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- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
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It
took
him
about
five
hours
to
get
ready
.
While
he
was
doing
it
,
I
went
over
to
my
window
and
opened
it
and
packed
a
snowball
with
my
bare
hands
.
The
snow
was
very
good
for
packing
.
I
did
n't
throw
it
at
anything
,
though
.
I
started
to
throw
it
.
At
a
car
that
was
parked
across
the
street
.
But
I
changed
my
mind
.
The
car
looked
so
nice
and
white
.
Then
I
started
to
throw
it
at
a
hydrant
,
but
that
looked
too
nice
and
white
,
too
.
Finally
I
did
n't
throw
it
at
anything
.
All
I
did
was
close
the
window
and
walk
around
the
room
with
the
snowball
,
packing
it
harder
.
A
little
while
later
,
I
still
had
it
with
me
when
I
and
Brossnad
and
Ackley
got
on
the
bus
.
The
bus
driver
opened
the
doors
and
made
me
throw
it
out
.
I
told
him
I
was
n't
going
to
chuck
it
at
anybody
,
but
he
would
n't
believe
me
.
People
never
believe
you
.
Brossard
and
Ackley
both
had
seen
the
picture
that
was
playing
,
so
all
we
did
,
we
just
had
a
couple
of
hamburgers
and
played
the
pinball
machine
for
a
little
while
,
then
took
the
bus
back
to
Pencey
.
I
did
n't
care
about
not
seeing
the
movie
,
anyway
.
It
was
supposed
to
be
a
comedy
,
with
Cary
Grant
in
it
,
and
all
that
crap
.
Besides
,
I
'd
been
to
the
movies
with
Brossard
and
Ackley
before
.
They
both
laughed
like
hyenas
at
stuff
that
was
n't
even
funny
.
I
did
n't
even
enjoy
sitting
next
to
them
in
the
movies
.
It
was
only
about
a
quarter
to
nine
when
we
got
back
to
the
dorm
.
Old
Brossard
was
a
bridge
fiend
,
and
he
started
looking
around
the
dorm
for
a
game
.
Old
Ackley
parked
himself
in
my
room
,
just
for
a
change
.
Only
,
instead
of
sitting
on
the
arm
of
Stradlater
's
chair
,
he
laid
down
on
my
bed
,
with
his
face
right
on
my
pillow
and
all
.
He
started
talking
in
this
very
monotonous
voice
,
and
picking
at
all
his
pimples
.
I
dropped
about
a
thousand
hints
,
but
I
could
n't
get
rid
of
him
.
All
he
did
was
keep
talking
in
this
very
monotonous
voice
about
some
babe
he
was
supposed
to
have
had
sexual
intercourse
with
the
summer
before
.
He
'd
already
told
me
about
it
about
a
hundred
times
.
Every
time
he
told
it
,
it
was
different
.
One
minute
he
'd
be
giving
it
to
her
in
his
cousin
's
Buick
,
the
next
minute
he
'd
be
giving
it
to
her
under
some
boardwalk
.
It
was
all
a
lot
of
crap
,
naturally
.
He
was
a
virgin
if
ever
I
saw
one
.
I
doubt
if
he
ever
even
gave
anybody
a
feel
.
Anyway
,
finally
I
had
to
come
right
out
and
tell
him
that
I
had
to
write
a
composition
for
Stradlater
,
and
that
he
had
to
clear
the
hell
out
,
so
I
could
concentrate
.
He
finally
did
,
but
he
took
his
time
about
it
,
as
usual
.
After
he
left
,
I
put
on
my
pajamas
and
bathrobe
and
my
old
hunting
hat
,
and
started
writing
the
composition
.
The
thing
was
,
I
could
n't
think
of
a
room
or
a
house
or
anything
to
describe
the
way
Stradlater
said
he
had
to
have
.
I
'm
not
too
crazy
about
describing
rooms
and
houses
anyway
.
So
what
I
did
,
I
wrote
about
my
brother
Allie
's
baseball
mitt
.
It
was
a
very
descriptive
subject
.
It
really
was
.
My
brother
Allie
had
this
left-handed
fielder
's
mitt
.
He
was
left-handed
.
The
thing
that
was
descriptive
about
it
,
though
,
was
that
he
had
poems
written
all
over
the
fingers
and
the
pocket
and
everywhere
.
In
green
ink
.
He
wrote
them
on
it
so
that
he
'd
have
something
to
read
when
he
was
in
the
field
and
nobody
was
up
at
bat
.
He
's
dead
now
.
He
got
leukemia
and
died
when
we
were
up
in
Maine
,
on
July
18
,
1946
.
You
'd
have
liked
him
.
He
was
two
years
younger
than
I
was
,
but
he
was
about
fifty
times
as
intelligent
.
He
was
terrifically
intelligent
.
His
teachers
were
always
writing
letters
to
my
mother
,
telling
her
what
a
pleasure
it
was
having
a
boy
like
Allie
in
their
class
.
And
they
were
n't
just
shooting
the
crap
.
They
really
meant
it
.
