His Brother's Keeper

Cain liked his younger brother. He really did.

Seriously. Abel was so…different. He was so innocent, too innocent for this world, Cain reckoned. He looked at the world through rose-coloured lenses, saw beauty where there was none, thought there was good in everyone. He didn’t believe in vengeance, no matter how petty it was, like hitting back when someone punched him. To him people needed to be loved, and forgiven, not given a black eye for a black eye.

Seriously. Who thought like that?

Cain shook his head, giving his hands the temporary job of playing with the waistband of his garment. Right now Abel must’ve been gliding on air for all the joy he radiated, excited and chattering and talking some gibberish he must have considered boy-talk. Seriously. Abel had to be living in some eternal paradise of the mind. Too bad it was all gonna end. Soon.

Because, much as he liked his younger brother, Cain could not quench the hate he had started to feel for Abel since the sacrifice. He didn’t want to. He hated him, period. It didn’t matter that the same blood ran in their veins. All that counted was, Abel had been accepted, when Cain had been rejected. It would not mean much if both of them had had their offerings turned down. But Abel just had to run off and be acceptable.

The very idea.

Abel had to go. And Cain was more than glad to be the departure party.

*

‘You know, I’ve always wanted us to be closer,’ Abel said, throwing a glance sideways at his brother while they walked through the field. The birds were being lazy that day. A few flew, and some twittered, all halfheartedly. A couple deer and mountain goats lay lazily amid the grass, sparing the walking brothers a few glances, and no more. A rumble of thunder reminded them of the coming rain, and the air was heavy with the smell of greenery.

Cain shrugged. ‘The chance was always there. You just never took it.’

Abel chuckled. ‘I guess it was just your style,’ he confessed. ‘You’re so—’

‘Manly?’ Cain supplied, amused.

His brother grinned at him. ‘Maybe.’

‘And, what? That put you off?’

‘Well…’ he scratched his head, choosing his words carefully. ‘I suppose it was kinda your style. I mean, we can’t all be the same.’ He smiled again at his brother. ‘I do admire you a lot though,’ he said. ‘You’re all the strength I never had.’

‘Wow. Coming from the one who killed a leopard I count that a major compliment.’

And then out of the blue Abel said, ‘I love you brother.’

Cain felt a tightening in his throat. They were back, the voices, inside his head, telling him what to do, contradicting each other.

‘He loves you Cain,’ said the first one. ‘Do not kill him.’

‘Oh, come on!’ the other one countered shrilly, harsh. ‘What are you, some kind of pansy? Are you gonna let yourself be disarmed by cheap talk like that? And here I was thinking you were strong!’

‘Abel never did you any wrong, Cain. He loves you.’

‘Oh, baloney! If he loved you he’d care about making you happy, not making God happy. He’d be a good brother and have his sacrifice rejected along with yours! But what did he do? Make you look like the most despicable human ever! He loves you? Love my eye!’

It took Cain a truckload of willpower to keep his hands away from his ears, and the yell from leaving his throat. When he spoke, his voice was even, his eyes passive. ‘Go on ahead. I’ll join you in a while.’

Abel smiled. ‘Don’t make me wait long.’ And, obedient younger brother that he was, he went on gaily, through the rows of tall grass, up ahead.

He is so naïve.

Pulling the spiked club from where he’d hidden it the night before under a large rock, Cain’s mind was made up. His fingers curled around the spine of the club, and his eyes took a primal edge. Say hello to death, Abel.

*

Abel was content. Cain had gotten out of his depression, and if things stayed this way, or got better—he was going to work up his last sweat to make sure his relationship with Cain did not get any worse—then he could teach him to be close to God like he was, make sure that unfortunate happening at the sacrifice the other time did not repeat itself. And then God could regard his sacrifice with affection, because He would regard Cain as acceptable, not wicked.

He was still walking through the grass, and he had been at it for a while now. What was keeping Cain?

He looked up. Suddenly he was met with a brilliance that left him astounded, and he squinted, too curious to know the source of this light to shield his eyes. When he could make them out, he saw there were two…figures; there was not much else he could call them, because they were too large to be human. They were there, maybe tangible, even though Abel found he could, to a degree, see through them. They radiated a powerful light, and they hovered about an arm’s length above the tall grass.

Oh, my.

He drew in a breath through a mouth ajar. It’s not possible. These larger-than-life creatures had wings, so huge they would make eagles and ostriches blush in shame.

Before he could blink and go through the motions of bringing his mind back on track—it was the only explanation he had for this, that he was going quite mad—he made out the face of one. His breath caught. It was the face of a man. It radiated more serenity than Abel had ever seen captured in the eyes, and when the figure smiled, Abel felt his former panic dissolve.

‘Cain,’ he mouthed mutely, his eyes still on the figures. He wondered if his brother was seeing this. Abel turned. It was a simple action done with the innocence of a young, generous child willing to share his catch with another, and perhaps a faint worry that something serious could have stalled his brother. It was also an action which put him in a better position than Cain would have imagined for the blow he was going to inflict.

The older brother swung his arms with skill and speed, the weapon smashing into the side of Abel’s face and neck in a bloodcurdling crunch of prongs and bone. There was an explosion of thick, dark blood in a gory crimson shower, and the club left his body in a skin-peeling drag, leaving a grisly, drippy gash in its wake. Shell-shock pain flooded Abel. His lungs started to empty. Around them astonished hawks charged into mad flights, cawing like maniacal wizards. Animals jerked their necks toward the sight, sparing a moment before charging farther into the woods, their hooves clapping wildly against the earth. Abel opened his mouth to scream. Only runny red liquid bubbled out his throat and poured down his chin. And the last thing Abel saw before his legs gave underneath him was the savagery, the white-hot disdain in the eyes of the man he called his brother.

He collapsed to the ground, a writhing mass of skin and bone. His vision filled with the two shining figures, their arms outstretched…

He drew in a long breath. Beside him a spiked club fell, still dripping with the blood of an innocent man.

He breathed. For the very last time.

*

I just died.

Abel was an early version of Jesus Christ—he died because he did good. Was it fair that he died? Nope. Will he be the last one who’ll die—or suffer at the hands of the world—because he did good? Nope. But, so what? Christians will get persecuted. It’s bound to happen. We’re out of line with the world, doing things that contradict earthly logic. We choose to follow our Creator over our lusts. People will chide us. People will hurt us. People will kill us. Does that mean we should stop doing good? Nope. Jesus supplies our strength, and like He said, ‘Be of good cheer! I’ve overcome the world!’ He’s done it, He’s overcome the world.

And so we won’t let the world overcome us. We’ll keep shining our light, because even if it gets us in trouble with the world, it’ll give us a thumbs-up from God. And I know whose standing ovation I prefer.

I should leave now, while I’m partly resurrected. I must go hide my grandmother, because the transfer window’s still open and I don’t want Woodward setting eyes on her, although if he does, she’ll probably end up at Villa or Swansea or Dynamo Kiev.

Do not let the world overcome you.