‘Whatever you say.’

He opened his eyes to slits. ‘What’s the matter with you? You’re acting differently.’

‘I feel the same as before.’

‘You were listening to me in the bathtub, weren’t you?’ I did not reply and his eyes fully opened: ‘I thought I heard you out there. Here is the fate of the sneak and the eavesdropper.’ Suddenly he doubled over, and a thin column of yellow bile poured from his mouth and onto the floor. His face was dripping when he raised it, his wet lips arched in a devilish smile. ‘I
almost
vomited in the boot! I was
just about
to vomit in the boot! Can you imagine how upset I would have been?’

‘I will see you later on,’ I told him.

‘What?’ he said. ‘No, stay here with me. I am not feeling well. I’m sorry if I made you feel badly before. They were just some thoughtless words.’

‘No, I would like to be alone. You drink your morphine and go to sleep.’

I turned for the door but he, either not noticing this or pretending it was not happening, continued to speak to me. ‘There was some type of poison in that brandy, I think.’ He retched in his own mouth. ‘This is the worst I’ve ever felt from alcohol.’

‘I drank the same brandy and I am not poisoned.’

‘You did not drink as much as I did.’

‘There’s no percentage in arguing with a drunkard as per whom should be blamed.’

‘So I’m a drunkard, now.’

‘I’m through with you for the day. I must attend to my stitches and wounds. I will see you later on, brother. I advise you to stay away from the saloon in the meantime.’

‘I don’t know if I’ll be able, being so depraved a drunkard as I am.’

He only wished to fight and cultivate an anger toward me, thus alleviating his guilt, but I would not abet him in this. I returned to the lobby (the candle, I noticed on my way down, had remained lit, the match untouched), where I found the woman behind her desk, reading a letter and smiling. Apparently this note brought welcome news, for she was in better spirits because of it and she greeted me, if not warmly, then not nearly as coldly as before. I asked to borrow a pair of scissors and a looking glass and she did not answer but offered to cut my hair for fifty cents, assuming this was my reason for needing the tools. I declined with thanks, explaining about my stitches; she asked if she might follow to my room and witness the gory procedure. When I told her I had hoped to spend some time apart from my brother she said, ‘That I can understand.’ Then she asked where I was planning to perform my minor surgery; when I admitted I had not thought about this, she invited me into her quarters.

‘Haven’t you some other pressing business?’ I asked. ‘You hadn’t a moment to spare, earlier this morning.’

Her cheek flushed, and she explained, ‘I’m sorry if I was short with you. My help disappeared last week and I’ve been losing sleep hoping to keep up. Also there has been a sickness in my family that I have been anxious to know about.’ She tapped the letter and nodded.

‘All is well then?’

‘Not all but most.’ With this, she invited me behind her sacred counter and I followed her through the beaded curtain and into her private world. The beads felt lovely and tickling on my face, and I experienced a shudder of happiness at this. It is true, I thought. I am living a life.

Chapter 17

Her room was not the room I would have imagined, if I had had time to imagine her room, which I did not. But there were no flowers and niceties, no silk or perfume, no lady things hung with a lady’s decorative hand; there were no volumes of poetry, no vanity and brush set; there were no lace-edged pillows featuring heartening proverbs meant to calm the spirit in times of distress or else lead us through the monotony of endlessly redundant days with their succoring words and tones. No, her room was a low-ceilinged bunker, without any windows or natural light, and as it was located just next to the kitchen and laundry it smelled of grease and brown water and moldy soap flakes. She must have noticed my dismayed expression, for she became shy, and said quietly that she did not suppose I was impressed with her quarters; this naturally sent me falling over myself to praise the room, which I told her gave one the feeling of safety by way of impenetrability and also that it was perfectly private. She said my words were kindly spoken but not necessary. The room was lacking, she knew this, but she would have to put up with it for only a short while longer, for owing to the constant stream of prospectors she was doing a remarkable business. ‘Six more months, then I will move into the finest room in this hotel.’ The way she spoke this last sentence informed me it was a significant ambition for her.

‘Six months is a long time,’ I said.

‘I have waited longer for less.’

‘I wish there was some way I could hurry it along for you.’

She puzzled over this. ‘What a strange thing to tell a stranger,’ she said.

Now she guided me to a small pine table, propping a looking glass before me. My overlarge face leapt into view, which I studied with my usual mixture of curiosity and pity. She fetched me a pair of scissors and I took them up, holding the blades between my palms to warm them. Tilting the glass so that I could watch myself working, I snipped at the knotted stitching and began pulling away the black string from my mouth. It did not hurt but vaguely burned, as when a rope is run through your hands. It was too early to have removed the stitches and the string was coated in blood. I stacked the pieces in a pile at my feet and afterward burned these, as their smell was ungodly. Once this was finished I elected to show the woman my new toothbrush and powder, which I had in my vest pocket. She became excited by the suggestion, for she was also a recent convert to this method, and she hurried to fetch her equipment that we might brush simultaneously. So it was that we stood side by side at the wash basin, our mouths filling with foam, smiling as we worked. After we finished there was an awkward moment where neither of us knew what to say; and when I sat upon her bed she began looking at the door as if wishing to leave.

