Brothers (2) The two stopped, a wall blocking their path. “What now?” Eugene asked, looking at the gunman. “You’ll see amigo.” Far across the desert plains, the man was sleeping. Deep in the shadows of the shack, a rat scratched its way across the dusty floor and the man’s feet. It reached an upturned pail of water fresh from the well. Sniffing around it sensed the man sleeping. All was quiet, the silence contending only with the moan of the wind and the man’s gentle breathing. At the other end of the room, a spider crawled across the web it had made on the remains of someone’s meal. The plate was covered with flies. The food was scattered across the table and floor, spilt bottles trailing their sticky entrails on the chairs. The spider looked up to see another fly caught in the depths of its web. For it, tonight was turning out to be a good night after all. Beside the wall, two sturdy mounts stood in the pale moonlight, snorting in impatience and pulling on the ropes that held them captive. A shrill whistle pierced the night air as the horses stood to attention. The gunman shook his gun at Eugene. “Now that’s how you plan an escape.” Eugene nodded, the gunman continued to whisper to him. “Can you ride?” “Yeah,” Eugene whispered back, he was still afraid to ask about their destination. “Get on!” The gunman hissed, “You afraid, 'cause if you are I’ll just kill you here and be on my way.” The man pulled on his sombrero to hide his face. “We’re gonna ride to the edge of town. Give me no trouble boy, and you’re gonna ride off into the desert, get outta here if you know what I mean. However, if at any time you think you can get away. Bang! That’ll be the end of you.” “Okay, you’re not coming with me? ” Eugene shivered involuntarily under his poncho. The gunman had a sinister look in his eyes. “I have other business to attend to. When you ride off… my job is complete.” As day dawned on the town, it was lit up with the brilliance of the hazy morning sun. The light streamed through the cracked windowpanes. Making dancing patterns of dust on the sandy floors and the deep shadows of the night disappear. In the old run down shack, the rat stirred as it was silhouetted in a beam of brilliant light. As it woke, it stretched out then scampered off to find food leaving the man alone with his dreams. The man rolled over hitting the hard cold floor. He groaned momentarily before returning to his slumber. As the night grew thinner and dawn approached, Eugene and the gunman rode on. In the west, the sun was rising on a new day. Eugene and his captor made a funny pair. Not a word had passed between then since the last barked order at the wall. Like two dead men, they had rode on in silence, neither forgetting the other’s presence. Even for a second. Despite the fact that the gunman was armed, ready and quite willing to shoot at him, Eugene felt safe with him. Being apart from his brother in this town did not affect him so badly when he was not alone. The track that the horses were following was turning gold with the sands of the desert. Eugene looked up at the sun, his stomach sinking, he got the feeling he was not going to like the next leg of his journey. The Gunman’s horse stopped. “This is where I get off.” The sharp edge had gone from the gunman’s voice. Despite the harsh, angry angles of his face, he was becoming fond of his companion. “Tell me, who’s paying you to do this? Who paid you enough to shoot your own brother?” Eugene had to know. “Just ride.” The gunman refused to meet Eugene’s eyes. “A few miles west is a town. If your brother was lucky he made it there before dawn, and if he did not. He’s a dead man. Go! Get as far as you can before dawn.” “How do you know about my brother? Tell me!” Eugene shouted, but the gunman only laughed. He turned on his jet-black horse. “Look after yourself boy.” The man chuckled and left. His task was complete. A slow fuzzy feeling came across the man. He groped around him, expecting to find the hard bed and itchy blankets of home. He opened his eyes, leaping up to defend himself. “Stand back!” A smile broke across his face as realisation dawned on him. The floor was cold and the dust tickled his toes. The sun was streaming in through the window illuminating his surroundings. He hadn’t recognised this place in the daylight. The only furniture was, a table, stool and an over turned pale of water. He remembered the desert, the long arduous trek, before finding this town. He pulled on what was left of his jacket and his ragged poncho. He stooped through the low doorway to exit the shack. Eugene pressed his horse forward onto the outskirts of the desert. He watches the dust trails made by the mounts feet as they ambled along. Looking towards the far off mountains Eugene could see the