The Laughing Matter Read online

  The Laughing Matter

  William Saroyan

  For Henry Saroyan, and Little Henry

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  A Note on the Author

  Chapter 1

  “I want a drink,” the boy said.

  “Me, too,” the girl said.

  “Well, we’re almost there,” the man said. “When we get there you can drink all you want.”

  “Is that the house?”

  “No, it’s a little farther on.”

  They walked on, moving down the dusty road beside the irrigation ditch choked with grass, the afternoon hot, the air full of the smell of leaves, water, fruit, and insects.

  The house was old, faded white, and foolish-looking, but that was the way they made them.

  “You’ve got the key?” the woman said.

  “Certainly I’ve got the key.”

  “Let’s see it.”

  “Well, if I didn’t have it,” the man said, “we’d get in all right, don’t worry about that.”

  He showed the key.

  “I suppose we had to walk.”

  “Didn’t you enjoy the walk?” the man said. “I did. What’s the good of being in the country if you don’t walk?”

  “A mile? After a five-hour train ride?”

  “Why not? You get settled. I’ll go back for the suitcases.”

  “I suppose you’ll walk?”

  “I will.”

  “With two heavy suitcases.”

  “They’re not heavy.”

  “Oh, take a taxi!”

  “I want to walk. Do you like the house?”

  “It doesn’t look like much from the outside,” the woman said.

  “Not you,” the man said. “Red. Do you like it?”

  “Isn’t it falling to pieces?” the boy said.

  “Yes, with laughter.”

  They went up the steps to the front porch, the man put the key into the lock, turned it, then pushed the door open. The boy turned to look again at the vines. He was the last to enter the house, which was dark and cool.

  “Where’s the water?” he said.

  “You can have some out of the tap right away,” the man said, “or you can wait a minute until I get the pump primed, and then drink some out of the earth.”

  “I’ll wait,” the boy said.

  They were soon in the yard, the pump was primed with water out of the barrel under the mouth of it, and then water was pouring out steadily, as the man pumped.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “We’re going to be here a while. Take off your shoes and walk around in the water.”

  The boy flung off his shoes and walked in the puddle.

  “O.K.,” the man said. “Now, duck your head under there and drink all you want.”

  “No cup?”

  “No. Watch me.”

  The man put his face alongside the water, and drank; after him the boy, getting his whole face wet. The girl and the woman came out of the house, the girl tried, and got her face wet, too.

  The girl removed her shoes and walked in the puddle with the boy. The man walked to the fig tree, took hold of a branch, stretched his body upon it, then lifted himself, the woman watching, the boy and the girl parading in the puddle. The man poked about in the tree and found four ripe figs, one of which he ate, peeling and all. He then peeled one and handed it to the woman, and peeled the others for the boy and the girl.

  “What is it?” the girl said.

  “Fig,” the man said. “Well, I’ll go get the suitcases. Sit around and talk.”

  He turned and wandered off, but there was the boy beside him.

  “I’ll go with you.”

  “It’s a mile, and a mile back.”

  “It’s the same place.”

  “Yes. The depot.”

  Chapter 2

  At the depot a man smiled at the boy and said to the man, “You’re Dade’s brother, aren’t you? I’m Warren Walz. I know this is your boy because he looks so much like you.”

  His father stood out on the platform in front of the tracks talking to Warren Walz, who wore a stiff straw hat. When he took it off Red saw that he had no hair on the top of his head.

  Over there was a locomotive. The man leaning out of it was looking straight at Red.

  “Hi,” Red said.

  “Is that your father?” the man said.

  “This one,” Red said.

  “That’s the one I meant,” the engineer said. “That other one’s got three girls.”

  “Smart aleck,” Walz said to Cody Bone, the engineer, “Cody, this is Dade’s brother, Evan.”

  “You the professor?”

  “Well, I’m at the university.”

  “What are you professor of?”

  “English.”

  “They got professors of that?”

  “They’ve got them of just about everything.”

  “They got professors of locomotives?”

  “No, but maybe they ought to.”

  “Get me in up there,” Cody said, “wherever it is.”

  “Stanford.”

  “Stanford? A young fellow like you?”

  “Forty-four.”

  “You don’t look any forty-four. Dade don’t look any fifty either, or whatever it is, and you don’t look any forty-four.”

  Cody Bone looked down at Red, who had walked to the engine and was looking straight up at him now.

  “Why is it hot and black?”

  “This is one of the old babies,” Cody said. “I’ve pushed this baby twenty-five years myself, right here in Clovis. You going to be a professor like your father?”

  “Yes.”

  “Hope you stay around awhile.”

