Dion and Allen
By Simon Barget
Every so often my little brother goes missing to turn up a few days later at the back of a dump truck. We find him beaten and tied up, blood pouring from some orifice, moaning, groaning, battered and bruised, but we find him eventually and everything goes back to normal after.
We usually know who the perpetrator is or at least we have a suspicion although my older brother never fully admits it. Sometimes he just lets out a smile. My younger brother is a very demure person. He is full of modesty and even-temper and he measures the situation carefully and perhaps that’s why he never immediately lets on that it was Dion that did it. He has to be sure before indulging in proclamations.
It’s not that they’re enemies so who why does he do it? They get on; they don’t outwardly bicker. I don’t think he knows it himself. I don’t think Dion’s aware of his behaviour because I think he would have difficulty cracking Allen one round the nose if he was, knocking him out, tying his hands up and putting gaffer tape over his mouth so he can’t speak or breathe, he would have trouble kicking him repeatedly in the head and then stamping on his neck and thrashing him literally within an inch of his life, I mean if he knew what he was doing he wouldn’t have the strength to do it and would leave Allen alone. Surely.
Allen is softly-spoken and Dion is brash. Allen went missing again the other day and for days no one even noticed bar me. He was gone at our cousin’s wedding party and then just turned up a few days later when we were safely back in England.
Dion seems to thrive even more when Allen is gone. Dion acted like a prat. He threw himself on everyone, he lurched and made unpredictable movements, his eyes were bulging, he took speed, he drank copiously and then vomited every ten minutes, and after he vomited he ate up the sick with a spoon and flicked the bits that were left on to passing revellers. They seemed to like it, he seemed to have drawn them in. He shouted at loud as he could. He chanted. He blithered on in some nonsensical language. All the while he was dancing. He was a constant non-stop dancer, jerking his body rhythmically and tribally, thrusting his hands up and down into the air like a necromancer, and then we got tired of moving on the spot he would move about and thrust himself on to any man or woman, by the way I omitted to say that he was for all practical purposes naked, he had on just his loin cloth on and all his wiry unsightly body was hair on show -- he looks just like a gorilla -- went up to strangers and started humping them and they seemed happy to join in and god only knows what Allen would have made of all this and I think it rather convenient that he happened to go missing just before the wedding, not that he’d have done anything to stop his older brother Dion, but he would have exerted some effect just by being there, by being discerning and just watching.
When Dion takes centre stage, there is no room for Allen. Back at the wedding I thought I might have seen Allen at the other side of the room. Only for a matter of seconds. I must have been seeing things. He can’t just have appeared. I didn’t get a chance to get closer and check. There was Dion again making a scene causing a rumpus. It’s like you never get them in the same room. It’s like I have to really cast my mind back to remember when they were together.
Allen doesn’t get much cop around here. No one asked about him for instance. Allen has more to say about an issue by keeping his mouth shut than say spouting like Dion does. No one noticed he wasn’t there. Allen wears clean blue shirts and grey flannel trousers and Clark upright shoes. That’s exactly what he’d have worn to the wedding, mark my words. He dresses like an overgrown schoolboy. Allen brushes his teeth three times a day when neglectful. Allen carries a notepad. He has a calculator in his back pocket. Allen does not have any earrings or tattoos or facial hair. Allen means what he says and never ever makes jokes. People mistakenly believe Allen has a dry sense of humour but they have confused it for his composure.
At the wedding Dion took over and had everyone in the palm of his hand. Even old people. Even people who usually liked to sit down. Everyone started shouting his name. You could see everyone believed he was special. That he was powerful and charming. I mean Dion catches your eye but what makes everyone think they need to kow-tow to him? Why do they give him the time of day? Why are they so beholden? Why do they not even ask about Allen as if Allen no longer exists? Why is it then so easy for Dion to tie his own brother up and wedge him into the tire compartment of our Mercedes V-Class without anyone knowing?
When we got back from the wedding Allen just popped up. There he was like nothing had happened. Dion didn’t even notice. Dion felt no remorse. Dion was still acting like a cunt. There was nothing on Dion’s face that could ever make you think that he was responsible for his own brother’s disappearance. This is not the first time and won’t be the last time. Countless times it has happened and has Dion ever gone awol? No, never. Dion is always here being Dion. He even manages to broadcast his presence at his least favourite place – work. How is it that he musters up some outward show of comfort when he has nothing to show, nothing to contribute, when he shouldn’t even be there in the first place, when they pay him for nothing, when you know he’s just waiting for the moment for the clock to strike five so he can go out and get slaughtered and beat up a few blacks.
Meanwhile, I am in the middle. I love both brothers equally. They are my brothers. I am not sure who I resemble most. It’s so difficult to judge from the inside and you would have to meet me and see.