Pietro sat in the parlor, drink in hand, trying to ignore the din of voices that wafted from the nightclub. Everyone knew well of the law of Prohibition; yet nobody seemed to be giving up the giggle water anytime soon.
He had just performed that night, on the small stage of the club, entertaining the tipsy customers with disappearing and reappearing watches, a paper cone that made scarves materialize out of thin air, that sort of thing. He would have mingled with the customers afterwards, rousing them with some card tricks and perhaps making them cough up more of the dough; but he wouldn't, simply because he did not want to interact with people. At least, people who were not his brother.
Luciano had been missing for seven years now. Pietro frequently wondered if he could be dead, but as soon as he thought it he would push it out of his mind. Besides, he could feel his brother was still out there, through some kind of sixth sense.
Pietro was, in essence, the older brother; however, Luciano had grown taller and his shoulders became broader, while Pietro remained skinny and small, a mere wisp. He didn't mind too much, however, as he did not like to be noticed anymore than Luciano did want to be noticed.
The neighbors never called them twins; more like brothers who were a year or two apart.
When they were children, he remembered, they would perform in the circus in Kansas. After they performed, they would stick around the sideshow tents, cheating the poor rubes out of their extra pocket money.
After they did that, they would sit on top of the ringmaster's caravan, eating cotton candy or caramel apples or popcorn, and they would just talk until the sun came up.
He particularly remembered an old conversation, one of their last, before Luciano disappeared;
"Pietro," his brother had said, "do you ever think about death?"
He was a bit shocked at the topic. "Well, yes. Sometimes."
Luciano had his hand half sunken into his popcorn, and he was looking at the Big Top, deep in thought.
"I find it very frightful, you know? You could be here one day, and then poof-! Gone. Like the wind."
Pietro tried to chuckle. "Brother, you think about these things too much. We- we are still young, my brother! I do not see why you are in such a big hurry," he joked. "Death might not be expecting you for a very long time."
Luciano looked grave. "You may say so, brother, for you laugh at life in the face as if it were a great joke," he had said. "But I wish you would be more serious sometimes, Pietro. Death is not something one can joke about."
"And I wish you would lighten up," he had told him, poking him gently in the rib. "Not everything has to be so- depressing. Death, Luciano, is only a part of life, so I do not understand why one would be afraid of it."
His brother looked at him coldly. "Well, I don't want to just... disappear. I don't know what would happen to me if I died. I would rather live forever."
He shrugged. "Would you really want to live forever, my brother? Imagine how you would look! Like a prune, I would imagine."
Luciano shoved a fistful of popcorn into his mouth, and it ended there.
Pietro looked up at the sky, wistful.
Only a few stars were in sight, as he was in the city, but he could see the moon; clear and bright before his eyes. He imagined all the multitudes of stars out there he couldn't see, and whether they had any clue as to where his brother- his dear brother, the most important thing the world had ever given him- was.
He eyed the crescent moon with a kind of longing, and, at the same time, with happiness. He would find Luciano- his other half- no matter how many years it took him. He would find him no matter how many nightclubs he had to perform in, no matter how many wars were fought over the years, he would find him.
He raised the drink he was holding, and smiled.
