The Codex

49

That night Borabay served them a three-course dinner, starting with a fish soup and vegetables, followed by roasted steaks and a mess of tiny boiled eggs with baby birds inside them, and then, for dessert, a gruel of cooked fruit. He urged second and third helpings on them, forcing them to eat almost to the point of becoming sick. When the last dish was consumed, the pipes came out against the insects of dusk. It was a clear evening, and a gibbous moon was rising behind the dark outline of the Sierra Azul. They sat in a semicircle around the fire, the three brothers and Sally, all smoking quietly, waiting for Borabay to speak. The Indian puffed for a while, then laid down his pipe and looked around. His eyes, glistening in the firelight, rested on each of their faces in turn. The evening frogs had begun to peep and croak, mingling with more mysterious night sounds — cries, hoots, drummings, shrillings.

“Here we are, brothers,” said Borabay.

He paused. “I start story at very beginning, forty years ago, in year before I was born. In that year white man come up river and over mountains all alone. Arrive at Tara village almost dead. He first white man anyone see. They take him in hut, feed him, bring him back to life. This man live with Tara people, learn to speak our language. They ask why he come. He say to find White City, which we call Sukia Tara. It is city of our ancestors. Now we go there only to bury dead. They take him to Sukia Tara. They not know then that he want to steal from Sukia Tara.

“This man, he soon take Tara woman to be wife.”

“Figures,” said Philip with a sarcastic laugh. “Father was never one to pass up a little action on the side.”

Borabay stared at him. “Who telling story, brother, you or me?”

“Fine, fine, go ahead.” Philip waved his hand.

“This man, I saying, take Tara woman to be wife. That woman is my mother.”

“He married your mother?” Tom said.

“Of course he marry my mother,” Borabay said. “How else we be brother, brother?”

Tom was shocked speechless as the meaning of Borabay’s words sank in. He stared at Borabay, really looking at him for the first time. His gaze took in the painted face, the tattoos, the pointed teeth, the disks in his ears — as well as the green eyes, the tall brow, the stubborn set of the lips, the finely cut cheekbones. “Oh my God,” he breathed.

“What?” Vernon asked. “Tom, what is it?”

Tom glanced at Philip and found his older brother equally thunderstruck. Philip was slowly rising to his feet, staring at Borabay.

Borabay spoke, “Then after father marry mother, mother born me. I name Borabay, after Father.”

“Borabay,” murmured Philip, and then: “Broadbent.”

There was a long silence.

“Don’t you see? Borabay, Broadbent — they’re the same name.”

“You mean he’s our brother?” Vernon asked wildly, finally getting it.

No one answered. Philip, now on his feet, took a step toward Borabay and leaned over to gaze into his face from close range, as if he were some kind of freak. Borabay shifted, took the pipe out of his mouth, and gave a nervous laugh. “What you see, brother? Ghost?”

“In a way, yes.” He reached out and touched his face.

Borabay sat calmly, not moving.

“My God,” Philip whispered. “You are our brother. You’re the oldest brother. Good lord, I wasn’t the first born. I’m the second son and I never knew it.”

“It’s what I say! We all brother. What you think I say when I say ‘brother’? You think I joke?”

“We didn’t think you meant it literally,” said Tom.

“Why you think I save your lives?”

“We didn’t know. You seemed to be a saint.”

Borabay laughed. “I, saint? You funny, brother! We all brother. We all have same father, Masseral Borabay. You Borabay, I Borabay, we all Borabay.” He thumped his chest.

“Broadbent. The name’s Broadbent,” corrected Philip.

“Borabeyn. I no speak well. You understand me. I been Borabay so long I stay Borabay.”

Sally’s laugh suddenly rose up into the sky. She was on her feet and walking in a circle around the campfire. “As if we didn’t already have enough Broadbents around here! Now there’s another one! Four of them! Is the world ready?”

Vernon, the last to understand, was the first to recover his presence of mind. He stood up and went over to Borabay. “I’m very glad to welcome you as my brother,” he said, and gave Borabay a hug. Borabay looked a little surprised and then gave Vernon another pair of embraces, Indian style.

Then Vernon stood aside while Tom stepped forward and held out his hand. Borabay looked at it in puzzlement.

“Something wrong with hand, brother?”

He’s my brother and he doesn’t even know how to shake hands, Tom thought. With a grin he hugged Borabay, and the Indian responded with his ritual embraces. He stood back, looking into his brother’s face — and now he could see himself in that face. Himself, his father, his brothers.

Philip followed. He held out his hand. “Borabay, I’m not one for hugging and kissing. What we gringos do is shake hands. I’ll teach you. Hold out your hand.”

Borabay held out his hand. Philip seized it and gave it a good shake. Borabay’s arm flopped around, and when Philip released his hand Borabay withdrew it and examined it, as if to check for damage.

“Well, Borabay,” said Philip, “join the club. The screwed-over-sons-of-Maxwell-Broadbent club. Membership roster growing daily.”

“What this mean, this screwed-over club?”

Philip waved his hand. “Never mind.”

Sally gave Borabay a hug herself. “I’m not a Broadbent,” she said, with another smile, “thank heaven for that.”

They settled back down around the fire, and there was an awkward silence.

“What a family reunion,” said Philip, shaking his head with wonder. “Dear old Father, full of surprises, even after death.”

“But that what I want to tell you,” said Borabay. “Father not dead.”