William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

“You don’t?”

“We’d better try to talk, first. The sooner the better. I know you can’t look at me.”

“You do?”

“I found a stick. I’d heard about it at school. I couldn’t do it, though. I can’t be brutal.”

“You can’t?”

“I’d like to think that I might tell you—— I’d like to think you might——”

“Might what?”

“Understand.”

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t understand. You could tell me, but I wouldn’t understand. I’ll listen if it’ll do you any good, but I won’t understand. I went away for two months. You hadn’t been feeling too well. I thought being alone would do you good. Your letters said it was doing you good. It must have meant a lot. Are you in love with him? Is he in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” the woman said.

The man leaped upon her, pushing her head, even in helpless anger trying not to strike her face, and wanting to stop. He couldn’t, though. Remembering Red, even, he couldn’t.

The woman had fallen, first to the sofa, then to the floor. He was bent over her, unable to stop.

He couldn’t stop even when he heard Red shout at him, “You stop that, Papa! God damn you, Papa! You stop that!”

He couldn’t stop even when Red was striking him in the back and sobbing, “God damn you, Papa! I’m going to kill you, Papa!”

The big girl was Fay. She was twelve and beginning to be like a woman. Red liked her. She seemed scared, and he wanted to tell her not to be. Eva liked her, too, because she was almost a woman and yet still a girl.

The middle girl was Fanny. She was nine and more like a boy than a girl. Red liked her because it was interesting to watch her do things the way a boy did them. Eva didn’t like Fanny very much because Fanny might do anything , and was loud instead of thoughtful.

The youngest girl was Flora. She was almost seven and beautiful. Even when she smiled and Red saw the same front tooth gone out of her mouth that was gone out of his, he thought she was beautiful. She was very quiet but not frightened of anything, and she seemed able to stay beautiful no matter what she was doing. Red didn’t simply like Flora, he loved her. Every time he looked at her, he laughed. Eva loved Flora, too.

“She’s my best friend,” Eva said to Red.

Red had found Eva in hide-and-seek and he’d brought her back to the fig tree. Now, he’d go back and find one or another of the three sisters, or two of them in one place, or all of them.

“You’re It next,” Red said, “So stay here while I go get the next one.”

“It’s dark,” Eva said.

“It’s not dark,” Red said. “It’s because you’re standing in the shade of the fig tree. Stand over there by the water pump.”

“I don’t want to stand alone,” Eva said. “Go get Flora, my best friend, so I won’t be alone.”

Eva stood by the water pump. Red went off to find somebody else. They might be anywhere. They might be on one side of the house or on the other, or out front where the fathers and mothers were, or they might be in the vineyard, or behind the garage, or behind the barn.

He went swiftly, first around the garage, then around the barn. When he came around the barn Fanny was with him, the two of them racing for the fig tree. It looked as if Fanny was going to get there first, but she tripped and fell. Red stopped to help her up. The instant she was on her feet, though, she ran to the tree, and got there first, laughing at Red for helping her.

“Well,” Red said, “I thought you were hurt . Weren’t you?”

“I never get hurt,” Fanny said.

“Your lip’s bleeding,” Eva said.

Fanny sucked the cut, then spit blood like a man spitting tobacco juice.

“Let it bleed,” she said. “What do I care?”

Red went off to get one more of the sisters.

“If you cracked your head open,” Eva said, “would you laugh?”

“Yes,” Fanny said. “I cracked it open last year.”

“Where?” Eva said. “Let me see.”

The older girl bent down to show the place on the top of her head.

“Here,” she said. “See where the doctor sewed it up?”

“Yes,” Eva said. “Did you laugh?”

“Sure,” Fanny said. “Nothing hurts me.”

“Hurts me ,” Eva said.

“That’s because you’re little.”

“I’m getting bigger, though,” Eva said. “From eating. Figs, you know. I ate six after my nap. Red went up the tree and got them for me. Eating figs makes you big.”

“Not figs,” Fanny said. “Potatoes and meat and things like that make you big.”

“Don’t you eat figs?” Eva said.

“I hate figs,” Fanny said. She sucked the cut and spit again.

“I wish I could do that.”

“Can’t you even spit?”

“No,” Eva said. “I can’t smoke, either.”

“Smoke?” Fanny said.

“Cigarettes,” Eva said. “I tried once. Papa let me, because I wanted to. I can’t smoke cigarettes.”

“Oh,” Fanny said. “Can you drink?”

“Not whiskey,” Eva said. “I tried that, too. Papa let me. I can drink wine with water in it, but I don’t like wine with water in it.”

“No,” Fanny said, “it’s nicer without water, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” Eva said. “I don’t like it without water, either.”

They saw Red coming from the vineyard, far ahead of Fay, who was running, but not trying very hard to get to the tree first.

“O.K.,” Red said. “That’s three of you. One more.”

“You didn’t beat me to the tree, though,” Fanny said.

“I would have if I didn’t stop to pick you up,” Red said.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Fanny said. “I would have beat you a mile.”

“Ah,” Red said.

But Fanny was funny. He stopped to think where to go to find Flora. Where would Flora go to hide? He was glad that she was the last one to find. By now she might be far away, to make him hunt all the harder. He decided to cut across to the other side of the vineyard.

He ran swiftly, looking as he went. Two quail splattered their wings and flew off, slowing him down to watch a moment. Then he saw a big jack rabbit lope off slowly, stopping to turn and look, loping a little farther.

He was stopped anyway, watching the rabbit, so he picked a bunch of the black grapes he saw on the vine, and began to eat them, the rabbit watching. There were big seeds in the grapes, which he rounded up in his mouth, and spit out.

He remembered one of his father’s friends, a dark man, visiting the house in Palo Alto. Dade had sent them a box of these same black grapes. His mother brought a plate of them to the man, who began to eat them, only he didn’t spit out the seeds. He chewed them. Red heard him chewing them. The man had known his father’s father in the old country. He didn’t speak very good English. He talked with Evan in another language, a language Red wished he knew. Red asked the man why he didn’t spit out the seeds. The man said, “They are too small, my boy. I have no time.” Red liked the man, the way he talked, the noise he made when he ate the grapes, grinding the seeds and swallowing them. The man ate the whole bunch, as if it was something he had to do. Then he put the naked stalk on the plate, handed it to Red’s mother, and said, “Thank you, Swan Nazarenus.”

Red ate nine or ten grapes, the rabbit went off, and he remembered he had Flora still to find. He cut through the vines to the right, seeing far off the banks of an irrigation ditch. He might as well go there, for if she wasn’t anywhere around, he’d be alone a moment. He’d have a look at the grass and weeds in the ditch. When he reached the ditch, he saw Flora sitting on the bank with her shoes and stockings off, cooling her feet in the water.