The opened letter sits on the dinner table, sitting in the dim sunlight coming through the windows of the log cabin. Two young men, one in his early 20s and the other in his late teens, stare at each other from across the counter, until one of them breaks the silence.
“Brother,” the first man, Jonathan, says. “Ignore the letter.”
With a sigh, the second man, Andrew, responds. “The pay is good, and you know our savings are not going to last us until the summer. Especially with your sickn-”
“I’m getting better.” Jonathan pushes himself out of his chair with a groan and shuffles over to where Andrew sits. “We won’t need the medicine forever.” He coughs a few times, prompting Andrew to stand up and support him, but Jonathan pushes him away.
The curtains on a nearby window rustle as Andrew takes a step back into them. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Before he can say anything, Jonathan speaks up. “The war is pointless. You know that. The fighting between this land and the neighboring territories will amount to absolutely nothing.”
Andrew slowly sips from his glass of water, as if contemplating something, before responding. “I’m not fighting for this country.” Hearing this, Jonathan weakly smiles and sits back down. “I’m fighting for you.” The smile on Jonathan’s face fades, and a dash of anger flickers across his face. “Why is everything always about me? Just because I have the Malaise doesn’t mean I’m completely helpless!” Andrew glares up from the letter and retorts, “You can barely walk, can barely get the firewood, you need-”
“Need what? Need your help all the time? I told you, I’m recovering. I don’t need you to treat me like the baby brother I once was.” Jonathan calms down, and his voice slightly shakes. “That baby brother you had is long gone. He died alongside our parents.”
“And without mother and father, who is left to put food and medicine on the table? Me.” Andrew puts down the letter, now soiled from the sweat on his hands.
He stretches, takes and deep breath, and exhales. “Jonathan.” The younger man woodenly stares at the table. “Jonathan, listen to me.” Andrew stands up. “Jonathan!” Finally, Jonathan looks up from his dejection.
“Jonathan, the pay is good. I’ll arrange for the coins to be delivered to this cabin, then you can take care of yourself.” He smiles reassuringly at his brother. “Everything will work out in the end.”
Defeated, Jonathan sits back in his chair, seemingly lost in thought as Andrew gets up and grabs a bag. A still silence fills the room as Andrew starts packing. Jonathan watches helplessly. Giving Jonathan one last look, Andrew opens the door and steps outside. Before Andrew can fully close the door, Jonathan finally calls out, “Don’t die in a meaningless war, you hotheaded scoundrel!”
Andrew briefly pauses in the doorway. The sunlight shines from behind him so that he appears as a silhouette. After a second, he turns around. “Everything will be fine, little brother. I’ll make it back alive.” He smiles again. “I promise.”
That was the last time Jonathan ever saw his brother.
“Brother,” the first man, Jonathan, says. “Ignore the letter.”
With a sigh, the second man, Andrew, responds. “The pay is good, and you know our savings are not going to last us until the summer. Especially with your sickn-”
“I’m getting better.” Jonathan pushes himself out of his chair with a groan and shuffles over to where Andrew sits. “We won’t need the medicine forever.” He coughs a few times, prompting Andrew to stand up and support him, but Jonathan pushes him away.
The curtains on a nearby window rustle as Andrew takes a step back into them. He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again. Before he can say anything, Jonathan speaks up. “The war is pointless. You know that. The fighting between this land and the neighboring territories will amount to absolutely nothing.”
Andrew slowly sips from his glass of water, as if contemplating something, before responding. “I’m not fighting for this country.” Hearing this, Jonathan weakly smiles and sits back down. “I’m fighting for you.” The smile on Jonathan’s face fades, and a dash of anger flickers across his face. “Why is everything always about me? Just because I have the Malaise doesn’t mean I’m completely helpless!” Andrew glares up from the letter and retorts, “You can barely walk, can barely get the firewood, you need-”
“Need what? Need your help all the time? I told you, I’m recovering. I don’t need you to treat me like the baby brother I once was.” Jonathan calms down, and his voice slightly shakes. “That baby brother you had is long gone. He died alongside our parents.”
“And without mother and father, who is left to put food and medicine on the table? Me.” Andrew puts down the letter, now soiled from the sweat on his hands.
He stretches, takes and deep breath, and exhales. “Jonathan.” The younger man woodenly stares at the table. “Jonathan, listen to me.” Andrew stands up. “Jonathan!” Finally, Jonathan looks up from his dejection.
“Jonathan, the pay is good. I’ll arrange for the coins to be delivered to this cabin, then you can take care of yourself.” He smiles reassuringly at his brother. “Everything will work out in the end.”
Defeated, Jonathan sits back in his chair, seemingly lost in thought as Andrew gets up and grabs a bag. A still silence fills the room as Andrew starts packing. Jonathan watches helplessly. Giving Jonathan one last look, Andrew opens the door and steps outside. Before Andrew can fully close the door, Jonathan finally calls out, “Don’t die in a meaningless war, you hotheaded scoundrel!”
Andrew briefly pauses in the doorway. The sunlight shines from behind him so that he appears as a silhouette. After a second, he turns around. “Everything will be fine, little brother. I’ll make it back alive.” He smiles again. “I promise.”
That was the last time Jonathan ever saw his brother.