great vastness of the desert. He was glad for the horse. Glancing to his left, he spotted something shining in the sand. Eugene didn’t want to disobey the gunman’s orders by stopping to look, but he could not get his curiosity to rest. Pulling the horse up, he dismounted, heading for the object. The ground was spattered with brown blood and the sands were scuffed in every direction. A fight had obviously taken place here. Wiping his brow, Eugene reached for the object. He felt the sharp sting of pain as he picked it up. It was a pocketknife, and it had been left open. Surveying the scene for any more items Eugene headed back to his horse. He studied the knife, looking at it closely. It looked very familiar. Getting back on his horse he pocketed the knife, he headed back for the desert, back for his brother. Outside of the shack in the brilliant light, the man could see the town. Like the shack, it was very different to what it had been the night before. The buildings were grand, yet uncared for. The streets battered and worn. He looked along the road. The largest building was an old saloon. Most of the brickwork was broken. A disfigured lump of rock that might once have been an adjoining well was in ruins. It had, at one time probably been used by the patron’s horses to drink from. He smiled at the thought of the town alive with people, the saloon swinging with the townsfolk under the mid day sun. Now the doors creaked loudly, one off its hinges. He guessed not many people came here anymore, but it was clear that in it’s day it would have been a fine building. He stepped closer to its porch. An old rocking chair sat there, gently rocking in the breeze. He supposed it must belong to somebody, but as nobody seemed to be around and with a sudden feeling of fatigue, he took a seat. He traced the lines of the old chair with his tired hands. The wood smooth beneath his fingertips comforted him and made him feel at home. He felt as if generations had sat in that same chair, watching the world go by, and now it was his turn. The chairs occupants had worn it to be so comfortable one could sink into it’s depths. Feeling in awe of its memories, the man got up. He was suddenly nervous. Why was it that no one had tried to stop him from sitting in the chair or sleeping in the shack? He thought about it, he hadn’t seen a soul in the town since he got here. It felt like the town was filled with the hustle and bustle of daily life, there were just no people. The man didn’t feel alone here and that made him uncomfortable. Just as Eugene had thought, he wasn’t enjoying making his was across the desert at all. Since he had left the stranger at the edge of San Carlos, and apart from stopping for the pocketknife, he hadn’t stopped riding. Perhaps it was the memory of the cold metal pressed against his back, or the heat of the desert that had kept him going he didn’t know. He got out the pocketknife once more. He could see his reflection in its polished wood surface. He looked awful, his hair plastered to his forehead, his eyes sullen and dull. He and his horse had slowly picked their way across the endless sand. The constant trying not to think about what it would have been like to die out here alone was taking its toll on him. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the sand in his hair. Eugene urged the horse on, he couldn’t stand much more of this. In the town, the man took a step closer to the saloon door. The interior seemed dark and dangerous in comparison to the shining sunlight on the streets. He felt as if the saloon would swallow him up if he dared set foot inside. The man hesitated, what if there was nobody in there. Worse still, what if there was someone in there, someone hostile, what would he do then? On the other hand, if there were people in there, real living breathing bodies of flesh and blood, he would be immensely thankful, to get away from the loneliness of the town. The man made his mind made up. Taking a decisive step forward, he sucked in a deep breath. He had to know. The Doors parted with a low moan. He gasped. Eugene felt fortunate to have been left with such a magnificent horse; it easily crossed the harsh plans and carried well the huge saddlebags it had been laden with. He was still puzzled by the gunman’s motives. Sitting back on his horse, he delved into the supplies and pulled out a flask. There was enough drink to last him through the most part of the desert. He took a sip- Tequila. Grimacing he closed the flask. It wasn’t water but it would have to do. He searched through the bags again. He found food. It was stale, but still edible. Urging the horse on, he took a bite. It was hot and his mouth felt dry. He though about his brother had making it on foot… the thought scared him. He