The brother had on a whim given his name to the company, and claimed entirely without justification the title of ‘Elder’. It was only the company that sent letters addressed to the elder with the brother’s name, but every time he saw such a letter he would smile the big toothy smile that swamped his eyes in glee.

Eventually, for such is the way of things, he began to receive other letters addressed to his Elder self, from businesses that were not the company. Letters that asked for money, letters that promised him visions of loveliness and sunny beaches, letters to sell him automated defibrillators for his dog or cat at ABSOLUTELY NO COST TO HIMSELF! It was easy to weed the junk and the advertising out of his mail, for it all came addressed to the Elder brother.

It was years of this that he had, when every trip to the battered mailbox gave a reason to laugh mirthfully at himself, years indeed. But then it was that the brother started receiving the handwritten letters asking him for advice and consolation and guidance. The brother was at something of a loss, as he confessed to the laughing, sloe-eyed men down to the Pub. Some of the letters had little mementos in them, bits of hair, ribbons, photos. The brother scratched his curly head at the mailbox as he sorted through these letters.

So he decided to answer some of them.