TEMPTATION N oah’s surroundings were cold and gray, a sharp, biting contrast to the divine visions of remote Canada usually depicted on postcards and giveaway calendars. Truth was, it was nearly midday yet there was no promise of sunlight and little hope the stinging wind would calm itself. Below the high bank was a plume of smoke, wafting from the remains of the Skyhawk that had recently seated Noah as a passenger. The owner and pilot of the craft was Noah’s younger sibling, Clay. Noah’s brother was a devil of a pilot, even though a recent bout of domestic bliss had sent him into semi-retirement. The precise circumstances of the foregoing hours remained cloudy to Noah. Some complications with the engine thanks to extreme conditions, a hasty exit, then jumbled memories of the craft sliding off the high bank and crashing to the earth below. His body ached all over, but the pain was especially acute in his left leg. After haplessly navigating the cold and gray for too many anxiety-ridden minutes, inexpressible relief shot through Noah when he heard his younger brother’s voice calling out from the blankness. “Noah, bro!” Clay yelled, his adenoidal voice now sounding something close to angelic. “If you’re gonna wander, then wander this way!” Clay ended up meeting Noah halfway. After assessing each other’s wounds—Noah was stunned at how gracefully his younger brother had escaped the predicament—they judged their situation and formulated a basic plan. Get to the plane. Salvage anything salvageable. Call for help. Don’t die. Executing this plan required the duo to navigate their way down that high bank. Noah’s injury had him propped against Clay, though he remained determined to carry his own weight in this entanglement. More than anything, Clay seemed amused by his brother’s pigheadedness. “You’re lucky I found you, man,” Clay said with a snort. “When I came to, and you weren’t there...” Noah curved his mouth into a mischievous smile. “Almost pitched a fit, I bet. Listen, Clay, you can’t count on big brother to hold your hand forever.” “That’s cute. You keep on with that, pretending you’re so big and tough even though you’ve got bruises all over your body, and those manly legs of yours don’t seem to do that ‘standing’ and ‘walking’ business so great anymore.” “Ouch. Not all of us could be so lucky, Clay.” Noah waved a gloved hand over Clay’s body. “How you survive a crash like that and walk away with barely a stained shirt or boo-boo on your noggin...that is a mystery, brother.” It was an unrelated mystery that had brought the brothers to this cold and gray oblivion. Stories of an isolated village, recently discovered via satellite photography, that might possibly harbor descendants of the Abenaki tribe. A topic of fierce debate involved blurry images of wooden statues that may or may not be tributes to the trickster god Azeban. No in-person camerawork of the area had ever been recorded, a tempting challenge for one Noah Branson, well-established photojournalist and National Geographic contributor. Aided by his brother, Noah had scored over a dozen entries in Geographic, covering everything from alleged brontosaurus sightings in the Congo River to an underground girl’s school in Panjshir. Amongst his peers, Noah had a reputation as being overly “working class,” a label he wore with honor. Perhaps he wasn’t as refined as his contemporaries, but few could dismiss his accomplishments. Access to a hotshot pilot and a Cessna 172 Skyhawk was an advantage over his peers Noah hadn’t been shy about flexing. Recent days, however, had Clay turning his attention to less exhilarating pursuits. Ones that Noah had never found personally so exhilarating, at least. Clay exchanged vows with a yoga instructor named Somer eight months prior. A lovely girl, if something of a kook, that Noah had tried desperately not to view as competition for his brother’s attention. Convincing Clay to gas up the Skyhawk took an inordinate amount of needling this time, leading Noah to question if this might be their final excursion together. Those doubts had doubled yesterday evening, when Somer revealed via a patchy video-call that Clay was going to be a father in approximately twenty-nine weeks. Maybe this was something Clay had suspected. Maybe that’s why it took so much hectoring to convince him to take this job. In spite of their incessant chop-busting session, though, Clay had yet to bring this up, following the crash. Noah, still puttering around in a daze, had sense enough to be grateful for this much. “Fess up. Do you carry a lucky charm you’ve never told me about?” asked Noah, once again eyeing Clay’s functional legs with envy. “Just think I live right,” Clay answered as he adjusted his fleece facemask. “It’s Somer, y’know. Keeping me on the straight track. Plenty of quinoa bowls and tofu burritos for breakfast. Makes a man hale an’ hearty.” “Somer’s a prize, I don’t deny that. But I still can’t believe she turned you vegan . What would the old man say?” “Something that would make Somer’s flesh crawl, I’m sure. But, hey, facts are facts. She found herself a wayward young man and managed to turn him all the way around.” Noah flicked his wrist in Clay’s direction. “Sure, keep telling yourself that. But, Clay, you’ve gotta know that when we get out of this, we are both enjoying the thickest, juiciest