the dead remind me of that wonderful place I’ve left.”
4
So, he slept his first night in his grave, and swore me to secrecy that I not tell Spence or our mother or any of the household of his return.
At dawn, I went to find Percy Marsh to tell him that his father had died. The household was in a flurry over this, and my brother Spence went off to arrange a funeral for the loyal groundskeeper who had served Belerion Hall for more than forty years.
By late afternoon, I went to the Tombs again to look at my brother as he slept, for the dead sleep in the day and rise at sunset.
When he opened his eyes at dusk, my brother begged me to kill him. “I have dreamed of it again. I long to go there,” he said.
But I could not bring myself to hurt him. At night, we walked along the cliff’s edge and he told me much of what he could remember of the land of the dead, although he had already begun forgetting parts of it. He asked me if I had seen other manifestations of my talent—had the bird come back? What of the whirling of the thistles? Had I seen anything in the sunken gardens? When I told him that none of these things—or any others—had occurred again, he grew silent. I asked him why this was important to him, for I felt these were outward signs of the grace bestowed upon me for raising him from his tomb. He would not tell me, although he spoke of “debt of return” and the “balance of dissonance.”
On the third night, when he rose from the Tombs, he told me that Death itself spoke to him in a dream. “Do you remember the play? Of Osiris in Egypt? Do you know why Isis sought Osiris and brought him back from the dead?”
“Because he was her brother,” I said. “And because she loved him dearly.”
“No,” Harvey said, turning away from me to face the sea beneath the cliffs. “It was because she was jealous that Death had him when she wanted him all for herself. Many died so that Isis could bring Osiris back from the land of the dead.”
Briefly, he looked back at me and in the moonlight, perhaps he smiled. “Do you know something else? Life has made me afraid of death again. That is what it is meant to do. Look down there.” He motioned for me to come close to him. He pointed down to the darkness below the cliffs, the sound of the crashing waves; the moon, as it emerged from behind a cloud, cast an eerie light upon the rocks far below us. “To fall from a window is terrifying. But to fall to the rocks, to the sea, is a poem.”
I tried to draw him back from the cliff’s edge, but he pushed me away, and I fell onto the grass.
My dead brother stepped off the edge of the world and went to his death again.
EIGHT
1
When the body was found, swept up by the sea not a mile away, it was not known who it was, but upon examination, the local doctor, who acted often as not as coroner, claimed that the man had been dead for at least a year or more, judging by the rotting of the corpse.
2
I slept for the next several nights better than I had in many months. Harvey was at peace, and the terrible mistake I had made had been fixed, though I was heart-broken by losing him a second time.
Spence and Edyth announced their engagement, and I did not begrudge them their happiness. Our mother finally told us that our father had long ago left her for a woman in India and would probably never return again to his own ancestral home or to his wife and children. And though I felt terrible sadness at the loss of my brother again, I remembered his stories of this place of death and of new life—this place of the infinite, the radiance, the magnificence. I grew happy thinking of him there, not as Osiris who needed resurrection, but as a man whom I had once loved as my brother named Harvey Villiers who had gone on to a finer place, a place where I might someday see him at the docks when my own ship of death brought me to the harbor.
But one
4
So, he slept his first night in his grave, and swore me to secrecy that I not tell Spence or our mother or any of the household of his return.
At dawn, I went to find Percy Marsh to tell him that his father had died. The household was in a flurry over this, and my brother Spence went off to arrange a funeral for the loyal groundskeeper who had served Belerion Hall for more than forty years.
By late afternoon, I went to the Tombs again to look at my brother as he slept, for the dead sleep in the day and rise at sunset.
When he opened his eyes at dusk, my brother begged me to kill him. “I have dreamed of it again. I long to go there,” he said.
But I could not bring myself to hurt him. At night, we walked along the cliff’s edge and he told me much of what he could remember of the land of the dead, although he had already begun forgetting parts of it. He asked me if I had seen other manifestations of my talent—had the bird come back? What of the whirling of the thistles? Had I seen anything in the sunken gardens? When I told him that none of these things—or any others—had occurred again, he grew silent. I asked him why this was important to him, for I felt these were outward signs of the grace bestowed upon me for raising him from his tomb. He would not tell me, although he spoke of “debt of return” and the “balance of dissonance.”
On the third night, when he rose from the Tombs, he told me that Death itself spoke to him in a dream. “Do you remember the play? Of Osiris in Egypt? Do you know why Isis sought Osiris and brought him back from the dead?”
“Because he was her brother,” I said. “And because she loved him dearly.”
“No,” Harvey said, turning away from me to face the sea beneath the cliffs. “It was because she was jealous that Death had him when she wanted him all for herself. Many died so that Isis could bring Osiris back from the land of the dead.”
Briefly, he looked back at me and in the moonlight, perhaps he smiled. “Do you know something else? Life has made me afraid of death again. That is what it is meant to do. Look down there.” He motioned for me to come close to him. He pointed down to the darkness below the cliffs, the sound of the crashing waves; the moon, as it emerged from behind a cloud, cast an eerie light upon the rocks far below us. “To fall from a window is terrifying. But to fall to the rocks, to the sea, is a poem.”
I tried to draw him back from the cliff’s edge, but he pushed me away, and I fell onto the grass.
My dead brother stepped off the edge of the world and went to his death again.
EIGHT
1
When the body was found, swept up by the sea not a mile away, it was not known who it was, but upon examination, the local doctor, who acted often as not as coroner, claimed that the man had been dead for at least a year or more, judging by the rotting of the corpse.
2
I slept for the next several nights better than I had in many months. Harvey was at peace, and the terrible mistake I had made had been fixed, though I was heart-broken by losing him a second time.
Spence and Edyth announced their engagement, and I did not begrudge them their happiness. Our mother finally told us that our father had long ago left her for a woman in India and would probably never return again to his own ancestral home or to his wife and children. And though I felt terrible sadness at the loss of my brother again, I remembered his stories of this place of death and of new life—this place of the infinite, the radiance, the magnificence. I grew happy thinking of him there, not as Osiris who needed resurrection, but as a man whom I had once loved as my brother named Harvey Villiers who had gone on to a finer place, a place where I might someday see him at the docks when my own ship of death brought me to the harbor.
But one
Similar Books
