Free Fat Man and Little Boy by Mike Meginnis

undermining his brother in front of the vendor. This is meant to be a peace offering.
    â€œGo faster, Uncle ,” says Little Boy.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œGo faster,” says Little Boy, using his heels as spurs.
    They careen down an empty road. Fat Man’s sides burn; he reaches back and slaps the boy’s face. Little Boy grabs his brother’s ears and pulls with both hands, hard. Fat Man roars, rears back. Now Little Boy hangs from Fat Man’s ears, gripping tight to stay up. Fat Man thrashes. Slaps his brother on the back. Digs his fingers into the little boy’s ribs. Hurls him off, so Little Boy falls to the ground, rolls onto his back. He groans. Fat Man stalks away, off the path into a forest of tall, thin trees. He squats among them, breathes deeply. The sullen slump of his back, the lump of his body, like a mushroom.
    Little Boy sits up. To his brother’s back he says, “We agreed I was in charge!”
    He says, “We agreed I was your big brother!”
    He says, “We never agreed on those names! You did that alone, without my permission!”
    He stomps his foot. “You have to listen to me!”
    He stomps his foot again. “Do you know how much money we’ve got? What you promised them means either we stow away on the boat or we stop eating immediately.”
    He stomps his foot again.
    He says, “What do you have to say for yourself, John? ”
    Fat Man turns around like an outsize baby who just learned to sit up. He looks his brother dead on, sees the snot that runs from Little Boy’s nose, and the narrow thread of blood therein.
    â€œI’m sorry, Brother,” he says. “Nobody believes it.”
    Little Boy asks him who anybody is to tell them who they are. Who that rat bastard GI fraud artist was. Who anyone is to tell them how they should be. “You were no one when I found you,” he says. “You were a coward in a hole. I searched for you and I found you. I’ve taken care of you. Taken care of everything.”
    â€œI’m only saying nobody believes it,” says Fat Man. “You know I’ve tried. But when people say big brother they don’t seem to be thinking of age. They’re talking about size. And anyway, I look older. Do you not like Matthew? We could call you something else. We could go back now and tell him your name is whatever you want it to be. You could be George, like he said.”
    â€œI can see I’ve been too easy on you,” says Little Boy. Unsteadily, he climbs to his feet, and goes into the forest, where he pushes Fat Man by the shoulders. Fat Man, still sitting, rocks a little back, is otherwise unmoved.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Fat Man asks.
    â€œSpanking you,” says Little Boy.
    Fat Man laughs.
    â€œI’m spanking you,” shrills Little Boy. “Bend over!”
    Fat Man bends over. “Go ahead,” he says. “If it makes you feel better you can wail on me all you want.” Their positions suggest a father playing horsey with his son. Little Boy seems about to climb on. However, he inserts his knee beneath his brother’s gut, kneeling a little to achieve the effect, as if he supports the lummox. Little Boy brings down his hand on Fat Man’s left buttock. The sharp sound echoes in the trees. Fat Man feels nothing. Little Boy strikes him again.
    Again.
    Again.
    Fat Man holds in his laughter the best he can.
    Little Boy goes frantic. He wails on him with both hands. Each impact produces a satisfying but meaningless sound, no pain, no catharsis.
    When he’s done Little Boy says, “There.”
    He says, “I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”
    He says, “I don’t like doing that. But it’s for the best.”
    They walk home together. Fat Man expects Little Boy to demand another ride. But Little Boy knows better.
    That night Fat Man counts the money. Makes a budget, accounting for the cost of their tickets to