Mount Terminus by David Grand Page B

see if this even closer proximity would somehow enable him to recall a hidden memory. What, he asked from this short distance, should I know about you?
    Why, said Simon with an edge of indignation in his voice, you should know everything about me. At the very least, you should know my name. You should have been carrying it around with you all your life. It should be filling your mind with mystery and wonder, as yours does mine.
    Bloom could only shake his head. About the past, my father says very little. Almost nothing at all.
    That shouldn’t surprise me, said Simon, but I find it disheartening all the same.
    I don’t understand.
    No, Simon said angrily, how could you?
    And then arrived a pause.
    The two young men, who were identical in almost every way except for their age, looked each other over for a prolonged moment in which Simon appeared, from the movement of his eyes, engaged in an internal deliberation. When he concluded this inner discourse, he regained his equanimity and said, I’m sorry, but I must be on my way. Simon Reuben lifted the tripod with the camera attached and continued charging the trail upward.
    I wish you would take just a few minutes to explain.
    No, said Simon from over his shoulder, it’s for your father to explain. Ask him. Ask him what became of Leah. Ask him who Leah was to your mother. Ask him how I am related to you.
    Upon hearing this, Bloom set after him. Then we are related?
    Ask your father.
    Please try to understand, said Bloom as he ran to catch up, I will, but I assure you, nothing will come of it.
    For years, Simon said, speaking to Bloom as if his concerns belonged to a world beyond the one on which they walked, I’ve been chasing the sun. Do you know what kind of displeasure it brings me to chase the sun from season to season?
    I’m sorry?
    Like Moses and the tribes of Israel must have felt wandering the desert. You see there, he said, pointing with the toes of the tripod in the direction of the plateau. That is my Promised Land, and today I refuse to allow God or anyone else to keep me from it. He took three long strides and then, talking more to himself than to Bloom, said, When I return, it is here that I’ll stay. No more running. When the construction is complete, I’ll return, and when I do, you and I will become better acquainted. Until then, I must continue on. Simon quickened his pace.
    Please, Bloom pleaded. He’s sent me to you for the answer. I don’t have the patience to wait.
    As abruptly as he had reengaged his movement up the mountain, Simon Reuben stopped, and with a plume of dust drifting beyond him, he turned back and grabbed hold of Bloom’s left hand. Look , he said as he held out his same hand, it couldn’t be more plain. On Bloom’s palm, just below his thumb, was a brown birthmark resembling a thorn growing from a stalk. On Simon’s palm, in precisely the same location, was the identical blemish.
    There, he said. Take that back to him and see what he says.
    Bloom looked up at the familiar face and asked in a voice upset from the unexpected turn, You are my brother ?
    Go home and talk with our father.
    He turned again and continued his charge up the mountain. Bloom didn’t follow this time. He looked at his hand and then looked at Simon’s. He watched it clench into a fist, which he used to drive himself ahead to the appointment he was keeping with himself at the top of the trail.
    *   *   *
    It was almost too much for Bloom to apprehend. He had a brother? An elder brother? How was it possible he had a brother? Headstrong and ambitious. Self-absorbed and easy to anger. A man who knew something of the world. Had he not been so astounded by this revelation, he might have stopped to wonder about his father’s motives for having concealed his existence from him, but Bloom, for the time being, could only feel the preternatural thrill of the event. For the moment, he was filled with