imagined his brother alone, picking his way across the sand, agonisingly, painfully slowly. Eugene was experiencing the harsh desert and he knew that there would not have been much chance for survival. A small tear crept into the corner of his eye. He had tried to push the thought out of his mind, but without much success. The last time Eugene had spoken to his brother, he had fought with him. He has blamed him for the downfall of the business and even for giving the family a bad name. Eugene tried to hate him for not staying in San Carlos, but he could not. Eugene didn’t want to have to live with himself knowing that he had driven his brother to his death. He had to find his brother. Eugene’s face wore a new resolve as he rode on. He would find his brother, whatever it took. The saloon was dark, damp, and smelled of the last traces of cigar smoke. As the man’s vision cleared through the hazy darkness, a deep chill ran down his spine. The saloon was completely deserted. Overturned bar stools, blood, teeth and food remains littered the floor. On the bar, there was a bottle. The man eagerly went to drink, he hadn’t realised just how thirsty he was. Immediately he recognised the strong taste of tequila. The man turned, the scene in the room was one that he would normally expect to see just after a fight. Perhaps even a desert storm had ripped its way through the room. Broken glass was scattered across the floor in one corner and a dark stain covered the wall. Thinking about what had happened here scared the man. Especially as there was no one here, alive or otherwise. He turned away from the scene. The sun illuminated the bar through the dusty window. He walked up there, lightly brushing away the cobwebs from the surface and stepping behind the counter. He spotted food jars on the shelf underneath. Hungrily he opened one and gulped down its contents, then starting on a second. The food was not good, but he hardly noticed. He washed down each mouthful with tequila. He looked up as the ray of sun from the window hit him. Glancing at an empty barstool he though about the people. He knew they could not just have disappeared. Yet, that seemed to be the only answer. Whatever had happened here was a secret that only, the wind could tell as it swept through the streets. The man smiled, he liked this place. He was no longer afraid of its shadows, its mysteries, and the secrets it kept. Awakened for the second time, the old town with its one new inhabitant listened to the desert. The sound it heard was different from that of a few days ago. The footsteps it heard were faster and lighter, dancing like raindrops on the rooftops. Looking to the sands, a tiny dark figure, on a horse as black as the night came over the horizon. The new arrival brought with it the sound of thunder, echoing through the quiet streets, slowly getting louder. Eugene and his horse were progressing through the desert like bush fire. He was shouting for his horse to go faster, always faster. On into the desert. The horse marked out their trail with its hooves. Their path would be easy to follow. However, Eugene didn’t care about that. All he cared about was finding his brother alive and well. He had been able to see the town lying lazily on the sand in the distance for some time now. In his heart, he knew this was the right place. He wanted to sense his brother’s presence through the layers of buildings in the town. He had realised that he was a wanted-man, he knew penalty for being caught. Death was the penalty for everything in San Carlos. If you stole, death. If you killed, death. It made him wonder how Rozzo was still alive. Maybe the Sheriff was too afraid of him to kill him. If the gunman that had helped him escape had been caught, his sentence would have been death too. Eugene still could not fathom who it was that would want to try to help him. He knew one thing, however. That he would feel much safer with the gunman, or his brother here, instead of being alone in this wilderness. The man stepped out of the saloon the creaking doors giving in grudgingly and opening to let him out. The brightness of the street hurt his eyes after the dimness of the forgotten room. He lifted his arm to shield himself form the glare and as he did a round shiny object fell out of his pocket. He leaned down to take a closer look. The object had landed with a metallic clink on the dusty floor. It glinted brightly in the sunlight. He picked it up. It was a coin. He rolled it about in his hands. It had a familiar feel to it. A smile spread across his face. This was his lucky coin. His brother had given to him as a boy. He had thought that he had lost it in the desert, but here it was, still bringing him luck as it always had done. He reached into his pocket to