The Last Laugh

by Arjuna Ardagh

  We sat quietly together. Neither of us had anything more to say. I looked slowly around the room. A Russian icon, dark and still. A statue of a water carrier, baskets hanging from either end of a bar across his shoulders. The ticking of the clock, strangely also frozen out of time, as though hammering into my thoughts, now, now, now. Joey was gazing into the fire.

  We were stirred finally by the sound of a car driving on the gravel. Both car doors opened and then closed, and soon we heard slow footsteps making their way up the path toward the house. The screen door opened, the front door handle turned, and the door itself opened inward toward us. In walked an old man, much more frail than Joey. Tall and slender, with a shock of pure white hair and a heavily wrinkled face, he came into the room with the help of a cane. He was extraordinarily shiny and clean, with perfectly pressed khaki pants, a spotless white shirt, a silk cravat tied at the neck, leather shoes immaculately polished. He looked at us and smiled. His eyes were absolutely clear, like a child’s. His body was slightly shaking, like a wind-up toy. Behind him, another figure stood in the shadows outside the doorway, holding a bag in each hand. It was Sam.

  Joey jumped to his feet and in a second was embracing his new visitor. They held each other at arm’s length, grinning into one another’s eyes.

  “Good to see you, Joseph,” the man said in a cultured British accent.

  He glanced at me and smiled with one side of his mouth only, as though sharing a private joke at someone else’s expense.

  “Timothy, what new trouble have you been making?” Joey chuckled, and led his friend through the living room back into the kitchen, leaving me with Sam.

  She stood in the doorway. Her feet were turned slightly in toward one another, her lower lip tight. The two bags, one in each hand, pulled her arms down into a posture of defeat. I could feel how she felt as though I’d known her forever. My heart was still. I smiled at her and said hello. She took a tentative step into the room, like a cat that thinks it can faintly smell a dog, but is not quite sure. She looked at me, her head to one side, trying to figure out what was different about me. Her face brightened. She smiled a little. She sat on the edge of the sofa, fumbling with her car keys.

  “How long have you been here?” she asked, not looking up.

  “Oh, just a few hours.”

  There was another pause as she blew kisses to George Gurdjieff.

  “Did you meet Katie already?”

  “Yes, we had tea and chocolate cake.”

  Sam giggled. “You’ll have to get used to chocolate around here. Joey says it’s what keeps him still on the planet. He’s a chocolate ‘con-o-sour.’”

  I wanted to correct Sam’s pronunciation of that word. I knew she knew that she’d said it wrong and was embarrassed. I noticed her left eye muscles were twitching a little. She tried to stop it by blinking, and failed. In the afternoon light streaming in from the window, I could see the little lines on her upper lip and on her neck. “Did you see anything of the farm yet?”

  “Not yet,” I smiled.

  “Would you like me to show you around a little bit?” she offered nervously. “There’s just time before dark.”

  “I’d like that.” We left the house and took another gravel path. We walked through a vegetable garden, past endless flowerbeds. She knew the name of every plant and bush, whether it was visible or dormant. We walked down a driveway to another group of buildings, dominated by a large barn on two stories. Sam led me to a woodwork shop, in the basement of the barn, and introduced me to Jesse, a young man dressed in jean overalls, engrossed in making a dresser out of pine. She led me through a pottery studio, and past various bedrooms, some being used, but many simply testimonials to the community’s previous, more thriving activities. We met Billy and Dawn, he with a drooping mustache and a belly, she with salt and pepper hair and bright eyes, both lawyers from Philadelphia, working in a legal aid office. We met Lilly and Gretchen, a lesbian couple from Portland.

  On the way back we took a longer route, past some other cottages and then through the woods. I must have asked her casually how long she had been coming there, for I still remember her story, almost whispered among the damp trees, her eyes not once looking up from the ground.

  She had met Joey more than 20 years before, when she was 17. She had run away from home before finishing high school, seeking shelter in the city. Before long she was experimenting with marijuana, then hallucinogenics, and finally with heroin. Her dreams to live as an artist came to nothing, and before long she was making a hundred a night as a call girl for foreign businessmen, hanging out at the bar at night at the Hyatt. She got pregnant finally, when her delirium from the heroin no longer allowed her to remain clear about birth control. Joey found her one night at the hotel, where he had gone to meet one of his old L.A. buddies from years before. When she tried to proposition Joey, he told her he’d pay a thousand cash for the whole weekend. He never laid a finger on her, but brought her straight to the farm, gave her a room and a home. She stayed for five years, in and out of nervous breakdown, before she had the strength to get her own place in the city again.

  We saw the smoke from Katie’s chimney getting closer. Sam told me she had never regained her trust of men; she had remained alone ever since.

  I turned to her; we faced one another, just in front of the house. I could see the pain and fear written large on her face now. How could I possibly have missed it before? Desire for her seemed almost violent now, a gross insensitivity. I took her in my arms and held her. I touched her head with my hand.

  We stood together in mutual understanding.

  No one spoke.

