The Laughing Matter (7 page)

“I drove the locomotive,” Red said. “I drove it myself.
Cody Bone sat beside me, but I was the one who drove it. Wasn't I, Papa?”

“Yes, you were.”

“Yes, he was,” Eva said. “I saw him. He went up with the man, and he was the one, Mama. Yes, he was. Weren't you?”

“Ah, Eva,” Red said, “I just
said
I was.” He turned away from Eva to the woman, who was standing now. “I wish you'd seen me, Mama. Papa saw me. I wish you'd seen me, too.”

“The man phoned,” the woman said, her voice itself saying
help me
.

“What man?”

“I forget his name. He said he was sorry but the children wanted to go away.”

“I don't understand.”

“The one you asked to dinner. He said they couldn't come.”

“Who is it, Papa?” Red said.

“Warren Walz,” the man said.

“Yes, that's the one,” the woman said. “He said they'd love us to go to their house sometime.” She looked at him, to ask for help again, but again he couldn't look at her. He'd glanced at her when he'd come in, and then he'd not looked at her again. “I've got lunch for the children on the table,” she said. “I wonder if they both shouldn't have naps after lunch. It's a hot day and so many things have happened, I wonder if—— Wouldn't you like to lie down and rest after lunch, Red?”

“Well,” Red said. “Well, Mama, I didn't think of it, but I
could
go to my room and close the door and just be there a while, I guess. I
might
lie down, too. I don't know.”

“I thought,” she said to the man, “perhaps we could speak quietly while they rested.”

The boy watched them, feeling, but not understanding, what was going on. The smell of the locomotive was still with him—the smell of coal, fire, steam, and steel—but he could still smell the rocks, too, only he hadn't found any rocks in the house. He smelled something else now, too. It was something that didn't come from things but from people. It wasn't a glad thing at all.

“I thought——” she said.

“How about washing up, Red?” the man said. “You, too, Eva.”

Red and Eva went off together to the bathroom.

They were alone in the parlor, the woman waiting for him to look at her, but he couldn't. All he could do was stand there. He couldn't go, or talk.

“I thought——” she said again.

“You didn't think anything,” he said. He spoke quietly, perhaps because there was no other way to talk to her now, or because he didn't want the children to hear.

“You didn't think anything, so just shut up.”

She went to the kitchen, and he went out to the front porch, but that was where she'd told him, so he went down the steps, across the lawn, and then into the vineyard. The vines he saw were ribiers. The grapes would be ready in another couple of weeks. Some of them were ready now. They were a magnificent grape, big and black. He pushed leaves aside to look at some of the bunches that were hidden and found a number that were ready and just about perfect. The leaves were drying now, but they were still green, especially the shaded ones.

Have pity, he thought. What's the good of not having pity?

I'll have Dade find somebody to help her, he thought. He'll know somebody. Somebody in San Francisco. I'll take her there. I can't help her. Whoever helps her, he won't know who she is, he won't know who I am, and he won't know why he's helping her, he'll just help her. He's helped others. He does it every day. It happens every day. It happens to all kinds of people.

He wandered among the vines and came at last to the end of the vineyard, bordered by a row of alternating pomegranate and olive trees. The pomegranates were still small, their casings still whole, not burst as they would be when they ripened. They were red, their crowns small and perfect, the spears straight now, not curved as they would be later on. The olives were small and green, the branches heavy with them. He wandered down the row until he came to another end of the sixty acres. The border here was an irrigation ditch only about a fifth full, the water moving slowly. He sat down on the bank of the ditch, looking at the weeds growing in the bottom of the ditch, growing in the water, being bent a little by the slow flowing of the water.

We couldn't wait to have the third, he thought. Well, here's the third. If it's not mine, it's
hers
, it's at least
half
Red's,
half
Eva's. What do I do about it? What do I do about
her?
Go away? Do I go back to Paterson? Do I go to the slums we lived in, take a furnished room, write the story of my death, writing it until I am dead? What do I do? Do I pick up Red and Eva and go back to the house in Palo Alto and tell her to go to her man? Do I ask her to introduce me to him, so I can speak to him about what's
happened? Do I say to him, “What do you want to do? Do you want to start a family with her? Is that it?” What do I do? Do I speak calmly, and then stop his breathing?

