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- Джером Дэвид Сэлинджер
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They
were
always
showing
Columbus
discovering
America
,
having
one
helluva
time
getting
old
Ferdinand
and
Isabella
to
lend
him
the
dough
to
buy
ships
with
,
and
then
the
sailors
mutinying
on
him
and
all
.
Nobody
gave
too
much
of
a
damn
about
old
Columbus
,
but
you
always
had
a
lot
of
candy
and
gum
and
stuff
with
you
,
and
the
inside
of
that
auditorium
had
such
a
nice
smell
.
It
always
smelled
like
it
was
raining
outside
,
even
if
it
was
n't
,
and
you
were
in
the
only
nice
,
dry
,
cosy
place
in
the
world
.
I
loved
that
damn
museum
.
I
remember
you
had
to
go
through
the
Indian
Room
to
get
to
the
auditorium
.
It
was
a
long
,
long
room
,
and
you
were
only
supposed
to
whisper
.
The
teacher
would
go
first
,
then
the
class
.
You
'd
be
two
rows
of
kids
,
and
you
'd
have
a
partner
.
Most
of
the
time
my
partner
was
this
girl
named
Gertrude
Levine
.
She
always
wanted
to
hold
your
hand
,
and
her
hand
was
always
sticky
or
sweaty
or
something
.
The
floor
was
all
stone
,
and
if
you
had
some
marbles
in
your
hand
and
you
dropped
them
,
they
bounced
like
madmen
all
over
the
floor
and
made
a
helluva
racket
,
and
the
teacher
would
hold
up
the
class
and
go
back
and
see
what
the
hell
was
going
on
.
She
never
got
sore
,
though
,
Miss
Aigletinger
.
Then
you
'd
pass
by
this
long
,
long
Indian
war
canoe
,
about
as
long
as
three
goddam
Cadillacs
in
a
row
,
with
about
twenty
Indians
in
it
,
some
of
them
paddling
,
some
of
them
just
standing
around
looking
tough
,
and
they
all
had
war
paint
all
over
their
faces
.
There
was
one
very
spooky
guy
in
the
back
of
the
canoe
,
with
a
mask
on
.
He
was
the
witch
doctor
.
He
gave
me
the
creeps
,
but
I
liked
him
anyway
.
Another
thing
,
if
you
touched
one
of
the
paddles
or
anything
while
you
were
passing
,
one
of
the
guards
would
say
to
you
,
"
Do
n't
touch
anything
,
children
,
"
but
he
always
said
it
in
a
nice
voice
,
not
like
a
goddam
cop
or
anything
.
Then
you
'd
pass
by
this
big
glass
case
,
with
Indians
inside
it
rubbing
sticks
together
to
make
a
fire
,
and
a
squaw
weaving
a
blanket
.
The
squaw
that
was
weaving
the
blanket
was
sort
of
bending
over
,
and
you
could
see
her
bosom
and
all
.
We
all
used
to
sneak
a
good
look
at
it
,
even
the
girls
,
because
they
were
only
little
kids
and
they
did
n't
have
any
more
bosom
than
we
did
.
Then
,
just
before
you
went
inside
the
auditorium
,
right
near
the
doors
,
you
passed
this
Eskimo
.
He
was
sitting
over
a
hole
in
this
icy
lake
,
and
he
was
fishing
through
it
.
He
had
about
two
fish
right
next
to
the
hole
,
that
he
'd
already
caught
.
Boy
,
that
museum
was
full
of
glass
cases
.
There
were
even
more
upstairs
,
with
deer
inside
them
drinking
at
water
holes
,
and
birds
flying
south
for
the
winter
.
The
birds
nearest
you
were
all
stuffed
and
hung
up
on
wires
,
and
the
ones
in
back
were
just
painted
on
the
wall
,
but
they
all
looked
like
they
were
really
flying
south
,
and
if
you
bent
your
head
down
and
sort
of
looked
at
them
upside
down
,
they
looked
in
an
even
bigger
hurry
to
fly
south
.