  CHAPTER 15

  NOT TWO

  The next morning at dawn, the house was perfectly quiet. I had been dreaming of Rebecca and the kids again, and resisted returning to this strange world in which I had landed without them.

  “Come on,” said Joey’s voice. “We’re going for a walk.”

  I forced myself up from the bed. It was cold. Joey stood there in the doorway, brimming with health. Each breath made steam in the room. I put on my clothes and boots and followed him down the wooden stairs. We went into the kitchen, where he had already made tea. He was wearing a thick fisherman’s sweater and what looked like workman’s overalls. He exuded an almost tangible feeling of wholeness.

  “How’d you sleep?” Joey asked me as we sat at the kitchen table.

  “Good,” I said. “I dreamed of my kids again. It’s Christmas Eve today; the first time I’ve had a Christmas without them.”

  “Hmmm. That’s hard. So what’s to stop you and your wife from fixing things up between you?”

  “She’s mad at me. She blames me for ruining all our lives.”

  Joey looked at me, calm and steady, and said not a word. I felt he was reading something inside me, that I couldn’t even read myself. I felt uncomfortable.

  “Come on,” he said again, finishing the last of his tea. “Life’s waiting for us.”

  Out we marched into the cold, damp December morning, thick wet dew on everything, rich smells of rotting leaves all around us. The moss on the forest floor was damp, naked like a sleeping woman. Joey led me on into the forest, singing some sort of repetitive chant just under his breath. Finally, we reached a clearing among the trees. Two trees had been cut down, leaving stumps about two feet above the ground.

  “This will do. Sit down; sit down there,” he said, pointing to one of the stumps. I assumed he would take the other, but he stayed standing.

  “Okay. Now, what have you not said to your wife?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “What’s been left unsaid with your wife? What have you not said to her?”

  “Well, I’ve explained the situation. I’ve told her how I invested the money, and how it didn’t work out, and all those things.”

  “Yeah, but what else? What’s been left unsaid?”

  “I think I’ve said it all, Joey.”

  “Thing is,” he said quietly, as though
thinking aloud to himself, “you’ve only seen half the story.”

  “Which part did I miss?”

  “Hers.” He stopped to get chewing tobacco out of a pouch. “Okay. Close your eyes, and just imagine your wife is on that other stump, sitting opposite you. Can you see her there?”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “What’s she wearing?”

  “I don’t know. She’s in Chicago.”

  “Well make it up, for pity’s sake. Don’t dick around, Matt, we’ve got work to do.” He looked stern for just a moment, just long enough.

  “She’s wearing her blue dress, a jacket, and black leggings and running shoes.” I felt a familiar wave of longing in my body as I remembered how Becca would dress to go for a walk with me in the forest.

  “Good,” said Joey. “Now just feel her there with you. Feel her with your body and say what you want to say to her.”

  I kept silent, feeling foolish again, like the day before. But I could sense his unwavering gaze, and I knew, as always, that there was no point in fighting.

  “I miss you,” I began. “I miss you, Becca. When I see you sitting there, you’re so familiar to me. You’ve been my best friend for so long … ”

  I opened my eyes for a moment, and stared into the distant trees, wondering what more to say. Joey shuffled impatiently. I closed them. “I feel lost, I feel incomplete. I’m so sorry for what I did.”

  “Okay,” Joey prompted. “Now keep your eyes closed and with your inner eye take a look at her. How does she feel?”

  I hazarded a guess. “I guess she’d be angry; she has been every time we talk.”

  “Don’t think, feel her. Feel her in front of you.”

  “Yes, she’s angry, but I can also feel that she misses me. She’s sad.”

  “Keep talking to her.”

  “Becca, I’m so sorry. I had no idea it would work out like it did. I’m so, so sorry. I know I’ve caused suffering for you and the kids, but truly, my love, I’ve also caused myself so much pain with my mistakes.”

  I was surprised to hear myself say “my love.” It felt real for a flicker, and then corny. I felt like Joey was a voyeur now, intruding on my privacy.

  “Good,” said Joey. “Now listen; just close your eyes and listen to what she has to say.”

  I did as Joey told me. I had to wait a while. I could hear Becca’s voice, I could hear the twang in her accent, but I wavered, uncertain if this was real or not.

  “Okay. Now repeat out loud what she says.”

  “I’m sure you’re suffering, Matt, but you’ve got to.” This still felt contrived, like the therapy group Becca herself had dragged me to when our marriage was floundering. “That wasn’t even your money. It was money from my dad. That was our house, Matt, that you gambled away. That was our house and our kids’ future. You’ve got to make it right, Matt; you’ve got to make it right if you want me to come back to you and if you ever want to be with your kids again.”

  There, that should satisfy him.

  “Okay,” said Joey. “Take it in. Hear what she says, and now say what you want to say.”

  “I’m trying, Becca. I’m trying. I don’t know what I can do. I’ve got nothing left. I feel like I’m just at the bottom of everything. I haven’t even got my confidence left. I’m lost, Becca. If I knew what to do, I’d do it.” I was getting into it now, getting lost in the movie I was scripting with his help.

