Two Brothers

        The following excerpt is from my novel entitled Edgefield. The narrator is Thomas, an African American janitor, who has been telling a visiting reporter from St. Louis stories about Edgefield, a Portland, Oregon, landmark hotel. Edgefield used to be a nursing home and, before that, the old county poor farm. Dean, the reporter who has experienced his own share of problems, is captivated with the rich history and colorful personalities of the one time county poor farm. This story relates the bond between two brothers and poses the question: what is unselfish love?

From Chapter 7

         After a brief and dreamless nap, Dean felt more rested, his mind more tranquil. He decided to stroll out on the veranda for some fresh air. And, he couldn’t deny his thoughts; he hoped he would run into Thomas.

         As he opened the brass door at the end of the second floor hallway, a brisk breeze swept directly into his face causing him to roll down his shirtsleeves. To his left he could imagine residents from the past seated and simply staring at the foothills on the other side of the river. In front of him some maple and sycamore trees and a wall of low-growing shrubs camouflaged the lower part of the golf course. To his right he glimpsed for the first time a single story wing of brick with white wood trim that extended from the back of the main structure. As his eyes gazed at this easterly wing, his ears heard the door open behind him. He wasn’t surprised at the familiar voice. “So, I gather that you might not mind another story?”

         “You gather right, Thomas. What about that building there?” continued Dean, pointing a finger at the single-storied brick structure that he’d just noticed. “What’s in there now? And what was in there back in the nursing home days?”

         “Well, now there’s just a bunch of rooms they use for meetin’s and small banquets. But back in the old days that wing of Edgefield was the infirmary. It's the place where folks was put when they got real sick. They even used it as a hospice, a place where folks went when they was near death.”

         “Are there any stories about that place?” asked Dean.

         “There sure 'nuff are. Now, let me see . . .” Thomas thought for a moment and then continued, “I know. But first I gotta ask you a question.”

         “Go ahead. You’ve got a captive audience.”

         Then Thomas asked, “Well, then. Have you ever really loved someone in your life?”

         “What do you mean?”

         “Well, I ain't talkin' about no Valentine's Day kinda love with hearts and flowers. I guess I mean have you loved someone enough so you’d give up your life for theirs? Or that you’d do somethin’ for 'em even though it’d hurt you to do it?"

         “To be honest, I guess I’ve been a little on the selfish side,” Dean realized that the word “little” didn’t even begin to cover it.

         “Then it’s time for me to tell you a love story. Sorry, no sex in it,” Thomas smirked. "It’s a story about brothers and unselfish love.” Then, pausing to take a deep breath, he began.


         Two brothers lived here at Edgefield back when it was a nursin’ home. Robert and Randy Stieg was their names. Robert, the oldest, was in his fifties about three years older than his brother Randy. Both had handicaps. Robert had cerebral palsy. He could talk, even though he was real hard to understand. I guess the palsy kinda froze his mouth so it made it hard for him to speak. Robert could read and write. But Randy was a little on the slow side – people I s'pose might call him mentally retarded. He couldn’t read or write. I guess he mighta learned if folks had cared enough back then to take time to teach him. But folks carried around different thoughts about the handicapped back in them days.  And, I reckon, both coulda even had jobs if they’d lived today. But, like I say, feelin’s was different back then. So, the two brothers lived with their momma and daddy 'til both parents died. Then they became wards of the state. I figure they lived at Edgefield for at least twenty years. It was the only place in them days that could handle folks like them and still keep ‘em together.

         Robert, bein’ the oldest, made sure that him and his brother would never be separated. “I will always take care of my brother. The Bible says to take care of your brother. I am my brother’s keeper,” he said. You could always catch him quotin’ the Holy Scripture.

         Robert had cerebral palsy so bad he was kept most of the time to a wheelchair. He couldn’t walk much of a distance unless someone helped him. And it was real hard to understand what he was sayin’ if you wasn’t used to bein’ around him. It was hard to imagine Robert takin’ care of anyone else since he couldn’t really take proper care of himself. But he did his best to take care of Randy “like a big brother should.” Robert could read and write although he was slow at both. He knew his numbers and understood basic accountin’. So, he handled him and his brother’s money. He made deposits and withdrawals, and wrote checks. He made all the money choices for the both of 'em.

