William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

“Thanks,” Evan said.

He walked out of the house, Walz coming after him quickly.

The man in Palo Alto hung up, began to walk the length of the small apartment, saying to himself, On top of everything else, this .

Evan was his friend. He had, in fact, no other friend. He was the kind of man people seemed to dislike on sight. He seemed to make them uncomfortable.

He’d felt that he must speak to her once more. He’d wanted to feel before leaving for New York that he need not feel guilty any more.

His bags were packed, he’d been at the corner drugstore for a sandwich and a cup of coffee, he’d decided he must telephone her. He’d heard the number being rung, but was relieved and grateful when no one had answered. He had tried, at any rate.

He’d gone back to his apartment to pick up his bags. He’d telephoned for a cab, and the girl had said a driver would be there in five or ten minutes.

Then the telephone bell had rung and he’d listened to Evan Nazarenus.

Now, there was a knock at the door.

“Taxi,” the driver said.

He opened the door and handed the man a dollar.

“I’m not quite ready yet,” he said. “Can you come back in a half hour?”

“Sure,” the driver said.

He closed the door and sat at his desk. He found that he’d left a lined tablet in the drawer, brought out his fountain pen, and began to write a letter. When the taxi driver knocked at the door again he let him in, they picked up his bags, and went downstairs to the street.

In the taxi the driver said, “The depot?”

But when they came to the depot the man said, “Could you drive me to San Francisco?”

“Sure,” the driver said. “It’ll come to around fifteen dollars, though.”

“O.K.”

He deposited his bags in two of the dime lockers at the Ferry Building, having an hour to kill, put the keys in his pocket, went across the street to a saloon, had a drink, then another, and another, until his train was gone. He went out and got into a taxi.

“The St. Francis,” he said.

“My bags are at the depot,” he said at the desk. “I’ll get them tomorrow.”

He dropped the letter in the mailbox, went to his room, and fell on the bed.

“Listen to me,” he heard Evan say. “Listen to me carefully.”

He listened for hours listening in his drunken sleep.

The picnic at Skaggs Bridge was the best Red had ever been to. Everybody went into the river, to wade and splash and swim. The floor of the river was smooth firm sand. Around sundown Cody and Bart came in Bart’s car. They put on their swimming trunks and got into the river, too. When it was evening everybody left the river and got dressed. A fire was made and hot dogs were roasted. The smell of the burning leaves, twigs, and logs was very good. Everybody ate and drank, and then Evan, Warren, Cody, and Bart sang old songs until it was dark.

Red stood with Flora, watching the fire die down.

“We’re going home Friday,” Red said.

“Yes, I know,” Flora said.

“We’re coming back Christmas, I think.”

“Are you going to stay at Dade’s?”

“Yes. My father wants to work on the vineyard with his brother. He has a long vacation then.”

“How long?”

“Until after New Year’s Day,” Red said. “I’m coming, too.”

“Everything’s different then,” Flora said. “The trees and vines are bare then. It’s cold then. It’s winter.”

“Winter’s good, too,” Red said.

“We don’t have snow,” Flora said, “but everything gets awful cold.”

They talked until it was time to get back into Dade’s car and go home.

“We’re certainly going to hate to see you go,” Warren Walz said.

“Why don’t you come and live in Clovis?” May said.

“Why don’t we, Swan?” Evan said.

“To make a living,” Walz said, “you’d need at least thirty acres, but vineyards aren’t nearly as high as they used to be. For about three thousand cash I think you could get a pretty good place. You’d owe about nine thousand, but with luck you’d pay that off in four or five years. It’s not a bad life.”

“I’d like a vineyard all right, if Swan and Red and Eva would, too,” Evan said.

“I would,” Swan said.

Red and Eva said they would, too.

“The house might not be very good,” Walz said, “but instead of moving right in, you could go back for another semester or two. In the meantime, Dade and I could be having the house put in order. When it was ready, you could move in. A year or two later you could have a new house built. A real ranch house. Ours is just an old house that we’ve kept up. It’s forty years old.”

“Is it that old?” Swan said. “It seems so new and nice.”

“It was always a good house,” May said. “It’s just that we didn’t have it built ourselves. We’ve had it since before Fay. If it wasn’t ours at first, it certainly is by now. I’ll show you around when we get there.”

“If you’d like me to,” Warren said, “I’ll find out what’s for sale around Clovis, and whenever you feel like it, we’ll go out and have a look at a couple of places.”

“Will you do that?” Evan said. “Swan, I like this idea. Are you sure you like it?”

“I’d love to live here,” Swan said. “After all, you’ve been at the university almost six years.”

“I’m fed up with the university,” Evan said. “I’d like to live on a vineyard.”

“I would, too,” Swan said.

“Would you , Eva?” Evan said.

“Yes, Papa,” Eva said. “Especially if we had a watermelon patch.”

“We’d have that,” Evan said. He turned to Walz. “Will you look into what’s for sale?”

“I ought to have a pretty good idea about the whole thing by noon tomorrow,” Walz said. “Why not have lunch with us? After lunch you and I can go along and examine the places. When we’ve found something that looks O.K., you can take Swan and the children to have a look at it, too.”

“All right, Swan?” Evan said.

“Perfect,” Swan said.

May Walz showed them through the house, everybody trailing along. It was a fine house of two floors, four bedrooms upstairs. It was cool, clean, nicely furnished and nicely kept up.

When they got home it was almost ten. Swan got the children to bed, then sat down in the dark parlor. Evan was out on the front porch, sitting on the railing. He sat there almost half an hour, then came in.

“Do you really like the idea of a vineyard?” he said.

“It’ll be a perfect place for you and the children,” Swan said.

“What do you mean?”

“I want to be there with you,” Swan said. “More than anything in the world I do. I want more and more of us to be there together, Evan, but I know I’m not going to be.”

“Why not?”

“You won’t do anything to hurt the children,” Swan said, “and I won’t, either, Evan.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I know what happened this afternoon,” Swan said. “And I know how hard you tried to keep the way you felt from the children. You couldn’t keep it from me , though. You couldn’t keep it from me all afternoon. You can’t keep it from me now. I know you’re trying, Evan—for the children. I believe in trying. I think it’s right to try. But how much of a woman can I be, how much of a mother, if every time you remember what’s happened you are driven mad, and can hold the family together only by trying desperately, so desperately that I am filled with fear?”

“I’m sorry about that,” Evan said. “I couldn’t help it.”

“I’ve hurt you deeply,” Swan said. “I’ve hurt you too deeply. It would be disastrous to insist that you love me because you love the children. It would destroy you. I’m terribly frightened. I have never seen you as mad—as insane , Evan—as you were this afternoon. You were insisting—you were insisting , Evan—that you love me, because unless you did insist, you would have to do something that would mean the loss to the children of their father, or their mother, or both of them. Or perhaps even worse things. I’m deeply frightened. I was frightened for myself until this afternoon. Now, I’m frightened for you, and for them. You will never forget what has happened. I can never be the same to you. If you were another kind of man—perhaps a man like Warren Walz—I could be the same to you again, or something better, even. What’s going to happen to us, Evan? I love the idea of a vineyard, but what about you and me?”