William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

She listened to the birds, got out of bed and went to the window to see if she could see the one that was saying it clearest. She saw not one but five birds in the lilac tree outside the window. They were having fun in the morning, hopping from one branch to another, chasing each other, singing, flying away, coming back, and making an awful commotion.

They bored her soon, though, and she felt profoundly sad. Why hadn’t her father taken her? Why hadn’t he been nice when she had been most sure that he would be nice, when she had been most eager for him to be nice? Why had he rejected her, abandoned her, left her all alone, ashamed and crying?

She wondered if Red was awake. It was awful early. She could tell. She always woke up first. Why did she? Still, Red might be awake.

She went to Red’s room and found his eyes open.

“You go back to bed,” he said.

“Let’s get dressed and go out and eat figs.”

“It’s too early. Go back to bed.”

“It’s light,” Eva said. “Let’s go stand by the water pump and talk.”

“No,” Red said. “Let Mama sleep. Let Papa sleep. We’ll make noise and wake them up.”

“How?”

“Dressing and talking and walking. Go back to bed.”

“Let’s go out on the front lawn and stand on our heads.”

“No. It’s too early. Let them sleep. You go back to bed and go to sleep. When you wake up again come back and we’ll get dressed.”

“Will we go out to eat figs or to stand on our heads?”

“To eat figs. It’s too early to stand on our heads.”

“Yes,” Eva said. “It’s too early.”

“Well, aren’t you going back?”

“Why did Papa take you but didn’t take me?”

“You’re a girl,” Red said.

“I’m a boy,” Eva said.

“You’re a girl,” Red said.

“I’m a girl,” Eva said, “but I’m a boy, too. I’m better than a boy. I’m better than anybody.”

“You’re not better than me,” Red said.

“I am,” Eva said.

“Don’t you say that,” Red said.

“I am,” Eva said.

“Well, go back to bed and sleep some more,” Red said. “When you wake up come back and we’ll get dressed, but don’t make any noise. Let them sleep.”

She went. Red remembered the remark he had learned in the language: It is right . He felt glad about remembering it, about being able to say it, about the whole language his father was going to teach him. It would take a long time to know a whole language like that, to be able to speak it the way Dade and his father spoke it. He remembered the sounds of it, as they had made the sounds, speaking to one another. He liked the sounds and wished he knew what they meant. He wished his father was all right now. He wished his mother was all right now.

His sister peeked at him from around the open doorway.

“Eva,” he said. “Go back to sleep.”

“I did,” Eva said. “I went back and got in bed and slept. It’s not early any more. It’s late.”

“You didn’t sleep.”

“I did.”

“You know you didn’t.”

“I did.”

“Why do you tell lies?”

“I don’t tell lies. I tell the truth. I did sleep.”

“That’s a lie, Eva.”

“It’s not. I did sleep. Let’s get dressed.”

“No,” Red said. “Let them sleep. Go back and wait a little while, then we’ll get dressed.”

“I can’t go back.”

“Why not?”

“There’s a man in there.”

“There isn’t.”

“Yes, there is.”

“There isn’t, Eva. You’re telling another lie.”

“He’s dead,” Eva said.

“Who is it?” Red said, for it was hard to tell when she was lying. Everything she said sounded like the truth.

“I don’t know, but he’s dead.”

“You’re lying, aren’t you, Eva?”

“No, it’s the truth.”

Red looked at her, trying to find out if she were actually telling the truth.

“I’m scared,” she said.

Red was scared, too. He got out of bed. He went down the hall to Eva’s room, his sister following, each of them moving slowly, reluctantly, as if into the greatest danger of all. Red was very frightened. By now Eva wasn’t sure there wasn’t a dead man in her room. Red came to the doorway, then charged in, more than half blind with terror. When full vision returned to his eyes he saw that there was no one in the room.

“He’s gone,” Eva said.

“Where was he?”

“He was right here,” Eva said. She put her finger at the center of an empty fruit bowl.

“You’re always telling lies,” Red said. “Get dressed, then.”

“You’ve got to help me with the shoes.”

“All right.”

He went back to his room and was dressed in less than two minutes. He found Eva almost dressed. He helped her with her shoes. They went out into the parlor, very quietly out of the house by the front door. They walked around the house to the back yard, to the fig tree. Red found a ripe fig on a low branch and gave it to Eva, who half peeled it and ate it. Then he climbed into the tree and found a lot of them, eating one and dropping one to Eva.

They talked about lies and dead men for half an hour, and then they’d had enough of figs.

Red got down from the tree, and walked with Eva to the place where he’d found Flora Walz sitting. They spent a half hour there, too, talking some more about lies and dead men. They walked back to the house, but still their father and mother slept. The house was still silent.

“Let’s wake them up,” Eva said.

“No,” Red said. “Let them sleep.”

“It’s late, Red. It’s awful late.”

“No, it’s not. Let them sleep.”

They stood by the pump and talked, and then, since they would not wake up, Red took her to see the pomegranate and olive trees.

“We’re all alone in the whole world,” Eva said. “Just you and me, Red.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Yes, we are. All alone. No father and no mother. Just a brother and a sister, all alone in the whole world. Will you kill them if they come to get me?”

“Who?”

“The ones who come to get you.”

“Who are they?”

“I don’t know. Will you kill them?”

“Yes,” Red said.

The girl thought about the ones who come to get you, and the killing of them, one by one, by her brother, and then her eyes noticed the pomegranates.

“Then give me one of those,” she said.

“They’re not ripe yet,” Red said.

“I want one, anyway.”

Red jumped to grab the lowest branch, caught a couple of leaves that tore away from the branch, the branch springing up, trembling, the pomegranates bobbing up and down but not letting go. He jumped again, caught a twig, brought the branch close enough for him to reach up with the other hand and get a pomegranate for her. He picked the biggest one, let the branch go, and handed the pomegranate to her. She examined it carefully.

“I’m going to keep it forever,” she said.

“Why?”

“To remember you when you’re dead.”

“What are you going to give me to remember you when you’re dead?” Red said.

“I’ll give you anything,” Eva said. “You’re my little brother.”

“I’m your big brother.”

“My big brother. I’ll give you anything.”

“When?”

“When I get it,” Eva said.

They began to wander back to the house, still talking of love and death, hoping their father and mother would be awake by the time they got back, for each of them was lonely for them and wanted to see and hear and smell them again, perhaps even to help them about the love, and about the death.