         I guess the thing that held Robert together more than anythin’ was the fact that he had religion. He believed in God, Jesus Christ, heaven and hell – the whole nine yards. He read his Bible every day even though he’d already read it from front cover to back. He was just Robert. What you saw was what you got although there always seemed to be a deeper side.

        When a pretty, young physical therapist came to work at Edgefield, they started a friendship. Matty was her name, and she was workin’ in her first job straight outa college. She had got married and had a child at a young age. She had lotsa questions about life and God that needed answerin’. And Robert had some of the answers. Matty worked with Robert cuz he needed physical therapy regular-like to help with some of the stiffness in his muscles.

         Matty had a one-sided religious upbringin’. She was raised in a house where most the answers about life – especially religion – was written down in black and white. But now she was beginin’ to have doubts. She was taught to believe that the man was not only the head of the family, but also the spiritual leader. That just didn't make sense to her no more 'cause her husband didn’t even go to church. That sure was a tough one for her. She was raised to believe that the men ran things while the women played second fiddle. She belonged to a church that didn’t allow women preachers or even let the women have thinkin' jobs. Of course, the women could bring all the flowers they wanted and bring all the snacks and serve the punch and cookies after Sunday service. In plain words, do all the things the men wouldn’t do. And she was beginnin’ to have questions about this too. Her husband made her life harder because he was encouragin’ her to ask questions about religion, the place of women, and life in general. Yep, she was startin' to question the way she was brought up.

         Even though she had an old way, simple religious view of life, she was still young enough and smart enough to change. She had questions about life and about religion. And she took an interest in Robert cuz of his spiritual side. She also took a likin’ to Randy, and this made Robert think even more kindly of her. They’d often spend time durin’ Robert’s therapy sessions talkin’ about God, the Bible, and all sortsa stuff.

         “Robert,” Matty asked once, “did you ever think that God could be a woman?”

         “I never really thought much about it,” answered Robert in his haltin’, hard to understand speech. “Whether God’s a he or a she or an it, God’s still God. I guess it doesn’t make much difference to me.”

         And one time I heard Matty ask this:

         “When you hear a voice inside of you telling you to do something, how do you know whether it’s God’s voice, the devil’s voice, or some voice that you made up yourself?”

         What was Robert’s answer? “When you hear a voice inside telling you to do something, you don’t need to ask that question. You know, if you’ve got to ask that question, it’s the voice inside your head that’s doing the talking. If you’re a good person, you’ll know when God is talking to you. And if you’re a good person, you’ll know the devil too. He’ll only tell you to do the things you know are wrong. Only fools or crazy people confuse those two voices.”

         “But sometimes it’s just so hard to tell the difference,” Matty confessed.

         “You’ve just got to trust your heart,” Robert smiled.

         “I guess you’ve got it just about figured out,” said a still puzzled Matty.

         “Not really.  I’m still working on it.”

         Anyway that’s the way they'd talk. Matty found a special likin’ for the Stieg brothers. And Robert understood her kindness and honesty in return. But their feelin's toward each other was nothin’ compared to the blood relationship between Robert and Randy. You’d seldom see one brother without the other. They shared the same room. They shared the same table at breakfast, lunch, and dinner. When Robert had to go somewhere in the buildin’, you'd most likely see Randy pushin’ the wheelchair.

         As I mentioned, Randy was mentally retarded – not real noticeable to look at – but when you talked to him, you begun to realize that he was a little bit slow. “Simple” is a good word to describe him. He was the kinda kid in the neighborhood that other kids’d make fun of. Like “Hey, Randy, we found a map that shows where a chest of money’s buried. It’s down by the pond. Do you want to get a shovel and help us dig?” Then a little later, “Hey, we’re thirsty. You got a quarter? We’ll go to the store and buy you a soda pop while you keep digging. Okay?” Of course, they’d buy the pop with his quarter and then ditch him.

         It was this kinda world that Robert wanted to save his brother from. Robert considered himself Randy’s protector. I don’t know whether I’ve ever seen folks tied together tighter than them two.

