Harpo sat against Sam’s closed office door. He shouldn’t have taken Blima so far. They could have played indoors. He should have known this would happen. He’d seen the paint on the wall, had heard the voices in the woods. Of course it wasn’t safe.
He’d had a dream last night or the night before maybe, and it came back in a rush. He was supposed to be performing on Broadway, that he knew, only he forgot what play he was in, what he was doing, and all he knew was that he was standing all alone on centre stage, caught by the spotlights. He called for Minnie and after a moment heard her climbing onstage. He explained, as the footsteps creaked nearer, that he’d forgotten his lines, and wanted his brothers, and was embarrassed and afraid. Minnie made her slow way into the well of light. When she got to the spotlight, Harpo’s breath caught. Her cheeks were red, her lips pinched. She was furious. Then she yelled at him for minute after minute, about Duck Soup, Ayala, Simon, Blima, everything. At some point during the tirade, Harpo realized that the audience was still watching. He’d forgotten about them. But now he could hear them, shuffling around in the dark. Someone opened a hard candy, and he could hear the crackle of the wrapper and the sharp clack of teeth.
Harpo had no idea what to do next. All he wanted was to talk to Sam, to be comforted, but that wasn’t right. If he wanted to become a good father, then he should be the one to give comfort, not to receive it. He should talk to Ayala, explain the situation, make things right. But she was mad. She probably wouldn’t listen much right now. He should comfort Blima. But she’d be furious with him.
He had to do something.
“Hey, Sam,” said Harpo, peeking around the door into Sam’s office.
“Are you ready for that cigar, Harpo?”
“I need to send another telegram. It should go to Aleck Woollcott. Alexander, I mean.”
Sam took out a form. “I can do that,” he said. “What’s the message?”
“If they want my help, I want theirs. Stop.” Then Harpo was silent, and he knew that Sam was watching him, and he didn’t even know how to start.
“I have an idea,” said Sam. “I just thought of another project for us to work on together. I’ve been inspired by your windows in the room of doors. You know that vegetable cart I want everyone to gather around? What if we turned it into a table? That would help people gather there. They’d have no choice. That’s where their cards would go.”
Harpo sat on a tool box. He stared at his hands. Sam always knew what to do. He was just a born family man. What if Harpo hadn’t been born that way? He let people comfort him. He went to others for help. Here he was again, acting more like a son than a father.
Sam turned a bucket upside down and sat in front of an upturned chair. “What’s the different between a vegetable cart and a table? Give up? The answer is nothing. I just realized that. They’re the same thing, except that a table has legs.”
“You’re going to take the legs off the chair?”
“Why not?” said Sam. “The tree won’t mind. It’s long dead.”
“I’m worried that I won’t be a good father,” Harpo said quickly, before he could lose his nerve.
“Of course you will.”
“I never know what to do. And I always end up doing the wrong thing. And I never know how to act. How can I raise a child if I’m not finished being raised myself?”
“We’re none of us finished,” said Sam. “And nobody knows how they’ll act in a situation until they find themselves acting. You’re a good man, Harpo, and that’s all that’s needed. You have to trust that the rest will work itself out. That’s the real secret.”
“I want to be like you.”
“I never know what to do. Not really. I’m always groping around in the dark. I think the secret is not to lose your sense of humour, and I can’t believe that you ever would.”
Harpo blinked back tears. He focused on the old vegetable cart, prodded one splintered edge with his foot. “Do you like remembering the trip from Russia?”
“The trick is to tell it better than it really happened.” Sam turned the chair over, grabbed it by the seat and sawed. After a moment, one of the legs came off with a resounding crack. “The trick is to remember only the good things. If I tell the story that way long enough, then that’ll be what really happened.”
Sam looked up, and caught Harpo’s eyes, and Harpo felt like his blood was suddenly electric. He knew. Sam knew everything, about the other man, about the baby, everything.
“God gave us a selective memory,” said Sam, “and an imagination, and with those gifts comes the ability to remember things any way we want.”
“I think you’re right,” whispered Harpo.
“And with that comes the capacity for infinite happiness,” Sam said sadly. Then he turned the chair around and sawed the other legs right off.