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Back The Third Brother Save as PDF
Chapters (116)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by the Author
  3. The Third Brother
  4. Copyright
  5. Dedication
  6. PART I
  7. 1
  8. 2
  9. 3
  10. 4
  11. 5
  12. 6
  13. 7
  14. 8
  15. 9
  16. 10
  17. 11
  18. 12
  19. 13
  20. 14
  21. 15
  22. 16
  23. 17
  24. 18
  25. 19
  26. 20
  27. 21
  28. 22
  29. 23
  30. 24
  31. 25
  32. 26
  33. 27
  34. 28
  35. 29
  36. 30
  37. 31
  38. 32
  39. 33
  40. 34
  41. 35
  42. 36
  43. 37
  44. 38
  45. 39
  46. 40
  47. 41
  48. 42
  49. 43
  50. 44
  51. 45
  52. 46
  53. 47
  54. 48
  55. 49
  56. 50
  57. 51
  58. 52
  59. 53
  60. 54
  61. 55
  62. 56
  63. 57
  64. 58
  65. 59
  66. PART II
  67. 60
  68. 61
  69. 62
  70. 63
  71. 64
  72. 65
  73. 66
  74. 67
  75. 68
  76. 69
  77. 70
  78. 71
  79. 72
  80. 73
  81. 74
  82. 75
  83. 76
  84. 77
  85. 78
  86. 79
  87. 80
  88. 81
  89. 82
  90. 83
  91. 84
  92. 85
  93. 86
  94. 87
  95. 88
  96. PART III
  97. 89
  98. 90
  99. 91
  100. 92
  101. 93
  102. 94
  103. 95
  104. 96
  105. 97
  106. 98
  107. 99
  108. 100
  109. 101
  110. 102
  111. 103
  112. 104
  113. 105
  114. 106
  115. 107
  116. 108

Mike decides he wants a beer and to hell with not wanting to arrive too early in ripped pants.

16

The first real conversation Mike could remember having with his mother was about ambition. Before, there was only the buzz of childhood, and this conversation remained with him like a kind of demarcation. Mike was in sixth grade and had failed a test in Latin that day and he had never failed before. He cried in private before dinner, in hot frustration, and his mother caught him and decided to take him out—on an expedition, she called it—to calm him down, so that he wouldn’t beat himself up the way Lyle always did. Lyle made himself sick, she said, doing schoolwork. Mike’s mother was determined that her second son be more comfortable.

“Can’t let the same thing happen twice,” she said to Mike’s father.

“Don’t think too much,” he said over his shoulder, loading the dishwasher. This pissed her off and she slammed the door. He finished the dishes and then looked in on Lyle, who was hunched over his trigonometry like a hawk protecting carrion.

* * *

Mike and his mother sat listening to a street jazz quartet in the plaza at the World Trade Center. Mike’s mother said the weather, which was clear, made her want to fly up and see her floating reflection in the high windows as she listened to the hard bop. She hated to fly but now she said she wanted to.

This didn’t cheer Mike up. He was still frowning. So his mother described to him how everybody failed sometimes. She pointed to the musicians.

“That’s all improvisation is,” she said, “a series of exchanged failures. No one ever gets it right. You think you get one thing, but then you find out you missed something else. You think you studied enough, but then you find out you haven’t.”

“Lyle never failed a test.” Mike was still very frustrated. “Did you? Did Dad?”

“Your father’s not always right,” she said without meaning to. “Neither is Lyle,” she added quickly. But Mike heard what she said first, and that was part of the demarcation.

“I don’t know why, Mike, but most people, most of the time, fail. Nobody gets what he or she wants. Everyone thinks they will in the beginning but then they don’t. Usually they don’t have enough money, so they aren’t free. Sometimes they have the money but it doesn’t matter because they aren’t as successful as they should be. Or think they should be.” Mike’s mother went on and on until Mike realized that she wasn’t talking about him and his test; she was talking about something else entirely. Mike interrupted her.

“O di immortales! In qua urbe vivimmus? Quam civitatem habemus?” he said.

“What?”

“It was on my test today. It’s the only thing I got right.”

“What does it mean?”