porterhouse the planet has ever known. And we’ll be washing it down with so many Coronas they’ll have to haul us out of that restaurant on a forklift.” “Eh. Maybe.” Noah’s jaw tightened. “Maybe you’ll enjoy the steak with me...or maybe we’re not getting out of this?” Clay didn’t seem to have any interest in answering the question. Instead, he placed a hand on Noah’s shoulder and said, “Look, it’s okay if we take a break. It’s not going to do you any good, overexerting yourself.” “Hypothermia isn’t in my best interests either,” Noah scoffed. “Our best bet is getting back to the plane, calling for help, and building whatever kind of shelter we can as fast as we can.” After a moment, Clay’s eyes grew less serious and he shrugged his broad shoulders. “You’re the boss, boss.” “I mean it,” Noah continued, trudging alongside Clay with new determination on his face. “I don’t want you slowing down on my account. I’m assuming you’re eager to get home, to get back to that bride of yours. To rub that tummy that’s going to be swelling up real nice in the next few months.” “It’s quite the miracle, I’ve heard.” Noah nodded. “I guess it’s all a better life than what I’ve tried to drag you back into. Just think, brother. A tiny version of you running around the house. Causing all kinds of trouble, I’m sure.” Clay grunted out a laugh. “Could turn out to be a Mini-Somer, though. Don’t forget about that.” “Nah. Got me a feeling, man. She’s carrying a thumb-sized clone of my little brother in her tummy, that’s what’s going on.” “I’d be happy either way. Or, you realize, it could be twins.” Noah perked up. “That’d be a hoot. Hey, remember the Jacobi twins? Used to live out on Walton Street?” “Sure. Jason and Mattie. Used to shoot hoops with us during the summer.” “And that time playing Horse, when you couldn’t hit the final shot, and you walked off sulking...” Clay clenched his teeth in exasperation. “Geez, Noah, you’re really bringing this up again? Now, of all times?” “And you, all worked up, went into the garage and kept kicking the Explorer’s hubcap? You dented that thing all up, and then you...” As Noah told the story, he didn’t see the masked face of his adult brother standing nearby. No, Clay was now a ten-year-old boy, with freckled cheeks and sandy-haired bangs. The cold didn’t have that bite to it, either. No cold at all, soon enough. It was a July afternoon, so beautiful anyone could forgive the sticky heat. “You’re never gonna forget this will you?” Clay asked his brother with a shake of his head. “The next morning, after the old man noticed, you had the gall to blame poor Mattie for it! And he believed you! Remember, when he called their folks, all huffed up, and—” “ Noah . I’m sure we could find something else to discuss, okay?” Noah’s lips didn’t finish his next sentence. And when he blinked a time or two, he was no longer eyeing a ten-year-old Clay. Nor was he experiencing waves of heat radiating off summer asphalt. Most likely explanation was that he suffered some concussion during the crash. Not unthinkable, and given how badly that scenario could’ve played out, nothing to complain about. “Whatever,” Noah said, attempting to clear his senses. “Merely trying to add some levity to our predicament here. Do you not smile every time you remember the old man fighting Mister Jacobi shirtless on our front lawn?” “It’s an old gut-buster, brother.” Noah’s head bobbed with approval. “That’s right. Still, though, to your credit, you did the right thing. Eventually. I can remember you now, with those moist eyes, walking into the living room and confessing everything to Mom and Dad. I guess the guilt got to you, huh?” “I was just being a stupid kid, Noah.” Clay nearly spit the next words out. “ Guilt. Really.” “It’s a powerful thing. I mean, I’ve heard stories about it. Dostoyevsky, Crime and Punishment That kinda stuff.” Noah puffed his chest out in mock bravado. “No personal experience with it myself, naturally.” “Noah, seriously, I think you should slow down a bit. Or just stop and take a breather, period.” “Look, I’m not pretending this is some cakewalk, but I’m making progress, aren’t I?” Noah said earnestly, pointing to the trail of footprints behind them. “You giving up hope on your older brother?” “Never. But who knows what kind of injuries you have. Could be, you’re only making things worse for yourself.” Noah snorted dismissively, causing Clay to respond in a firmer tone. “Hey, I know you don’t want me babying you. I get that. But I think we need to face some facts.” “Such as?” “Such as, the odds of any equipment still working in that plane are...they’re not great, Noah.” “Even so, we’ve got supplies there. And we can find something durable enough to make some kind of shelter. Clay, I’ve got that much faith.” “That’s admirable. But even if that’s true, aren’t you tired? Don’t you feel like every muscle in your body is throbbing, pleading with you to lie back and give them a rest?” The words stirred something within Noah. Something that fiercely agreed with the younger sibling. Every muscle in his body was sore, his left leg was radiating pain like a broadcast signal, and the prospect of resting on the snow was far more desirable than the reality of lumbering through that white slog for hours more. It was a temptation, true. But one Noah had to swat away. “You’re thinking...you’re