Chapter 6

I think I was still looking out of the window when I heard Stradlater's goddamn footsteps coming down the corridor, but I'm not sure. I swear I can't remember. I was thinking about how his date went with Jane. I knew what he was like. He was unscrupulous. He really was. I was so damn worried. When he came in and got undressed he didn't say one goddamn word about the date. All he did was thank me for letting him borrrow my goddamn hound's jacket. When he had read the work I did for him all he did was complain and said it had to be about a room or a house or something - not a baseball mitt. In the end i tore the goddamn thing up. He didn't say a word about Jane so I asked him about it. My voice was shaking something awful. When he told me it sounded like he didn't even give a damn and that they stayed in Ed Banky's goddamn car all night. He let him borrow the thing whenever he wanted it. When I asked him if he gave her the time in his car he said "Thats's a proffessional secret, buddy."
Next thing I knew, I got up off the bed and tried to sock him. Only I missed. I'd caught the side of his head, which probably hurt a little bit - but not alot. Next thing, I was lay on the floor and he was sat on my goddamn chest with his face all red. After I'd shouted at him to get his knees off my chest he finally let me go.
I had a feeling that old Ackley would have heard all the racket, so I went through the shower curtains into his room. It always had a funny stink in it, because he was so crumby in his personal habits.

Allies Baseball Mitt

Haiku for Allie

Although you are gone,
Your memory still lives on,
Allie we love you.

Chapter 5

On a Sauturday night at Pencey we always had steak. It was supposed to be some big deal. You should have seen them. They were these little hard jobs that were dry as hell. You could hardly even cut the goddamn things. After dinner Mal Brossard and I decided to go for a hamburger and go see a movie. I invited Ackley along with us because he never goes out on a Saturday. It took him about five goddamn hours to get ready. Ackley and Mal had already seen the movie that was showing, so we got back to the dorm at about quarter to nine. Ackley came back to my room and started talking about some girl that he was supposed to have had sexual intercourse with the summer before. He'd already told me about a thousand times. He was a virgin if I ever saw one. Finally I told him he had to clear the hell out because I had to do that goddamn composition for Stradlater.
When I was ready I couldn't think of a thing to write. I'm not too crazy about describing houses and rooms or anything anyway. So finally I decided to write about my brother Allie's baseball mitt. The thing that was descriptive about it was that it had poems written all over the fingers and the pocket and everywhere. He did it so he would have something to read when he was in the field and nobody was up at bat. He's dead now. He got leukemia and died on July 18th 1946. He was terrifically intelligent. People with red hair are supposed to get really mad, but Allie didn't, and he had very red hair. He really did. God, he was a nice kid. I slept in the garage the night he died and broke all the goddamn windows with my fists, just for the hell of it. My hand still hurts once in a while, when it rains and all, and I can't really make a fist anymore. I mean, it's not like i'm going to be a goddamn surgeon or a violinist or anything like that anyway.
Anyway, old Allie's baseball mitt, that's what I wrote Stradlaters composition about. I had it with me in my suitcase so I copied the poems out and all. I sort of liked writing about it.
It was around ten-thrity when I finished. I wasn't even that tired. I looked out of the window and every now and again you could hear a car not being able to get started. And right through the goddamn shower curtains you could hear old Ackley snoring. He had sinus trouble and couldn't breathe too hot. That guy had just about everything that nobody else wanted. You had to feel a little sorry for the crazy sonuvabitch.

Chapter 4

I didn't have anything to do, so I went down to the can and chewed the rag with him while he was shaving. Stradlater always looked alright, but he was a secret slob. Like, his razor was always rusty as hell, with all lather and hairs and crap always left in it. I was sat on the wash bason next to his and I had a habit of turning the tap on and off. Then he asked me to do him a favour. He wanted me to write him a goddamn composition for English. I mean, it's me who's flunking out of the goddamn place but he wants me to do his work for him. It was very ironical. It really was. He said I had to write something descriptive - like a room or a house. I asked him who the hell his date was. He said that she knew me, and when he told me her name i damn near dropped dead. Jane Gallagher. Boy, I sat up from the washbowl when I heard that name. I couldn't believe it. She practically lived right next door to me, the summer before last. Boy, was I excited though. I really was. I oughta go down and say hello to her but I was too tired to be honest. I told him to give her my regards and to ask her if she still keeps all her kings on the back row - oh, we used to play checkers together all the time. I knew he probably wouldn't remember though. Boy, I was excited as hell. I couldn't stop thinking about her. As soon as Stradlater left, Ackley barged in again through the damn shower curtains. For the first time in my life I was pretty glad to see him - he took my mind off other stuff. He was talking about how he hated all the guys at Pencey and squeezing his big pimple on his chin. He could have at least used a goddamn hankerchief.