But
it
was
n't
just
that
he
was
the
most
intelligent
member
in
the
family
.
He
was
also
the
nicest
,
in
lots
of
ways
.
He
never
got
mad
at
anybody
.
People
with
red
hair
are
supposed
to
get
mad
very
easily
,
but
Allie
never
did
,
and
he
had
very
red
hair
.
I
'll
tell
you
what
kind
of
red
hair
he
had
.
I
started
playing
golf
when
I
was
only
ten
years
old
.
I
remember
once
,
the
summer
I
was
around
twelve
,
teeing
off
and
all
,
and
having
a
hunch
that
if
I
turned
around
all
of
a
sudden
,
I
'd
see
Allie
.
So
I
did
,
and
sure
enough
,
he
was
sitting
on
his
bike
outside
the
fence
--
there
was
this
fence
that
went
all
around
the
course
--
and
he
was
sitting
there
,
about
a
hundred
and
fifty
yards
behind
me
,
watching
me
tee
off
.
That
's
the
kind
of
red
hair
he
had
.
God
,
he
was
a
nice
kid
,
though
.
He
used
to
laugh
so
hard
at
something
he
thought
of
at
the
dinner
table
that
he
just
about
fell
off
his
chair
.
I
was
only
thirteen
,
and
they
were
going
to
have
me
psychoanalyzed
and
all
,
because
I
broke
all
the
windows
in
the
garage
.
I
do
n't
blame
them
.
I
really
do
n't
.
I
slept
in
the
garage
the
night
he
died
,
and
I
broke
all
the
goddam
windows
with
my
fist
,
just
for
the
hell
of
it
.
I
even
tried
to
break
all
the
windows
on
the
station
wagon
we
had
that
summer
,
but
my
hand
was
already
broken
and
everything
by
that
time
,
and
I
could
n't
do
it
.
It
was
a
very
stupid
thing
to
do
,
I
'll
admit
,
but
I
hardly
did
n't
even
know
I
was
doing
it
,
and
you
did
n't
know
Allie
.
My
hand
still
hurts
me
once
in
a
while
when
it
rains
and
all
,
and
I
ca
n't
make
a
real
fist
any
more
--
not
a
tight
one
,
I
mean
--
but
outside
of
that
I
do
n't
care
much
.
I
mean
I
'm
not
going
to
be
a
goddam
surgeon
or
a
violinist
or
anything
anyway
.
Anyway
,
that
's
what
I
wrote
Stradlater
's
composition
about
.
Old
Allie
's
baseball
mitt
.
I
happened
to
have
it
with
me
,
in
my
suitcase
,
so
I
got
it
out
and
copied
down
the
poems
that
were
written
on
it
.
All
I
had
to
do
was
change
Allie
's
name
so
that
nobody
would
know
it
was
my
brother
and
not
Stradlater
's
.
I
was
n't
too
crazy
about
doing
it
,
but
I
could
n't
think
of
anything
else
descriptive
.
Besides
,
I
sort
of
liked
writing
about
it
.
It
took
me
about
an
hour
,
because
I
had
to
use
Stradlater
's
lousy
typewriter
,
and
it
kept
jamming
on
me
.
The
reason
I
did
n't
use
my
own
was
because
I
'd
lent
it
to
a
guy
down
the
hall
.
It
was
around
ten-thirty
,
I
guess
,
when
I
finished
it
.
I
was
n't
tired
,
though
,
so
I
looked
out
the
window
for
a
while
.
It
was
n't
snowing
out
any
more
,
but
every
once
in
a
while
you
could
hear
a
car
somewhere
not
being
able
to
get
started
.
You
could
also
hear
old
Ackley
snoring
.
Right
through
the
goddam
shower
curtains
you
could
hear
him
.
He
had
sinus
trouble
and
he
could
n't
breathe
too
hot
when
he
was
asleep
.
That
guy
had
just
about
everything
.
Sinus
trouble
,
pimples
,
lousy
teeth
,
halitosis
,
crumby
fingernails
.
You
had
to
feel
a
little
sorry
for
the
crazy
sonuvabitch
.
Some
things
are
hard
to
remember
.
I
'm
thinking
now
of
when
Stradlater
got
back
from
his
date
with
Jane
.
I
mean
I
ca
n't
remember
exactly
what
I
was
doing
when
I
heard
his
goddam
stupid
footsteps
coming
down
the
corridor
.
I
probably
was
still
looking
out
the
window
,
but
I
swear
I
ca
n't
remember
.
I
was
so
damn
worried
,
that
's
why
.
When
I
really
worry
about
something
,
I
do
n't
just
fool
around
.
I
even
have
to
go
to
the
bathroom
when
I
worry
about
something
.
Only
,
I
do
n't
go
.
I
'm
too
worried
to
go
.
I
do
n't
want
to
interrupt
my
worrying
to
go
.
If
you
knew
Stradlater
,
you
'd
have
been
worried
,
too
.
I
'd
double-dated
with
that
bastard
a
couple
of
times
,
and
I
know
what
I
'm
talking
about
.
He
was
unscrupulous
.
He
really
was
.