The
best
thing
,
though
,
in
that
museum
was
that
everything
always
stayed
right
where
it
was
.
Nobody
'd
move
.
You
could
go
there
a
hundred
thousand
times
,
and
that
Eskimo
would
still
be
just
finished
catching
those
two
fish
,
the
birds
would
still
be
on
their
way
south
,
the
deers
would
still
be
drinking
out
of
that
water
hole
,
with
their
pretty
antlers
and
their
pretty
,
skinny
legs
,
and
that
squaw
with
the
naked
bosom
would
still
be
weaving
that
same
blanket
.
Nobody
'd
be
different
.
The
only
thing
that
would
be
different
would
be
you
.
Not
that
you
'd
be
so
much
older
or
anything
.
It
would
n't
be
that
,
exactly
.
You
'd
just
be
different
,
that
's
all
.
You
'd
have
an
overcoat
on
this
time
.
Or
the
kid
that
was
your
partner
in
line
the
last
time
had
got
scarlet
fever
and
you
'd
have
a
new
partner
.
Or
you
'd
have
a
substitute
taking
the
class
,
instead
of
Miss
Aigletinger
.
Or
you
'd
heard
your
mother
and
father
having
a
terrific
fight
in
the
bathroom
.
Or
you
'd
just
passed
by
one
of
those
puddles
in
the
street
with
gasoline
rainbows
in
them
.
I
mean
you
'd
be
different
in
some
way
--
I
ca
n't
explain
what
I
mean
.
And
even
if
I
could
,
I
'm
not
sure
I
'd
feel
like
it
.
I
took
my
old
hunting
hat
out
of
my
pocket
while
I
walked
,
and
put
it
on
.
I
knew
I
would
n't
meet
anybody
that
knew
me
,
and
it
was
pretty
damp
out
.
I
kept
walking
and
walking
,
and
I
kept
thinking
about
old
Phoebe
going
to
that
museum
on
Saturdays
the
way
I
used
to
.
I
thought
how
she
'd
see
the
same
stuff
I
used
to
see
,
and
how
she
'd
be
different
every
time
she
saw
it
.
It
did
n't
exactly
depress
me
to
think
about
it
,
but
it
did
n't
make
me
feel
gay
as
hell
,
either
.
Certain
things
they
should
stay
the
way
they
are
.
You
ought
to
be
able
to
stick
them
in
one
of
those
big
glass
cases
and
just
leave
them
alone
.
I
know
that
's
impossible
,
but
it
's
too
bad
anyway
.
Anyway
,
I
kept
thinking
about
all
that
while
I
walked
.
I
passed
by
this
playground
and
stopped
and
watched
a
couple
of
very
tiny
kids
on
a
seesaw
.
One
of
them
was
sort
of
fat
,
and
I
put
my
hand
on
the
skinny
kid
's
end
,
to
sort
of
even
up
the
weight
,
but
you
could
tell
they
did
n't
want
me
around
,
so
I
let
them
alone
.
Then
a
funny
thing
happened
.
When
I
got
to
the
museum
,
all
of
a
sudden
I
would
n't
have
gone
inside
for
a
million
bucks
.
It
just
did
n't
appeal
to
me
--
and
here
I
'd
walked
through
the
whole
goddam
park
and
looked
forward
to
it
and
all
.
If
Phoebe
'd
been
there
,
I
probably
would
have
,
but
she
was
n't
.
So
all
I
did
,
in
front
of
the
museum
,
was
get
a
cab
and
go
down
to
the
Biltmore
.
I
did
n't
feel
much
like
going
.
I
'd
made
that
damn
date
with
Sally
,
though
.
I
was
way
early
when
I
got
there
,
so
I
just
sat
down
on
one
of
those
leather
couches
right
near
the
clock
in
the
lobby
and
watched
the
girls
.
A
lot
of
schools
were
home
for
vacation
already
,
and
there
were
about
a
million
girls
sitting
and
standing
around
waiting
for
their
dates
to
show
up
.
