William Saroyan - The Laughing Matter

“Yes, Dade.”

“I’ll be looking for a place here. You look for one in Paterson. If you find one, and want to live there, I’ll bring the kids on the train. I may stay there myself, but I don’t think so. My kids were born in the house on the vineyard. I expect to see them there again someday. Three or four more years, I think. I’ve planted trees and vines for each of them. I want to show each of them their own trees and vines. We’ve lost Swan, Evan. We’ve lost her , too. Go talk to the man.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Evan said.

When they reached home Evan telephoned Dr. Altoun.

“My brother has had an accident,” he said in their language. “He has a serious bullet wound in his shoulder. I’ve removed the slug, but I think you ought to look after him.”

“I understand,” the man said. “I’ll be there.”

Dr. Altoun worked swiftly while Evan sat on the railing of the porch.

“You are very ill,” he said to Dade, “but as you are the older brother perhaps you ought to read this note. I think it would be best if you informed your brother, or not, as you see fit.”

Dade took the note and read it:

My darling Evan, please don’t hate me. I told you I would do anything for Red and Eva. Well, this is everything, and I am doing it for them because I love them so much, my darling. This is easy. I planned to do this someday anyway. At least I’ve given you Red and Eva. That’s something, isn’t it, my darling? I’m not telling you any more, so that you can’t tell Red and Eva any more. Don’t feel sorry for me. Be a good father to Red and Eva. Let them love me. Let them think well of me. I love you, my darling. Don’t ever forget me. Swan .

“Thank you very much,” Dade said to the man. “Do you understand this note?”

“I understand that sometime last night she took an overdose of sleeping pills,” the man said.

“Why?” Dade said.

“I know nothing about her,” the man said, “but I’d say her physical health was quite good.”

“Her physical health?”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean?”

“Many strange personalities,” the man said, “under certain circumstances, such as marriage and family, can conceal the truth about themselves for years. They can be extremely attractive, intelligent, apparently reasonable, even brilliant.”

“Are you trying to say she was crazy?”

“The word is meaningless,” the man said. “I studied the note in my office a long time. You will notice it’s been crumpled. I didn’t crumple it. I found it crumpled under her bed. She may have written many such notes during her marriage and destroyed them at the last minute. It is quite likely your brother had a difficult marriage, for it is not easy to establish security with such a personality. Sooner or later, either both become—well, unstable—and end in violence of some sort, or the marriage ends. With one of us , it would take a great deal to end a marriage. She must have decided to spare him and the children, for unless she removed herself absolutely, she knew they would all sooner or later be overtaken by violence, for your brother isn’t the kind of man who would deny his children their mother—for any reason. She would have to go off with the children, and she could not be their mother without his help. Or she would have to end. She decided to end. Such people are capable of any kind of behavior. She did not die of the operation. I have reported it as a heart attack, which it was, in a way.”

“Poor Swan,” Dade said.

“Will you tell your brother?”

“No.”

“Do you want the note?”

“No.”

“You recognize the handwriting?”

“Yes.”

“May I keep the note in my files? No one will ever know of it.”

“Of course.”

“I’m going to give you something to put you into deep sleep,” Dr. Altoun said. “I must ask that you stay in bed until I tell you to get up. I will look in again tonight, and I will come by twice a day thereafter for a week or so. You were cleaning your gun, is that right?”

“Yes,” Dade said. “I’ve got to be up by noon Thursday. At least for a few hours. I’ve got to go with my brother to the burial.”

“We’ll see,” the man said, “but in any case you must come back immediately afterwards and go to bed.”

“Yes,” Dade said.

“Do you talk in your sleep?”

“No. Why?”

“You have forgotten the note?”

“Yes,” Dade said. “Will you ask my brother to come here, please?”

The man went out to the front porch.

“Your brother would like to see you a moment before he goes to sleep,” Dr. Altoun said.

Evan and Dr. Altoun went into Dade’s room.

“I’ve got to sleep now, Evan,” Dade said. “Mary Koury’s number and address are on the list over the phone. She doesn’t understand English very well. Tell her I’d like her to come and stay here a few days. On your way to get her pick up the children. Tell Warren and May that Swan died of a heart attack. Tell them I’ve had a foolish little accident and must stay in bed. Take care of everybody until I get on my feet again, will you?”

“Sure, Dade.” Evan turned to the doctor to let him know that he would.

“I’ll come by around nine tonight,” Dr. Altoun said to Dade. “You’ll be awake then. We’ll see about some food, and then I’ll get you back to sleep again.” He turned to Evan. “That’s a nasty bump on your forehead.” He brought a tube of something out of his satchel and handed it to Evan. “Rub some of this on it.”

They left the room, and the man closed the door behind him.

“He’s a good deal sicker than he knows,” Dr. Altoun said. “Please let him rest. You’d better get some rest yourself. Do you want a sleeping pill?”

“No,” Evan said. “I don’t use them. I’ll sleep tonight after the kids get to bed.”

“Yes,” the man said.

Dr. Altoun went out to his car and drove off. When he had gone about a mile he stopped the car and examined the note again. Then he studied the bottle again. There had been two pills in it, one of which he had instantly examined and recognized. The bottle might have had twenty or more in it. Three of them might have stopped the heart of many people, five of them of most, and seven or eight of any. He put the stuff back into his pocket and drove on.

Dr. Altoun was at the house in Clovis at noon on Thursday. He worked on the wound a half hour, then said, “You must not get up.”

“I’ve got to get up,” Dade said. “Give me something to keep me going for three or four hours.”

“Listen to me,” the man said in their own language. “You are very ill.”

“I know,” Dade said.

“Getting up for only one hour,” the man said, “might not do.”

“I understand,” Dade said. “We are a family. We have lost a member of the family. We are my brother and myself. The children cannot go. They are not to know. My brother cannot go alone. His family must go with him. I understand, but I must go with my brother to the burial of his wife, the mother of his children. You yourself know that I must go.”

“If something were to happen to you, there would have to be an inquiry,” the man said. “Death from a bullet wound would have to be investigated. I am not thinking of myself. I am thinking of the children. Under other circumstances you would be in a hospital. You are to decide for yourself, but I must tell you the truth. I have already given you three transfusions.”

“I must go with my brother.”

“Very well,” the man said. “I will give you another transfusion now, then you will dress and go. You will be there at two. You must be back by four at the latest. I will be here, waiting. It may be necessary for me to spend the night.”