VARIETY
317
used to that reaction," I said. "When I get to
be
a teacher I intend
to confuse all my students by telling them my middle name is St. Thomas
Aquinas."
Faulkner laughed. He tapped the pipe against his palm and placed
it in the lapel pocket of his corduroy jacket. He uncrossed his legs and
swung his body toward me. "Sit down, son," he said.
We sat facing each other in bright sunlight through which Faulkner
squinted as he talked. As he spoke his eyes moved constantly, resting only
now and then upon me, but seeming to take in all that went on about us.
"Are you a New Yorker?" Faulkner asked. New Yorker was two
syllables.
"Not much longer," I said. "I'm leaving to go to graduate school."
"Plan to teach?"
"I'd like to write, too," I said.
"That's good," Faulkner replied quickly. "What things?"
"Oh ... ," I said. "I try poems mostly."
"That's good," he said again brightly. "I do those all the time."
"I know," I answered. "I read them. There's only one book, isn't
there?"
He plucked the pipe out of the jacket pocket and turned slightly
away from me. He fondled the pipe and examined the ground in front
of us moodily. I had the feeling that I had said something annoying.
For a few moments I searched for a way to engage him again, but he
came back himself.
"What do you plan to work on?"
"It's a bit hazy right now," I said. "I'd like to try your books. I like
As I Lay Dying
very much, but it's puzzling - the structure, I mean."
Faulkner nodded. "I like
Dying
-
do you know
Light?"
"Light?
-
oh, you mean
Light in August?
I haven't read that yet,
but I had a teacher once who thought it was your best."
"What's his name?" he asked.
"Bird Stair."
"No ... I don't know of him. How about Tom Wolfe?"
"I haven't thought about Wolfe much," I said. "I like his work,
but the only problems I've thought about are in Melville and your
books."
"What problems do you have with Bill Faulkner?" he asked.
"I think they're similar to the ones in Melville," I said.
"If
I had
to choose a title right now I'd call it something like
William Faulkner
and the Problem of Evil."
He sat straight up and stared at me. "Evil?" he chuckled. "No ...