  “Week.”

  “Well, you be sure and come up here and sit beside me before you go back to Stanford with your father.”

  The engineer looked over at the two men, saluted, and put the locomotive to work. Red watched it go. Far down the tracks he saw the big black baby come to three boxcars and bump them. He then saw the engine draw the three cars forward a hundred yards or so, switch across to another set of tracks, then hurry away. He watched until there was nothing more to see, except the vines spread out on either side of the tracks.

  “Red,” his father said. “You want to ride home in Mr. Walz’s car?”

  “Do you?”

  “Well, we’ve been invited to. It’s up to you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “He wants to walk,” the man said. “Thanks just the same.”

  “Well, at least let me take the suitcases.”

  “O.K., and thanks. I’ll see you when I get there.”


  “No,” Walz said. “I’ve got to get home, but I know May would love to come over some night and meet Mrs. Nazarenus and the kids. I mean, she’d like all of us to meet, and so would I.”

  “We would, too,” Red’s father said, “so make it tonight.”

  “I’ll leave them on the porch.”

  Walz picked up both suitcases and hurried around the depot to his car.

  “Are the bricks hot?” Evan said to the boy.

  “They’re not cold.”

  “Feet feel good?”

  “Yes. Now, look over there in the tracks. There’s grass there, too.”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Why is it everywhere?”

  They began to walk home, moving slowly and lazily.

  “It’s strong stuff,” the man said. “I was on a train once in France that stopped close to a castle somewhere. All solid rock. One rock was cracked. Out of the crack grass was growing straight up.”

  “How did it get there?”

  “The wind.”

  “The wind blew the grass into the cracked rock?”

  “Blew dust and stuff,” the man said, “and the seeds of grass. Rain got in among the stuff and seeds, and pretty soon green grass was growing out of the rock. And it was green.”

  “Real green?”

  “Yes. You like it around here?”

  “Yes, especially the grass.”

  “Did you like the fig?”

  “I ate them before.”

  “But not off a tree. Was it the same?”

  “No, it was better off the tree.”

  “You want to sit up with Cody in the locomotive sometime?”

  “Where will we go?”

  “Around the yards, I guess.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  Here was the town now, called Clovis. Here was an old man and an old woman in a carriage drawn by a horse.

  “How do you do,” Evan said, nodding to the old couple, who smiled and drove on.

  “Who are they?” Red said.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Doesn’t everybody know everybody?”

  “Not quite. The minute they meet, though, they almost know one another, whoever they are. It’s a matter of meeting them.”

  “I know them when I see them.”

  “Do you like them?”

  “Like them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I don’t know,” Red said. “I see them. I know them. I don’t know about liking them, though. Do you mean the way I like Mama and you?”

  “What about your sister?”

  “And her? Do you mean that way, or something else?”

  “I mean any way.”

  “I like to see them, I think.”

  “But you do like Cody Bone?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he’s—— Well, don’t you see, I don’t know why I like him. I like grass, but I don’t know why. Do you have to know why?”

  “No. Do you like trees?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Vines?”

  “Of course.”

  “What about the sun?”

  “I love the sun.”

  “That’s a strong word.”

  “I love the sun best of all.”

  The sun was over into the late afternoon now. It was closer than he’d ever before known it, and hotter. The bottom of his feet loved it in the soft dust of the road.

  “Look over there, Papa,” he said. “There’s Mama and Eva barefooted, walking down the road to meet us.”

  “You look good, Mama,” he said when the four of them met in the road.

  “I do?” the woman said.

  “You look very good.”

  “How about you?” the woman said to the man.

  “He speaks for me all right,” the man said.

  Chapter 3

  The smell of coffee, leather, and rocks was in the house. Red found the coffee. It wasn’t in the kitchen where you’d expect it to be. It was in the parlor, in an open jar on the bookshelf, powdered.

  “What’s this coffee doing on the bookshelf?” he said.

  “Dade doesn’t like to get things in perfect order,” the man said. “Having things in perfect order makes him more unhappy than ever.”

  “Is he unhappy?”

  “You remember your father’s brother, don’t you?”

  “Yes, but is he unhappy?”

  “Well, perhaps not.”

  “Is he? Tell me.”

  “He doesn’t care that he is, so perhaps he isn’t.”

  “If he’s unhappy, why is he unhappy?”

  “It happens.”

  There is something to know, Red thought. There is something more to know about every little thing there is. First you see it, then you know something about it, and then there’s something more to know about it, and if you can’t find out what it is, you’re unhappy.

  “Where’s the roses?” he said.

  “Roses?” the woman said. “What roses?”

