Sometimes we are asked — quietly, with care, as if afraid to touch something tender: Did you ever feel jealous of your older brothers? Did you compete for your father’s attention — for his gaze, his word, his rare smile?
We exchange a glance. Amras smiles first. Amrod follows a moment later. And we answer together, because it cannot be done any other way.
Amrod: Jealousy is a strange word. It tastes bitter, like unripe fruit. I do not remember it ever living in me for long. Yes, our older brothers were taller, louder, surer in their steps. Their names were spoken more often. They were sent ahead. They were asked first. But does the sun envy the moon for ruling the night sky? We were different — and that was clear from the beginning.
Amras: Sometimes, though, my heart tightened. Not from malice — but from the wish to be seen. Our father was like a high cliff: majestic, unmoving, severe. When he looked at you, you straightened without meaning to. And yes, we caught his gaze. We waited for it. But struggle? No. We never knew how to fight each other. We were bound too closely.
Amrod: Our older brothers walked like torches ahead of us. We were like the shadows cast by their light. But shadows do not vanish: they know the shape of the one who walks before them, and thus they understand the road. We learned by watching. We stayed silent, listened, remembered. Sometimes our father did not distinguish between us at once. He would say a name — and not always choose correctly. Others might have been hurt by that. To us, it felt… almost right.
Amras: Because if we were confused with one another, it meant we were whole. Two strings of the same lute. When our father frowned, the cold reached us both. When he was pleased, the warmth reached us too, even if his gaze was turned elsewhere. We did not compete for his attention. We shared it. As bread is shared on the road.
Amrod: Did it ever hurt? Yes. Especially in those moments when we were left behind — “not yet,” “let them wait.” We did not argue. But inside grew a stubborn promise: we will also be able. Not louder. Not brighter. But in our own way.
Amras: And, in time, understanding came: our father did not look only with his eyes. He saw deeds. Loyalty. Patience. He spoke rarely — but his silence was full of meaning. When he once nodded to both of us — briefly, almost unnoticed — it was enough. For years.
Together: So no — we were not jealous. And no — we did not fight for love. We walked side by side. Sometimes in shadow. Sometimes ahead of one another. And if we are seldom named separately — so be it. Because we are the Ambarussa. And that has always been enough.