  “What else do you want to say? As if this is the only chance that you’ve got. As if you’re never going to see her again.” He said the words loud and fast. “What’s the deepest thing you want to say to her?”

  “I love you, honey. I’m sorry. Even though I know I’m a failure, I love you. You’ve been my best friend.”

  “Now,” instructed Joey, “don’t open your eyes. You’re going to stand up … ”

  He came over and helped me to my feet.

  “ … and you’re going to let everything about being Matt just drain away. All the habits of being Matt; all the thoughts, all the feelings in the body … just let them drain away into the ground. You’re going to take a step now, you’re going to move across, and you’re going to become Becca.”

  He helped me move my body so that I was ready to sit on the other tree stump.

  “And as you sit down, really feel what it’s like to be this woman, looking at her husband; feel the feelings in this body. Feel what it’s like to have these legs, this chest, these thoughts.”

  I sat down on the stump. At first I felt stupid, like I was playacting. Then I felt something less familiar welling in my chest; I felt resentment, I felt the hurt. I felt the pride that would not forgive this man unless he made amends. I could feel the swirling eddy of feeling that was too much, out of control, that had to be contained, even though the very containing was a small death.

  “Now, Rebecca, what do you have to say?” asked Joey. “Look at your husband. Look at this man who lost all your money, who has turned out to be a failure. What do you want to say to him?”

  “I hate you,” spoke something in the body. It was in shock, it felt like a kind of ventriloquism. “I just hate you, Matt. You lied to me. You betrayed me. We had such a great life together; we were so happy. We were raising the kids in such a beautiful way. You had a decent job. Why, Matt?” I, she, whoever, was screaming now. I could feel the swirling of emotion out of control in my body. “Why did you have to do that? Why did you have to take our security?” Now it really was a scream. Tears, her tears, were flowing down my face now through the anger. “Why did you have to take our security and throw it away? What kind of a fool are you? You’re just stupid. I hate you!”

  “What else do you want to say to him?” prompted Joey.

  “And I miss you, too.” Inconsistent as this might have seemed to the remains of my controlling mind, it seemed quite harmonious within the swirling feelings. “I don’t even want to tell you. I don’t want you to know how much I miss you. I miss our life; I miss everything! It’s been awful here with my parents. The kids … I can see them messing up the kids, but I just can’t come back to you until you turn yourself around.”

  “Okay,” said Joey. “Take a deep breath.” Again he helped me stand up.

  “Now let it all go and let Rebecca drain completely out of the body. Let it go.”

  He helped me move my body across to the first stump again. I was shaking from head to toe with raw emotion.

  We went on like this a few more times. I became Matt again, I told her I was sorry, that I wanted to work things out. I asked her to give me a chance. I moved across and became Becca, I could feel my husband’s sorrow for what he had done, I was touched, melted. I knew I missed him. But I still wanted some real action from him before I would relent. And I became Matt, and told her I loved her, that no matter what I would be her man.

  “Now stand up.”

  I started to move toward Becca’s stump again, but he stopped me.

  “No, no. Stand in the middle. Stand between the stumps, so that you can have Matt on one side of you and Becca on the other, and feel who you are now. Who are you when you are aware of these two people speaking?”

  A falling back. I could feel them both, like hand puppets suspended in space. I was watching them both. I was the space. All limits dropped away.

  “I am just here.”

  “Tell me more.”

  “I see a man who’s caught in guilt. He’s stuck; he can’t take action. He’s in fear. And I see a woman. She’s proud. She really wants to forgive him, but she wants something from him first.”

  “That’s right,” said Joey. “Let it be like it is. Experience it like it is. This is what is true between these people now. Open your eyes.”

  The forest smelled crisp, fresh. It was a new morning.

  “What’s true now?” asked Joey.

  “I can see you. I can smell the forest. I feel hungry.”

  “What about your marriage?”

  It was a strange question, lik
e there was no marriage; there were just these two tree stumps, quite content together in the forest. I said nothing. Joey nodded and laughed. My silence was the answer he understood. He beckoned to me and we continued our walk.

  “So what problem remains?”

  I shrugged. “In a way, I had to do what I did. So did she. There was no choice.”

  “Right. All beings follow their nature. It’s not the situation that hurts, see. It’s the separation. It’s the feeling of ‘me’ and ‘her’ as separate, as two. Whenever you take away the separation, the suffering stops.”

  “But she’s still in Chicago, and I’m still here.”

  “At the core of everything between people,” said Joey, “is your level of separation. When the feeling of separation is high, the way you speak, the way you feel, the way you act, your body language, and ultimately where you physically find yourself will all reflect that separation. When you dissolve the separation in yourself, everything else follows suit. Wait and see.”

  We walked on through the forest together. I could feel it all through my skin.

  “When you feel a conflict with another, don’t bother trying to fix it by doing stuff and saying stuff. Just take the place of the other person, giving them your own, and you will heal the split within your own heart. Everything else works out just fine and dandy on its own.”

  He led me back along the way through the forest. He returned to singing his chant under his breath, sometimes stopping to point out to me the moss on a tree or a rabbit hole in the ground.