         But one day Randy got sick. It started off like a cold, but he just couldn’t seem to lick it. One day he didn’t feel like goin’ downstairs for breakfast. Robert asked Mrs. Whitmore, the nurse on their floor,  to take a look at him. He was runnin’ a fever and his chest was congested, but it still didn’t seem like nothin’ to get terribly worried about. Whitmore prescribed what you normally would for them symptoms – fluids, bed rest, and aspirin. The nurses brought Randy his meals for the next day.

         Robert was gettin’ worried. He could tell his brother was real sick, and he sure didn’t seem to be gettin' any better. He tried tellin' Mrs. Whitmore that maybe they should call a doctor. But she said it just sometimes took longer with a virus to start feelin’ better. He asked Matty to help. And Matty went to Mrs. Whitmore. But Whitmore patiently explained they had to follow rules. Only if Randy got worse could they call a doctor. But Randy could be moved to the infirmary where they'd be able to watch more careful.

         Matty mentioned this suggestion to Robert durin’ his physical therapy session.

         “But people go in there and never come out again!” wailed Robert. “Besides, I can’t go down there to visit him.” And that's true. It was against rules for folks in the infirmary to have visitors except durin' strict hours.

         “It’s true that a lot of people don’t come out of the infirmary because they use it as a hospice. But Randy's not dying. Mrs. Whitmore is right. He can receive regular care there,” Matty explained.

         “No! If they won’t send for a doctor, I’ll just watch him myself and pray for him.”

         One day Randy wouldn’t eat. He was burnin’ up with fever to the point where his skin felt as hot and dry as the top of an oven. He wasn’t even sweatin’. The nurses wanted to move Randy to the infirmary where he could have twenty-four hour care. Robert made a big fuss and moved his wheelchair to the side of his brother’s bed. He told the nurses that he’d stay up all night if he had to and watch his brother. He was struck with fear. Mrs. Whitmore then asked one of the nurses to get Mr. Shaw, the administrator.

         When he arrived, Robert was in tears.

         “What’s going on?” asked Mr. Shaw.

         “Randy needs twenty-four hour care. He needs to be taken to the infirmary,” replied Whitmore.

         “No, don’t take my brother. How can I take care of him if he’s not with me? I promised my parents that I’d take care of my brother,” moaned Robert.

         Mr. Shaw gently took him by the arm. “Robert, I know how seriously you take the responsibility of caring for Randy. But now he needs more help than we can give him here. He needs around-the-clock care. And you’re not going to help him one bit by getting yourself sick too.”

         Robert hung his head and listened.

         “Now, I know I’m bending the rules a bit. But I want you to know that you’ll be able to see him any time during the day. I’m instructing the staff,” looking at the nurses, “to let you visit Randy any time during the day.”

         With that, Robert gave in. Each day he kept a watch by his brother’s bed. Sometimes he just held Randy’s hand. Other times he’d read the newspaper out loud, doin’ the best he could with his shaky speech. Sometimes he’d just talk to Randy about their parents or things they did while they was kids growin’ up. More often than not he’d read passages from the good book. I swear – he knew the Bible so well, most times he’d just recite from memory.

         Since Robert didn’t have to show up for his physical therapy sessions, Matty would sometimes pay them visits. Although she kept on with the upbeat comments, inside she was real concerned about Randy’s sickness. He wasn’t gettin' no better. About the only thing he could keep down was fluids. So she decided to talk to Nurse Shepherd, the head nurse.

         “Mrs. Shepherd, I’m very worried about Randy Stieg. He doesn’t seem to be getting better. Shouldn’t he be admitted to a hospital or at least seen by a doctor?”

         “Young lady, I know he’s one of your favorites,” she said emphasizin’ the word “favorites”, “and I know you’re concerned. But you aren’t a nurse. You’ve had limited medical training. These viruses just take time.”

         “But it’s been almost two weeks! Don’t you . . . .”

         “Young lady, are you trying to tell me my job? If Randy Stieg needs to go to the hospital, I’ll be the one to decide. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do!” Shepherd wheeled around and walked away.

         Matty just stood there fightin’ back tears from frustration.


