A Trinity of Unequals

 

It came as a great surprise when the Smith family gave birth to triplets. Mrs. Smith, of course, was tickled pink at the prospect of having three babies. “The more babies, the better,” she said upon waking up from the delivery. Mr. Smith, on the other hand, could only see his grocery bill doubling or even tripling in size. Overwhelmed with the sheer volume of work that lay ahead of them, he knew that he would be bottle feeding one of the little tykes while his wife fed the other two.

              Be that as it may, twenty years later, Mr. Smith knew that his earlier plans of handing over the farm to his son, now needed to be changed. “Too many chiefs and not enough Indians,” he could hear in the back of his mind. “Boys, I had fully intended to hand over the farm to my son but as there are now three of you, I’m going to have to divide up the land into equal parts and help you as much as I can with establishing two additional farms. But I’m convinced that you all will do just fine.”

              Plans were made, product and building materials were ordered and the idea of Smith and Son farms had shifted into Smith Brothers Farms. The community had gathered and over the course of three weekends, barns were built for each farm and trees were cleared to make room for crops.

              Boris, the first born, though only by seconds, called for first use of the team and the plow. “I’ve got crops I need to get into the ground as soon as possible,” he said. “I’ll work as quick as I can and then y’all can do what you need to do after that.”

              Stan, the next born, again only by seconds, assured his brother that the timing would be fine as his crops would be perfectly fine going in a few days later than Boris’. “Just let me know when you’re done, brother,” he said. “I’ll come over and get the team at your word.”

              Merle, the last born and clearly the least motivated, merely said, “Meh, whatever. I’ll get to it when I get to it.”

              The first inklings of summer arrived, and Boris stood at the edge of his field, thrilled at the phenomenal growth his crops had made. Standing with a great smile and his wife under his arm, he pointed out each crop and called them by name. “The corn is doing really well, so is the wheat, the beans and the potatoes. Darlin, we have a big summer ahead of us with all this food on the way. Our pantry will be stuffed to the brim by autumn. This is really good news.”

              “Let’s walk over to Stan’s place,” his wife said. “From what he’s been saying, it sounds like their crops are doing really well too.”

              “Let me grab my rifle,” he said, “and we’ll cut through the woods. That’ll be a lot quicker than following the road around.”

              Walking through a lush, green pasture, they stepped up onto Stan’s porch and knocked on the door. Almost immediately the door opened. “Hey, Boris, what brings you over?” Stan asked, motioning for them to come inside.

              “Oh, not too much,” Boris said. “We were out marveling at how great our crops are doing and thought we’d come by and see what’s happening over here.”

              “All right, sounds good,” he said. “Come on, we can walk around the property, and I’ll show you what we’ve got.” Slipping on his boots, he led his brother and wife around the back of his property. “This here are our succulents,” he said. “I’ve had a pretty big learning curve with these beauties. You’ve got to be really careful not to water them too much. And over here are the roses and tulips. I put these two together because one requires a lot of attention and the other is much easier. They kind of balance each other out. And finally, here is our field of wildflowers. These, of course, are super easy. Rainfall handles most of their watering needs but, if you remember a couple weeks back when it didn’t rain, I did have to supplement a bit.”

              “Oh Stan, this is so beautiful,” Boris’ wife said. “You have done a wonderful job.”

              “So, Stan,” Boris said. “This does look really nice and all but what are you gonna eat during the winter? I mean, I can’t imagine tulips and roses taste that good.”

              “No, no brother, you’ve got it all wrong,” he answered. “We don’t eat the flowers; I have a contract with a distribution company. They buy the flowers from me and then I go buy the food I need. It’s a win-win for me. I get to see all the beauty of these fields and I get a lot of money when I sell them off.”

              “Ah, oh, hmm,” Boris said. “I guess that makes sense.”

              “Hey, what say we walk over to Merle’s place and see how his crops are doing,” Stan said.

              Walking back around the front of the house, they passed by the barn, but Boris suddenly stopped at the main entrance. “Hey Stan, is that the plow and the team in your barn?” he asked.

