In the city of Lyon in the Middle East of the Great State of France in the year 1783, on a quiet night—deadly quiet—and the sky trembling with stars, a pair of twin boys was born, and their mother was killed during childbirth. They lived ten years of hunger and poverty in the harsh life of Lyon, with a father who was mostly absent, working as a history teacher. They learned nothing from him, for he was executed during the Revolution in 1793 against the government, after the city declared its rejection of the revolutionaries and formed a local government. In October of the same year, the city fell, and it became a mass massacre of its people.
Afterward, they lived with their crippled aunt for five years, then fled her home—they could not bear life there. Their escape was the idea of the elder brother. Their father had given the elder son the name 'Lyon' after the city, and the younger one was named 'Morse.'
They had no faces, only walking blindly, their complexions pale and thin. After walking for three days, they saw signs of life on the horizon after the long road through fields of wheat and olives and towering, magnificent windmills. They continued until they reached the direction of the Roman inns and passed through the village of Aruco, driven by thirst to a poor-looking tavern. The brothers entered and sat at the front seats, the tavern full of people smoking. There, a man dressed as a priest shouted at the top of his lungs: "The Lord knows! The Lord knows!"
The boys had no money but were determined to drink. Lyon approached the bartender and said, "Sir bartender, give me a drink in exchange for work. We will work for the price." The bartender raised his eyebrow and said, "You have no money; leave." Morse shouted suddenly, "By the Lord! My brother said we will work for the price!" The bartender raised his hand and said, "Step away!" The priest shouted, "The Lord knows! The Lord knows!" Morse shouted back, "Shut up, man!" Lyon drew a knife from his belt and lightly pressed it against the bartender's neck. Morse ran to the drinks, grabbed two bottles, placed one, and smashed the third on the bartender's head.
Lyon said, "Morse, what have you done? Let's go." They ran out of the tavern, and on the way out, Morse handed a bottle to the priest and whispered, "The Lord knows." They wandered through the city streets and noticed a gathering of people at the Roman theater, watching someone shouting above them, dressed in military uniform: "O people, I call you in the name of freedom, in the name of the complete independence of the Free French entity. Send your sons to war, send them to the awaited glory, send them to the campaigns of the great Napoleon! This year he is invading the Pharaohs. O people, war is not only a matter of weapons but a matter of will!"
Some responded with hatred, others threw stones. Chaos erupted. The boys left the sermon about war, and Lyon said, "Why did you hit the bartender, Morse? Why did you draw your knife on him?"
Lyon said, "I was only threatening."
Morse said, "Why threaten him if you could have hit him? You're crazy, Morse."
They staggered through the streets, shoulder to shoulder. The sun set, and the pure white moon rose above clouds and shining stars. The boys sat on the curb, exhausted, having not slept for two days. Lyon's gaze was contemplative over the dark streets, and he said, "What now, brother? What should we do? I mean, is there something we must do?" Morse, leaning on his brother's back, said, "I don't know what we should do. I mean, should we know? Look?" He looked at the moon illuminating the air, the smell of bread striking their empty stomachs. The silence between them expressed perseverance over nothing.
Could everything happening to them be fate's design, or just a chain of bad luck? They slept, back to back, on the curb, warming each other with their bodies, as if they were one person.