(4 of 4) The Brothers

The reckoning and a toast.

Ivan excused himself to the restroom. The nature of his work this evening and the length of time by which he had been diligent at his craft left a powerful impression on his bladder, which he at once took to redress. When he returned, however, he was disconcerted to find his brother had donned his coat and slipped a hundred-dollar bill upon the table.

"And what's all this then," exclaimed Ivan.

"It was a pleasure reminiscing with you, brother, but I think I should be going. The trip home will be unpleasant enough as is without further intoxication through liquor or words," Dimitry said without making eye contact with his estranged brother.

"Fair, yes that is fair enough," laughed Ivan. But a few drops more of each may neither extend our inebriation nor relinquish it. So, in the name of brotherly love, I'll propose a toast."

Ivan recollected the glassed on the table and dribbled out the last of the whiskey. "Barely a shot," he said. "Barely a shot. And the hundred, what is that there for?"

"For you," Dimitry said sternly, "for the bottle, however it may have materialized into your possession."

Ivan continued to chortle, distributing his brother's glass and ignoring his words.

"To brothers!" Ivan exclaimed perhaps louder than he intended. The greybeards at the bar stirred upon their stools, but none turned to look in the brothers' direction. "To brotherhood in every sense of the word. To brotherhood under God and to brotherhood among the active and ongoing phenomenon we call the Universe. For we are, each of us, in the darkest expanse of a cave, and we peer into the black with unflinching nerve. We stand, brothers, locked arm in arm and step one foot at a time down the cavernous path. Only uncertainty lies beyond, and we have but faith at our backs. And that is enough. That is enough."

Ivan's final words trailed off. If he had any more to say on the topic, it may wait another decade still. The brothers clinked glasses, each imbibed his respective glassful, and together made for the door.

Two empty rocks glasses sat upon the table flanking an empty whiskey bottle. The table was sticky with liquor despite the wads of sopping napkins still littering its surface. The hundred-dollar bill Dimitry deposited, if not for his brother's than for his own salvation, had inexplicably vanished.