CATCHER IN THE RYE

Chapter 1

I'm not going to tell you where I was born, and about my lousy childhood, and about my parents, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap. Firstly, that stuff bores me, and secondly, my parents would be shocked if I told anything very personal about them. They're quite touchy about that, especially my father. They're nice and all - I'm not saying that - but they're also touchy as hell. Besides, I'm not going to tell you my whole goddam autobiography or anything. I'll just tell you this idiotic story that happened to me around last Christmas just before I got rather seriously ill and had to come here and have a rest and some treatment. I told D. B. about this story, and he's my brother and all. He's in Hollywood. That isn't too far from this place, and he visits me practically every weekend. He's going to drive me home when I go home next month maybe. He just got a Jaguar. One of those little English things that can do around two hundred miles an hour. It cost him damn near four thousand bucks. He's got a lot of dough, now. He wasn't so rich before. He was just a real writer, when he was home. He wrote this terrific book of short stories, The Secret Goldfish. The best story in it was "The Secret Goldfish." It was about this little kid that didn't let anybody look at his goldfish because he'd bought it with his own money. It killed me. Now he's out in Hollywood, D.B., being a prostitute. If there's one thing I hate, it's the movies. Don't even mention them to me.
I want to start my story from the day when I left Pencey Prep. Pencey Prep is this school that's in Agerstown, Pennsylvania. You probably heard of it. You've probably seen the ads, anyway. They advertise in about a thousand magazines, always showing some hot-shot guy on a horse jumping over a fence. As if at Pencey you only play polo all the time. I never even once saw a horse anywhere near the place. And underneath the guy on the horse there is a picture, it always says: "Since 1888 we have been forming boys into splendid, clear-thinking young men." It's a lie. They don't do any damn more forming at Pencey than they do at any other school. And I didn't know anybody there that was splendid and clear-thinking and all. Maybe two guys. And they probably came to Pencey already formed.
It was the Saturday of the football game with Saxon Hall. The game with Saxon Hall was the last game of the year, and if old Pencey didn't win you were to commit suicide or something. Around three o'clock that afternoon I was standing on top of Thomsen Hill, right next to this crazy cannon that was in the Revolutionary War and all. You could see the whole field from there, and you could see the two teams bashing each other all over the field. Practically the whole school except me was there, they were all yelling, on the Pencey side, on the Saxon Hall side they were not so loud, because the visiting team hardly ever brought many people with them.
There were never many girls at all at the football games. Only seniors were allowed to bring girls with them. It was a terrible school. I like to be somewhere at least where you can see a few girls around once in a while, even if they're only scratching their arms or even just giggling or something.
Old Selma Thurmer - she was the headmaster's daughter - came to the games quite often. She was not very beautiful. She had a big nose and her nails were all bitten down, and she wore those damn falsies. You felt sort of sorry for her, but she was a pretty nice girl. I liked her. Most of all I liked that she didn't give you a lot of horse manure about what a great guy her father was. She probably knew what a phony slob he was.
I didn't go to the football game because I'd just got back from New York with the fencing team. I was the goddam captain of the fencing team. We'd gone into New York that morning for this fencing meeting with McBurney School. Only, we didn't have the meeting. I left all the foils and equipment on the goddam subway. It wasn't all my fault. I looked at the map all the time in order to know where to get off. The whole team ostracized me the whole way back on the train.
The other reason why I wasn't at the game was because I was on my way to say good-by to old Spencer, my history teacher. He had the grippe, and I thought that I probably wouldn't see him again till Christmas vacation started. He wrote me this note that he wanted to see me before I went home. He knew I wasn't coming back to Pencey.
I forgot to tell you about that. They kicked me out. I was not to come back after Christmas vacation because I was bad at four subjects and was not diligent and all. So I got the ax. They give guys the ax quite often at Pencey. It has a very good academic rating, Pencey.
Anyway? It was December and all, and it was cold, especially on top of that stupid hill. I only had on my reversible and no gloves or anything. The week before that, somebody'd stolen my camel's-hair coat right out of my room, with my fur-lined gloves right in the pocket and all. Pencey was full of crooks. Many guys came from these very rich families, but it was full of crooks. At more expensive schools there are more crooks - I'm not kidding. So, I was very cold and I stood on that stupid hill and looked down at the game. Only, I wasn't watching the game too much. I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. When I leave a place I like to know that I'm leaving it. If you don't know it, you feel even worse.
I was lucky. Suddenly I remembered something that helped me know that I was leaving. I suddenly remembered this time, around October, that Robert Tichener and Paul Campbell were kicking a football around, in front of the academic building. They were nice guys, especially Tichener. It was just before dinner and it was getting pretty dark, and we could hardly see the ball any more, but we didn't want to stop. But this teacher that taught biology, Mr Zambesi, called us from the window in the academic building and told us to go back to the dorm and get ready for dinner. If I get a chance to remember that kind of thing, I can get a good-by. So, I turned around and started running down the other side of the hill, toward old Spencer's house. He didn't live on the campus. He lived on Anthony Wayne Avenue.
I ran all the way to the main gate, and then I waited a second till I could breathe normally. I smoked very much. Now I don't. They made me stop it. Another thing, I grew six and a half inches last year. That's also how I practically got t.b. and came out here for all these goddamn checkups and stuff. I'm pretty healthy, though.
When I could breathe normally I ran to old Spencer's house. I was really frozen. My ears were hurting and I could hardly move my fingers at all when I pushed the door bell. Old Mrs Spencer opened the door at last. They didn't have a maid or anything, and they always opened the door themselves. They didn't have too much dough.
"Holden!" Mrs Spencer said. "How lovely to see you! Come in, dear! Are you frozen to death?" I think she was glad to see me. She liked me. At least, I think she did.
"How are you, Mrs Spencer?" I said. "How's Mr Spencer?"
"Let me take your coat, dear," she said. She didn't hear that I asked her how Mr Spencer was. She was sort of deaf. She hung up my coat in the hall closet. "How've you been, Mrs Spencer?" I said again, only louder, so she could hear me.
"I've been just fine, Holden." She closed the closet door. "How have you been?" From her intonation I understood at once that old Spencer'd told her that I'd been kicked out.
"Fine," I said. "How's Mr Spencer? Is he over his grippe yet?"
"Over it! Holden, he's behaving like a perfect - I don't know what... He's in his room, dear. Go right in."

