2015-08-21
514
STORYTELLER. Mr. and Mrs. Antolini had this very swanky apartment over on Sutton Place. Old Mr. Antolini answered the door when I rang the bell. (He had on his bathrobe and slippers, and he had a highball in one hand) He was a pretty sophisticated guy, and he was a pretty heavy drinker.
Mr. Antolini. Holden, m’boy! My God, he’s grown another twenty inches. Fine to see you.
HOLDEN. How are you, Mr. Antolini? How’s Mrs. Antolini?
Mr. Antolini. We’re both just dandy. Let’s have that coat. (He took my coat off me and hung it up. He turned around and yelled out to the kitchen) Lillian! How’s the coffee coming?
MrS. Antolini. It’s all ready! (yelled back) Is that Holden? Hello, Holden!
HOLDEN. Hello, Mrs. Antolini!
Mr. Antolini. Sit down, Holden. (The room looked like they’d just had a party. Glasses were all over the place, and dishes with peanuts in them) Excuse the appearance of the place. We’ve been entertaining some Buffalo friends of Mrs. Antolini’s… Some buffaloes, as a matter of fact. (I laughed) So. You and Pencey are no longer one. What was the trouble? How’d you do in English? I’ll show you the door in short order if you flunked English, you little ace composition writer.
HOLDEN. Oh, I passed English all right. I flunked Oral Expression, though.
Mr. Antolini. Why?
HOLDEN. Oh, I don’t know.
STORYTELLER. I didn’t feel much like going into It. I was still feeling sort of dizzy or something, and I had a helluva headache all of a sudden. I really did.
HOLDEN. It’s this course where each boy in class has to get up in class and make a speech. You know. Spontaneous and all. And if the boy digresses at all, you’re supposed to yell ‘Digression!’ at him as fast as you can. It just about drove me crazy. I got an F in it.
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Mr. Antolini. You don’t care to have somebody stick to the point when he tells you something?
HOLDEN. Oh, sure! But there was this one boy, a very nervous guy—I mean he was a very nervous guy—and his lips were always shaking whenever it was his time to make a speech. When his lips sort of quit shaking a little bit, though, I liked his speeches better than anybody else’s. He practically flunked the course, though, too. He got a D plus because they kept yelling ‘Digression!’ at him all the time. For instance, he made this speech about the farm, and this teacher, Mr. Vinson, gave him an F on it because he hadn’t told what kind of animals and vegetables and stuff grew on the farm and all. What he did was, he’d start telling you all about that stuff—then all of a sudden he’d start telling you how his uncle got polio and all when he was forty-two years old, and how he wouldn’t let anybody come to see him in the hospital because he didn’t want anybody to see him with a brace on. It didn’t have much to do with the farm—I admit it—but it was nice. I mean it’s dirty to keep yelling ‘Digression!’ at him when he’s all nice and excited. I don’t know. It’s hard to explain.
STORYTELLER. I didn’t feel too much like trying, either. For one thing, I had this terrific headache all of a sudden. I wished to God old Mrs. Antolini would come in with the coffee. That’s something that annoys hell out of me—I mean if somebody says the coffee’s all ready and it isn’t.
Mr. Antolini. Holden… Don’t you think there’s a time and place for everything? Don’t you think if someone starts out to tell you about his father’s farm, he should stick to his guns? Or, if his uncle’s brace is such a provocative subject, shouldn’t he have selected it in the first place as his subject—not the farm?
STORYTELLER. I didn’t feel much like thinking and answering and all. I had a headache and I felt lousy.
HOLDEN. Yes—I don’t know. I guess he should. But what I mean is, lots of time you don’t know what interests you most till you start talking about something that doesn’t interest you most. I mean you can’t help it sometimes. What I think is, you’re supposed to leave somebody alone if he’s at least being interesting and he’s getting all excited about something. You just didn’t know this teacher, Mr. Vinson. He’d keep telling you to unify and simplify all the time. Some things you just can’t do that to. I mean you can’t hardly ever simplify and unify something just because somebody wants you to.
MrS. Antolini. Coffee, gentlemen, finally. (She came in carrying this tray with coffee and stuff on it) Holden, don’t you even peek at me. I’m a mess.
HOLDEN. Hello, Mrs. Antolini. (started to get up and all, but Mr. Antolini got hold of my jacket and pulled me back down)
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STORYTELLER. Old Mrs. Antolini didn’t look too gorgeous. She looked pretty old and all.
MrS. Antolini. I’ll leave this right here. Just dive in, you two. (put the tray down) How’s your mother, Holden?
