Simon was where Lester had left him. He lay on his back with his head to the edge of the building, empty air touching his hair. Lester stretched out next to him.

“You remember rice camp?”

“I think I’m drunk,” said Simon.

“Rice camp. In the fall. We’d lay like this in the tent.”

“You was a skinny kid, Lester,” slurred Simon.

“We lay there with our heads out the flaps. Mom and Dad were sleeping, the girls were just babies. We’d look up at the sky for UFOs. You remember that?”

“You were so skinny we just turned an otter skin inside out for your sleeping bag.”

“Let’s go home, Si. Ma’s on night shift and we gotta get the girls to school.”

“He got killed by a tree.”

“I know.”

“A fuckin tree fell on him.”

“I know.”

Simon raised his arms and clenched his fists. “I could lift it now. Bet I could lift that fuckin poplar off now.”

“You was a kid, Simon.”

“Ever lift dry poplar? Ever? There ain’t nothin to it. Like cardboard.”

“Let’s go home.”

“But wet. Wet it weighs a ton, all that water trapped there. Lester, it’s so heavy when it’s wet, but I know I could lift it now.”

Lester helped him up and collected the empty bottles and harnesses. He held Simon around the waist until they got in the lift and closed the cage. On the street the beginnings of traffic coasted unimpeded on the broad avenues. Newspaper trucks, service vehicles, vans with ladders strapped to the roof. The sky was pink and ready to turn over. Simon pulled himself up, minus his T-shirt, and they walked home shoulder to shoulder.

Remember this. Keep the brothers walking home at dawn. Remember the curve of their backs. Simon hunched around his stomach and Lester off balance to the left, ready to catch and hold. Study their strides. Simon walks conscious of his own power, the beauty of his strength. Lester is tense, not sure if he can catch Simon if he does fall. Look at the way they move together. Lester one step behind Simon so he can react if need be.

Collect all this and hold it together and remember. Do not forget. Everyone will ask, will wonder: Could you see it, was there any echo of the violence to come? If you had been on your way home—security guard, baker, porter, desk clerk, student, or one of the countless insomniacs found in every city—would you have noticed the intent, the horrible future crouched in Simon’s body, the deadly promise of his hands?

Maybe not. Perhaps not. It’s been a long night. There are chores and a family waiting at home. Phone calls to make. There is only the stagger and hoarse laughter of two men trying to steady the walk home. No maps of the future. Nothing to remember.

15