-
Главная
-
- Книги
-
- Авторы
-
- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
-
- Девять рассказов
-
- Стр. 127/159
Для того чтобы воспользоваться озвучкой предложений, необходимо
Войти или зарегистрироваться
Озвучка предложений доступна при наличии PRO-доступа
Купить PRO-доступ
She
had
been
born
and
raised
in
Detroit
,
Michigan
,
where
her
father
had
been
a
"
checker
for
Ford
automobiles
.
"
Her
academic
education
consisted
of
one
year
of
high
school
.
She
had
had
no
formal
instruction
in
drawing
.
She
said
the
only
reason
she
was
teaching
it
was
that
Sister
somebody
had
passed
on
and
Father
Zimmermann
(
a
name
that
particularly
caught
my
eye
,
because
it
was
the
name
of
the
dentist
who
had
pulled
out
eight
of
my
teeth
)
-
Father
Zimmermann
had
picked
her
to
fill
in
.
She
said
she
had
"
34
kittys
in
my
cooking
class
and
18
kittys
in
my
drawing
class
.
"
Her
hobbies
were
loving
her
Lord
and
the
Word
of
her
Lord
and
"
collecting
leaves
but
only
when
they
are
laying
right
on
the
ground
.
"
Her
favorite
painter
was
Douglas
Bunting
.
(
A
name
,
I
don
’
t
mind
saying
,
I
’
ve
tracked
down
to
many
a
blind
alley
,
over
the
years
.
)
She
said
her
kittys
always
liked
to
"
draw
people
when
they
are
running
and
that
is
the
one
thing
I
am
terrible
at
.
"
She
said
she
would
work
very
hard
to
learn
to
draw
better
,
and
hoped
we
would
not
be
very
impatient
with
her
.
There
were
,
in
all
,
only
six
samples
of
her
work
enclosed
in
the
envelope
.
(
All
of
her
work
was
unsigned
—
a
minor
enough
fact
,
but
at
the
time
,
a
disproportionately
refreshing
one
.
Bambi
Kramer
’
s
and
Ridgefield
’
s
pictures
had
all
been
either
signed
or
—
and
it
somehow
seemed
even
more
irritating
—
initialled
.
)
After
thirteen
years
,
I
not
only
distinctly
remember
all
six
of
Sister
Irma
’
s
samples
,
but
four
of
them
I
sometimes
think
I
remember
a
trifle
too
distinctly
for
my
own
peace
of
mind
.
Her
best
picture
was
done
in
water
colors
,
on
brown
paper
.
(
Brown
paper
,
especially
wrapping
paper
,
is
very
pleasant
,
very
cosy
to
paint
on
.
Many
an
experienced
artist
has
used
it
when
he
wasn
’
t
up
to
anything
grand
or
grandiose
.
)
The
picture
,
despite
its
confining
size
(
it
was
about
ten
by
twelve
inches
)
,
was
a
highly
detailed
depiction
of
Christ
being
carried
to
the
sepulchre
in
Joseph
of
Arimathea
’
s
garden
.
In
the
far
right
foreground
,
two
men
who
seemed
to
be
Joseph
’
s
servants
were
rather
awkwardly
doing
the
carrying
.
Joseph
of
Arimathea
followed
directly
behind
them
—
bearing
himself
,
under
the
circumstances
,
perhaps
a
trifle
too
erectly
.
At
a
respectably
subordinate
distance
behind
Joseph
came
the
women
of
Galilee
,
mixed
in
with
a
motley
,
perhaps
gate
-
crashing
crowd
of
mourners
,
spectators
,
children
,
and
no
less
than
three
frisky
,
impious
mongrels
.
For
me
,
the
major
figure
in
the
picture
was
a
woman
in
the
left
foreground
,
facing
the
viewer
.
With
her
right
hand
raised
overhead
,
she
was
frantically
signalling
to
someone
—
her
child
,
perhaps
,
or
her
husband
,
or
possibly
the
viewer
—
to
drop
everything
and
hurry
over
.
Two
of
the
women
,
in
the
front
rank
of
the
crowd
,
wore
halos
.
Without
a
Bible
handy
,
I
could
only
make
a
rough
guess
at
their
identity
.
But
I
immediately
spotted
Mary
Magdalene
.
At
any
rate
,
I
was
positive
I
had
spotted
her
.
She
was
in
the
middle
foreground
,
walking
apparently
self
-
detached
from
the
crowd
,
her
arms
down
at
her
sides
.
She
wore
no
part
of
her
grief
,
so
to
speak
,
on
her
sleeve
—
in
fact
,
there
were
no
outward
signs
at
all
of
her
late
,
enviable
connections
with
the
Deceased
.
Her
face
,
like
all
the
other
faces
in
the
picture
,
had
been
done
in
a
cheap
-
priced
,
ready
-
made
flesh
-
tint
.
