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- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
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- Девять рассказов
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- Стр. 134/159
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I
’
ll
exquisite
day
you
,
buddy
,
if
you
don
’
t
get
down
off
that
bag
this
minute
.
And
I
mean
it
,
"
Mr
.
McArdle
said
.
He
was
speaking
from
the
inside
twin
bed
—
the
bed
farther
away
from
the
porthole
.
Viciously
,
with
more
of
a
whimper
than
a
sigh
,
he
foot
-
pushed
his
top
sheet
clear
of
his
ankles
,
as
though
any
kind
of
coverlet
was
suddenly
too
much
for
his
sunburned
,
debilitated
-
looking
body
to
bear
.
He
was
lying
supine
,
in
just
the
trousers
of
his
pajamas
,
a
lighted
cigarette
in
his
right
hand
.
His
head
was
propped
up
just
enough
to
rest
uncomfortably
,
almost
masochistically
,
against
the
very
base
of
the
headboard
.
His
pillow
and
ashtray
were
both
on
the
floor
,
between
his
and
Mrs
.
McArdle
’
s
bed
.
Without
raising
his
body
,
he
reached
out
a
nude
,
inflamed
-
pink
,
right
arm
and
flicked
his
ashes
in
the
general
direction
of
the
night
table
.
"
October
,
for
God
’
s
sake
,
"
he
said
.
"
If
this
is
October
weather
,
gimme
August
.
"
He
turned
his
head
to
the
right
again
,
toward
Teddy
,
looking
for
trouble
.
"
C
’
mon
,
"
he
said
.
"
What
the
hell
do
you
think
I
’
m
talking
for
?
My
health
?
Get
down
off
there
,
please
.
"
Teddy
was
standing
on
the
broadside
of
a
new
looking
cowhide
Gladstone
,
the
better
to
see
out
of
his
parents
’
open
porthole
.
He
was
wearing
extremely
dirty
,
white
ankle
-
sneakers
,
no
socks
,
seersucker
shorts
that
were
both
too
long
for
him
and
at
least
a
size
too
large
in
the
seat
,
an
overly
laundered
T
shirt
that
had
a
hole
the
size
of
a
dime
in
the
right
shoulder
,
and
an
incongruously
handsome
,
black
alligator
belt
.
He
needed
a
haircut
—
especially
at
the
nape
of
the
neck
—
the
worst
way
,
as
only
a
small
boy
with
an
almost
full
-
grown
head
and
a
reedlike
neck
can
need
one
.
"
Teddy
,
did
you
hear
me
?
"
Teddy
was
not
leaning
out
of
the
porthole
quite
so
far
or
so
precariously
as
small
boys
are
apt
to
lean
out
of
open
portholes
—
both
his
feet
,
in
fact
,
were
flat
on
the
surface
of
the
Gladstone
—
but
neither
was
he
just
conservatively
well
-
tipped
;
his
face
was
considerably
more
outside
than
inside
the
cabin
.
Nonetheless
,
he
was
well
within
hearing
of
his
father
’
s
voice
—
his
father
’
s
voice
,
that
is
,
most
singularly
.
Mr
.
McArdle
played
leading
roles
on
no
fewer
than
three
daytime
radio
serials
when
he
was
in
New
York
,
and
he
had
what
might
be
called
a
third
-
class
leading
man
’
s
speaking
voice
:
narcissistically
deep
and
resonant
,
functionally
prepared
at
a
moment
’
s
notice
to
outmale
anyone
in
the
same
room
with
it
,
if
necessary
even
a
small
boy
.
When
it
was
on
vacation
from
its
professional
chores
,
it
fell
,
as
a
rule
,
alternately
in
love
with
sheer
volume
and
a
theatrical
brand
of
quietness
-
steadiness
.
Right
now
,
volume
was
in
order
.
"
Teddy
.
God
damn
it
—
did
you
hear
me
?
"
Teddy
turned
around
at
the
waist
,
without
changing
the
vigilant
position
of
his
feet
on
the
Gladstone
,
and
gave
his
father
a
look
of
inquiry
,
whole
and
pure
.
His
eyes
,
which
were
pale
brown
in
color
,
and
not
at
all
large
,
were
slightly
crossed
—
the
left
eye
more
than
the
right
.
They
were
not
crossed
enough
to
be
disfiguring
,
or
even
to
be
necessarily
noticeable
at
first
glance
.
They
were
crossed
just
enough
to
be
mentioned
,
and
only
in
context
with
the
fact
that
one
might
have
thought
long
and
seriously
before
wishing
them
straighter
,
or
deeper
,
or
browner
,
or
wider
set
.
His
face
,
just
as
it
was
,
carried
the
impact
,
however
oblique
and
slow
-
travelling
,
of
real
beauty
.
"
I
want
you
to
get
down
off
that
bag
,
now
.
How
many
times
do
you
want
me
to
tell
you
?
"
Mr
.
McArdle
said
.
"
Stay
exactly
where
you
are
,
darling
,
"
said
Mrs
.
McArdle
,
who
evidently
had
a
little
trouble
with
her
sinuses
early
in
the
morning
.
Her
eyes
were
open
,
but
only
just
.
"
Don
’
t
move
the
tiniest
part
of
an
inch
.
"
She
was
lying
on
her
right
side
,
her
face
,
on
the
pillow
,
turned
left
,
toward
Teddy
and
the
porthole
,
her
back
to
her
husband
.
Her
second
sheet
was
drawn
tight
over
her
very
probably
nude
body
,
enclosing
her
,
arms
and
all
,
up
to
the
chin
.
"
Jump
up
and
down
,
"
she
said
,
and
closed
her
eyes
.
"
Crush
Daddy
’
s
bag
.
"
"
That
’
s
a
Jesus
-
brilliant
thing
to
say
,
"
Mr
.
McArdle
said
quietly
-
steadily
,
addressing
the
back
of
his
wife
’
s
head
.
"
I
pay
twenty
-
two
pounds
for
a
bag
,
and
I
ask
the
boy
civilly
not
to
stand
on
it
,
and
you
tell
him
to
jump
up
and
down
on
it
.
What
’
s
that
supposed
to
be
?
Funny
?
"
"
If
that
bag
can
’
t
support
a
ten
-
year
-
old
boy
,
who
’
s
thirteen
pounds
underweight
for
his
age
,
I
don
’
t
want
it
in
my
cabin
,
"
Mrs
.
McArdle
said
,
without
opening
her
eyes
.
