OCR Text |
Show •231 "At least I'm not the same kind of fool my father was. That's progress." "And you're satisfied with that?" "Sometimes. Anyway who says we have to be satisfied?" "Look at you," my brother said. "How old are you now- twenty-seven?" "Almost twenty-eight." "Yes. Well there you are." "Nowhere, you mean." "I didn't say that." His big face was agitated; I saw that he didn't want to hurt my feelings. "No? Well, it's true anyway. What have we really done, you and me? Be honest now. Survived, that's all." "That's something," he said. He picked absent-mindedly at a piece of loose bark next to his leg, then leaned back against the tree-trunk and stared at the sky. A big bluebottle fly buzzed in diminishing circles around his head; he raised a hand and slapped at it without looking. "What do you think of my life?" he said suddenly. "You know what I've done with it. What's your judgment? If I wasn't your brother what would you say about it?" "You're asking the wrong man." "Tell me." "All right. You want the truth? You're my brother; I love you. And I think you fucked it." I turned away |