The Moviegoer - Walker Percy [0]
Other Avon Books by
Walker Percy
LANCELOT
THE LAST GENTLEMAN
LOVE IN THE RUINS
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THE MOVIEGOER
WALKER PERCY
A BARD BOOK / PUBLISHED BY AVON BOOKS
A small section of this book originally appeared in FORUM
in slightly different form as “Carnival in Gentilly.”
AVON BOOKS
A division of
The Hearst Corporation
959 Eighth Avenue
New York, New York 10019
Copyright © 1960, 1961 by Walker Percy
Published by arrangement with Alfred A. Knopf, Inc.
Library of Congress Catalog Card Number: 61-7754
ISBN: 0-380-47076-4
All rights reserved, which includes the right
to reproduce this book or portions thereof in
any form whatsoever. For information address
Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 201 East 50th Street,
New York, New York 10022
First Avon Printing, January, 1980
First Bard Printing, March 1982
BARD TRADEMARK REG. U.S. PAT. OFF. AND IN
OTHER COUNTRIES, MARCA REGISTRADA,
HECHO EM U.S.A.
Printed in the U.S.A.
WFH 10 9 8 7 6 5 4
In gratitude to
W. A. P.
Contents
Contents
ONE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
TWO
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
THREE
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
FOUR
1
2
3
4
FIVE
1
2
EPILOGUE
... the specific character of
despair is precisely this: it
is unaware of being despair.
SØREN KIERKEGAARD,
The Sickness Unto Death
What follows is a work of the imagination. Every character, except movie stars, and every event without exception are fictitious. No resemblance to real persons is intended or should be inferred. When movie stars are mentioned, it is not the person of the actor which is meant but the character he projects upon the screen. The geography of New Orleans and the bayous has been changed slightly. As for “Feliciana Parish,” there are parishes named East Feliciana and West Feliciana, but I know not a soul in either place.
ONE
1
This morning I got a note from my aunt asking me to come for lunch. I know what this means. Since I go there every Sunday for dinner and today is Wednesday, it can mean only one thing: she wants to have one of her serious talks. It will be extremely grave, either a piece of bad news about her stepdaughter Kate or else a serious talk about me, about the future and what I ought to do. It is enough to scare the wits out of anyone, yet I confess I do not find the prospect altogether unpleasant.
I remember when my older brother Scott died of pneumonia. I was eight years old. My aunt had charge of me and she took me for a walk behind the hospital. It was an interesting street. On one-side were the power plant and blowers and incinerator of the hospital, all humming and blowing out a hot meaty smell. On the other side was a row of Negro houses. Children and old folks and dogs sat on the porches watching us. I noticed with pleasure that Aunt Emily seemed to have all the time in the world and was willing to talk about anything I wanted to talk about. Something extraordinary had happened all right. We walked slowly in step. “