He got up, wandered back to the house, searched through the fig tree, picked a dozen, and took them into the house. He put them on the tile table in the kitchen, then went into the parlor. She was lying on the sofa again. He saw her sit up, and he turned away.

“What do I do?” he said.

“The woman just called,” she said. “She was very nice. She said they
would
come, after all. The little girl has a cold. They decided it would be better not to go. They'll be here at six. It's not a bad cold, it's just that they thought a trip wouldn't help it any.”

“It must have meant a lot to you,” he said. “It must have meant more than anything else in the world, more than Red, more than Eva, more than——”

“If they're coming,” she said, “I think we'd better try to talk, first. I don't want anything like what happened last night to happen again. I slammed the door in her face. I don't want to be rude to people who are trying to be nice.”

“You don't?”

“We'd better try to talk, first. The sooner the better. I know you can't look at me.”

“You do?”

“I found a stick. I'd heard about it at school. I couldn't do it, though. I can't be brutal.”

“You can't?”

“I'd like to think that I might tell you—— I'd like to think you might——”

“Might
what?”

“Understand.”

“No,” he said. “No, I don't understand. You
could
tell me, but I wouldn't understand. I'll listen if it'll do you any good, but I won't understand. I went away for two months. You hadn't been feeling too well. I thought being alone would do you good. Your letters said it
was
doing you good. It must have meant a lot. Are you in love with him? Is he in love with you?”

“I don't know,” the woman said.

The man leaped upon her, pushing her head, even in helpless anger trying not to strike her face, and wanting to stop. He couldn't, though. Remembering Red, even, he couldn't.

The woman had fallen, first to the sofa, then to the floor. He was bent over her, unable to stop.

He couldn't stop even when he heard Red shout at him, “You stop that, Papa! God damn you, Papa! You stop that!”

He couldn't stop even when Red was striking him in the back and sobbing, “God damn you, Papa! I'm going to kill you, Papa!”

The big girl was Fay. She was twelve and beginning to be like a woman. Red liked her. She seemed scared, and he wanted to tell her not to be. Eva liked her, too, because she
was
almost a woman and yet still a girl.

The middle girl was Fanny. She was nine and more like a boy than a girl. Red liked her because it was interesting to watch her do things the way a boy did them. Eva didn't like Fanny very much because Fanny might do
anything
, and was loud instead of thoughtful.

The youngest girl was Flora. She was almost seven and
beautiful. Even when she smiled and Red saw the same front tooth gone out of her mouth that was gone out of his, he thought she was beautiful. She was very quiet but not frightened of anything, and she seemed able to stay beautiful no matter what she was doing. Red didn't simply like Flora, he
loved
her. Every time he looked at her, he laughed. Eva loved Flora, too.

“She's my best friend,” Eva said to Red.

Red had found Eva in hide-and-seek and he'd brought her back to the fig tree. Now, he'd go back and find one or another of the three sisters, or two of them in one place, or all of them.

“You're It next,” Red said, “So stay here while I go get the next one.”

“It's dark,” Eva said.

“It's
not
dark,” Red said. “It's because you're standing in the shade of the fig tree. Stand over there by the water pump.”

“I don't want to stand alone,” Eva said. “Go get Flora, my best friend, so I won't be alone.”

Eva stood by the water pump. Red went off to find somebody else. They might be anywhere. They might be on one side of the house or on the other, or out front where the fathers and mothers were, or they might be in the vineyard, or behind the garage, or behind the barn.

He went swiftly, first around the garage, then around the barn. When he came around the barn Fanny was with him, the two of them racing for the fig tree. It looked as if Fanny was going to get there first, but she tripped and fell. Red stopped to help her up. The instant she was on
her feet, though, she ran to the tree, and got there first, laughing at Red for helping her.

