The Three Brothers Who Endeavored to Climb The Mountain of Should

[Inspired by the poem “The Mountain of Should” by Brady Gill]

Three brothers set out from home on the first day of summer to climb the Mountain of Should. Ever had the mountain stood over them, and ever had their father chided that this day would come, and the sooner the better. Most every youth in the land endeavored to climb the Mountain of Should sooner or later. Because they should, of course; everyone knew that they should.

The eldest brother charted the course on an old map, and packed with him a compass and a walking stick–the same map, compass, and walking stick that their father had taken with him on his own journey up the mountain some years ago. The Middle brother wrapped in his knapsack ten loaves of bread, ten slabs of butter, and a jug of wine, leaving their father’s pantry dry. The youngest brother packed only his notebook and a pen. They started from the front door, and their father called out, “farewell my sons, and good riddance! Too long have you eaten of my daily bread. May you reach the top of the Mountain of Should!”

The brothers soon reached the foot of the mountain, and looking up, they saw a path laid out before them. It zig-zagged up the face, forking as it went. The mountain stood taller than their eyes could see; its peak was obscured by an unmoving gray mist.

“We will walk until the sun goes down, and then make camp where we stop,” said the oldest brother to the middle brother. He set out at a quick pace.

“We will walk until the sun goes down, and then make camp where we stop,” said the middle brother to the youngest brother. And then he too set out at a quick pace.

We will walk until the sun goes down, and then make camp where we stop, wrote the youngest brother in his notebook. And then he set out after his brothers.

The three brothers climbed all day. Higher and higher they went, on ground well trod by generations before them. The Mountain of Should flanked them on their left, impenetrable and constant, while to their right the valley grew wider, its features shrunk to miniatures of themselves. When the sun began to set across the valley, they sat around a fire next to the path. The middle brother unwrapped a loaf of bread and a slab of butter, and passed around sections, along with the jug of wine. In the receding light, the brothers could still see their father’s house down in the valley. It looked small in their view. But looking up, even though they had climbed high that day, they could not see the top of the mountain, nor did the unmoving mist appear any closer. The older two brothers passed the wine between them until they fell asleep, while the youngest brother lay awake under a black, starless sky. Suddenly, the mountain shook and spoke to him.

“Why do you climb?” the mountain said, “What do you seek?”

“I climb because I should,” the youngest brother answered, “everyone says that I should, and I should. The top is what I seek.”

“It will be hard,” said the mountain, “you will be scared.”

“It should be hard,” replied the youngest brother, “I should be scared.”

“Farewell, then,” said the mountain, “may you continue to climb, if that is what you wish.”

Next morning, the brothers set off again up the Mountain of Should. Up and up they climbed, making camp when the sun set, and setting out when it rose again. Several days passed until one day they reached a fork in the path. To the right lay a path of rich, packed soil, along which flowed a sparkling stream. To the left, the path continued to ascend in zig-zags up the mountain’s face, leading into an unmoving mist that looked no closer than it had when their journey began. A monk sat on a three-legged stool in the place where the paths forked. She called to the brothers, saying, “Brothers! Why do you climb? What do you seek?”

“We climb because we should,” replied the brothers, “everyone says that we should. The top is what we seek.”

“The top?” asked the monk, “I’ve never heard of such a place. Is this the name of a town you have heard of, with varied opportunity for gainful employment? Or is it the name of a land you have heard of, whose natural beauty exceeds that of the land you set out from?”

“The top is the top, foolish monk,” replied the middle brother, “it is the end of this path, and the peak of this mountain.”

“Well, I still don’t know what you are referring to,” said the monk, “but I think that if such a place exists, you will find it by taking the path to your left. Only, how will you know when you arrive?”

“We will know,” replied the middle brother, “come brothers, let us continue to climb the Mountain of Should.”

“This path to the right appeals to me more,” said the eldest brother, “is it not possible that the top lies this way? I will journey there alongside the stream. Come with me or continue on your way.”

“Farewell then, foolish brother,” said the middle brother, “and good riddance. The top clearly lies at the end of the path to our left. But if you wish to take the easier path along the stream, then so be it.”

And so the brothers parted, the eldest brother following the sparkling stream, and the younger two up the zig-zagging path to the left.

“We will walk until the sun goes down, and then make camp where we stop,” said the middle brother to the youngest brother. And then he set out at a quick pace.

We will walk until the sun goes down, and then make camp where we stop, wrote the youngest brother in his notebook. And then he set out after his brother. Night followed day, and day followed night. Up and up the brothers went. When one night the middle brother removed that last of the bread and butter from his knapsack, and sipped the last of the wine, he thought that the top must be near. But the next morning ten more loaves and ten more slabs had appeared, and the jug was refilled. Many more times the path forked, and many more times the brother chose the path to their left: the one that continued to rise towards the unmoving mist. The valley and their father’s home had shrunk and disappeared. Though the mist above them appeared as distant as ever, when they looked down, a mist now obscured the view to the ground as well. The youngest brother began to feel his knapsack grow heavier. It weighed on him, and even as his legs became stronger, his burden became all the more difficult to bear. Night followed day and day followed night. Ever upward the brothers climbed.

One day, as the sun was setting, the brothers came upon another fork in the path. To the right lay a swath mown through emerald grass. To the left the path zig-zagged up the face of the mountain. The brothers stopped here for the night, and after a meal of bread and butter, the middle brother sipped his jug of wine until he fell asleep. The youngest brother lay awake under a black, starless sky. Suddenly, the mountain shook and spoke to him.

“Time has passed.” the mountain said, “have you reached the top yet?”

“No,” the youngest brother replied, “it looks as though the top lies a ways off yet.”

“Then why do you still climb?” the mountain asked.

“I climb because I should. Everyone says that I should, so I should,” the youngest brother replied.

“What do you carry with you?” the mountain asked.

“Only my notebook and a pen,” replied the youngest brother.

“Can I see?” the mountain asked.

And so the youngest brother pulled his notebook from the bag, and saw that what he now carried was a tome. Opening the book, he saw the same thing written over and over, on page after page, for one thousand pages. We will walk until the sun goes down, and then make camp where we stop. The notebook was full to capacity, his mantra written on the very bottom of the very last page. But even as he watched, a new, blank page appeared at the end. At this, the youngest brother dropped his notebook, bid his sleeping brother farewell, and started down the path mown from emerald grass. The way was at first hard to see, but soon enough the mist above him disappeared, revealing millions of stars, along with a smiling crescent moon. In its light the youngest brother basked. The earth felt soft beneath his feet, and the air smelled damp, fecund. And so off the youngest brother went, on a new path away from the Mountain of Should.

What of the middle brother you ask? Some say that he climbs still. He is seen on occasion, on the zig-zagging path, muttering about foolish monks, and foolish brothers, and about some foolish place called the top. Ever upward, ever upward.