William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

When they came back he dried the girl while Swan dried the boy. They helped the children back into their clothes, then sat together and ate the sandwiches. She’d brought along a bottle of soda pop for each of them, which they loved on picnics, and they drank out of their bottles as he drank out of the bottle of wine. The sandwiches were thin and easy to eat. After the food Eva stretched out in front of the man. He put his arm around her, and held her hand. After a moment Red stretched out in front of his mother, and she held his hand. Soon both of the children were asleep, and the woman said again, speaking softer than ever this time, “Evan?”

“No, Swan,” he said. “Listen to them breathing. That’s all we’ve got to do now.”

They listened to the breathing of the sleeping boy and girl, and they heard the past breathe a sigh of regret. They heard the present breathe farewell.

“Evan?” the woman said.

“Yes, Swan.”

“Will you listen to what I say?”

“Yes, Swan.”

“If you love me, I will live. If you do not love me, I will not live. Can you love me? Can you love me now , Evan?”

“I don’t know, Swan. I want to.”

“Any man can love when it’s his alone, but only a man of love can love when it’s not. Is any man a father at all who is not able to love when it is not his alone?”

He listened to her soft speech.

“Which of us knows who he is, Evan, except out of love?”

He listened, tempted, troubled, and tormented.

“Swan?”

“Yes, Evan.”

“There are many strangers to choose from. Let my strangers be my own. Let them be the ones I believe are my own. My own with your own, whoever they are. Let this stranger return. I would love, Swan, but I would fail, I would have to fail. It’s early. There is help for such strangers.”

“There is no help for such strangers as myself, except love.”

“Swan?”

“Yes, Evan.”

“I know the stranger’s father.”

“No, Evan,” she said. “You do not. I do not. He does not. He will not know. He cannot know. The stranger is my stranger. I cannot be brutal. I must love him. The stranger is your stranger, too, if you love me. We do not know. You and I do not know. Red and Eva do not know. The stranger does not know. There is no truth here except the truth that is to be made out of love. And the truth then will be love. Your people are old and kind. The men of your people are fathers. They are the fathers of all people. They can be the father of more, Evan.”

“I would love,” he said. “I would love the stranger. I would love without pity, I would love without need to forgive, I would love without secret hurt, without secret hate. I would, Swan. Without belittlement of myself I would love, but where is there in my own stranger’s heart the means and nature of such love? Where is it, Swan?”

“In my own heart, Evan.”

“I would, Swan.”

“Love me, Evan. Without pity love me. Without scorn love me. Without hate love me. Let the easy lovers love one another when it is easy to love. Love me for this instant of myself loving you. Love me even for having betrayed you. Behold me, Evan, and love me with pride, with the terrible pride, the lonely pride, the fierce pride of a fool. Were it better not to be a fool, Evan?”

“Let this stranger go,” he said. “Let our own stranger come. Let it be Red’s and Eva’s.”

I cannot be kind to her in every instant of her being, he thought. This river-and-summer moment will soon be gone. There are other moments. The coming of the stranger in the other moments will not be the same to her then as it is now.

She turned at last and looked at him.

“Love is a lie,” she said. “I don’t care, though. I don’t care any more. I believed only you could love, but you cannot, either. If that’s how it is, Evan, that’s how it is. Is that how it is?”

“Yes, Swan.”

“You cannot love me ugly, mad, sick, false, fearful?”

“Loving deathly things would not be love, Swan.”

“Love is a lie, Evan.”

“Time is slow,” he said, “but a woman’s wrong to a man, to herself, to her children, speeds time to death. I would not wrong you, Swan. I would restore slow time to both of us. I have been divorced from it these many hours. Love is no lie. I want you to live. I want Red to live. I want Eva to live. And I want to live in each of you. There is no other place for me to go. I am in each of you. I am each of you. It is no lie. Shall we try? Shall we try now to understand, while they sleep, so that we may know a little better who we are, and what we may do?”

“Yes, Evan.”

“I went to see my brother at the airport last night, not the one whose name I said. I said his name because it was the first that came to mind when I did not wish to say I was going to see my brother. You know, I know, my brother knows. No one else knows. No one need ever know. It is not impossible to forget that one of us moved farther away than the other. I would forget which of us it was. I would forget this, and I know I can. Can you forget it, Swan?”

“Yes, Evan.”

“Do you want to?”

“Yes, Evan.”

“Are you afraid of what needs to be done?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel it is wrong?”

“Yes, but it must be done. I’m afraid, but it must be done.”

“Do you want to think about it some more?”

“No. The sooner the better.”

“It is right, Swan.”

“Yes, Evan. It is right.”

The boy said the words in his sleep.

“What did he say?” the woman said.

“He said, ‘It is right.’ He learned to say it last night from Dade. I’ve promised to teach him the whole language. Had I not promised, Swan, this day might not have been possible. Time is slow. There is no end to it. It is wrong to end time, Swan. Your son asked me not to end time, and I could not refuse him.”

“My beautiful son,” the woman said.

The boy was the first to waken. He looked up and saw the sorrowful, troubled, luminous face of the woman who was his mother. He hugged the woman quickly, laughing and whispering in her ear, “It is right.” He turned to his father. “Mama doesn’t understand me any more, Papa.” He said the words in the language again. “What am I saying, Mama?”

“It is right,” the woman said.

“Do you know the language, too?” Red said.

“I’m learning it,” the woman said.

The girl woke up and stared at her father.

“I want to go in the water,” she said. “I want to go in the water all the time.”

“No, Eva,” the woman said.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes, yes,” the girl said.

“No, no, no, no, no, no,” the woman said.

They picked things up, went to the car, and began to drive home. This time they all sat up front, the boy beside the man, the girl on the woman’s lap.

The minute they were home Red wanted to telephone Flora Walz. Evan got the number for him.

“Flora?” he said.

“This is Fanny,” the voice on the line said.

“This is Red. Come on over and play.”

“Can’t,” Fanny said. “They’ve gone to Fresno in the car. We’re here with Mrs. Blotch.”

“Can I talk to Flora?”

He couldn’t wait to hear her voice. When he did, he lost his own.

“Come on over and play,” he said at last.

“Red?”

“Yes.”

“Red Nazarenus?”

“Yes. Come on over and play, Flora.”

“Can’t. We don’t have a car.”