         A couple more days passed. It was a little after nine o’clock at night when the red light at the nurses’ station lit up. Randy Stieg was in big trouble. He couldn’t breathe. The nurse on duty rushed to his bedside and seein’ the problem quickly put him on oxygen. They she called the ambulance that took him to Emanuel Hospital. They passed him through emergency directly to intensive care. The diagnosis was quick and easy -- pneumonia. The tests showed Randy was sufferin' from bacterial pneumonia. The doctors put him on huge doses of antibiotics. They put him on I.V.s. They put in a tube to help him breathe and help drain the fluid from his lungs. But Randy Stieg was in bad shape.

         When Robert found out the next mornin’, he was heartbroken. No one could comfort him. Over and over he wailed, “My brother! My brother! I let my brother down. It’s my fault.” Only Matty could calm him. And that was by promisin’ to see Randy every day no matter what.

         The first time she saw him in the hospital she realized the situation was bad. There lay Randy with tubes stuck in his body, hardly conscious, and so afraid. Without his brother he was so alone. She talked to him gently to try to make him feel better. But finally she left when she ran out of things to say. She knew in her heart he was dyin’ but asked the nurses how he was doin'. They assured her he had a chance to live, but they also shook their heads “but if only he'd been brought in sooner.”

         When she talked to Robert, she put the best face on what she saw. But Robert knew. He asked Mr. Shaw if he could go see his brother. Matty had told him that she'd take him. Mr. Shaw gave in and gave his consent.

         The next day Matty wheeled Robert into his brother’s hospital room. Randy’s eyes was closed. As they sat next to his bed, his eyes opened for a bit and a glint of recognition crossed his face. Then he shut his eyes again. They bowed their heads in silent prayer.

         Then Robert turned to Matty, “I hope he’s not in any pain.”

         “He’s not,” said Matty pointin’ to an I.V. bag. “They’re giving him pain medicine through that bag.”

         “That’s good,” said Robert looking carefully at the bag. “I don’t want Randy to suffer.”

         Then he asked her to leave him alone so he could have some private time with his brother. She seemed to understand and told Robert that she’d give him a half hour. Then she walked out of the room and shut the door behind her.

         Randy’s eyes was still closed, and he wasn’t respondin’ to anythin'. Robert looked again at the I.V. bag, the one labeled real plain "morphine," and moved his wheelchair close to it. Then he reached up and managed to turn the drip so the little drops was fallin’ faster into the tube. Returnin’ to Randy’s bedside, he then talked to his brother like he was awake and alert. He talked about their parents, about the good things that happened to them when they was kids, about their favorite Christmas. He talked about God and the peace that was waitin’ in heaven. He talked about how much he loved him and how much he’d tried to take care of him. Then, in his haltin’ speech he recited the “Twenty-third Psalm.” Finally, with tears streamin’ down his face, he leaned over and kissed his brother on the forehead – givin' him a final goodbye.


         “Randy’s cause of death was written down as pneumonia. No one, not even Matty, was the wiser.”

         “But you really think this was an act of love?” frowned Dean, trying very hard to understand.

         “Sure I do. After all, what is love besides givin’ yourself?”

         “And you really think what Robert did was a giving act?”

         “Yes. Robert gave his brother peace. He gave him an end to sufferin’, and he opened the door to a better place. He gave his brother the only gift he could. He really was his brother’s keeper, and releasin’ Randy was his last act of love.”

         “But how do you know about all this? You weren’t at the hospital were you?”

         “No. I never left this buildin’.”

         “Then how do you know what went on?”

         “Well, I didn’t mean to be nosy or pry, but I overheard Robert prayin’ the evenin' he returned. He prayed for forgiveness from God for what he did. I guess Matty wasn’t right after all.”

         “What do you mean?”

         “She thought Robert had everythin’ pretty much figured out. He didn’t. But he knew enough to put the part he wasn’t sure about into God’s hands.”


         Dean stood there contemplating the story. When he looked up, Thomas was gone. He didn’t think twice about it. By this time he was used to Thomas’ knack of picking the right time to end a story and the right time to leave. It seemed to blend in with the surroundings of Edgefield. It seemed consistent with its walls, its rooms, its smells, its paintings, and the memories they evoked. It seemed consistent with the warm, enfolding, and healing nature he could sense in Edgefield. And he felt confident that when it was the right time, Thomas would return once more to tell Dean what he wanted – or needed – to hear.

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