Chapter 3

Let me tell you one thing, I'm the most terrific liar you ever saw in your life. Like, if I'm on the way to buy a magazine and someone asks me where I'm going, I'd probably say I was on my way to the opera or some place like that. It's awful, it really is. When I told Spencer that I had to go and get some gym equipment - that was a complete lie. Boy, I can't help it.
Anyway, it was pretty nice to get back to my room after I'd left old Spencer, because everyone was still down at the game, and the heat was on in our room for a goddamn change. After a while I began reading a book that I took out of the library by mistake. It was them who gave me the goddamn wrong book and I didn't notice. I thought it was going to stink, but it was actually a very good book. I'm quite illiterate, but I do read a lot. My favourite author is D.B., my older brother who's out in Hollywood at the moment. Anyway, I'd only read about three pages of the book when I heard someone coming through the shower curtains. I knew straight away that it was Robert Ackey, this guy that roomed right next to me. About eighty-five times a day Ackley would barge in on me. He hardly ever went anywhere, he was probably the only guy apart from me who wasn't down at the game. He was a very perculiar guy. He was one of these extremely tall, round-shouldered guys - he was about six four - with lousy teeth. He was stood on the goddamn shower ledge taking a good look to see if Stradlater was around. He hated his guts. He damn near hated everybody's guts. After he'd walked around the room for a bit he started asking me about the goddamn fencing match. Boy, he can get on my nerves sometimes.
After he made himself at home, he started cutting his nails all over the goddamn floor! What's the hell is that about? Then I was trying to convince him that Stradlater wasn't the sunovabitch that he thought he was. Boy, he sure does have it in for him. All of a sudden Stradlater barged in as if he was in a big hurry. He was always in a big hurry. Soon after Ackley left - which didn't suprise me. Stradlater was asking me if he could borrow my goddamn hound's-tooth jacket for his goddamn date. He said he was going to have a quick shave, so he walked out the room with his toilet kit and towel under his arm. No shirt on or anything. He always walked around with no shirt on and a bare torso because he thought he had a damn good build. Which I have to admit, he did.

Where do the ducks go in winter?

Chapter 2

They were both around seventy and each had their own room and all. His door was open, but I still sort of knocked on, just to be polite and all. He was all wrapped up in his blanket on his big leather chair. "Who's that?" He yelled. "Caulfield? Come in, boy." He was always yelling, it got on your nerves sometimes. I was sort of sorry I had come the minute i went in. He was reading the Atlantic Monthly and I wasn't too crazy about sick people anyway.
After a bit he started asking about how my parents would take the news about me being kicked out of Pencey. "Well... they'll be pretty irritated about it. They really will. This is about the fourth school i've gone to." I shook my head. I shake my head quite alot actually.
Old Spencer started nodding and then started picking his nose. I guess he thought it was OK because I was the only person in the room. I mean, I didn't care, it's just pretty disgusting to watch somebody picking their nose.
All of a sudden i just wanted to get the hell out of the room. Boy, I could feel some big lecture coming on. He began asking me how many goddamn subjects I'd taken this term and how many I'd been failing in. He said he flunked me in history because I knew absolutely nothing - which was true i suppose. It really was. After he had finished going on with his goddamn self he told me to go and get my exam paper. It was a very dirty trick, but i went over and brought it over to him and I went and sat back down on the goddamn concrete bed. Boy, you can't imagine how sorry I was that I'd stopped by to say goodbye to him.
He started holding my exam paper like it was a turd or something. Then he started reading the goddamn thing out. I had wrote hardly anything and I had to sit there and listen to the crap. It really was a dirty trick. After he'd finished he looked at me like he'd just beaten the hell out of me at ping-pong or something. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for reading that piece of crap out to me. I really won't.
After he started questioning me about whether I blamed him for flunking me, I started thinking about the lagoon in Central Park. I was wondering if it would be frozen over when I got home, and if it was, where did the ducks go. Then he started going on about the old schools I got kicked out of and whether i had any difficulties there.
After another goddamn lecture, I told him that I best be going because I had quite a bit of equiptment at the gym I needed to pick up. He started nodding at me again, with a very serious look on his face. All of a sudden I felt sorry for the goddamn guy, but there was no way I could hang around there any longer. I told him not to worry about me and that I'd be alright.
After I shut the door I was sure he shouted something at me. It sounded like 'Good luck.' I hope to hell that's not what he shouted. I'd never say that to anyone. Boy, it sounds terrible.