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By William Saroyan
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About the author: William Saroyan (1908-1981) grew up in Fresno, California, as part of an Armenian family that had migrated to the United States. He began writing as a teenager and soon sold his first short story to a Boston newspaper. Saroyan went on to write many other short stories as well as novels and plays. He based many of his characters on the memorable relatives and friends from his childhood. In 1940 Saroyan won the Pulitzer Prize for his play The Time of Your Life, now considered an American classic.
The story you are about to read is from the novel The Human Comedy. We see the world through the eyes of the main character, Homer, who learns about life and how to survive its challenges,
The messenger got off his bicycle in front of the house of Mrs. Rosa Sandoval. He went to the door and knocked gently. He knew almost immediately that someone was inside the house. He could not hear anything, but he was sure the knock was bringing someone to the door and he was most eager to see who this person would be - this woman named Rosa Sandoval who was now to hear of murder in the world and to feel it in herself. The door was not a long time opening, but there was
no hurry in the way it moved on its hinges. The movement of the door was as if, whoever she was, she had nothing in the world to fear. Then the door was open, and there she was.
To Homer the Mexican woman was beautiful. He could see that she had been patient all her life, so that now, after years of it, her lips were set in a gentle and saintly smile. But like all people who never receive telegrams the appearance of a messenger at the front door is full of terrible implications. Homer knew that Mrs. Rosa Sandoval was shocked to see him. Her first word was the first word of all surprise. She said " Oh, " as if instead of a messenger she had thought of opening the door to someone she had known a long time and would be pleased to sit down with.
Before she spoke again she studied Homer's eyes and Homer knew that she knew the message was not a welcome one.
" You have a telegram? " she said.
It wasn't Homer's fault. His work was to deliver telegrams. Even so, it seemed to him that he was part of the whole mistake. He felt awkward and almost as if he alone were responsible for what had happened. At the same time he wanted to come right out and say, " I'm only a messenger, Mrs. Sandoval. I'm very sorry I must bring you a telegram like this, but it is only because it is my work to do so."
" Who is it for? " the Mexican woman said.
" Mrs. Rosa Sandoval, 1129 G Street, " Homer said. He extended the telegram to the Mexican woman, but she would not touch it.
" Are you Mrs. Sandoval? " Homer said.
" Please, " the woman said. " Please come in. I cannot read English. I am Mexican. I read only La Prensa which comes from Mexico City." She paused a moment and looked at the boy standing awkwardly as near the door as he could be and still be inside the house.
" Please, " she said, " what does the telegram say? "
" Mrs. Sandoval, " the messenger said, " the telegram says -"
But now the woman interrupted him. " But you must open the telegram and read it to me, " she said. " You have not opened it."
" Yes, ma'am, " Homer said, as if he were speaking to a schoolteacher who had just corrected him.
He opened the telegram with nervous fingers. The Mexican woman stooped to pick up the torn envelope, and tried to smooth it out. As she did so she said, " Who sent the telegram -my son Juan Domingo? "
" No, ma'am, " Homer said. " The telegram is from the War Department."
" War Department? " the Mexican woman said.
" Mrs. Sandoval, " Homer said swiftly, " your son is dead. Maybe it's a mistake. Everybody makes a mistake, Mrs. Sandoval. Maybe it wasn't your son. Maybe it was somebody else. The telegram says it was Juan Domingo. But maybe the telegram is wrong."
The Mexican woman pretended not to hear.
" Oh, do not be afraid, " she said. " Come inside. Come inside. I will bring you candy." She took the boy's arm and brought him to the table at the center of the room and there she made him sit.
" All boys like candy, " she said. " I will bring you candy." She went into another room and soon returned with an old chocolate candy box. She opened the box at the table and in it Homer saw a strange kind of candy.
" Here, " she said. " Eat this candy. All boys like candy."
Homer took a piece of the candy from the box, put it into his mouth, and tried to chew.
" You would not bring me a bad telegram, " she said. " You are a good boy - like my little Juanito when he was a little boy. Eat another piece." And she made the messenger take another piece of the candy. 120 Homer sat chewing the dry candy while the Mexican woman talked. " It is our own candy, " she said, " from cactus. I make it for my Juanito when he comes home, but you eat it. You are my boy too."
Now suddenly she began to sob, holding herself in as if weeping was a disgrace. Homer wanted to get up and rim but he knew he would stay. He even thought he might stay the rest of his life. He just didn't know what else to do to try to make the woman less unhappy, and if she had asked him to take the place of her son, he would not have been able to refuse, because he would not have known how. He got to his feet as if by standing he meant to begin correcting what could not be corrected and then he knew the foolishness of this intention and became more awkward than ever. In his heart be was saying over and over again, " What can I do? What the hell can I do? I'm only the messenger." The woman suddenly took him in her arms saying, " My little boy, my little boy! "
He didn't know why, because he only felt wounded by the whole thing, but for some reason he was sickened through all his blood and thought he would need to vomit. He didn't dislike the woman or anybody else, but what was happening to her seemed so wrong and so full of ugliness that he was sick and didn't know if he ever wanted to go on living again.
