the dinner table, Third Brother ignores his food and complains about how four people will now live in this room, his tone gruff, as if everything is Oldest Brother’s fault.
“I can sleep in the attic,” Cousin offers.
“Me, too,” I add. Oldest Brother says there’s no need to do that. When the next room becomes available, we will rent another room. But Cousin and I know too well that we cannot afford to rent two rooms. When spring arrives and Cousin and I start school, we will no longer be able to work overtime and our earnings will be even less. Our offer to sleep in the attic seems to have made Third Brother even angrier and he glares straight at Oldest Brother. My heart sinks witha thump. It’s not like anyone forbade us to do so, but nobody among my siblings has ever glared at Oldest Brother in defiance like this. Nobody told us we couldn’t, but somehow we had grown up thinking we shouldn’t. Even Second Brother, who was only two years younger than Oldest Brother, never set himself against Oldest Brother, not even once. Not in childhood, not then, not now. Oldest Brother has that about him. He is not a fighter or someone who uses force the first chance he gets, but despite this, he has something about him that keeps people from behaving childishly or picking a fight. He was overly proper, to the degree that it seemed like a flaw. Even when he was young, he was polite to Mother and Father, sociable with other people, and always focused on his studies. Additionally, he was neat and noble in his looks, so when Father or Mom chided, “Why don’t you try to be more like your oldest brother,” we simply felt small, unable to refute or give excuses. He was someone who always tried his very best. Not only in schoolwork but in his courteous attitude toward Father and Mom and his brotherly attitude toward his younger siblings. He had always done the best he could from where he stood.
But now Third Brother is glaring at him.
Oldest Brother holds Third Brother’s steady glare and says, “Go on and eat.” Then he says, “Your sister is going to attend night classes after her shift at the factory.” He even adds, “And you know what? She says she wants to be a writer.” Only then Third Brother looks away and lifts his spoon to eat. A shadow of gloom covers his face. We finish eating in silence.
After the dishes are done, I feel awkward about going back into the room and so I head to the roof, where I find Third Brother standing by the railing. He gazes down at the jagged rows of factory chimneys. Third Brother had a strong sense of pride. He would not lose to anyone. Rather, it would be more accurate to say he was good at many things. In the country, there was no kid who did not fear him. He was a good athlete, had an intimidating presence, and was an avid reader, whichmade him knowledgeable. Wherever he went, he was a leader. But now he had failed to get into a first-tier university and is about to become a student at a night college. When I turn back down, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts as he gazes down at the factory chimneys, he calls out my name. I approach and Third Brother strokes my head.
“Is it true what Oldest Brother says?”
“About what?”
“That you want to be a writer?”
Because it is Third Brother who is asking, I lose my confidence. It is he who should be a writer, not I. It was he who read with a scary intensity, while I had only been glancing over his shoulder at his opened books. It was he who had introduced me to almost all the writers I’d come to enjoy and the books that I’d read up to that point. As a matter of fact, he was not only an avid reader but was just as good a student as Oldest Brother and a far more outgoing one, surrounded by friends. He always came in first in school marathons, played the bass drum in band, played varsity handball, and was appointed president of the student council year after year. If there was one aspect of him that was different from
“I can sleep in the attic,” Cousin offers.
“Me, too,” I add. Oldest Brother says there’s no need to do that. When the next room becomes available, we will rent another room. But Cousin and I know too well that we cannot afford to rent two rooms. When spring arrives and Cousin and I start school, we will no longer be able to work overtime and our earnings will be even less. Our offer to sleep in the attic seems to have made Third Brother even angrier and he glares straight at Oldest Brother. My heart sinks witha thump. It’s not like anyone forbade us to do so, but nobody among my siblings has ever glared at Oldest Brother in defiance like this. Nobody told us we couldn’t, but somehow we had grown up thinking we shouldn’t. Even Second Brother, who was only two years younger than Oldest Brother, never set himself against Oldest Brother, not even once. Not in childhood, not then, not now. Oldest Brother has that about him. He is not a fighter or someone who uses force the first chance he gets, but despite this, he has something about him that keeps people from behaving childishly or picking a fight. He was overly proper, to the degree that it seemed like a flaw. Even when he was young, he was polite to Mother and Father, sociable with other people, and always focused on his studies. Additionally, he was neat and noble in his looks, so when Father or Mom chided, “Why don’t you try to be more like your oldest brother,” we simply felt small, unable to refute or give excuses. He was someone who always tried his very best. Not only in schoolwork but in his courteous attitude toward Father and Mom and his brotherly attitude toward his younger siblings. He had always done the best he could from where he stood.
But now Third Brother is glaring at him.
Oldest Brother holds Third Brother’s steady glare and says, “Go on and eat.” Then he says, “Your sister is going to attend night classes after her shift at the factory.” He even adds, “And you know what? She says she wants to be a writer.” Only then Third Brother looks away and lifts his spoon to eat. A shadow of gloom covers his face. We finish eating in silence.
After the dishes are done, I feel awkward about going back into the room and so I head to the roof, where I find Third Brother standing by the railing. He gazes down at the jagged rows of factory chimneys. Third Brother had a strong sense of pride. He would not lose to anyone. Rather, it would be more accurate to say he was good at many things. In the country, there was no kid who did not fear him. He was a good athlete, had an intimidating presence, and was an avid reader, whichmade him knowledgeable. Wherever he went, he was a leader. But now he had failed to get into a first-tier university and is about to become a student at a night college. When I turn back down, not wanting to intrude on his thoughts as he gazes down at the factory chimneys, he calls out my name. I approach and Third Brother strokes my head.
“Is it true what Oldest Brother says?”
“About what?”
“That you want to be a writer?”
Because it is Third Brother who is asking, I lose my confidence. It is he who should be a writer, not I. It was he who read with a scary intensity, while I had only been glancing over his shoulder at his opened books. It was he who had introduced me to almost all the writers I’d come to enjoy and the books that I’d read up to that point. As a matter of fact, he was not only an avid reader but was just as good a student as Oldest Brother and a far more outgoing one, surrounded by friends. He always came in first in school marathons, played the bass drum in band, played varsity handball, and was appointed president of the student council year after year. If there was one aspect of him that was different from
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