The Two-Family House(3)

The brothers owned a cardboard box–manufacturing company in Brooklyn. It had been their father’s company before them, and Abe had started working there in high school. He always wanted to go into the business. Mort, on the other hand, wanted to be a mathematician. Abe wasn’t sure what mathematicians did, but he knew Mort was great with numbers. When their father died unexpectedly during Mort’s sophomore year at college, their mother begged Mort to take a break from school to help Abe. She had faith in Abe, and she knew he was a good salesman. But she also knew him well enough to understand that his benevolent manner could ruin the business if left unchecked. She was afraid he would give too many orders on credit or allow too many discounts. Mort’s head for numbers was necessary. And she knew that his no-nonsense, tight-fisted nature would balance Abe’s generosity.

Months turned to a full year, and the break became permanent. Mort never returned to school. This, Abe knew, had been a horrible disappointment for his brother. It was the point at which he went from a serious but satisfied student to a grim and resentful young man. Abe felt responsible for his brother’s unhappiness. He tried to make Mort feel better about working at the company and changed its name to Box Brothers, thinking that Mort might take some pleasure in their bond of fraternity and commerce. He took Mort to lunch every week and tried to set him up with girls. Abe was dating Helen at that point, and she had a lot of girlfriends. But nothing Abe did brought a smile to his brother’s face. Mort continued to be somber and unpleasant, and the others at work avoided him.

In his heart, Abe knew that Mort blamed him for having to give up school. He had spoken to Mort about it only once, fifteen years ago, after their mother’s funeral. She was never the same after their father died, and despite the doctors’ insistence that nothing was wrong, she continued to shrink and wither until nothing was left. The funeral took place on a cloudy November morning at an empty cemetery. After the prayers were said; Abe and Mort each shoveled a spadeful of dirt onto the half-buried coffin. Abe was heartsick, even more for Mort than for himself. He had married Helen the year before, and aside from his mother’s illness, had enjoyed a blissful first year of marriage with her. He worried about Mort going home to an empty apartment. The clouds overhead gave way, and the rain began to fall. The three of them took shelter under a tree.

Helen had spoken first. “Come home with us, Mort. Stay for a while. You shouldn’t be by yourself today.”

“We’ll be together,” Abe added.

But Mort refused. The wind picked up, agitating the tree branches overhead like an angry child shaking a doll. Mort wouldn’t look at either of them.

“Come, Mort. Just for one night,” Helen pleaded. Abe couldn’t tell whether Mort was wincing from the wind or from pain. Either way, his brother wouldn’t speak. Mort kicked a rock into the tree trunk and dug his chin farther into the collar of his coat.

Abe took a deep breath. “I’ve been thinking,” he said, “It’s been three years. Three years we’ve worked together. I don’t know what I would have done without you. I couldn’t have pulled it off. But the company’s fine now. It’s going great. Our sales are high, the warehouse is paid for. We can hire a bookkeeper, an accountant, maybe. You don’t have to work there anymore. You can go back to school.”

Mort was silent.

“Go back to school,” Abe told him. “It’s what you want. You’ll be happy. You can keep taking your salary—it’ll pay for your classes. We’ll keep half the company in your name.”

Abe heard the low rumble of thunder, distant in the skies. “It’s too late for that now,” Mort said, his voice heavy with all the venom he could muster.

“Why? You’re only twenty-three years old. Nothing’s too late.”

“I’m not going back to school to make a fool of myself just so you can feel better!” Mort spat the words into the cold, wet air. Lightning flashed overhead, and Abe watched his brother hurry away.

Abe never stopped trying to make it up to Mort. On the surface, their family situations, fortunes and possessions were equally matched: each owned a half interest in the business, each owned a half interest in the two-family house in Brooklyn, each was married and each had several healthy children. As far as Abe was concerned, they were both blessed, with every reason for happiness. But he knew his brother didn’t see it that way.

What Abe suspected, what he pushed to the back of his mind during the day, was that Mort not only blamed him but hated him. Some nights, as he was drifting off to sleep, Abe tried to imagine the reasons why. Was he too cheerful? Too eager to show his love for family and his job? Was he too demonstrative with Mort? Did Mort dislike walking to work together every morning? Did Mort object to all of them living in the same house? Abe always thought it was nice for them, nice for their wives to have each other. But maybe Mort felt smothered.

The day after Harry’s bar mitzvah, Abe gave up this bedtime theorizing. There were too many other things to think about, and Abe was tired of Mort’s sour expression. The guy was a real pill. As a matter of fact, even on the way home from the bar mitzvah Mort had started yammering about one of their shipments, bothering him about orders on a day meant for celebration.

The Monday after the festivities, Abe decided he would walk to work on his own. He would enjoy a quiet stroll for once, unhindered by sales numbers and profit discussions, and think back over the weekend in peace. He whistled on his way, stopping every now and again to smile at a passing acquaintance.