HOLDEN. She’s fine, thanks. I haven’t seen her too recently, but the last I—
MrS. Antolini. Darling, if Holden needs anything, everything’s in the linen closet. The top shelf. I’m going to bed. I’m exhausted. Can you boys make up the couch by yourselves?
Mr. Antolini. We’ll take care of everything. You run along to bed. (a kiss and she went in the bedroom)
STORYTELLER. (I had part of a cup of coffee and about half of some cake that was as hard as a rock. All old Mr. Antolini had was another highball) He makes them strong, too, you could tell. He may get to be an alcoholic if he doesn’t watch his step.
Mr. Antolini. I had lunch with your dad a couple of weeks ago. He’d just had a long, rather harrowing letter from your latest headmaster, to the effect that you were making absolutely no effort at all. Cutting classes. Coming unprepared to all your classes. In general, being an all-around—
HOLDEN. I didn’t cut any classes. You weren’t allowed to cut any. There were a couple of them I didn’t attend once in a while, like that Oral Expression I told you about, but I didn’t cut any.
STORYTELLER. I didn’t feel at all like discussing it. I still had this awful headache.
Mr. Antolini. Frankly, I don’t know what the hell to say to you, Holden.
HOLDEN. I know. I’m very hard to talk to. I realize that.
Mr. Antolini. I have a feeling that you’re riding for some kind of a terrible, terrible fall. But I don’t honestly know what kind… ( Mr. A. didn’t say anything for a while. He got up and got ice and put it in his drink, then he sat down again)
STORYTELLER. I kept wishing, though, that he’d continue the conversation in the morning, instead of now, but he was hot. People are mostly hot to have a discussion when you’re not.
Mr. Antolini. This fall I think you’re riding for—it’s a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn’t permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement’s designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn’t supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn’t supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started. You follow me?
HOLDEN. Yes, sir.
Mr. Antolini. Sure?
HOLDEN. Yes.
STORYTELLER. He got up and poured some more booze in his glass. Then he sat down again. He didn’t say anything for a long time.
Mr. Antolini. I don’t want to scare you, but I can very clearly see you dying nobly, one way or another, for some highly unworthy cause.
STORYTELLER. He gave me a funny look. The thing was, though, I didn’t feel much like concentrating.
Mr. Antolini. I think that one of these days you’re going to have to find out where you want to go. And then you’ve got to start going there. But immediately. You can’t afford to lose a minute. Not you.
STORYTELLER. (he nodded) I wasn’t too sure what he was talking about. I was too damn tired.
Mr. Antolini. And once you have a fair idea where you want to go, your first move will be to apply yourself in school. You’ll have to. You’re going to start getting closer and closer to the kind of information that will be very, very dear to your heart. You’ll find that you’re not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. You’ll learn from them. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. (drank) Educated and scholarly men, if they’re brilliant and creative to begin with, tend to leave infinitely more valuable records behind them than men do who are merely brilliant and creative. They tend to express themselves more clearly, and they usually have a passion for following their thoughts through to the end. Do you follow me at all?
HOLDEN. Yes, sir.
STORYTELLER. He didn’t say anything again for quite a while. I kept trying not to yawn. It wasn’t that I was bored or anything—I wasn’t—but I was so damn sleepy all of a sudden.
Mr. Antolini. Something else an academic education will do for you. It’ll begin to give you an idea what size mind you have. What it’ll fit and, maybe, what it won’t. You’ll begin to know your true measurements and dress your mind accordingly.
STORYTELLER. Then, all of a sudden, I yawned. What a rude bastard, but I couldn’t help it!
Mr. Antolini. (laughs) C’mon. We’ll fix up the couch for you.
STORYTELLER. We both made the bed together. He wasn’t too hot at it. He didn’t tuck anything in very tight. I didn’t care, though. I could’ve slept standing up I was so tired.
Mr. Antolini. It’s all yours. I don’t know what the hell you’re going to do with those legs of yours.
HOLDEN. That’s all right. I’m used to short beds. Thanks a lot, sir. You and Mrs. Antolini really saved my life tonight.
Mr. Antolini. If there’s anything you want, just holler. I’ll be up for a while—will the light bother you?
HOLDEN. No—heck, no. Thanks a lot.
Mr. Antolini. All right. Good night, handsome.
HOLDEN. G’night, sir. Thanks a lot. (I got in bed with just my shorts on, and fell asleep)
STORYTELLER. Then something happened. I don’t even like to talk about it. I woke up all of a sudden. I don’t know what time it was or anything, but I woke up. I felt something on my head, some guy’s hand. Boy, it really scared hell out of me. What it was, it was Mr. Antolini’s hand. What he was doing was, he was sitting on the floor right next to the couch and he was sort of petting me or patting me on the goddam head. Boy, I’ll bet I jumped about a thousand feet.
