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- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
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Suddenly
,
a
male
voice
shouted
from
another
part
of
the
apartment
,
"
Eric
?
That
you
?
"
Ginnie
guessed
it
was
Selena
’
s
brother
,
whom
she
had
never
seen
.
She
crossed
her
long
legs
,
arranged
the
hem
of
her
polo
coat
over
her
knees
,
and
waited
.
A
young
man
wearing
glasses
and
pajamas
and
no
slippers
lunged
into
the
room
with
his
mouth
open
.
"
Oh
.
I
thought
it
was
Eric
,
for
Chrissake
,
"
he
said
.
Without
stopping
,
and
with
extremely
poor
posture
,
he
continued
across
the
room
,
cradling
something
close
to
his
narrow
chest
.
He
sat
down
on
the
vacant
end
of
the
sofa
.
"
I
just
cut
my
goddam
finger
,
"
he
said
rather
wildly
.
He
looked
at
Ginnie
as
if
he
had
expected
her
to
be
sitting
there
.
"
Ever
cut
your
finger
?
Right
down
to
the
bone
and
all
?
"
he
asked
.
There
was
a
real
appeal
in
his
noisy
voice
,
as
if
Ginnie
,
by
her
answer
,
could
save
him
from
some
particularly
isolating
form
of
pioneering
.
Ginnie
stared
at
him
.
"
Well
,
not
right
down
to
the
bone
,
"
she
said
,
"
but
I
’
ve
cut
myself
.
"
He
was
the
funniest
-
looking
boy
,
or
man
—
it
was
hard
to
tell
which
he
was
—
she
had
ever
seen
.
His
hair
was
bed
-
dishevelled
.
He
had
a
couple
of
days
’
growth
of
sparse
,
blond
beard
.
And
he
looked
-
well
,
goofy
.
"
How
did
you
cut
it
?
"
she
asked
.
He
was
staring
down
,
with
his
slack
mouth
ajar
,
at
his
injured
finger
.
"
What
?
"
he
said
.
"
How
did
you
cut
it
?
"
"
Goddam
if
I
know
,
"
he
said
,
his
inflection
implying
that
the
answer
to
that
question
was
hopelessly
obscure
.
"
I
was
lookin
’
for
something
in
the
goddam
wastebasket
and
it
was
fulla
razor
blades
.
"
"
You
Selena
’
s
brother
?
"
Ginnie
asked
.
"
Yeah
.
Christ
,
I
’
m
bleedin
’
to
death
.
Stick
around
.
I
may
need
a
goddam
transfusion
.
"
"
Did
you
put
anything
on
it
?
"