‘Come sit beside me,’ I said. ‘I would like to talk to you.’

‘I should be getting back to my work.’

‘Am I not a guest here? You must entertain me, or I will write reproachful letters to the chamber of commerce.’

‘Oh, all right.’ Gathering her dress in her hands as she sat, she asked, ‘What would you like to talk about?’

‘Anything in the world. What about the letter, the one that made you smile? Who in your family was sick?’

‘My brother, Pete. He was kicked in the chest by a mule but they tell me he’s healing nicely. Mother says you can make out the hoof shape quite clearly.’

‘He is lucky. That would have been a most undignified death.’

‘Death is death.’

‘You are wrong. There are many kinds of death.’ I counted them off on my fingers: ‘Quick death, slow death. Early death, late death. Brave death, cowardly death.’

‘Anyway, he’s weakened. I will send a letter inviting him to work with me.’

‘You are close with your brother?’ I said.

‘We are twins,’ she answered. ‘We have always had a strong connection. I think of him sometimes and it is just as though he is in the room with me. The night he was kicked I awoke with a red mark over my breast. I suppose that sounds odd.’

‘Yes, it does.’

‘I believe I must have hit myself in my sleep,’ she explained.

‘Oh.’

‘Is that man upstairs really your brother?’

‘Yes.’

She said, ‘You two are very different, aren’t you? He is not bad, I don’t think. Perhaps he is simply too lazy to be good.’

‘Neither of us is good, but he is lazy, it’s true. When he was a boy he would not wash until my mother actually wept.’

‘What is your mother like?’

‘She was very smart, and very sad.’

‘When did she die?’

‘She did not die.’

‘But you said she
was
very smart.’

‘I guess I only meant—well, she won’t see us, if you want to know the truth. She is not happy with our work, and says she will not speak with us until we have found some other form of employment.’

‘And what is it you two do?’

‘We are Eli and Charlie Sisters.’

‘Oh,’ she said. ‘Oh, my.’

‘My father is dead. He was killed, and deserved to be killed.’

‘All right,’ she said, standing.

I gripped her hand. ‘What is your name? I suppose you have a man already? Yes or no?’ But she was edging toward the door and said she had not a minute longer to spare. I stood and moved in close to her, asking if I might steal a kiss, but she claimed once again to be hurried. I pressed her for details in respect to her feelings for me, if in fact she had any; she answered that she did not know me well enough to say, and admitted a preference for slight men, or at least men not quite as heavyset as me. She was not saying it to be cruel but the effects of her words stung me, and after she stole away I stood a long while before her looking glass, studying my profile, the line I cut in this world of men and ladies.

Chapter 18

I avoided Charlie all that afternoon and evening. I returned to our room after dinner and found him sleeping, the morphine bottle toppled and empty on the floor. In the morning we ate breakfast together in our room, or he ate breakfast, as I had resolved to cease filling myself so gluttonously, that I might trim my middle down to a more suitable shape and weight. Charlie was groggy but glad, and wanted to make friends with me. Pointing his knife at my face he asked, ‘Remember how you got your freckles?’

I shook my head. I was not ready to make friends. I said, ‘Do you know the specifics of this duel?’

He nodded. ‘One man is a lawyer, and by all accounts out of his element in such a fight. Williams is his name. He is going up against a ranch hand with an evil history, a man called Stamm. They say Stamm will kill Williams dead, no way around it.’

‘But what are the specifics of their quarrel?’

‘Stamm hired Williams to chase down some wages owed him by a local rancher. The matter went to court and Williams lost. The moment the verdict came in, Stamm challenged Williams to pistols.’

‘And the lawyer has no history of shooting?’

‘You hear talk of gentlemen gunfighters, but I’ve yet to meet one.’

‘It doesn’t sound like much of a pairing. I would just as soon move on.’

‘If that’s what you wish to do.’ Charlie pulled a watch from his pocket. I recognized it as the watch of the prospector he had killed. ‘It is just past nine o’clock, now. You can go ahead on Tub, and I’ll catch up after the duel, in an hour’s time.’

‘I believe I will,’ I said.

The hotel woman knocked and entered to collect our plates and cups. I bid her a good morning and she responded kindly, laying a hand on my back as she passed. Charlie also greeted her, but she pretended not to have heard. When she commented on my untouched plate, I patted my stomach and said I was hoping to slim down for reasons of the heart.

‘Is that so,’ she said.

‘What are you talking about?’ asked Charlie.

The woman’s stained smock was nowhere in sight, replaced by a red linen blouse, cut low to reveal her throat and collarbone. Charlie asked if she would attend the gunfight and she answered in the affirmative, telling us, ‘You men would do well to hurry up and find yourselves a place to watch. The streets fill up quickly here, and people are loath to give up their positions.’