HOLDEN. What the hellya doing?
Mr. Antolini. Nothing! I’m simply sitting here, admiring—
HOLDEN. Whatya doing, anyway?
STORYTELLER. I didn’t know what the hell to say—I mean I was embarrassed as hell.
Mr. Antolini. How ’bout keeping your voice down? I’m simply sitting here—
HOLDEN. I have to go, anyway —
STORYTELLER. Boy, was I nervous! I started putting on my damn pants in the dark. I could hardly get them on I was so damn nervous.
Mr. Antolini. You have to go where?
STORYTELLER. He was trying to act very goddam casual and cool and all, but he wasn’t any too goddam cool. Take my word.
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HOLDEN. I left my bags and all at the station. I think maybe I’d better go down and get them. I have all my stuff in them.
Mr. Antolini. They’ll be there in the morning. Now, go back to bed. I’m going to bed myself. What’s the matter with you?”
HOLDEN. Nothing’s the matter, it’s just that all my money and stuff’s in one of my bags. I’ll be right back.
STORYTELLER. Boy, I was falling all over myself in the dark.
HOLDEN. The thing is, it isn’t mine, the money. It’s my mother’s, and I—
Mr. Antolini. Don’t be ridiculous, Holden. Get back in that bed. I’m going to bed myself. The money will be there safe and sound in the morn—
HOLDEN. No, no kidding. I gotta get going. I really do.
STORYTELLER. I was damn near all dressed already, except that I couldn’t find my tie. I couldn’t remember where I’d put my tie. It was dark and all and I couldn’t see him so hot, but I knew he was watching me, all right. He was still boozing, too. I could see his trusty highball glass in his hand.
Mr. Antolini. You’re a very, very strange boy.
HOLDEN. I know it.
STORYTELLER. I didn’t even look around much for my tie. So I went without it.
HOLDEN. Good-by, sir. Thanks a lot. No kidding.
STORYTELLER. He kept walking right behind me when I went to the front door, and when I rang the elevator bell he stayed in the damn doorway. All he said was that business about my being a “very, very strange boy” again. Strange, my ass. Then he waited in the doorway and all till the goddam elevator came. I never waited so long for an elevator in my whole goddam life. I swear. I didn’t know what the hell to talk about while I was waiting for the elevator.
HOLDEN. I’m gonna start reading some good books. I really am.
STORYTELLER. I mean you had to say something. It was very embarrassing.
Mr. Antolini. You grab your bags and scoot right on back here again. I’ll leave the door unlatched.
HOLDEN. Thanks a lot. G’by!
STORYTELLER. The elevator was finally there. I got in and went down. Boy, I was shaking like a madman. I was sweating, too. That kind of stuff’s happened to me about twenty times since I was a kid. I can’t stand it.
STORYTELLER. And I think I was more depressed than I ever was in my whole life. I didn’t want to, but I started thinking about old Mr. Antolini, how I’d woke up and found him patting me on the head and all. I mean I wondered if just maybe I was wrong about thinking he was making a flitty pass at me, maybe he just liked to pat guys on the head when they’re asleep. I even started wondering if maybe I should’ve got my bags and gone back to his house, the way I’d said I would. I mean I started thinking that even if he was a flit he certainly’d been very nice to me. I thought how he hadn’t minded it when I’d called him up so late, and how he’d told me to come right over if I felt like it. And how he went to all that trouble giving me that advice about finding out the size of your mind and all. I thought about all that stuff. Maybe he was only patting my head just for the hell of it. And the more I thought about it, the more depressed I got. The more I thought about it, though, the more depressed and screwed up about it I got.
STORYTELLER. Anyway, I kept worrying that I was getting pneumonia, with all those hunks of ice in my hair, and that I was going to die. I felt sorry as hell for my mother and father. Especially my mother, because she still isn’t over my brother Allie yet. I kept picturing her not knowing what to do with all my suits and athletic equipment and all. The only good thing, I knew she wouldn’t let old Phoebe come to my goddam funeral because she was only a little kid. That was the only good part. Then I thought about the whole bunch of them sticking me in a goddam cemetery and all, with my name on this tombstone and all. Surrounded by dead guys. Boy, when you’re dead, they really fix you up. I hope to hell when I do die somebody has sense enough to just dump me in the river or something. Anything except sticking me in a goddam cemetery. People coming and putting a bunch of flowers on your stomach on Sunday, and all that crap. Who wants flowers when you’re dead? Nobody.
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