“Well,” Red said, “I thought you were
hurt
. Weren't you?”

“I never get hurt,” Fanny said.

“Your lip's bleeding,” Eva said.

Fanny sucked the cut, then spit blood like a man spitting tobacco juice.

“Let it bleed,” she said. “What do I care?”

Red went off to get one more of the sisters.

“If you cracked your head open,” Eva said, “would you laugh?”

“Yes,” Fanny said. “I cracked it open last year.”

“Where?” Eva said. “Let me see.”

The older girl bent down to show the place on the top of her head.

“Here,” she said. “See where the doctor sewed it up?”

“Yes,” Eva said. “Did you laugh?”

“Sure,” Fanny said. “Nothing hurts me.”

“Hurts
me
,” Eva said.

“That's because you're little.”

“I'm getting bigger, though,” Eva said. “From eating. Figs, you know. I ate six after my nap. Red went up the tree and got them for me. Eating figs makes you big.”

“Not
figs,”
Fanny said. “Potatoes and meat and things like that make you big.”

“Don't
you
eat figs?” Eva said.

“I
hate
figs,” Fanny said. She sucked the cut and spit again.

“I wish I could do that.”

“Can't you even
spit?”

“No,” Eva said. “I can't smoke, either.”

“Smoke?” Fanny said.

“Cigarettes,” Eva said. “I tried once. Papa let me, because I wanted to. I can't smoke cigarettes.”

“Oh,” Fanny said. “Can you
drink?”

“Not whiskey,” Eva said. “I tried that, too. Papa let me. I can drink wine with water in it, but I don't like wine with water in it.”

“No,” Fanny said, “it's nicer without water, isn't it?”

“I don't know,” Eva said. “I don't like it
without
water, either.”

They saw Red coming from the vineyard, far ahead of Fay, who
was
running, but not trying very hard to get to the tree first.

“O.K.,” Red said. “That's three of you. One more.”

“You didn't beat me to the tree, though,” Fanny said.

“I would have if I didn't stop to pick you up,” Red said.

“No, you wouldn't,” Fanny said. “I would have beat you a mile.”

“Ah,” Red said.

But Fanny
was
funny. He stopped to think where to go to find Flora. Where would Flora go to hide? He was glad that she was the last one to find. By now she might be far away, to make him hunt all the harder. He decided to cut across to the other side of the vineyard.

He ran swiftly, looking as he went. Two quail splattered their wings and flew off, slowing him down to watch a moment. Then he saw a big jack rabbit lope off slowly, stopping to turn and look, loping a little farther.

He was stopped anyway, watching the rabbit, so he picked a bunch of the black grapes he saw on the vine, and
began to eat them, the rabbit watching. There were big seeds in the grapes, which he rounded up in his mouth, and spit out.

He remembered one of his father's friends, a dark man, visiting the house in Palo Alto. Dade had sent them a box of these same black grapes. His mother brought a plate of them to the man, who began to eat them, only he didn't spit out the seeds. He chewed them. Red heard him chewing them. The man had known his father's father in the old country. He didn't speak very good English. He talked with Evan in another language, a language Red wished he knew. Red asked the man why he didn't spit out the seeds. The man said, “They are too small, my boy. I have no time.” Red liked the man, the way he talked, the noise he made when he ate the grapes, grinding the seeds and swallowing them. The man ate the whole bunch, as if it was something he
had
to do. Then he put the naked stalk on the plate, handed it to Red's mother, and said, “Thank you, Swan Nazarenus.”

Red ate nine or ten grapes, the rabbit went off, and he remembered he had Flora still to find. He cut through the vines to the right, seeing far off the banks of an irrigation ditch. He might as well go there, for if she wasn't anywhere around, he'd be alone a moment. He'd have a look at the grass and weeds in the ditch. When he reached the ditch, he saw Flora sitting on the bank with her shoes and stockings off, cooling her feet in the water.