East of Eden

Lee said, “I never saw anybody get mixed up in other people’s business the way I do. And I’m a man who doesn’t have a final answer about anything. Are you going to pound that meat or shall I do it?”

She went back to work. “Do you think it’s funny to be so serious when I’m not even out of high school?” she asked.

“I don’t see how it could be any other way,” said Lee. “Laughter comes later, like wisdom teeth, and laughter at yourself comes last of all in a mad race with death, and sometimes it isn’t in time.”

Her tapping speeded up and its beat became erratic and nervous. Lee moved five dried lima beans in patterns on the table—a line, an angle, a circle.

The beating stopped. “Is Mrs. Trask alive?”

Lee’s forefinger hung over a bean for a moment and then slowly fell and pushed it to make the O into a Q. He knew she was looking at him. He could even see in his mind how her expression would be one of panic at her question. His thought raced like a rat new caught in a wire trap. He sighed and gave it up. He turned slowly and looked at her, and his picture had been accurate.

Lee said tonelessly, “We’ve talked a lot and I don’t remember that we have ever discussed me—ever.” He smiled shyly. “Abra, let me tell you about myself. I’m a servant. I’m old. I’m Chinese. These three you know. I’m tired and I’m cowardly.”

“You’re not—” she began.

“Be silent,” he said. “I am so cowardly. I will not put my finger in any human pie.”

“What do you mean?”

“Abra, is your father mad at anything except turnips?”

Her face went stubborn. “I asked you a question.”

“I did not hear a question,” he said softly and his voice became confident. “You did not ask a question, Abra.”

“I guess you think I’m too young—” Abra began.

Lee broke in, “Once I worked for a woman of thirty-five who had successfully resisted experience, learning, and beauty. If she had been six she would have been the despair of her parents. And at thirty-five she was permitted to control money and the lives of people around her. No, Abra, age has nothing to do with it. If I had anything at all to say—I would say it to you.”

The girl smiled at him. “I’m clever,” she said. “Shall I be clever?”

“God help me—no,” Lee protested.

“Then you don’t want me to try to figure it out?”

“I don’t care what you do as long as I don’t have anything to do with it. I guess no matter how weak and negative a good man is, he has as many sins on him as he can bear. I have enough sins to trouble me. Maybe they aren’t very fine sins compared to some, but, the way I feel, they’re all I can take care of. Please forgive me.”

Abra reached across the table and touched the back of his hand with floury fingers. The yellow skin on his hand was tight and glazed. He looked down at the white powdery smudges her fingers left.

Abra said, “My father wanted a boy. I guess he hates turnips and girls. He tells everyone how he gave me my crazy name. ‘And though I called another, Abra came.’ ”

Lee smiled at her. “You’re such a nice girl,” he said. “I’ll buy some turnips tomorrow if you’ll come to dinner.”

Abra asked softly, “Is she alive?”

“Yes,” said Lee.

The front door slammed, and Cal came into the kitchen. “Hello, Abra. Lee, is father home?”

“No, not yet. What are you grinning all over for?”

Cal handed him a check. “There. That’s for you.”

Lee looked at it. “I didn’t want interest,” he said.

“It’s better. I might want to borrow it back.”

“You won’t tell me where you got it?”

“No. Not yet. I’ve got a good idea—” His eyes flicked to Abra.

“I have to go home now,” she said.

Cal said, “She might as well be in on it. I decided to do it Thanksgiving, and Abra’ll probably be around and Aron will be home.”

“Do what?” she asked.

“I’ve got a present for my father.”

“What is it?” Abra asked.

“I won’t tell. You’ll find out then.”

“Does Lee know?”

“Yes, but he won’t tell.”

“I don’t think I ever saw you so—gay,” Abra said. “I don’t think I ever saw you gay at all.” She discovered in herself a warmth for him.

After Abra had gone Cal sat down. “I don’t know whether to give it to him before Thanksgiving dinner or after,” he said.

“After,” said Lee. “Have you really got the money?”

“Fifteen thousand dollars.”

“Honestly?”

“You mean, did I steal it?”

“Yes.”

“Honestly,” said Cal. “Remember how we had champagne for Aron? We’ll get champagne. And—well, we’ll maybe decorate the dining room. Maybe Abra’ll help.”

“Do you really think your father wants money?”

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I hope you’re right,” said Lee. “How have you been doing in school?”

“Not very well. I’ll pick up after Thanksgiving,” said Cal.

2

After school the next day Abra hurried and caught up with Cal.

“Hello, Abra,” he said. “You make good fudge.”

“That last was dry. It should be creamy.”

“Lee is just crazy about you. What have you done to him?”

“I like Lee,” she said and then, “I want to ask you something, Cal.”

“Yes?”

“What’s the matter with Aron?”

“What do you mean?”

“He just seems to think only about himself.”

“I don’t think that’s very new. Have you had a fight with him?”

“No. When he had all that about going into the church and not getting married, I tried to fight with him, but he wouldn’t.”

“Not get married to you? I can’t imagine that.”

“Cal, he writes me love letters now—only they aren’t to me.”

“Then who are they to?”

“It’s like they were to—himself.”

Cal said, “I know about the willow tree.”