William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

“Where will we go?”

“Around the yards, I guess.”

“I’ll think about it.”

Here was the town now, called Clovis. Here was an old man and an old woman in a carriage drawn by a horse.

“How do you do,” Evan said, nodding to the old couple, who smiled and drove on.

“Who are they?” Red said.

“I don’t know.”

“Doesn’t everybody know everybody?”

“Not quite. The minute they meet, though, they almost know one another, whoever they are. It’s a matter of meeting them.”

“I know them when I see them.”

“Do you like them?”

“Like them?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know,” Red said. “I see them. I know them. I don’t know about liking them, though. Do you mean the way I like Mama and you?”

“What about your sister?”

“And her? Do you mean that way, or something else?”

“I mean any way.”

“I like to see them, I think.”

“But you do like Cody Bone?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Well, he’s—— Well, don’t you see, I don’t know why I like him. I like grass, but I don’t know why. Do you have to know why?”

“No. Do you like trees?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Vines?”

“Of course.”

“What about the sun?”

“I love the sun.”

“That’s a strong word.”

“I love the sun best of all.”

The sun was over into the late afternoon now. It was closer than he’d ever before known it, and hotter. The bottom of his feet loved it in the soft dust of the road.

“Look over there, Papa,” he said. “There’s Mama and Eva barefooted, walking down the road to meet us.”

“You look good, Mama,” he said when the four of them met in the road.

“I do?” the woman said.

“You look very good.”

“How about you?” the woman said to the man.

“He speaks for me all right,” the man said.

The smell of coffee, leather, and rocks was in the house. Red found the coffee. It wasn’t in the kitchen where you’d expect it to be. It was in the parlor, in an open jar on the bookshelf, powdered.

“What’s this coffee doing on the bookshelf?” he said.

“Dade doesn’t like to get things in perfect order,” the man said. “Having things in perfect order makes him more unhappy than ever.”

“Is he unhappy?”

“You remember your father’s brother, don’t you?”

“Yes, but is he unhappy?”

“Well, perhaps not.”

“Is he? Tell me.”

“He doesn’t care that he is, so perhaps he isn’t.”

“If he’s unhappy, why is he unhappy?”

“It happens.”

There is something to know, Red thought. There is something more to know about every little thing there is. First you see it, then you know something about it, and then there’s something more to know about it, and if you can’t find out what it is, you’re unhappy.

“Where’s the roses?” he said.

“Roses?” the woman said. “What roses?”

“The roses I smell. Don’t you smell roses, Mama?”

“Do you smell roses?” the woman asked the man.

The man sniffed.

“Is that roses?” he said.

The woman sniffed.

“I don’t smell roses,” she said. “I can’t smell worth a damn, anyway. Never could.” She turned to the little girl. “Do you smell roses, Sexy?”

“Eva,” the girl said.

“Do you smell roses, Eva?” the man said.

The girl sniffed.

“No, Papa,” she said. “And thank you for speaking to me so nice.”

“Oh, that’s all right,” the man said.

The girl turned to her mother. “My name is Eva Nazarenus,” she said.

“I gave you the name,” the woman said. “I ought to know what it is.”

“Then why do you say Sexy?”

“It’s your nickname, the way Red is your brother’s.”

“His name is Rex.”

“All right,” the woman said. “Everybody wants to be somebody nowadays. Nobody’s willing to be nobody any more. You’re Eva Nazarenus. Your brother’s Rex Nazarenus. Your father’s Evan Nazarenus.”

“And my mother is Swan Nazarenus.”

“That’s right,” the woman said. “Now, go see if you can find the roses.”

“I don’t want the roses.”

“What do you want?”

“Nothing.”

“How about a boy to love you? A prince?”

“I don’t want anything.”

“How about some lemonade?”

“No.”

“Fudge? I’ll make some myself, and you can watch and help.”

“Fudge?”

“Yes, Sexy.”

“Nothing.”

“Why?”

“You said Sexy again.”

“I apologize.”

“What’s Sexy mean?” the girl said.

“It means beautiful,” the woman said. “Doesn’t it?” she said to the man.

The man looked at the little girl sitting on the floor with the three books that had quickly bored her.

“Yes, it does,” he said.

“Then why don’t you say it?”

“All right,” the man said. “You are beautiful, Sexy.”

“But not Mama,” the girl said. “She’s got to say Eva Nazarenus. Then I’ll help her make fudge.”

The girl got up and took her mother’s hand and together they went to the kitchen door. There the girl stopped to speak to her father.

“We’re girls,” she said.

The woman laughed, and the girls went into the kitchen.

“The whole house smells good,” Red said. “But I can’t find the roses.”

“They’re somewhere,” the man said.

“I know. I smell them.”

He’s like a red setter, the woman thought. He smells everything there is.

“Will you shell some walnuts for us?” the woman called out from the kitchen.

“No,” the man said.

“Will you , Red?”

“No, Mama. I’ve got to find the roses.”

“Why, Evan? Why does he have to find the roses?”

“Because they’re here somewhere and he wants to know where.”

“Oh,” the woman said.

“I’ll find them, Mama,” the boy said. “I think they’re old and dried, pressed in a book somewhere.”

The woman stepped into the parlor, holding a bowl, the girl standing beside her, holding a wooden spoon.

“Is it possible he’s right?”

“It certainly is.”

“Well, how would he guess such a thing?”

“He didn’t guess. He’s seen roses pressed inside a book.”

“Have you, Red?”

“Sure, Mama.”

“Where?”

“Home. Two white roses pressed in the back of the dictionary, four little red ones in the back of the Bible.”

“Who put them there?”

“You did! Don’t you remember the things you do? Don’t you remember when I found them and asked you about them long ago?”

“What did you do it for, Mama?” the girl said.

“Oh, I don’t know. I guess I found some roses in a book once and decided someday I’d do that, too.”

They went back into the kitchen, but the man could hear them fussing and talking, and so could the boy. Every now and then the man and the boy stopped everything else just to listen. They knew the girls were talking for them to hear, and the girls knew they were being heard. They knew the boys were listening. They were having fun. It was fine to be in the country, in a house on a vineyard, a house that was old but clean and cool.

“Here they are,” Red said. “Not in books. Just this little bunch of them tied together and dropped in this silver bowl over the fireplace. They were red, I think. Very red, I mean, not the color they are now.” He walked to the kitchen. “Do you want to smell them, Mama?”