Girls
with
their
legs
crossed
,
girls
with
their
legs
not
crossed
,
girls
with
terrific
legs
,
girls
with
lousy
legs
,
girls
that
looked
like
swell
girls
,
girls
that
looked
like
they
'd
be
bitches
if
you
knew
them
.
It
was
really
nice
sightseeing
,
if
you
know
what
I
mean
.
In
a
way
,
it
was
sort
of
depressing
,
too
,
because
you
kept
wondering
what
the
hell
would
happen
to
all
of
them
.
When
they
got
out
of
school
and
college
,
I
mean
.
You
figured
most
of
them
would
probably
marry
dopey
guys
.
Guys
that
always
talk
about
how
many
miles
they
get
to
a
gallon
in
their
goddam
cars
.
Guys
that
get
sore
and
childish
as
hell
if
you
beat
them
at
golf
,
or
even
just
some
stupid
game
like
ping-pong
.
Guys
that
are
very
mean
.
Guys
that
never
read
books
.
Guys
that
are
very
boring
--
But
I
have
to
be
careful
about
that
.
I
mean
about
calling
certain
guys
bores
.
I
do
n't
understand
boring
guys
.
I
really
do
n't
.
When
I
was
at
Elkton
Hills
,
I
roomed
for
about
two
months
with
this
boy
,
Harris
Mackim
.
He
was
very
intelligent
and
all
,
but
he
was
one
of
the
biggest
bores
I
ever
met
.
He
had
one
of
these
very
raspy
voices
,
and
he
never
stopped
talking
,
practically
.
He
never
stopped
talking
,
and
what
was
awful
was
,
he
never
said
anything
you
wanted
to
hear
in
the
first
place
.
But
he
could
do
one
thing
.
The
sonuvabitch
could
whistle
better
than
anybody
I
ever
heard
.
He
'd
be
making
his
bed
,
or
hanging
up
stuff
in
the
closet
--
he
was
always
hanging
up
stuff
in
the
closet
--
it
drove
me
crazy
--
and
he
'd
be
whistling
while
he
did
it
,
if
he
was
n't
talking
in
this
raspy
voice
.
He
could
even
whistle
classical
stuff
,
but
most
of
the
time
he
just
whistled
jazz
.
He
could
take
something
very
jazzy
,
like
"
Tin
Roof
Blues
,
"
and
whistle
it
so
nice
and
easy
--
right
while
he
was
hanging
stuff
up
in
the
closet
--
that
it
could
kill
you
.
Naturally
,
I
never
told
him
I
thought
he
was
a
terrific
whistler
.
I
mean
you
do
n't
just
go
up
to
somebody
and
say
,
"
You
're
a
terrific
whistler
.
"
But
I
roomed
with
him
for
about
two
whole
months
,
even
though
he
bored
me
till
I
was
half
crazy
,
just
because
he
was
such
a
terrific
whistler
,
the
best
I
ever
heard
.
So
I
do
n't
know
about
bores
.
Maybe
you
should
n't
feel
too
sorry
if
you
see
some
swell
girl
getting
married
to
them
.
They
do
n't
hurt
anybody
,
most
of
them
,
and
maybe
they
're
secretly
all
terrific
whistlers
or
something
.
Who
the
hell
knows
?
Not
me
.
Finally
,
old
Sally
started
coming
up
the
stairs
,
and
I
started
down
to
meet
her
.
She
looked
terrific
.
She
really
did
.
She
had
on
this
black
coat
and
sort
of
a
black
beret
.
She
hardly
ever
wore
a
hat
,
but
that
beret
looked
nice
.
The
funny
part
is
,
I
felt
like
marrying
her
the
minute
I
saw
her
.
I
'm
crazy
.
I
did
n't
even
like
her
much
,
and
yet
all
of
a
sudden
I
felt
like
I
was
in
love
with
her
and
wanted
to
marry
her
.
I
swear
to
God
I
'm
crazy
.
I
admit
it
.
