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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

We had a conversation. What are you doing here, she asked. Working, I said. Oh, she said, she didn’t mean to be a bother, if she could just get to the shelf in front of me. She had been digging in Mongolia. She had been smoking cigarettes in yellow jeeps on the arid steppe with laughing archaeologists and now she was back with me in the legitimate winter of university. Although she was from Kansas and had spent some time in Mongolia, I wasn’t lost in the conversation, because I was from New York and had spent some time in Thailand. You know how that works.

But then I recited part of an Amnesty International article to her as she was looking for the skull. The government claims that only fifteen of the almost six hundred shot dead in the past three weeks were killed by the security forces, and the rest were a result of drug dealers shooting one another. The authorities are not permitting pathologists to perform autopsies and bullets are reportedly being removed from the corpses.

She said that was awful and amazing.

What do you know about injustice?

I asked her that.

91

This is a confession: I got angry at her. She was beautiful and played it cool, but I stared at her and said can’t we leave here together? You are here at three in the morning, I said, looking for bones, and I am here, and if we could just leave together and get out of here . . .

Then my apology ensued. Sorry, I’ve just been working too hard and now it’s so late and I’m sorry. Suppose we have a coffee on Sunday morning this weekend. No, no, she had to go to church on Sunday. Maybe I’ll see you again among the skulls, I called out to her back as she hurried away.

Did she really go to church? I went to church with my father twice, and such girls were not there, not that I saw. I had a brief conversation with the vertebra in my hand.

“I want that girl,” I said.

Will you go to church with her?

“No.”

It’s not important, to believe in God or not.

“I know.”

It’s no longer an abstract question. If you want that girl you have to go to church.

“I can’t go to church. I don’t believe in church.”

You can follow her on Sunday morning.

I scared away a pretty girl. I really thought I was losing it. I felt like I was high. But I picked myself up and went home. Sometimes you just talk yourself into a corner.

Just a bad night.