‘Perhaps I will stay on,’ I said.

‘Oh?’ asked Charlie.

We three walked out to the dueling grounds together. As I pushed through the crowd I was pleased to notice the woman’s arm on mine. I was feeling very grand and chivalrous; Charlie brought up the rear, whistling a conspicuously innocent melody. We found our place in the crowd and it was as the woman predicted, the competition for choice locations was fierce. I threatened a man who pushed against her, and Charlie called out, ‘Beware the Rabid Gentleman, you faithful natives.’ As the duelists arrived a body at my back bumped into me once, and then again. I turned to complain and saw it was a man with a child of seven or eight resting upon his shoulders—the child had been hitting me with his boot. ‘I would appreciate your boy not kicking my back,’ I said.

‘Was he kicking you?’ asked the man. ‘I don’t think he was.’

‘He was, and if it happens again I will lay blame with you alone.’

‘Is that a fact?’ he said, making an expression that imparted his belief I was being unreasonable or overly dramatic. I tried to match his eyes then, that I might inform him of the peril his attitude was leading him toward, but he would not look at me, he only peered over my shoulder at the dueling grounds. I turned away to stew, the woman clutching my forearm to soothe me, but my temper was up now, and I spun around to readdress the man: ‘Anyway, I don’t understand why you would show the lad such violence at his age.’

‘I’ve seen a killing before,’ the boy told me. ‘I saw an Indian cut through with a dagger blade, his guts running out of him like a fat red snake. I also saw a man hanging from a tree outside of town. His tongue was swelled up in his head, like this.’ The child made an ugly face.

‘I still don’t think it’s correct,’ I told the man, who said nothing. The child continued to make his face and I turned back to watch the men taking their places in the street. They were easy enough to identify: The hand, Stamm, was in leather and well-worn cotton, his face weathered and unshaven. He stood alone, without a second to assist him, looking out at the crowd with a dead expression in his eyes, his arms hanging slack at his sides. The lawyer Williams wore a gray tailored suit, his hair center-parted, his mustache waxed and trimmed. His second, similarly dandified, removed Williams’s coat, and the crowd watched the lawyer performing a series of knee-bending exercises. Now he leveled a phantom gun at Stamm and imitated its recoil. These pantomimes were the cause of some stifled chuckling in the crowd, but Williams’s face was perfectly serious and solemn. I thought Stamm was drunk or had recently been drunk.

‘Who are you hoping for?’ I asked the hotel woman.

‘Stamm is a bastard. I don’t know Williams but he looks like a bastard, also.’

The man with the child on his shoulders overheard this and said, ‘Mister Williams is not a bastard. Mister Williams is a gentleman.’

I turned slowly. ‘He is a friend of yours?’

‘I am proud to say he is.’

‘I hope you have said your good-byes. He will be dead within the minute.’

The man shook his head. ‘He is not afraid.’

It was such a stupid thing to say, I actually laughed. ‘So what if he isn’t?’

The man dismissed me with a wave. The child, anyway, had heard me; he regarded me with a knowing fear. I told him, ‘Your father wants you to see violence, and today you will.’ The man stood a moment, then cursed under his breath and moved away, pushing through the throng to watch the duel from another location.

Now I heard Williams’s second call out to Stamm: ‘Where is your second, sir?’

‘I don’t know, and I don’t care,’ Stamm replied.

Williams and his second had a private word. The second nodded and asked Stamm if he might inspect his pistol. Stamm repeated that he did not care, and the second took up the weapon to check it. Nodding his approval, he asked if Stamm wished to check Williams’s pistol, and Stamm said he did not. Now Williams approached, and he and Stamm stood facing each other. Despite the show of bravery, it did not seem that Williams’s heart was in the fight; sure enough, he whispered into his second’s ear and the second said to Stamm, ‘If you wish to make an apology, that would satisfy Mr. Williams.’

‘I don’t,’ said Stamm.

‘Very well,’ said the second. He stood the men back-to-back and called it at twenty paces. He began to count it out and the duelists took their steps in time. Williams’s forehead was shining with perspiration, and his pistol was trembling, while Stamm might have been walking to an outhouse, for all the concern he displayed. At the count of twenty they swiveled and fired. Williams missed but Stamm’s bullet struck Williams in the center of his chest. The lawyer’s face transformed to a ridiculous mask of agony and surprise and, I thought, a degree of insult. Staggering this way and that, he pulled his trigger and fired into the body of onlookers. A series of shrieks, then—the bullet had struck a young woman in the shin and she lay in the dirt writhing and clutching her leg. I do not know if Williams noticed his shameful error or not; by the time I looked back at him he was dead on the ground. Stamm was walking away in the direction of a saloon, pistol holstered, his arms once more at his sides. The second stood alone on the dueling ground, looking impotently to his left and right. I scanned the crowd for the man with the boy on his shoulders, that I might make a scornful face at him, but they were nowhere to be found.