A Thousand Words

All through the desert, and up into the high country of the Sacramento Mountains, Ben Dunston struggled to find the words to say what he wanted to say to his younger brother, Kevin, who rode in the passenger seat beside him.  The men were headed to the White Mountain Wilderness on an overnight backpacking trip.  Kevin had packed here before, but it was a first for Ben, who marveled at the solitary beauty of Sierra Blanca–a pyramid mountain clothed in blue pines.

For years Kevin had tried to get Ben to go backpacking, but Ben never had the time.  Nor the inclination.  The truth was, Ben never shared much in common with Kevin.  Seven years older than Kevin, Ben sometimes felt as if his younger brother had been adopted.  Kevin never fit into the family.

* * *

Ben was sixteen, beyond caring about baseball cards, when Kevin decided he wanted his older brother’s collection.  When Ben refused, Kevin said, “Why do you want them?  You don’t even look at them anymore.”

“The question is–Why do you want them?” Ben said.  “You don’t even play baseball.  You draw pictures.  People who draw pictures are sissies, and sissies don’t play baseball.  Never have, never will.”  He kept up the verbal barrage until tears welled in Kevin’s eyes, which gave Ben more ammunition.  “Crybaby,” he said.

Kevin flung a handful of cards at Ben, and before the cards had spiraled to the floor Ben lunged at his younger brother, whose scream brought Mom and Dad from the living room.  They separated the boys, sending Kevin to his room, holding Ben back.

Mom said, “The other day when you were at football practice, we visited a psychiatrist with Kevin.  The doctor said Kevin is unusually sensitive.”

“‘Maladjusted,’ is what he meant,” Dad said.  “Unless Kevin can toughen up, he’s going to have a hard time fitting into this world.”

Mom said, “According to the doctor, people like Kevin sometimes hurt themselves.  So please, Ben, don’t torment your brother.”

“Why does he get special treatment?” Ben said.

Mom said, “Because he’s fragile.”

“Fragile,” Dad said, turning away in disgust.

* * *

Kevin sold six paintings in his one-man show at Galeria del Sol.  Ben went to see the show at his wife Jill’s urging.  The gallery was in a tiny warehouse downtown.  Ben had to admit that Kevin’s work was good, but it would never earn him a living.  It wasn’t splashy enough.  The paintings were too subtle–almost too refined.  One, though, was particularly striking, a landscape of the desert at dusk.

While Ben stood in front of it, Kevin appeared at his side, saying, “Do you like it?”

“Very much.”

Kevin took the painting off the wall and, despite Ben’s protests, made his older brother take it with him when he left.

* * *

At Christmas dinner one year, during a lull in the conversation, Kevin’s wife, Natalie, a high-school English teacher, said unexpectedly, “Kevin’s been offered a job teaching at the high school.  And he’s going to take it.”

After all these years bumming around as an artist, working odd jobs, Kevin’s finally growing up, Ben thought.  He said, “That’s great news, Kevin.”

“Yes,” Mom said, “very good news.  Do you think you’ll like it, Kevin?”

But Kevin seemed reluctant to talk about the job.  Natalie headed off an awkward moment by saying, “Teaching school can be pretty stressful these days, but I think Kevin can handle it.”

Dad said, “Who understands kids nowadays?  They don’t care about anything except their electronic gadgets.”

* * *

Ben insisted that he and Jill take their son, Bobby (age seven), to see a therapist.  The boy was simply too sensitive, and Ben always had to be careful about how he reprimanded the kid.  And Bobby seemed to share few of Ben’s interests, almost as if the boy had been raised by some other family.  Although Jill wasn’t as concerned as Ben, she agreed that Bobby should see somebody.

The counselor spent nearly an hour talking to Bobby in her private office.  Then she made him sit in the waiting room while she talked to his parents.  “Bobby is extremely intelligent,” she told the Dunstons.  “He’s talented and creative.  I think I’d call him gifted.  If his talents are cultivated properly, there’s no telling what he might accomplish.”

“But we’re worried that he’s too sensitive,” Ben said.

“Don’t think of him as being ‘too’ sensitive,” the therapist said.  “Think of him as being ‘very’ sensitive.  Do you see the difference?”

Jill said, “Yes, I see the difference.”

The counselor said, “As for him not sharing your interests, Mr. Dunston, don’t give up.  Keep trying to make a connection.  And keep an open mind about his interests.”

On the way home Ben, Jill and Bobby stopped at Ben’s parents’ house.  While Bobby played outside, Ben told Mom and Dad what the therapist had said.  Ben’s parents were not surprised by the news.  “We always suspected he was special,” Mom said.  “Your father always called him ‘deep.’”

Dad said, “That’s what he is.  Deep.  You can tell just by looking at him–those dark eyes that take everything in.”

* * *

Ben rummaged around at the back of the spare closet searching for the old shoe box that held the baseball-card collection he had been so proud of when he was a kid.  Bobby recently had expressed an interest in seeing it, and Ben delighted in the hunt.  He was certain he had put the box behind these old clothes that obstructed his view, but reaching back through the garments into the dusty recesses of the closet, he put his hand on an object whose identity he couldn’t guess from its shape.  It was long and flat, hard on the edges, but soft in the middle–like fabric stretched across a frame.  When he pulled it out he was surprised to discover what it was–the landscape painting Kevin had given him years ago.

Bobby came into the room just then, and he was awed by the painting, even more so when he found out Kevin had done it.  “Wow–I didn’t know Uncle Kevin could paint like that,” he said, setting the landscape up on the dresser and standing back to look at it, like a connoisseur of fine art.  “Do you think he’d teach me how to paint, Dad?”

* * *

Kevin, who had been an avid backpacker, stopped inviting Ben along on trips years ago.  And shortly after taking the teaching job, Kevin stopped backpacking altogether.  So it was at Ben’s urging that they were here today.  Ben had something to say to his younger brother, and he thought it might be easier out here.  But during the hike along the Rio Bonito, and up the strenuous climb to the crest trail, Ben could think of no way to broach the subject.  The view from near the summit made him temporarily forget his purpose.  The two brothers stood above the timberline, looking down at rocky foothills that sloped into the desert tableland below.  At the horizon, purple mountains rose to capture partial rays from a cloud-eclipsed sun.  The sky rivaled any depicted in those romantic paintings of the West, patches of china-blue overlaid with billowing cumulus clouds.  Ben thought Kevin would be captivated by the scene, too, but Kevin seemed oddly detached from the surroundings.  Ben made a promise to himself to bring Bobby here one day.

After supper it dawned on Ben how he might start a conversation with Kevin, and at dusk, while they sat on rocks beside a warm fire, he said, “You know, Jill and I are very proud of Bobby.  He’s a lot like you when you were young, Kevin.  He’s smart, creative.  Sensitive.”

This last word set off an alarm in Kevin’s dormant mind.  He sat upright, his back rigid.  “Sensitive, huh?” he said.  “Well, you’d better get that out of him, Ben.  Sensitive doesn’t cut it in this world.”

There was no bitterness in Kevin’s pronouncement, no sign of contempt, and that saddened Ben.  Bitterness or contempt he could have dealt with.  But now he was left with nothing to say.  In fact, the brothers didn’t speak again.  The silence would have been overwhelming had it not been for the chorus of crickets chirping in unison that night, or the lone coyote crying in the distance.