98
PHILIP
L.
GREENE
Marvena Portney, sandy hair, big breasts, skinny legs, eyes dilating
all
the time, a speech and drama major, Maxvena shot up out of
her chair and ran out of the room holding back the tears."
"What happened?"
"I don't know. She'll be in soon for a conference."
"Yes, it is difficult," Malcolm said with concern. "I never
knew what to do with crying students. I usually offer them a clean
handkerchief, but they always reach for the kleenex in their bags.
They carry everything in those bags.
1
have a weakness for crying
girls
with big bags."
"I wonder what they carry in there," Rollie said, slyly.
"Ha,
ha,"
Malcolm said.
"There aren't many virgins left."
"Ha, ha," Malcolm said.
"Do you think there are any virgins left?"
"Some,
1
guess." Malcolm's voice dropped a bit.
"Do you think they use the pill?"
"The pill?
1
think not.
1
don't think they use anything."
"They don't?" Rollie swiveled with the tea cup in his hand.
"The boys probably use something, you know, in the old-
fashioned way."
"I
hear they use Saran Wrap."
"Saran Wrap?"
"They buy it in the supermarket. No problem with drugstores."
Malcolm shook his head.
"It might be fun," Rollie said.
"Ha,
ha," Malcolm said.
Rollie watched Malcolm walk out of the room with a manila
f9lder tucked under his arm, his face composed for official business.
He loved to play secret agent. Last year
it
was a confidential re–
port on the revamped Freshman Contemporary Civilization program.
Rollie had talked his way into seeing the report by goading Malcolm
into defending the Aristotelian categories by which he was setting up
the course. With some delicate maneuvering Rollie managed to
show Malcolm that the act-agency formula, good for drama per–
haps, would foul itself as an analogue for the literary history of
civilization. This year Malcolm was iron-lipped, friendly but alert,
jocular but cautious, blue eyes slit with razor-edge awareness. It was
already late November and Rollie had not had an inkling of
w~at
