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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
WHEN GOD LAUGHS；
AND OTHER STORIES
By Jack London
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
WHEN GOD LAUGHS （with
compliments to Harry Cowell）
〃The gods； the gods are stronger； time Falls down before them； all
men's knees Bow； all men's prayers and sorrows climb Like incense
toward them； yea； for these Are gods； Felise。〃
Carquinez had relaxed finally。 He stole a glance at the rattling
windows； looked upward at the beamed roof； and listened for a moment to
the savage roar of the south…easter as it caught the bungalow in its
bellowing jaws。 Then he held his glass between him and the fire and
laughed for joy through the golden wine。
〃It is beautiful；〃 he said。 〃It is sweetly sweet。 It is a woman's wine；
and it was made for gray…robed saints to drink。〃
〃We grow it on our own warm hills；〃 I said； with pardonable
California pride。 〃You rode up yesterday through the vines from which it
was made。〃
It was worth while to get Carquinez to loosen up。 Nor was he ever
really himself until he felt the mellow warmth of the vine singing in his
blood。 He was an artist； it is true； always an artist； but somehow； sober； the
high pitch and lilt went out of his thought…processes and he was prone to
be as deadly dull as a British Sundaynot dull as other men are dull； but
dull when measured by the sprightly wight that Monte Carquinez was
when he was really himself。
From all this it must not be inferred that Carquinez； who is my dear
friend and dearer comrade； was a sot。 Far from it。 He rarely erred。 As
I have said； he was an artist。 He knew when he had enough； and enough；
with him； was equilibriumthe equilibrium that is yours and mine when
we are sober。
His was a wise and instinctive temperateness that savoured of the
Greek。 Yet he was far from Greek。 〃I am Aztec； I am Inca； I am
Spaniard；〃 I have heard him say。 And in truth he looked it； a compound
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
of strange and ancient races； what with his swarthy skin and the
asymmetry and primitiveness of his features。 His eyes； under massively
arched brows； were wide apart and black with the blackness that is
barbaric； while before them was perpetually falling down a great black
mop of hair through which he gazed like a roguish satyr from a thicket。
He invariably wore a soft flannel shirt under his velvet…corduroy jacket；
and his necktie was red。 This latter stood for the red flag （he had once
lived with the socialists of Paris）； and it symbolized the blood and
brotherhood of man。 Also； he had never been known to wear anything on
his head save a leather…banded sombrero。 It was even rumoured that he
had been born with this particular piece of headgear。 And in my
experience it was provocative of nothing short of sheer delight to see that
Mexican sombrero hailing a cab in Piccadilly or storm…tossed in the crush
for the New York Elevated。
As I have said； Carquinez was made quick by wine〃as the clay was
made quick when God breathed the breath of life into it；〃 was his way of
saying it。 I confess that he was blasphemously intimate with God； and I
must add that there was no blasphemy in him。 He was at all times honest；
and； because he was compounded of paradoxes； greatly misunderstood by
those who did not know him。 He could be as elementally raw at times as
a screaming savage； and at other times as delicate as a maid； as subtle as a
Spaniard。 Andwell； was he not Aztec？ Inca？ Spaniard？
And now I must ask pardon for the space I have given him。 （He is
my friend； and I love him。） The house was shaking to the storm； as he
drew closer to the fire and laughed at it through his wine。 He looked at
me； and by the added lustre of his eye； and by the alertness of it； I knew
that at last he was pitched in his proper key。
〃And so you think you've won out against the gods？〃 he demanded。
〃Why the gods？〃
〃Whose will but theirs has put satiety upon man？〃 he cried。
〃And whence the will in me to escape satiety？〃 I asked triumphantly。
〃Again the gods；〃 he laughed。 〃It is their game we play。 They deal
and shuffle all the cards 。 。 。 and take the stakes。 Think not that you have
escaped by fleeing from the mad cities。 You with your vine…clad hills；
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WHEN GOD LAUGHS； AND OTHER STORIES
your sunsets and your sunrises； your homely fare and simple round of
living！
〃I've watched you ever since I came。 You have not won。 You have
surrendered。 You have made terms with the enemy。 You have made
confession that you are tired。 You have flown the white flag of fatigue。
You have nailed up a notice to the effect that life is ebbing down in you。
You have run away from life。 You have played a trick； shabby trick。
You have balked at the game。 You refuse to play。 You have thrown
your cards under the table and run away to hide； here amongst your hills。〃
He tossed his straight hair back from his flashing eyes； and scarcely
interrupted to roll a long； brown； Mexican cigarette。
〃But the gods know。 It is an old trick。 All the generations of man
have tried it 。 。 。 and lost。 The gods know how to deal with such as you。
To pursue is to possess； and to possess is to be sated。 And so you； in your
wisdom； have refused any longer to pursue。 You have elected surcease。
Very well。 You will become sated with surcease。 You say you have
escaped satiety！ You have merely bartered it for senility。 And senility
is another name for satiety。 It is satiety's masquerade。 Bah！〃
〃But look at me！〃 I cried。
Carquinez was ever a demon for haling ones soul out and making rags
and tatters of it。
He looked me witheringly up and down。
〃You see no signs；〃 I challenged。
〃Decay is insidious；〃 he retorted。 〃You are rotten ripe。〃
I laughed and forgave him for his very deviltry。 But he refused to be
forgiven。
〃Do I not know？〃 he asked。 〃The gods always win。 I have watched
men play for years what seemed a winning game。 In the end they lost。〃
〃Don't you ever make mistakes？〃 I asked。
He blew many meditative rings of smoke before replying。
〃Yes； I was nearly fooled； once。 Let me tell you。 There was Marvin
Fiske。 You remember him？ And his Dantesque face and poet's soul；
singing his chant of the flesh； the very priest of Love？ And there was
Ethel Baird； whom also you must remember。〃
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〃A warm saint；〃 I said。
〃That is she！ Holy as Love； and sweeter！ Just a woman； made for
love； and yethow shall I say？drenched through with holiness as your
own air here is with the perfume of flowers。 Well； they married。 They
played a hand with the gods〃
〃And they won； they gloriously won！〃 I broke in。
Carquinez looked at me pityingly； and his voice was like a funeral bell。
〃They lost。 They supremely； colossally lost。〃
〃But the world believes otherwise；〃 I ventured coldly。
〃The world conjectures。 The world sees only the face of things。
But I know。 Has it ever entered your mind to wonder why she took the
veil； buried herself in that dolorous convent of the living dead？〃
〃Because she loved him so； and when he died 。 。 。〃
Speech was frozen on my lips by Carquinez's sneer。
〃A pat answer；〃 he said； 〃machine…made like