" Come now, " the woman said. " Sit down here." She forced him into another chair and stood over him. " Let me look at you, " she said. She looked at him strangely and, sick everywhere within himself, the messenger could not move. He felt neither love nor hate but something very close to disgust, but at the same time he felt great compassion, not for the poor woman alone, but for all things and the ridiculous way of their enduring and dying. He saw her back in time, a beautiful young woman sitting beside the crib of her infant son. He saw her looking down at this amazing human thing, speechless and helpless and full of the world to come. He saw her rocking the crib and he heard her singing to the child. Now look at her, he said to himself.
He was on his bicycle suddenly, riding swiftly down the dark street, tears coming out of his eyes and his mouth whispering young and crazy curses. When he got back to the telegraph office the tears had stopped, but everything else had started and he knew there would be no stopping them. " Otherwise I'm just as good as dead myself, " he said, as if someone were listening whose hearing was not perfect.
”The Filipino and the Druncard”
This loud-mouthed2 guy3 in the brown camel-hair coat was not really mean, 3 he was drunk. He took a sudden dislike to the small well-dressed Filipino and began to order him around5 the waiting room, telling him to get back, not to crowd among the white people. They were waiting to get on the boat and cross the bay to Oakland.8 IF he hadn't been drunk no one would have bothered to notice him at all, 7 but as it was, 8 he was making a commotion9 in the waiting room, and while everyone seemed to be in sympathy with10 the Filipino, no one seemed to want to bother about coming to the boy's rescue, and the poor Filipino was becoming very frightened.
He stood among the people, and this drunkard kept pushing " up against him and saying, I told you to get back. Now get back. Go away back. I fought twenty-four months in France. I'm a real American. I don't want you standing up here11 among white people.
The boy kept squeezing nimbly and politely out of the drunkard's way, hurrying through the crowd, not saying anything and trying his best12 to be as decent as possible. He kept dodging in and out, with the drunkard stumbling after him, and as time went on the drunkard's dislike grew and he began to swear at the boy. He kept saying, You fellows are the best-dressed men in San Francisco, and you make your money washing dishes. You've no right to wear such fine clothes.
He swore a lot, and it got so bad that a tot of ladies had to imagine they were deaf and weren't hearing any of the things he was saying.
When (he big door opened, the young Filipino moved swiftly among the people, fleeing from the drunkard, reaching the boat before anyone else. He ran to a corner, sat down for a moment, then got up and began looking for a more hidden place. At the other end of the boat was the drunkard. He: could hear the man swearing. He looked about for a place to hide, and rushed into the lavatory. He went into one of the open compartments and bolted the door.
The drunkard entered the lavatory and began asking others in the room if they had seen the boy. He was a real American, he said. He had been wounded twice in the War.
In the lavatory he swore more freely, using words he could never use where women were present. He began to stoop and look beyond the shut doors of the various compartments. I beg your pardon, he said to those he was not seeking, and when he came to the compartment where the boy was standing, he began swearing and demanding that the boy come.out.
You can't get away from me, he said. You got no right13 to use a place white men use. Come out or I'll break the door.
Go away, the boy said.
The drunkard began to pound on the door.
You got to come out sometime, 14 he said. I'll wait here till you do.
Go away, said the boy. I've done nothing to you.
He wondered why none of the men in the lavatory had the decency to calm the drunkard and take him away, and then he realized there were no other men in the lavatory.
Go away, he said.
The drunkard answered with curses, pounding the door.
Behind the door, the boy's bitterness grew to rage. He began to tremble, not fearing the man but fearing the rage growing in himself. He brought the knife from his pocket and drew open the sharp blade, holding the knife in his fist so tightly that the nails of his fingers cut into the flesh of his palm.
Go away, he said. I have a knife. I do not want any trouble.
The drunkard said he was an American. Twenty-four months in France. Wounded twice. Once in the leg, and once in the thigh. He would not go away. He was afraid of no dirty little yellow-belly16 Filipino with a knife. Let the Filipino come out, he was an American.
I will kill you, said the boy. I do not want to kill any man. You are drunk. Go away. Please do not make any trouble, he said earnestly.
