The Moviegoer

describe it. If you felt it, you already know exactly what I mean. If you didn’t—!” Now Walter stands over me, holding his hat over his heart. “Did you feel it, Binx?” I told him straight off that nothing would make me happier than to pledge Delta on the spot, if that was what he was getting at. We shook hands and he called in some of the brothers. “Fellows, I want you to meet Mister John Bickerson Bolling. He’s one of those broken-down Bollings from up in Feliciana Parish—you may have heard the name. Binx is a country boy and he’s full of hookworm but he ought to have some good stuff in him. I believe he’ll make us a good man.” We shook hands all around. They were good fellows.
    As it turned out, I did not make them a good man at all. I managed to go to college four years without acquiring a single honor. When the annual came out, there was nothing under my picture but the letters ? ? ? —which was appropriate since I had spent the four years propped on the front porch of the fraternity house, bemused and dreaming, watching the sun shine through the Spanish moss, lost in the mystery of finding myself alive at such a time and place—and next to ??? my character summary: “Quiet but a sly sense of humor.” Boylan Bass of Bastrop turned out to be no less a disappointment. He was a tall farm boy with a long neck and an Adam’s apple who took pharmacy and for four years said not a word and was not known even to his fraternity brothers. His character line was: “A good friend.”
    Walter is at ease again. He turns away from the window and once more stands over me and inclines his narrow hollowed-out temple.
    â€œYou know most of the krewe, don’t you?”
    â€œYes. As a matter of fact I still belong—”
    â€œIt’s the same bunch that go down to Tigre au Chenier. Why didn’t you come down last month?”
    â€œI really don’t like to hunt much.”
    Walter seems to spy something on the table. He leans over and runs a thumb along the grain. “Just look at that wood. It’s all one piece, by God.” Since his engagement, I have noticed that Walter has begun to take a proprietary interest in the house, tapping on walls, measuring floorboards, hefting vases. He straightens up. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you. All I can figure is that you’ve got me on your list.”
    â€œIt’s not that.”
    â€œWhat is it then?”
    â€œWhat is what?”
    â€œWhy in the hell don’t you give me a call sometime?”
    â€œWhat would we talk about?” I say in our sour-senseless style of ten years ago.
    Walter gives my shoulder a hard squeeze. “I’d forgotten what a rare turd you are. No, you’re right. What would we talk about,” says Walter elegiacally. “Oh Lord. What’s wrong with the goddamn world, Binx?”
    â€œI am not sure. But something occurred to me this morning. I was sitting on the bus—”
    â€œWhat do you do with yourself out there in Gentilly?” People often ask me what is wrong with the world and also what I do in Gentilly, and I always try to give an answer. The former is an interesting question. I have noticed, however, that no one really wants to listen to an answer.
    â€œNot much. Sell mutual funds to widows and dagos.”
    â€œIs that right?” Walter drops his shoulder and feels the muscle in his back. Squatting down on his heels, he runs an eye along the baseboard calculating the angle of settle.
    After the war some of us bought a houseboat on Vermilion Bay near Tigre au Chenier. Walter got everything organized. It was just like him to locate a cook-caretaker living right out there in the swamp and to line up some real boogalee guides. But to me the venture was not a success. It was boring, to tell the truth. Actually there was very little fishing and hunting and a great deal of poker and drinking. Walter liked nothing better than getting out in that swamp on week ends with five or six fellows, quit shaving and play poker around the clock. He really enjoyed it. He would get up groaning from the table at three o’clock in the morning and pour himself a drink and, rubbing his beard, stand looking out into the darkness. “Goddamn, this is all right, isn’t it? Isn’t this a terrific setup, Binx? Tomorrow we’re going to have duck Rochambeau right here. Tell me honestly, have