William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

“If I am husband to another man’s woman,” Evan began to say.

“It is right,” Dade said quickly, his voice deeply tired.

“If I am father to another man’s child,” Evan said.

“It is right,” Dade said.

“What do I do?” Evan said.

“Sleep?” Dade asked. “Is that it?”

“Sleep?” Evan said. “I can’t sleep. There is no sleep left for me.”

“I long for my children,” Dade said. “To long is right. I wish to see them. To wish to see them is right. I do not see them. Not to see them is right.”

“Why, Dade?”

“It’s a game,” Dade said. “The playing of a game is right. The game is this. Which will it be for myself? To be proud and to lose that which I love, or to be without pride, and soft, and to have softly that which I love? Each is right. Which will it be for myself? It will be to be proud, and to lose. And if they love me, want me, but cannot reach me, what will it be? It will be to be proud, and to have them reach me not. And if they perish for want of me, what will it be? It will be to be proud, and to learn that they have perished. Is this so? Is this a way to be? It is, my brother.”

“You’re tired,” Evan said. “You’re very tired. You must not take the airplane.”

“It’s a game,” Dade said. “There it sits, waiting. It is there always. I require no excitements. I have never required them. The excitements of money, coming or going, I have never required. The game waits to excite, surprise, reward, belittle. It has never excited, surprised, rewarded, or belittled me. Do you understand, my brother?”

“No, Dade.”

“I will tell you, then,” Dade said. “Here.” He reached into his pocket, brought out rolled currency, and handed it to his brother. Red saw the stuff. He knew it was money, but he didn’t understand the language. “This is the prize,” Dade said. “I have not slept because until the other players surrender I stay with the game. It is a silly game, with a silly prize, but it is right. What do you do? Go home, my brother.”

He turned the boy’s head to him again, and again pressed his dry mouth to Red’s forehead.

“Red,” he said. “Isn’t it strange and wonderful that a brother’s son is a man’s own father?” He smiled at the boy, tightening his hand on the boy’s chin. “Isn’t it strange, Red? Isn’t it strange? I was a poor son. Perhaps that’s why I was never a father. What are you thinking, Red? Tell me.”

“I want to talk the language,” Red said.

“Yes,” Dade said. He looked over the head of the boy at the boy’s father. The man hadn’t put the money away. Dade noticed this, then said in English, “He must be taught.”

“Who will teach me?” Red said.

“Your father will,” Dade said. He spoke again to his brother. “Teach him the language in thoughts, not in words,” he said in English. “One thought after another. By the time you’re nine,” he said to the boy, “you’ll speak the language as well as you speak English, or better. Put the stuff in your pocket,” he said to his brother in English, and then in the language he said, “There is more, take it and go home. If there is someone you wish to kill, you will find in my own room the weapons for it. Why not? It is right. If there is someone you wish to forgive, to understand, to love, you will find the weapons for it in your heart.”

“Red?” Evan said to his son. “I want you to take a little walk outside and look at the airplanes.”

The boy looked at his father. There was still panic in his eyes, but after a moment it went away, and Evan saw that his son did indeed resemble his father.

He slipped down off the bench—his feet hadn’t been touching the floor—then loitered off to the big glass door. He pushed it open, went out onto the steps, then down the steps, and away.

“For God’s sake, Dade,” Evan said in English quickly. “She breaks my heart. I feel sorry for her. I don’t know what to do, man. I swear to God I’m afraid I’ll kill her. You don’t have to go back, do you? Stay. Help me. Don’t go back, Dade.”

“There’s no help,” Dade said. “If you must kill, I’ve told you where the weapons are. You’d find them soon enough, anyway. Hands would be enough, though. Anything would do. We are never unarmed. No one. And we have no defense. There’s no help. Did Petrus help? Did we help Petrus? No one helps. No one hinders, either.” He suddenly brought a silver dollar out of his pocket. “Flip for it,” he said. “To be kind, or to be proud. That’s what it comes to. Call it.” He flipped the coin high, saying again as it went end over end, “Call it.”

“Heads,” Evan said.

The heavy coin slapped the marble floor, bounced, spun swiftly on its edge, lost momentum, and then lay down. It was tails.

“Be kind,” Dade said. “Why not, boy? Why not? You called it. Be kind. Be kind to everybody. Be kind to yourself.”

“Soft, is that it, Dade?”

“Why not?” Dade said. “Or also soft. Be kind. It’s right to be kind.”

“I came near killing her this afternoon,” Evan said. “Red came and stopped me.”

“Be kind to Red,” Dade said. “Be kind to Red’s mother. A boy loves his mother.”

“For God’s sake, Dade, don’t you understand what’s happened?”

“I understand,” Dade said.

“No, you don’t,” Evan said. “We were talking. I was thinking of somebody to help us. A doctor. To help her . Help Red. Help Eva. Help me. Help the others we believed we were going to have. I asked her if she loved him. She said she didn’t know. I would have killed her if Red hadn’t stopped me. I wanted to be kind. I wanted to forgive—I wanted to be soft, Dade. I wanted to hide it, and I wanted to believe I could forget it, and she could forget it, and Red and Eva never know anything about it. I asked her. I thought it might be an accident, out of sickness. I asked her. I was sure she would know how much she hated the accident, hated the sickness. Dade, she said she didn’t know. Stay here and help me. Stay at the hotel in Fresno. You’ve got to help me, Dade.”

“I’ll fly down the minute I can,” Dade said. “I’ll try to help you. It may be tomorrow morning. It may be tomorrow night.”

“Are you sure you’re winning?”

“I’m sure.”

“How much was that you handed me?”

“I don’t know. You count it.”

“I’ll keep it for you.”

“No,” Dade said. “I don’t want it, and I want you to have it. You’re in the game as much as anybody else.” He got up. “I miss the boy. I want to go out and be with him until it’s time to go back.” Evan stood beside him. “What you were talking about with her—” Dade said. “Talk about it some more. Sometimes the mouth moves by itself. Her answer may not have meant anything. Talk about that some more. I can help you there.”

They walked out to the steps, and Dade saw Red standing alone.

“There he is,” Dade said, “and he hasn’t been crying. You thought he might cry, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I did.”

“Why?”

“He is like Petrus Nazarenus, and I saw Petrus cry.”

“When?” Dade said. “When did you see my father cry?”

“The last time you were gone,” Evan said. “He cried several times. He believed he would never see you again. Red’s been thinking he might not see me again.”

“I should have come back,” Dade said. “I knew he was old, but I thought he could wait a little longer.”

When they reached the boy, Red did not turn to them.

“Red?” Evan said.

“Yes, Papa,” the boy said, but still did not turn. Dade Nazarenus turned to his brother. His hard eyes were harder than ever now, but full of anguish. “Be kind,” he said in the language. “Be kind to him.” He reached around to the boy’s forehead. His fingers covered the boy’s eyes, nose, and mouth. They rubbed the moisture dry.