Joe thought about it and then stood up,brushing a few errant crumbs from his shirt. He limped to the center of theroom, leaving his crutch leaning against his chair. Oy looked up at him withhis ears cocked and his old grin on his chops, as if anticipating theentertainment to come. For a moment Joe looked uncertain. Then he took a deepbreath, let it out, and gave them a smile. “Promise you won’t throw no tomatoesif I stink up the joint,” he said. “Remember, it’s been a long time.”

“Not after you took us in and fed us,” Susannahsaid. “Never in life.”

Roland, always literal, said, “We have notomatoes, in any case.”

“Right, right. Although there are somecanned ones in the pantry… forget I said that!”

Susannah smiled. So did Roland.

Encouraged, Joe said: “Okay, let’s go backto that magical place called Jango’s in that magical city some folks call themistake on the lake. Cleveland, Ohio, in other words. Second show. The one Inever got to finish, and I was on a roll, take my word for it. Give me just asecond…”

He closed his eyes. Seemed to gatherhimself. When he opened them again, he somehow looked ten years younger. It wasastounding. And he didn’t just sound American when he began to speak, helooked American. Susannah couldn’t have explained that in words, but sheknew it was true: here was one Joe Collins, Made in U.S.A.

“Hey, ladies and gentlemen, welcome toJango’s, I’m Joe Collins and you’re not.”

Roland chuckled and Susannah smiled, mostlyto be polite—that was a pretty old one.

“The management has asked me to remind youthat this is two-beers-for-a-buck night. Got it? Good. With them the motive isprofit, with me it’s self-interest. Because the more you drink, the funnier Iget.”

Susannah’s smile widened. There was arhythm to comedy, even she knew that, although she couldn’t have doneeven five minutes of stand-up in front of a noisy nightclub crowd, not if herlife had depended on it. There was a rhythm, and after an uncertainbeginning, Joe was finding his. His eyes were half-lidded, and she guessed hewas seeing the mixed colors of the gels over the stage—so like the colorsof the Wizard’s Rainbow, now that she thought of it—and smelling thesmoke of fifty smoldering cigarettes. One hand on the chrome pole of the mike;the other free to make any gesture it liked. Joe Collins playing Jango’s on aFriday night—

No, not a Friday. He said all the clubsbook rock-and-roll bands on the weekends.

“Ne’mine all that mistake-on-the-lakestuff, Cleveland’s a beautiful city,” Joe said. He was picking up the pace alittle now. Starting to rap, Eddie might have said. “My folks are fromCleveland, but when they were seventy they moved to Florida. They didn’t wantto, but shitfire, it’s the law. Bing!” Joe rapped his knuckles against his headand crossed his eyes. Roland chuckled again even though he couldn’t have theslightest idea where (or even what) Florida was. Susannah’s smile was widerthan ever.

“Florida’s a helluva place,” Joe said. “Helluvaplace. Home of the newly wed and the nearly dead. My grandfather retired toFlorida, God rest his soul. When I die, I want to go peacefully, in my sleep,like Grampa Fred. Not screaming, like the passengers in his car.”

Roland roared with laughter at that one,and Susannah did, too. Oy’s grin was wider than ever.

“My grandma, she was great, too. She saidshe learned how to swim when someone took her out on the Cuyahoga River andthrew her off the boat. I said, ‘Hey, Nana, they weren’t trying to teach youhow to swim.’”

Roland snorted, wiped his nose, thensnorted again. His cheeks had bloomed with color. Laughter elevated the entiremetabolism, put it almost on a fight-or-flight basis; Susannah had read thatsomewhere. Which meant her own must be rising, because she was laughing, too.It was as if all the horror and sorrow were gushing out of an open wound,gushing out like—

Well, like blood.

She heard a faint alarm-bell start to ring,far back in her mind, and ignored it. What was there to be alarmed about? Theywere laughing, for goodness’ sake! Having a good time!

“Can I be serious a minute? No? Well, fuckyou and the nag you rode in on—tomorrow when I wake up, I’ll be sober,but you’ll still be ugly.

“And bald.”

(Roland roared.)

“I’m gonna be serious, okay? If you don’tlike it, stick it where you keep your change-purse. My Nana was a great lady.Women in general are great, you know it? But they have their flaws, just likemen. If a woman has to choose between catching a fly ball and saving a baby’slife, for instance, she’ll save the baby without even considering how many menare on base. Bing!” He rapped his head with his knuckles and popped his eyes ina way that made them both laugh. Roland tried to put his coffee cup down andspilled it. He was holding his stomach. Hearing him laugh so hard—tosurrender to laughter so completely—was funny in itself, and Susannahburst out in a fresh gale.

“Men are one thing, women are another. Putem together and you’ve got a whole new taste treat. Like Oreos. Like PeanutButter Cups. Like raisin cake with snot sauce. Show me a man and a woman andI’ll show you the Peculiar Institution—not slavery, marriage. But Irepeat myself. Bing!” He rapped his head. Popped his eyes. This time theyseemed to come kasproing halfway out of their sockets

(how does he do that)

and Susannah had to clutch her stomach, whichwas beginning to ache with the force of her laughter. And her temples werebeginning to pound. It hurt, but it was a good hurt.

“Marriage is having a wife or a husband.Yeah! Check Webster’s! Bigamy is having a wife or husband too many. Of course,that’s also monogamy. Bing!”

If Roland laughed any harder, Susannahthought, he would go sliding right out of his chair and into the puddle ofspilled coffee.

“Then there’s divorce, a Latin term meaning‘to rip a man’s genitals out through the wallet.’

“But I was talking about Cleveland,remember? You know how Cleveland got started? A bunch of people in New Yorksaid, ‘Gee I’m starting to enjoy the crime and the poverty, but it’s not quitecold enough. Let’s go west.’”

Laughter, Susannah would reflect later, islike a hurricane: once it reaches a certain point, it becomes self-feeding,self-supporting. You laugh not because the jokes are funny but becauseyour own condition is funny. Joe Collins took them to this point withhis next sally.

“Hey, remember in elementary school, youwere told that in case of fire you have to line up quietly with the smallestpeople in front and the tallest people at the end of the line? What’s the logicin that? Do tall people burn slower?”

Susannah shrieked with laughter and slappedthe side of her face. This produced a sudden and unexpected burst of pain thatdrove all the laughter out of her in a moment. The sore beside her mouth hadbeen growing again, but hadn’t bled in two or three days. When sheinadvertently struck it with her flailing hand, she knocked away theblackish-red crust covering it. The sore did not just bleed; it gushed.

For a moment she was unaware of what hadjust happened. She only knew that slapping the side of her face hurt muchmore than it should have done. Joe also seemed unaware (his eyes were mostlyclosed again), must have been unaware, because he rapped faster thanever: “Hey, and what about that seafood restaurant they have at Sea World? Igot halfway through my fishburger and wondered if I was eating a slow learner!Bing! And speaking of fish—”

Oy barked in alarm. Susannah felt suddenwet warmth run down the side of her neck and onto her shoulder.

“Stop, Joe,” Roland said. He sounded out ofbreath. Weak. With laughter, Susannah supposed. Oh, but the side of her facehurt, and—

Joe opened his eyes, looking annoyed.“What? Jesus Christ, you wanted it and I was giving it to ya!”