It
was
painfully
clear
that
Sister
Irma
herself
had
found
the
color
unsatisfactory
and
had
tried
her
unadvised
,
noble
best
to
tone
it
down
somehow
.
There
were
no
other
serious
flaws
in
the
picture
.
None
,
that
is
,
worthy
of
anything
but
cavilling
mention
.
It
was
,
in
any
conclusive
sense
,
an
artist
’
s
picture
,
steeped
in
high
,
high
,
organized
talent
and
God
knows
how
many
hours
of
hard
work
.
One
of
my
first
reactions
,
of
course
,
was
to
run
with
Sister
Irma
’
s
envelope
over
to
M
.
Yoshoto
.
But
,
once
again
,
I
kept
my
seat
.
I
didn
’
t
care
to
risk
having
Sister
Irma
taken
away
from
me
.
At
length
,
I
just
closed
her
envelope
with
care
and
placed
it
to
one
side
of
my
desk
,
with
the
exciting
plan
to
work
on
it
that
night
,
in
my
own
time
.
Then
,
with
far
more
tolerance
than
I
’
d
thought
I
had
in
me
,
almost
with
good
will
,
I
spent
the
rest
of
the
afternoon
doing
overlay
corrections
on
some
male
and
female
nudes
(
sans
sex
organs
)
that
R
.
Howard
Ridgefield
had
genteely
and
obscenely
drawn
.
Toward
dinner
time
,
I
opened
three
buttons
of
my
shirt
and
stashed
away
Sister
Irma
’
s
envelope
where
neither
thieves
,
nor
,
just
to
play
safe
,
the
Yoshotos
,
could
break
in
.
A
tacit
but
iron
-
bound
procedure
covered
all
evening
meals
at
Les
Amis
Des
Vieux
MaRres
.
Mme
.
Yoshoto
got
up
from
her
desk
promptly
at
five
-
thirty
and
went
upstairs
to
prepare
dinner
,
and
Mr
.
Yoshoto
and
I
followed
—
fell
into
single
file
,
as
it
were
—
at
six
sharp
.
There
were
no
side
trips
,
however
essential
or
hygienic
.
That
evening
,
however
,
with
Sister
Irma
’
s
envelope
warm
against
my
chest
,
I
had
never
felt
more
relaxed
.
In
fact
,
all
through
dinner
,
I
couldn
’
t
have
been
more
outgoing
.
I
gave
away
a
lulu
of
a
Picasso
story
that
had
just
reached
me
,
one
that
I
might
have
put
aside
for
a
rainy
day
.
M
.
Yoshoto
scarcely
lowered
his
Japanese
newspaper
to
listen
to
it
,
but
Mme
.
Yoshoto
seemed
responsive
,
or
,
at
least
,
not
unresponsive
.
In
any
case
,
when
I
was
finished
with
it
,
she
spoke
to
me
for
the
first
time
since
she
had
asked
me
that
morning
if
I
would
like
an
egg
.
She
asked
me
if
I
were
sure
I
wouldn
’
t
like
a
chair
in
my
room
.
I
said
quickly
,
"
Non
,
non
-
merci
,
madame
.
"
I
said
that
the
way
the
floor
cushions
were
set
right
up
against
the
wall
,
it
gave
me
a
good
chance
to
practice
keeping
my
back
straight
.
I
stood
up
to
show
her
how
sway
-
backed
I
was
.
After
dinner
,
while
the
Yoshotos
were
discussing
,
in
Japanese
,
some
perhaps
provocative
topic
,
I
asked
to
be
excused
from
the
table
.
M
.
Yoshoto
looked
at
me
as
if
he
weren
’
t
quite
sure
how
I
’
d
got
into
his
kitchen
in
the
first
place
,
but
nodded
,
and
I
walked
quickly
down
the
hall
to
my
room
.
When
I
had
turned
on
the
overhead
light
and
closed
the
door
behind
me
,
I
took
my
drawing
pencils
out
of
my
pocket
,
then
took
off
my
jacket
,
unbuttoned
my
shirt
,
and
sat
down
on
a
floor
cushion
with
Sister
Irma
’
s
envelope
in
my
hands
.
Till
past
four
in
the
morning
,
with
everything
I
needed
spread
out
before
me
on
the
floor
,
I
attended
to
what
I
thought
were
Sister
Irma
’
s
immediate
,
artistic
wants
.
The
first
thing
I
did
was
to
make
some
ten
or
twelve
pencil
sketches
.
Rather
than
go
downstairs
to
the
instructors
’
room
for
drawing
paper
,
I
drew
the
sketches
on
my
personal
notepaper
,
using
both
sides
of
the
sheet
.
When
that
was
done
,
I
wrote
a
long
,
almost
an
endless
,
letter
.
