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- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
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- Девять рассказов
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- Стр. 90/159
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The
instant
the
hymn
ended
,
the
choir
coach
began
to
give
her
lengthy
opinion
of
people
who
can
’
t
keep
their
feet
still
and
their
lips
sealed
tight
during
the
minister
’
s
sermon
.
I
gathered
that
the
singing
part
of
the
rehearsal
was
over
,
and
before
the
coach
’
s
dissonant
speaking
voice
could
entirely
break
the
spell
the
children
’
s
singing
had
cast
,
I
got
up
and
left
the
church
.
It
was
raining
even
harder
.
I
walked
down
the
street
and
looked
through
the
window
of
the
Red
Cross
recreation
room
,
but
soldiers
were
standing
two
and
three
deep
at
the
coffee
counter
,
and
,
even
through
the
glass
,
I
could
hear
ping
-
pong
balls
bouncing
in
another
room
.
I
crossed
the
street
and
entered
a
civilian
tearoom
,
which
was
empty
except
for
a
middle
-
aged
waitress
,
who
looked
as
if
she
would
have
preferred
a
customer
with
a
dry
raincoat
.
I
used
a
coat
tree
as
delicately
as
possible
,
and
then
sat
down
at
a
table
and
ordered
tea
and
cinnamon
toast
.
It
was
the
first
time
all
day
that
I
’
d
spoken
to
anyone
.
I
then
looked
through
all
my
pockets
,
including
my
raincoat
,
and
finally
found
a
couple
of
stale
letters
to
reread
,
one
from
my
wife
,
telling
me
how
the
service
at
Schrafft
’
s
Eighty
-
eighth
Street
had
fallen
off
,
and
one
from
my
mother
-
in
-
law
,
asking
me
to
please
send
her
some
cashmere
yarn
first
chance
I
got
away
from
"
camp
.
"
While
I
was
still
on
my
first
cup
of
tea
,
the
young
lady
I
had
been
watching
and
listening
to
in
the
choir
came
into
the
tearoom
.
Her
hair
was
soaking
wet
,
and
the
rims
of
both
ears
were
showing
.
She
was
with
a
very
small
boy
,
unmistakably
her
brother
,
whose
cap
she
removed
by
lifting
it
off
his
head
with
two
fingers
,
as
if
it
were
a
laboratory
specimen
.
Bringing
up
the
rear
was
an
efficient
-
looking
woman
in
a
limp
felt
hat
—
presumably
their
governess
.
The
choir
member
,
taking
off
her
coat
as
she
walked
across
the
floor
,
made
the
table
selection
—
a
good
one
,
from
my
point
of
view
,
as
it
was
just
eight
or
ten
feet
directly
in
front
of
me
.
She
and
the
governess
sat
down
.
The
small
boy
,
who
was
about
five
,
wasn
’
t
ready
to
sit
down
yet
.
He
slid
out
of
and
discarded
his
reefer
;
then
,
with
the
deadpan
expression
of
a
born
heller
,
he
methodically
went
about
annoying
his
governess
by
pushing
in
and
pulling
out
his
chair
several
times
,
watching
her
face
.
The
governess
,
keeping
her
voice
down
,
gave
him
two
or
three
orders
to
sit
down
and
,
in
effect
,
stop
the
monkey
business
,
but
it
was
only
when
his
sister
spoke
to
him
that
he
came
around
and
applied
the
small
of
his
back
to
his
chair
seat
.
He
immediately
picked
up
his
napkin
and
put
it
on
his
head
.
His
sister
removed
it
,
opened
it
,
and
spread
it
out
on
his
lap
.
About
the
time
their
tea
was
brought
,
the
choir
member
caught
me
staring
over
at
her
party
.
She
stared
back
at
me
,
with
those
house
-
counting
eyes
of
hers
,
then
,
abruptly
,
gave
me
a
small
,
qualified
smile
.
It
was
oddly
radiant
,
as
certain
small
,
qualified
smiles
sometimes
are
.
I
smiled
back
,
much
less
radiantly
,
keeping
my
upper
lip
down
over
a
coal
-
black
G
.
I
.
temporary
filling
showing
between
two
of
my
front
teeth
.
The
next
thing
I
knew
,
the
young
lady
was
standing
,
with
enviable
poise
,
beside
my
table
.
She
was
wearing
a
tartan
dress
—
a
Campbell
tartan
,
I
believe
.
It
seemed
to
me
to
be
a
wonderful
dress
for
a
very
young
girl
to
be
wearing
on
a
rainy
,
rainy
day
.
"
I
thought
Americans
despised
tea
,
"
she
said
.
It
wasn
’
t
the
observation
of
a
smart
aleck
but
that
of
a
truth
-
lover
or
a
statistics
-
lover
.
I
replied
that
some
of
us
never
drank
anything
but
tea
.
I
asked
her
if
she
’
d
care
to
join
me
.
"
Thank
you
,
"
she
said
.
"
Perhaps
for
just
a
fraction
of
a
moment
.
"
I
got
up
and
drew
a
chair
for
her
,
the
one
opposite
me
,
and
she
sat
down
on
the
forward
quarter
of
it
,
keeping
her
spine
easily
and
beautifully
straight
.
I
went
back
—
almost
hurried
back
—
to
my
own
chair
,
more
than
willing
to
hold
up
my
end
of
a
conversation
.
When
I
was
seated
,
I
couldn
’
t
think
of
anything
to
say
,
though
.
I
smiled
again
,
still
keeping
my
coal
-
black
filling
under
concealment
.
I
remarked
that
it
was
certainly
a
terrible
day
out
.
"
Yes
;
quite
,
"
said
my
guest
,
in
the
clear
,
unmistakable
voice
of
a
small
-
talk
detester
.
She
placed
her
fingers
flat
on
the
table
edge
,
like
someone
at
a
seance
,
then
,
almost
instantly
,
closed
her
hands
—
her
nails
were
bitten
down
to
the
quick
.
She
was
wearing
a
wristwatch
,
a
military
-
looking
one
that
looked
rather
like
a
navigator
’
s
chronograph
.
Its
face
was
much
too
large
for
her
slender
wrist
.
"
You
were
at
choir
practice
,
"
she
said
matter
-
of
-
factly
.
"
I
saw
you
.
"
