The catcher in the rye

I told him to go wash his own moron face — which was a pretty childish thing to say, but I was mad as hell. I told him to stop off on the way to the can and give Mrs. Schmidt the time. Mrs. Schmidt was the janitor’s wife. She was around sixty-five.

I kept sitting there on the floor till I heard old Stradlater close the door and go down the corridor to the can. Then I got up. I couldn’t find my goddam hunting hat anywhere. Finally I found it. It was under the bed. I put it on, and turned the old peak around to the back, the way I liked it, and then I went over and took a look at my stupid face in the mirror. You never saw such gore in your life. I had blood all over my mouth and chin and even on my pajamas and bath robe. It partly scared me and it partly fascinated me. All that blood and all sort of made me look tough. I’d only been in about two fights in my life, and I lost both of them. I’m not too tough. I’m a pacifist, if you want to know the truth.

I had a feeling old Ackley’d probably heard all the racket and was awake. So I went through the shower curtains into his room, just to see what the hell he was doing. I hardly ever went over to his room. It always had a funny stink in it, because he was so crumby in his personal habits.

7

A tiny bit of light came through the shower curtains and all from our room, and I could see him lying in bed. I knew damn well he was wide awake. “Ackley?” I said. “Y’awake?”

“Yeah.”

It was pretty dark, and I stepped on somebody’s shoe on the floor and damn near fell on my head. Ackley sort of sat up in bed and leaned on his arm. He had a lot of white stuff on his face, for his pimples. He looked sort of spooky in the dark. “What the hellya doing, anyway?” I said.

“Wuddaya mean what the hell am I doing? I was tryna sleep before you guys started making all that noise. What the hell was the fight about, anyhow?”

“Where’s the light?” I couldn’t find the light. I was sliding my hand all over the wall.

“Wuddaya want the light for? …Right next to your hand.”

I finally found the switch and turned it on. Old Ackley put his hand up so the light wouldn’t hurt his eyes.

“Jesus!” he said. “What the hell happened to you?” He meant all the blood and all.

“I had a little goddam tiff with Stradlater,” I said. Then I sat down on the floor. They never had any chairs in their room. I don’t know what the hell they did with their chairs. “Listen,” I said, “do you feel like playing a little Canasta?” He was a Canasta fiend.

“You’re still bleeding, for Chrissake. You better put something on it.”

“It’ll stop. Listen. Ya wanna play a little Canasta or don’tcha?”

“Canasta, for Chrissake. Do you know what time it is, by any chance?”

“It isn’t late. It’s only around eleven, eleven-thirty.”

“Only around!” Ackley said. “Listen. I gotta get up and go to Mass in the morning, for Chrissake. You guys start hollering and fighting in the middle of the goddam — What the hell was the fight about, anyhow?”

“It’s a long story. I don’t wanna bore ya, Ackley. I’m thinking of your welfare,” I told him. I never discussed my personal life with him. In the first place, he was even more stupid than Stradlater. Stradlater was a goddam genius next to Ackley. “Hey,” I said, “is it okay if I sleep in Ely’s bed tonight? He won’t be back till tomorrow night, will he?” I knew damn well he wouldn’t. Ely went home damn near every week end.

“I don’t know when the hell he’s coming back,” Ackley said.

Boy, did that annoy me. “What the hell do you mean you don’t know when he’s coming back? He never comes back till Sunday night, does he?”

“No, but for Chrissake, I can’t just tell somebody they can sleep in his goddam bed if they want to.”

That killed me. I reached up from where I was sitting on the floor and patted him on the goddam shoulder. “You’re a prince, Ackley kid,” I said. “You know that?”

“No, I mean it — I can’t just tell somebody they can sleep in—”

“You’re a real prince. You’re a gentleman and a scholar, kid,” I said. He really was, too. “Do you happen to have any cigarettes, by any chance? — Say ‘no’ or I’ll drop dead.”

“No, I don’t, as a matter of fact. Listen, what the hell was the fight about?”

I didn’t answer him. All I did was, I got up and went over and looked out the window. I felt so lonesome, all of a sudden. I almost wished I was dead.

“What the hell was the fight about, anyhow?” Ackley said, for about the fiftieth time. He certainly was a bore about that.

“About you,” I said.

“About me, for Chrissake?”

“Yeah. I was defending your goddam honor. Stradlater said you had a lousy personality. I couldn’t let him get away with that stuff.”

That got him excited. “He did? No kidding? He did?”

I told him I was only kidding, and then I went over and laid down on Ely’s bed. Boy, did I feel rotten. I felt so damn lonesome.

“This room stinks,” I said. “I can smell your socks from way over here. Don’tcha ever send them to the laundry?”

“If you don’t like it, you know what you can do,” Ackley said. What a witty guy. “How ’bout turning off the goddam light?”