Part 2

Carla is going to leave the shop. But where is her umbrella?
There is one umbrella near the door. It is not a red umbrella. It is not Carla’s umbrella.
This umbrella is old and black. It has a pattern of yellow ducks. It is not smart. Carla takes the umbrella. “This is not my lucky day!” Carla says.
Carla walks to the town square. A young man speaks to her.
Hello!
He smiles.
Carla does not know this young man. She walks away quickly.
The young man is following Carla. She walks into a crowd of people. The young man follows the black and yellow umbrella. “Hello! Wait!”  A young man says.

Part 3

Carla turns. She looks at the young man. She is angry. “Go away!” she says.
The young man is sad. “Marisa, I’m sorry!” he says.  “I’m very late.”
“I’m not Marisa,” Carla shouts. “You are not Marisa?” says the young man. He points at the black umbrella with yellow ducks. “That’s her umbrella.” “Oh,” says Carla. “Who is Marisa?” “I don’t know Marisa,” says the young man. “I’m going to meet her. We are going to have coffee. It is my cousin’s idea. Marisa works with my cousin.” “I am not Marisa!” says Carla again.
 “My cousin has a photo of Marisa,” says the young man. “She’s tall. You’re tall. Her hair is short and dark. Your hair is short and dark. In the photo, she has an umbrella.
It’s a black umbrella with yellow ducks. You have a black umbrella with yellow ducks!”
Carla looks up at the old umbrella. “Marisa is a thief,” she thinks. “She has my new red umbrella.” Carla is angry again. “Please don’t be angry,” says the young man. He looks at his watch “It’s three o’clock. Marisa goes to work at 2.30. I can’t meet her now. It’s too late.” He smiles at Carla. “Let’s have coffee together,” he says.
Carla thinks for a moment. “OK,” she says. “Let’s go to my aunt’s café.” The young man smiles again. “That will be great,” he says. “My name is Paul. I’m a law student - third year," a young man says. “I’m Carla. I’m a student too. I’m studying science,” Carla says.

Part 4

Carla sits in the café with Paul. They drink coffee. They talk. They laugh and talk.
Suddenly Carla jumps up. “Oh, no!” she says. “It’s late. I must go home. I must study. I’m going to have an exam tomorrow.” “Good luck! Will you meet me again?” Paul says. “Yes. That will be nice.” Carla says.
It is almost dark. The town square is quiet.
Carla sees a tall young woman. The young woman has short dark hair. She has a smart umbrella. It is a red umbrella.
The young woman is Marisa!
Marisa sees the old black umbrella with yellow ducks. She is worried. Suddenly, her face is red. “Don’t worry, says Carla. “Keep my red umbrella. I like this umbrella. It’s a lucky umbrella. This is my lucky day!” The rain falls on the umbrellas. Carla smiles. Then she runs home.