William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

Dade waited for the break, but it didn’t come. He waited for his brother to cry, so he could let go of him, but his brother wouldn’t cry, wouldn’t stop being ready to kill—himself, Dade, anybody . When he saw the ambulance coming up the road he let go of Evan, struck him under the chin, lifted him and took him into the house, to his own room, and put him down on the bed there.

He was at the door to let them in. While they were bringing in the stretcher he telephoned Altoun’s office and spoke to the doctor.

“I’m reporting it as a heart attack,” the man said in their own language. “I’m sorry. I think you’d better look after your brother.”

The ambulance men carried her out of the house. At the door Dade told them to take her to the undertaking parlor in Madera. He then telephoned the place and told the man not to touch her until he called again.

Evan Nazarenus came out of Dade’s room just as Dade was hanging up. Dade leaped at him, knocked him down, and bit his wrist until the fingers loosened and the pistol slipped out of his hand. He lifted the pistol and struck Evan across the temple with the butt of it. He got up and tore off his shirt to find out where the wound was. It was where it had been years ago. He ran to his room with the pistol, got the other two, and put them where he knew his brother would never find them. He threw a cup of cold water on his brother’s face, and after a moment Evan Nazarenus opened his eyes.

“Help me get this slug out again, will you?” he said. His brother got up slowly.

“I’m sorry, Dade,” he said. “I’m sorry.” He began to cry at last. “My dirty luck,” he said. “My dirty life.” He looked at his brother. “I’m sorry, Dade.”

They went to the kitchen.

With his good arm Dade got water into a pan to boil, then dumped the stuff out of the case into the pan. He took the towel away from the wound.

“All right now,” he said. “Get in there and get it out.”

“I’d better get you some aspirin first,” his brother said.

“No, just make it fast,” Dade said. “She’s at a place in Madera. Patch this up and we’ll go there, and try to think what we’re going to do next.”

“You’d better get to bed,” Evan said.

“Get the slug out,” Dade said.

Even drove to Madera. Dade sat beside him, smoking one cigarette after another. On the way Evan stopped the car.

“I want to go out and walk in that vineyard,” he said.

Dade watched him go. His brother examined a vine, pushing aside the new canes, the new leaves, to see the vine itself, and the grapes ripening on it. He went deeper into the vineyard to examine another vine, then turned to stare at the house. He stood staring at it a long time. When he came back he was holding a bunch of Red Emperors.

“He’s got a fine vineyard there,” Evan said. “A fine house, too. We were going to look for a place of our own. Swan liked the idea. Walz and I were going to look at a few places this afternoon.” He took a grape off the bunch and ate it, then another. “This might have been one of the places we’d look at.” He got back into the car and held the bunch out to Dade, who broke off an upper stem with a dozen grapes attached to it, and ate the grapes. Evan began to drive again, staring at the house and the vines of the vineyard as he drove by.

“She begged me not to make her do this,” he said. “She told me again and again in a hundred different ways that she was scared. I didn’t believe her. I wouldn’t believe her. For God’s sake, Dade, what difference would it have made? Other animals don’t bother about things like that. Why do we have to bother? Or go mad, or kill ourselves, or kill one another? Who do we think we are, anyway? I’ve killed my wife, Dade, I’ve killed Swan, I’ve killed Red’s mother, Eva’s mother. She begged me, but I wouldn’t listen to her. I just wouldn’t listen, that’s all. Who, me? Evan Nazarenus? No. You just don’t do that, that’s all. You’re a man, and you don’t do that. You’re the animal that lives by moral law, and you don’t do that. You go mad, by the moral law. You kill, by the moral law. Who, me? Let a thing like that happen to Evan Nazarenus? Never. That’s all right for animals, because they don’t know any better, but it’s not all right for me. I live by the moral law. I know right from wrong, and it’s not right enough to live, to give life, to protect life. It’s not nearly right enough. Anybody who is mine must be mine alone, because I have pride, and I’ve taken a long time to establish that anything that hurts my pride is wrong. It’s just wrong, that’s all. I won’t stand for it. I won’t stand for it in my wife, in the mother of my children. I’ll kill her first. I’ll kill myself first. I’ll lull my children first. My pride is not to be taken from me. What difference would it have made who the father happened to be? Swan would be the mother, wouldn’t she? Swan would be alive, wouldn’t she? Swan would be Swan, wouldn’t she? What’s the matter with us, Dade?”

“It was an accident,” Dade said. “When we get through in Madera I want Doctor Altoun to come back. I’ll tell him I shot myself by accident. You’ve got to look after the kids. You’ve got to tell them Swan’s gone to visit her family.”

“She’s got no family,” Evan said. “She’s got an aunt in Philadelphia that she lived with until she was seventeen. She’s never had parents or a home. I don’t even know her aunt’s name or address. It’s only the past few days I’ve discovered she’s been looking for parents and a home all her life. That was the idea of the vineyard—to get her a home and a family—if not parents, at least children—they’re parents, too—and a husband who could love her the way she is. What good is love if it isn’t entire? She begged me, but I wouldn’t listen to her. I’m sorry, Dade. I’ll tell the kids she’s gone to Philadelphia to visit her aunt. I’ll get you to your bed as quickly as possible.”

He was driving very swiftly now.

“Less than twelve hours ago,” he said, “Swan was crying, then laughing. She was laughing because she wanted us to be together. Once more. One last time. I should have known from that alone. I should have known it wouldn’t do. It might do for anybody else, but it wouldn’t do for her. Swan didn’t need to die. I killed her, that’s all. My pride killed her. It killed the mother of Red and Eva. So now I’ve got my pride.”

“It might have happened, anyhow,” Dade said.

“Not if I loved her,” Evan said. “She was mad all right, but which of us isn’t? I’m sorry, Dade. I might have killed you. Look at my kids. They were born out of Swan. They’ll never see their brothers and sisters now. I killed their mother and their brothers and sisters because I couldn’t let her have a son of her own.”

“She didn’t want a son of her own,” Dade said.

“She didn’t, for my pride,” Evan said. “She didn’t, hoping to get back my small, cheap love. She could have lived for years, except for hoping to live with me on my proud, cheap terms. She could have had one son of her own among the sons and daughters that would have been ours together, couldn’t she?”

“No,” Dade said. “No, she couldn’t. Get that straight. Get it straight once and for all. Get it straight that an accident has killed Swan. The accident of her own nature, the accident of yours, the same accident that sooner or later maims, maddens, and kills everybody. Get that straight and take it from there. Your own accident has already maimed and maddened you. See if you can keep it from doing anything to Red and Eva.”

“How do I do that?”