A Lavender Brother

Marcus Adler's mouth twisted bitterly at his brother across the table. The waiter poured a small portion of wine for him, and as Marcus swished the rich liquid around, sniffed it and tasted it, Jeremiah Adler tapped the table impatiently. More bloodred splashed into the glass after he approved, a small drop running down the cup onto the pristine white tablecloth. At this the waiter frowned, swiping it up with the fabric previously folded by the crook of his arm, taken from its resting place on the smooth black linen that ran down the man's body. Marcus tried not to smile at his brother's discomfort. The dark, tinny room Jeremiah had specifically reserved for them was filled with stale and tasteless air, a suffocating warmth pooling under their suits. My brother, Marcus thought, is a snake. Disguised as a man. Reptilian- lean, sharp face and fangs. Always crouching in the corner, waiting to strike... an ugly, slimy worm, he is. Snake...

So, Jeremiah interrupted, you may wonder why I requested you sit with me.

Marcus tutted, now, now, brother dear- we haven't even ordered food yet!

He scanned the menu slowly, smirking to himself as his brother grew more and more frustrated. Marcus fed the waiter his request and Jeremiah chose the same dish. The man strode away, though Jeremiah's eyes followed him warily. Once he deemed the two were in the clear, he spoke.

Brother. We must discuss. You are a- his voice dropped- homosexual!

Marcus' laugh, a hound's bark.

Homosexual, he tasted the word. Sexual pervert, deviant, communist, threat to the government... All of this simply propaganda! Why must you worry? What, you assume I desire an incestuous relationship? There is no need to fret- you are far too unattractive.

That is not my worry, Jeremiah hissed. You lost your job, your reputation, your family-

I certainly wouldn't mind losing you, Marcus snapped back. A waiter approached them with appetizers, prompting them to take a break from bickering and busied themselves with a moist loaf soaked in olive oil. Marcus' mouth gaped wide to welcome the bread, showcasing his yellow teeth poking out from spongy pink gums. His brother scoffed (you take terrible dental care, Marcus, really.) I am trapped in the wrong century, a time in which my sexual activities are monitored and rumored to be a mental illness. A sociopath, they call me, just because an ignorant doctor believed the lies this vile government spreads... the wrong time I was birthed into, I am sure... sometime in the future things would be better... if only I were alive a few decades later... if only...

Brother, Jeremiah started again, you must be cured. There are therapies, chemicals you can take-

You mean the chemicals that make me grow breasts and rot my brain? The therapies that shock you with electricity whilst priests show you pornography? I'd rather stick my head in a gas stove, like that fellow- what was his name?- Something Ference, I heard of him in the papers. I've gotten off track- the point is that there is nothing wrong with me, Jeremiah, there are things wrong with this country. For some unfathomable reason, the constitution doesn't apply to us homosexuals! If I end up murdered, avenge me: take down Eisenhower and his executive order.

Why must you be so difficult, so sour? You have a disease! You need treatment, else you will become bankrupt, out on the streets, killed by a patriot- and I will not "avenge" you if you are. At least hide yourself better, for Christ's sake, I saw you eyeing our server's backside.

Marcus' hands curled in his lap, his feet tapping into the soft rug, the wood lying underneath, the earth below him. I wish to sink inside the ground, he thought miserably, to be swallowed up by this foul world. If I were normal, if I weren't... whatever I am... God, if only... I could roam the streets with my love freely, kiss him-or her, in this case- handholding, passion, freedom... but yet, I cannot change my mind... I cannot change whom I love...

Brother. Brother! You must listen!

What now, Jeremiah? I refuse. Allow me to be without a job, without a dime to my name, beaten bloody in the streets, declared a threat to national security, I have no interest. What is life if not a long stream of consciousness? Why must I try to avoid the inevitable? I do not have much time left, I may as well enjoy it. He smiled, his arms folded. I have made my decision, and we both know I am stubborn. There is nothing you could offer to change how I feel.

There was silence then, thick and heavy like a stream, like tea flowing from a china pot. The server came once again, presenting both men with steaming bowls of pasta, curled and coated with a creamy paste. As Marcus stuck his fork into the swirls, Jeremiah spoke once again, resigned.

As you wish, brother. Do not say I didn't warn you. There is unrest in the people, and I fear what they will do to you.

Marcus bit into his food, teeth scraping against the silver fork, swallowing the saltysweet sauce.

Why do you care about me? His question was honest, intrigued. All our lives we have combated, butting heads with one another. We despise each other. Where is this sudden protectiveness? I hate you. You hate me. I thought that was quite clear.

Jeremiah's eyes twinkled with the smallest of tears. He looked down at his untouched meal.

I may hate you, but there is still love in me somewhere. We were birthed from the same womb, how could there not be? If I were to die, would you not mourn?

Marcus paused, utensil poised in midair. Well, of course. I reckon I do... love you.

I never thought I would say those words, he realized, to my own brother. I suppose us males are told to hide those emotions, those words concerning affection.

And I love you as well.

Marcus' eyebrows raised in surprise, his eyes flitting around out of discomfort.

Very well. Eat your pasta, now, wouldn't want you to starve.

They finished their bowls quietly, things they wanted to say stuck in their throats. Marcus sighed and sat back. It is a dire situation, he decided, what I am facing. My life is falling apart and I can do nothing but grasp at the shards... I am sick of the fear, the hiding... I wish to sob, but my eyes are always dry... tired, I am, so very tired all the time, barely any sleep and no coffee, let alone tired in my emotion... no job, no money... there is nothing I can do but wait to die on the streets.

I do... I do have some extra money that father gave to me at his passing... if you require some. Jeremiah coughed into his fist as his brother sat straight in surprise.

I thought father gave it all to mother.

Well... I inherited a small amount, Jeremiah sighed.

Why not I?

You know he did not approve of your... your...

Sexuality, Marcus interjected.

Yes, that. This is besides the point. If you ever need money or a place to sleep... I am here.

Marcus paused before speaking, his lips parted slightly in shock. That is... a very generous offer. Thank you. If only for a bit of time, I hear there are cases being won by some astronomer fellow. Perhaps soon the executive order will be lifted.

Jeremiah nodded wistfully.

Yes, perhaps. It would certainly help you and your...

Lover, Marcus clarified, and Jeremiah winced.

Yes. Well. We are brothers, and I... I wish nothing but the best for you. This scare shall end soon, I am sure of it.

Marcus nodded, frowning slightly towards the floor. If only, brother... if only.