thinking I’m gonna pass out, and you’ll have to carry me the rest of the way. Is that it?” “Oh, could be,” Clay told him. “But maybe I hate watching you struggle so hard. Maybe I want you to sit back, take all that pressure off your legs, and relax for a minute. We can talk some more about old times if you like. Heck, we can relive even more of my most embarrassing moments, if that puts a smile on your mug.” Noah hadn’t noticed, but his pace had slowed to a crawl. And once again, impossibly, a luminous warmth was spreading over his shoulders. “Remember that Twins game?” he asked his younger brother, his spirit now lifting. “Dad checked us out of school early to go?” “Gee,” Clay answered with a roll of his eyes, “I don’t know where you’re going with this...” “When that foul ball was aiming straight for your head, but you were too busy struggling with a pack of peanuts to notice?” “Oh, no, really...tell me all about it...” “Then, I swooped in and snagged that baby right before it connected with your forehead? And they played my catch on the jumbotron? Played it in slow motion? ” “Yes, Noah,” he relented. “I do recall.” “Man, what a day,” Noah said, his voice turning dreamy. “Pristine spring weather. The smell of hot dogs and popcorn, mixed in with the leather and freshly-cut grass. Those ice-cold Cokes. Watching Scott Erickson at the height of his powers.” Noah recalled these details with precision, because in that moment, he was somehow back in the Homer Dome on that April afternoon. “It’s like it was a perfect day or something,” Clay said in a tone bordering on sarcasm. “Hey, maybe it was.” “Noah,” Clay spoke after a long moment, “you do realize that this doesn’t have to end.” “How so?” “We can keep talking. Keep reliving those old times.” “No...no, we shouldn’t. You, brother, have a fine woman at home and a baby to think about. No living in the past for you.” Noah could see that playful smirk on his brother’s lips, even though somewhere in his consciousness, he remembered a balaclava hugging Clay’s face. “Is it impossible to think that I’d be happier here with my older brother?” asked Clay. “That we could spend a century or two together reminiscing about all those perfect days?” “And how could we do that?” Not only was Clay maskless, but he was now seated by a roaring fire. He patted the ground next to him and invited Noah to take a well-deserved rest by the hospitable blaze. “Come closer, brother. There’s no hurry to get anywhere, I promise you.” Clay’s eyes studied Noah’s as they drank in that fire. “Don’t hesitate,” Clay told his brother. “It’s nice here, isn’t it? Don’t you feel a helluva lot warmer now?” “I do, yeah,” Noah said, taking a step back from the fire, “but I can’t stay here. There’s things back home, things I have to...” “You keep telling yourself that, Noah, but do you really believe it? Back home, there’s some...unpleasant things waiting for you. Things I know you’d rather avoid.” “Maybe. But I can’t.” Clay gave another one of his dismissive laughs. “Says who? Noah, you don’t have to put on the act for me. I know about the guilt that’s feasting on your guts right now. I know all that pain and regret you’re trying to fight off. And I know, deep down, the last thing you want to do is head back to the lower forty-eight and see Somer’s face again.” “No, no. That’s your wife, Clay.” Noah cleared his throat and grasped for something to say that might relieve the tension. “She’s like my sister, vegan nonsense aside.” Something dark entered Clay’s eyes. “You think this is cute? Noah, do you think she’ll ever forgive you?” In spite of the fire, a cold spike went through Noah. “What...what do you mean by that?” “You were the one who called me back into all this. Who demanded we keep going, in spite of the risk,” Clay told him, his tenor lacking any of the earlier playfulness. “These are things you know, brother, but you’re doing everything you can to bury them. It’s making you sick—try as you might to avoid it—the thought of having to look Somer in the eye and explain what you’ve done.” Tears clouded Noah’s eyes. A clamminess came over his body. “And why are you throwing this in my face?” “I’m making sure you understand, Noah,” his brother answered, his demeanor shifting again to one of empathy and understanding. “You don’t have to live with that guilt. Don’t have to face anything you don’t want to.” He again patted the nearby ground, an alluring spot close to the mysterious fire. “Stay here with me. It’s warm here. And maybe we don’t have much, but we’ve got the best memories, and isn’t that worth more than anything else in this world?” The offer, its implications, ran through Noah’s hazy mind. An atavistic desire to say yes. An equally defiant voice, warning of danger. He closed his eyes, did what he could to clear every cluttered thought. What emerged in the silence was a surprise. It was an image of his sister-in-law. Somer, as she appeared on the wedding day, clad in a white off-the-shoulder column dress with matching floral crown resting in her strawberry blonde hair. The image sent a wave of regret and shame through Noah, but there was something else in that torrent, as well. “You...I know what you are,” Noah whispered after his eyes opened. “I’m you’re little brother, Noah. I’m who you need to see right now.” Noah bit his lower lip with determination. “But