Alcibiade only came back after a few years, for our mother’s funeral. He surged, as always, without any warning – this time from behind the steering of a convertible, silk scarf flapping in the wind. I caught myself daydreaming about the thing being caught in the wheels of his car. He was accompanied by the ultimate conquest: the region’s beauty queen. Watching him approach, Coleen forcefully squeezed my hand again, which to me seemed like a bad omen. During the reception that followed, he talked with my father and I had the feeling that he was able to articulate some words of consolation. I, on the other hand, could only push him a bit deeper into his grief. He talked to him for a long time. I will let the reader imagine the things Alcibiade might have uttered... Later, when most of the guests were leaving, I noticed the beauty queen smoking a
cigarette on the veranda. Her eyes were red. I asked her where my brother was and if there was anything I could do. “He left me. The bastard.” She hid her face. Alarmed, I worried about Coleen. I looked for her throughout the villa. In vain. I understood that they had both left together. I returned to the beauty queen and asked her about Alcibiade’s address. I don’t know whether it was due to the preceding events that I was finally incited to action, or whether it was the accumulation of the rancor and resentment strung together over the years. Whatever it was, moved by an uncontrollable force, I first went to my father’s armory where I took away a pistol. I contacted Alcibiade and told him to meet me in the barn where we used to play when we were kids. I told him that we all needed an explanation. I insisted. He didn’t question anything. As if guided by fate, he
arrived right on time, behind the wheel of his gleaming convertible. With his customary air of detachment, he got out of the vehicle and followed me into the barn. He didn’t ask any questions either when he saw the gun I pulled out from under my shirt. As I pulled the trigger, he simply looked at me with two big, blue eyes, a look similar to the one Coleen had given me in the past. Two pale-blue eyes full of fraternal tenderness and understanding. After all, it is possible that he may not have remained insensitive to the pain he had caused. As he was agonizing in my arms, as I felt his last breaths of life evaporating, as he clasped my hand with his last strength, I finally found the chance to tell him: “It’s nothing, dear brother,” and I embraced him.