  “The roses I smell. Don’t you smell roses, Mama?”

  “Do you smell roses?” the woman asked the man.

  The man sniffed.

  “Is that roses?” he said.

  The woman sniffed.

  “I don’t smell roses,” she said. “I can’t smell worth a damn, anyway. Never could.” She turned to the little girl. “Do you smell roses, Sexy?”

  “Eva,” the girl said.

  “Do you smell roses, Eva?” the man said.

  The girl sniffed.

  “No, Papa,” she said. “And thank you for speaking to me so nice.”

  “Oh, that’s all right,” the man said.

  The girl turned to her mother. “My name is Eva Nazarenus,” she said.

  “I gave you the name,” the woman said. “I ought to know what it is.”

  “Then why do you say Sexy?”

  “It’s your nickname, the way Red is your brother’s.”

  “His name is Rex.”

  “All right,” the woman said. “Everybody wants to be somebody nowadays. Nobody’s willing to be nobody any more. You’re Eva Nazarenus. Your brother’s Rex Nazarenus. Your father’s Evan Nazarenus.”

  “And my mother is Swan Nazarenus.”

  “That’s right,” the woman said. “Now, go see if you can find the roses.”

  “I don’t want the roses.”

  “What do you want?”

  “Nothing.”

  “How about a boy to love you? A prince?”

  “I don’t want anything.”

  “How about some lemonade?”

  “No.”

  “Fudge? I’ll make some myself, and you can watch and help.”

  “Fudge?”

  “Yes, Sexy.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Why?”

  “You said Sexy again.”

  “I apologize.”

  “What’s Sexy mean?” the girl said.

  “It means beautiful,” the woman said. “Doesn’t it?” she said to the man.

  The man looked at the little girl sitting on the floor with the three books that had quickly bored her.

  “Yes, it does,” he said.

  “Then why don’t you say it?”

  “All right,” the man said. “You are beautiful, Sexy.”

  “But not Mama,” the girl said. “She’s got to say Eva Nazarenus. Then I’ll help her make fudge.”

  The girl got up and took her mother’s hand and together they went to the kitchen door. There the girl stopped to speak to her father.

  “We’re girls,” she said.

  The woman laughed, and the girls went into the kitchen.

  “The whole house smells good,” Red said. “But I can’t find the roses.”

  “They’re somewhere,” the man said.

  “I know. I smell them.”

  He’s like a red setter, the woman thought. He smells everything there is.

  “Will you she
ll some walnuts for us?” the woman called out from the kitchen.

  “No,” the man said.

  “Will you, Red?”

  “No, Mama. I’ve got to find the roses.”

  “Why, Evan? Why does he have to find the roses?”

  “Because they’re here somewhere and he wants to know where.”

  “Oh,” the woman said.

  “I’ll find them, Mama,” the boy said. “I think they’re old and dried, pressed in a book somewhere.”

  The woman stepped into the parlor, holding a bowl, the girl standing beside her, holding a wooden spoon.

  “Is it possible he’s right?”

  “It certainly is.”

  “Well, how would he guess such a thing?”

  “He didn’t guess. He’s seen roses pressed inside a book.”

  “Have you, Red?”

  “Sure, Mama.”

  “Where?”

  “Home. Two white roses pressed in the back of the dictionary, four little red ones in the back of the Bible.”

  “Who put them there?”

  “You did! Don’t you remember the things you do? Don’t you remember when I found them and asked you about them long ago?”

  “What did you do it for, Mama?” the girl said.

  “Oh, I don’t know. I guess I found some roses in a book once and decided someday I’d do that, too.”

  They went back into the kitchen, but the man could hear them fussing and talking, and so could the boy. Every now and then the man and the boy stopped everything else just to listen. They knew the girls were talking for them to hear, and the girls knew they were being heard. They knew the boys were listening. They were having fun. It was fine to be in the country, in a house on a vineyard, a house that was old but clean and cool.

  “Here they are,” Red said. “Not in books. Just this little bunch of them tied together and dropped in this silver bowl over the fireplace. They were red, I think. Very red, I mean, not the color they are now.” He walked to the kitchen. “Do you want to smell them, Mama?”

  The woman looked at the roses.

  “I’m going to cry,” she said.

  “You’re not!”

  “I am!”

  She went to the piano in the parlor, sat on the bench, and wept, the boy following her and watching her face, the girl standing beside the boy, the man getting up from his chair.

  “You’re not crying, are you, Mama?” Red said. “Mama’s not crying, is she, Papa?”

  The boy put his arms around his mother and said, “Mama, for God’s sake, you’re not crying, are you?”