put it back. Startled he removed his had, he could not find his knife. It had been a gift from his father. Annoyed he kicked at the dust. In the distance, he could hear hooves. Even to his unpractised ear, they sounded close. An instinct told him to hide. He didn’t know why, only that the feeling was strong. He had never been able to ignore his gut. He didn’t want taking refuge in the saloon, too many ghosts already hid there. The abandoned shack that had been his home for the night wouldn’t offer much cover either if things got tough. The man looked around. On the outskirts of the town, Eugene and his horse were riding in. He pulled the horse to a stop and dismounted. There was a sign to his left of him and it had sparked his interest. It was covered in mud and sand. Eugene walked up to it and started to scrape away at it with his fingertips. Some how the town even smelt welcoming and that was heaven to a weary traveller. He traced the letters on the sign with his fingers. E. L - B. O. R. G. O. Looking for shelter the man looked to his right. He saw what looked like the sheriff’s office and the county jail. He thought that he would have the best chance of defending himself at the sheriff’s office, perhaps the people of the town had left a few weapons behind. However he still couldn’t rule out the possibility that there might still be people around. Cautiously he made his way to the building and wiped the dusty window with his sleeve. Inside there was a table, chairs, a shelf with some jars on and a display of weapons on the wall. The man removed a weapon from the wall, loaded it and took refuge under the table to await the new arrival. ‘El Borgo’, even the name sounded familiar to Eugene, it was as if he had heard it before but could not remember when or where. He led his horse over to the stables, failing to notice the pair of eyes watching him from across the street. As he tied his horse, he hummed quietly to himself. For the second time in twenty-four hours, a long cold object pressed against Eugene’s back. “I could get used to this.” Eugene shrugged off the gun. “Let me guess… don’t move? Not very original. You guys are all the same, no sense of humour.” Standing up to the man, Eugene felt very brave, maybe it was the previous encounter with the dark gunman, or the long trek through the desert but he was certainly feeling more daring. “Turn round….” The other man said, “Slowly. Let me see your face.” The man with his borrowed gun was nervous, the individual he was pointing the gun at was no ordinary man. He could tell that. But his voice was some how familiar. Eugene turned slowly, careful not to make any quick movements. Something in the way the man with the gun spoke was familiar. As Eugene turned to face him. His jaw dropped and he stared at his captor unable to move. Equally amazed the other man dropped his gun and choked out a single word. “E…e… Eugene!” The man swallowed heavily fighting back the tears that were threatening to appear. He didn’t understand what was happening, but all that mattered was that his brother was here. “Brother.” Eugene choked out, finally able to speak. He looked the older man in the eyes. “Brother. I’m sorry… Sorry for everything, sorry that I couldn’t find any thing nice to say to you that night. I’ve wanted to tell you that it wasn’t all your fault that…” “I know Eugene” After days in the desert and this lonely town the man had had time to forgive and forget what happened and if Eugene could forgive him then that was the least he could do. “But… but how did you get here. How did you find me…?” “It’s a long story,” Eugene interrupted, “I’ll tell you on the way home. Not just back to San Carlos. Back to our home, where you belong, where we belong.” Eugene tried to get the words out, tripping over himself. “I don’t know what to say Eugene...” The man was speechless. “Tell me how you been doing here, and… where is everybody?” Eugene had a look of puzzlement on his face as the realisation that he and his brother were alone in this town sunk in. “Here? Oh I’ve been fine.” Only the look of fatigue on his face betrayed the older brother’s true feelings. “And as for the rest of the people… That’s a secret only the town itself knows.” He smiled at Eugene, the two starting for home. The two brothers walked along the dusty road, as if not a day had passed since they had last spoken. The town of El Borgo sighed, its last two inhabitants were leaving. It would once again belong to the desert, the wind whispering its secrets to the sands, as it had been and ever shall be, until the end of time. The air was thin and made his mouth dry as he stepped into the hot desert sand, only this time for a different reason. He was going home.
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