Younger had been gone for years. He requested his share of Father’s inheritance early and ran off to a distant land to party it all away. He did everything under the sun but was still foolish enough to send Father and his brother, Elder, letters detailing all his exploits.
Father always read these letters with a countenance of sorrow and longing; gripping them in his coat pockets long after he read them. Elder only skimmed the letters, feeling as if every word was a thinly veiled lie from the Accuser himself.
Then, all of a sudden, the letters stopped. So, Father and Elder were not prepared for the surprise this night.
It was Friday, getting close to sunset. Elder rubbed at the sweat dripping down his chest under his linen shirt (that was once white, but now appeared as a spotty brown). He stood between his two best oxen, rubbing their velvety noses with his palm. It felt good to finish a hard week of work.
He carefully pulled the pin from the first ox’s bow, avoiding the rough patch of wood. One day he would sand it down. He let the bow drop into his other hand, then unyoked his other oxen in the same way. They were now free to roam the field and graze.
As he walked back toward the house, his hands running through his dust-filled hair, Elder heard a voice he hadn’t heard in years. He turned slowly, feeling the hair on his arms and neck stand, while the blood in his cheeks turned red and hot. On the road that ran through Father’s land was Younger. He knelt before Father, his hands and knees covered in dust, like a dog. Elder saw his father lean toward Younger with arms wide open and wet eyes that reflected the stars above him. All Elder could hear was muffled gasps and cries, and the sound of his father calling the servants to bring robes and rings, and prepare a feast.
Elder could not take it. As he watched, he didn’t even realize he walked toward his father and brother and now stood directly in front of them. In a deep, trembling voice, like a kettle about to scream, Elder looked at his father and asked, “Have your eyes lost their sight? Younger has already received your blessing and he doesn’t even have a meal of game to give you for a second one. Why do you receive him with open arms?”
By now, Younger had turned and followed the servants back to the house. His rings caught the light of the moon, but found no reflection in Elder’s ruddy clothing.
Elder stood in front of his father. The Sabbath he expected now vanished from reality. Elder looked at his father who bore the same wet eyes he had for Younger and who wore the same dirty linen shirt from working the same fields. They shared the same dust.
“My son,” Father said, “You are always with me, and everything I have is yours. But we have to celebrate and be glad, because this brother of yours was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found.”
Father squeezed Elder’s hand as he had since Elder was a little boy. Then, he turned toward the house. Clouds of dust followed his steps, as the smell of roasted meat floated toward Elder. The cold of the night was settling in. Elder raised his head to look at the stars above, then he walked toward home.
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