He could hear the motor of the boat pounding. It was like his rage pounding. It was a feeling of having been humiliated, chased about and made to hide, and now it was a wish to be free, even if tie had to kill. He threw the door open and tried to rush beyond the man, the knife tight in his fist, but the drunkard caught him by the sleeve and drew him back. The sleeve of the boy's coat ripped, and the boy turned and thrust the knife into the side of the drunkard, feeling it scrape against the rib-bone. The drunkard shouted and screamed at once, then caught the boy at the throat, and the boy began to thrust the knife into the side of the man many times as a boxer jabs in the clinches.18
When the drunkard could no longer hold him and had fallen to the floor, the boy rushed from the room, the knife still in his hand, blood dripping from the: blade, his hat gone, his hair mussed, 17 and the sleeve of his coat badly18 torn.
Everyone knew what he had done, yet no one moved.
The- boy ran to the front of the boat, seeking some place to go, then ran back to a corner, no one daring to speak to him, and everyone aware of his crime.
There was no place to go, and before the officers of the boat arrived he stopped suddenly and began to shout at the people.
I did not want to hurt him, he said. Why didn't you stop him? Is it right to chase a man like a rat? You knew he was drunk, I did not want to hurt him, but he would not let me go. He tore my coat and tried to choke me. I told him I would kill him if he would not go away. It is not my fault. I must go to Oakland to see my brother. He is sick.19 Do you think I am looking for trouble20 when my brother is sick? Why didn't you stop him?
NOTES
1. Filipino [fili'pi.-nU] (/> L-nos [nouz])—a native of the
Philippine Island) 2 loud-mouthed—tailing noisily and vulgarly, trying to
draw attention in a vulgar way
3. guy (Am. colloq.) ^chap, fellow
4. mean (Am. colloa.)—malicious, having criminal intentions I
5. order him around)—order him to go from one place to another (roHflTb c> iwecra Ha.wec'To)
(Don't confuse life construction with " order about" — keep on giving orders to a person).
6. Oakland ('ouktont]—a city in West California, on the east side of the San Francisco Bay
7. at all=in the least. Mostly used in negative sentences, e.g. I don't know him at all. He is not at all handsome.
8. as it was=under the circumstances
9. making a commotion ^making a noise, causing trouble and disorder
10. to be in sympathy with—to sympathize with
11. I don't want you standing up here (colloq.)=\ don't want you to stand up here
12. trying his best^-doing his best
13. You got no right (Am.) ^You've got no right
14. You got to come out sometime (/4m.)=Yoii*l) have to come out sooner or later
15. yellow-belly—Hie; iTony3biH
16. as a boxer jabs in clinches—as a boxer hits with quick short blows when he and his opponent are locked together
17. mussed (Am.)—in disorder (also, of clothes—creased)
18. badly—very much, e.g. badly injured, badly wounded; 1 am badly in need of money. I need you badly.
19. He is sick. (Am.)^He is ill. (Brit.) See note 6 page S.
20. to look for trouble (colloq.)—to act in such a way that something unpleasant or dangerous is bound to occur
EXERCISES
Exercise I. Answer the following questions:
1. Where did the felbw in the brown camel-hair coat meet the young Filipino?
Exercise VIII. Translate the following Info English:
1. a) flaccajKiip mo u deno cnpaiuuaaA, KOTopufl «jac. 0) ribnHbiH nwepduA,»jto oh aMepHKaneu, H hto oh 6uji paHeH 8 HtJry.
2. a) < J»HJiHnniiHeu xedoyMeeaA, noieMy hhkto He oeraHo-bht awepHKaHua. 6) EMy xomewcb 6w 3Hamb. noieiny
3. a) FIocTapaiirecb «e nonadambca eMy na zmaa. 6) FIojKa-Jiyi'iCTa, omotfdume o cmopony.
4. a) 3tot 4e^oBeK, no-BH^HMOMy, oakosoauk. 6) AMepHKa-«eu Qua nb.iH. b) JOHouia CTapajicn yKpbiTbcn or nbswozo
5. Bee, K33ajiocb, coiyecmeoaaAu einy, HO hhkto ne npHiueji
a word or expres
Exercise IX. Paraphrase the following sentences using a word or expression from the text:
1. The" passengers were sorry for the boy.
2. The American called the boy bad names.
3. The drunkard struck the door repeatedly with his fist.
4. Nobody made the least attempt to protect the boy.
5. The drunkard didn't want the boy to stand near the white people.
6. Everyone knew about the crime.
Exercise X. Complete the following (see Exercise VI, Sentence I);
1. If the passengers hadn't been so indifferent....
2. If the boy had found a place to hide -...
3. If the Filipino hadn't been so unprotected....
4. If the boy's bitterness had not grown to rage....
Exercise XI. Topics for discussion and oral composition:
1. What made it possible for the American to behave the way he did?
2. Why did nobody try to protect the boy?
3. Discuss the boy's attitude to the American throughout the story and the sudden change that came over him.
4. Speak on the author's attitude to the characters of the - story.
5. Whom does the author hold responsible For the murder?
6. Do you know a story of a crime, which could have been prevented, but for the indifference of the people? If so, tell it.
9 ”Home”
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