you’re a lie. You’re not Clay, you’re...you’re Azeban. You’re that thing those villagers believed in.” Another wave of dismissive laughter came out of Clay’s lips. “Well, doesn’t that sound absurd?” After taking a moment to absorb the allegation, he continued, “No, no, let’s reflect upon this. Way I see it, you have three options here, Noah.” When Noah didn’t answer, Clay continued. “One: I’m exactly what I appear to be. Lucky to have escaped the crash, sure, but also as real as...as those birds flying overhead,” he said, gesturing towards the black formation gliding through the gray. “Two: I’m Ah-ze-baaan or whatever the heck you said. For some reason, I’ve taken pitiable Clay’s form.” “And the third?” “Oh, I don’t think you’d like the third, Noah,” he said, eyes twinkling. “But, tell me—why would I take the form of your younger sibling?” “To trick me. Convince me to stop fighting—and once I stop struggling, that’s when you take over.” “And why is that so tempting, Noah? If I’m such an unholy terror, why have you gone so long without noticing?” He stood from the fire. Somehow ended up only a centimeter from Noah’s nose. “I can tell you, my friend. I can tell you something you already know is true.” Noah turned to leave. “I don’t need you to tell me anything.” “So you remember it, do you?” came the voice behind him. “And it’s a rotten thought, isn’t it, that you’re the only brother to make it out of that crash alive?” Noah experienced a twisting somewhere inside, yet forced his tired legs to keep moving. “I don’t have to listen to you.” “If you’re not listening to me , then you’re listening to all of those awful doubts coming from your belly, Noah.” The words were now pressing against Noah’s right ear. “And they’re telling you that your arrogance, your appalling recklessness, has just created a widow and a fatherless baby. They’re telling you,” the voice said, pointedly, “that you’re going to spend the rest of your life in a pit of remorse, that no one in your life will ever find enough heart to forgive you. And why should they?” “You need to shut that mouth of yours,” Noah answered, refusing to turn and confirm the presence of this thing that was not his brother. “See, the third option is that you’re speaking to your own guilty conscience. And you are guilty, Noah. You and you alone are responsible for this tragedy.” His words were susurrated, becoming inhuman. “And Somer and the baby and every member of your family will be right to hate you forever.” “This won’t work. I’m not stopping.” “Noah, you have to understand—I don’t say these things to hurt you,” he cooed, his face now hovering before Noah’s. “I say them as a reality check. Truly, Noah, do you wish to give Somer this news? To face your mother on the front steps of her modest hillside home and repeat the same story? Can you imagine all of the eyes glaring at you during this funeral? Noah, I’m offering you an alternative. A gift.” “Uh-huh. Right.” “Is it not tempting to stay here with me?” the voice spoke, as Noah ignored the tugging on his jacket. “To unload your burdens onto my breast? If I’m truly Clay or not, do you think this matters? No, what matters, Noah, is relieving yourself of the wailing inside your stomach. It’s only going to get worse,” the voice said with concern, “only going to keep consuming you like a cancer.” Noah grimaced. “And you’re the cure?” The entity was now embracing Noah. A gracious, loving embrace. The kind Noah suspected he might not experience again. “I’m relief ,” it spoke. “Don’t you want this more than anything?” He did. Had Noah never called Clay, called and talked him into doing something he didn’t want to do, Clay would’ve been home right now. Safe. He would’ve been in bed with his magnificent wife, holding her close and kicking around baby names. Yet, Noah understood something he’d have trouble articulating aloud. It was a sense that his desires didn’t matter anymore. That guilt and recrimination existed as part of the human experience, but these things didn’t absolve a man of his duties. Not facing up to his responsibilities, submitting to defeat, was the act of a coward. Noah’s belly was aching, it was a sack of unforgiven sins, but it wasn’t yellow. “Maybe I am tempted,” Noah grunted as he slinked out of the ghostly embrace. “But staying with you...that would be more shameful than anything I’ve already done.” Noah’s uneven, staggered gait continued through the snow. The voice kept crying behind him, yet grew quieter as the minutes passed. At some point—he couldn’t judge the time, thanks to that endless gray sky—he came upon the wreckage of Clay’s plane. Those earlier whispers of doubt were proven wrong, as the radio gear worked after only moderate doctoring from Noah. The rescue crew, so professional and so courteous, offered a heated blanket and a thermos filled with chicken soup. Onboard, he located a pen and spiral notepad. Noah spent the rest of this ride composing a note to his sister-in-law. It contained a heartfelt apology and a promise to live up to his obligations. To do anything he could to help her and the baby. Noah didn’t expect the guilt to ever abate, but as a stubborn big brother, he refused to let anything break that promise he made out there in the cold and gray. Copyright 2022 by Gene Kendall. No portion may be reproduced without permission of the author.