              “What the…” he answered. “Yeah, I wonder… that’s weird. Merle was supposed to pick those up weeks ago.”

              Following the road around to Merle’s farm, they could see from the driveway that little to nothing had been done. Approaching the front porch, they found Merle sound asleep in a hammock and an empty bottle of vodka across his chest. “Damn, that ain’t good,” Boris said.

              “Merle, hey Merle,” Stan called out. “Wake up.”

              Startled at the sudden calling of his name, he sat up and nearly fell out of the hammock.

              “Oh, hey guys,” he said. “What’s up?”

              “Actually, we were going to ask you the same thing,” Boris said. “I was just over at Stan’s and the team and plow are still in his barn. Didn’t you borrow them several weeks back?”

              “Oh, ha, yeah about that,” he said. “I thought about it but then it occurred to me that so much stuff grows naturally and on its own, that I thought, why even bother planting crops. I’ll just harvest whatever happens to come up.”

              “Oh man,” Boris said. “That is not a good idea, Merle. Have you even looked in your fields? There ain’t nothin’ but weeds out there. And a lot of them at that. You’re gonna be eating weird, if at all this winter.”

              “Pfft, I’m not worried about it,” he said. “Something always works out.”

              “Uh… well… okay,” Boris said. “I guess we’ll be going now. Just let us know if you need anything.”

              Leaving the porch, the two brothers walked to the end of the driveway and stopped to look out across the weed scattered field. “Man, Boris,” Stan said. “This is not going to end well. I just hope he asks for help if he needs it.”

              “Yeah, we’ll see, I guess,” he answered. “Winter is only a couple of months away.”

              Standing in his pantry as the first flakes of winter snow fell, Boris couldn’t but help feel a sense of pride. The planting, harvesting and preparation had been hard work but doing so had provided well for his family. Looking at the rows and rows of canned goods, he could only see his youngest brother in his hammock holding an empty vodka bottle. “Well, I guess he figured something out,” he thought.

              The snow piled deep for the next month and finally with a break in the snowfall, Boris put on his winter clothes and snowshoes and went for a walk. Looking across the field, he could see bright lights and a plume of smoke coming from Stan’s house. Continuing on, he reached Merle’s house, strangely dark and lacking any sign of activity, including smoke.

              Removing his snowshoes, he stepped onto the porch and knocked on the door. Listening for anything, he heard nothing. Knocking again, he waited a few minutes and then knocked again. Putting his shoulder into the door, the slim wooden shim snapped under his weight and the door swung open. The house was dark and cold, just as cold as outside and it seemed that no one had done anything inside for quite some time.

              “Merle? Are you here?” he called out. But again, he heard nothing. Walking from room to room, he lastly stepped into the bedroom and could see the shape of his brother under the covers. “Hey, Merle, there you are,” he said. “Everyone has been worried about you. What’s going on?”

              The figure in the bed, oddly small, remained motionless. Reaching over and shaking his shoulder, his brother rolled to his back to reveal sunken eyes in a gaunt and dried out face. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Boris shouted, backing up. “Damn, oh man, this is so bad.” It was then that he noticed that Merle’s body was unusually short and thin. Pulling back the covers, he realized that the body that once was Merle had no legs and only one arm.

              Running from the room, he leaned against the counter in the kitchen and looking into the sink, saw a collection of bones, the meat scraped clean from them. “Well, I guess he had something to eat, at least for a while,” he said.

              “Oh my god, what kind of bones are these?” Picking up a pile of small narrow bones, he laid them out and realized that these perfectly matched up to the bones in his hand, and then it was femur bones he saw next. Sliding to the floor, he held his head in his hands. “Merle, what did you do?”

              Standing up and slowly walking around the room, he found a long hunting knife, a bone saw and several pools of dried blood on the kitchen floor. Swooning, he held onto the back of the couch and tried not to pass out. Walking outside, he made the long walk to Stan’s house.