He shoved my book back with his hand so that he could see the name of it. “Any
good?” he said.
“This sentence I’m reading is terrific.” I can be quite sarcastic when I’m in the
mood. He didn’t get It, though. He started walking around the room again, picking up all
my personal stuff, and Stradlater’s. Finally, I put my book down on the floor. You
couldn’t read anything with a guy like Ackley around. It was impossible.
I slid way the hell down in my chair and watched old Ackley making himself at
home. I was feeling sort of tired from the trip to New York and all, and I started yawning.
Then I started horsing around a little bit. Sometimes I horse around quite a lot, just to
keep from getting bored. What I did was, I pulled the old peak of my hunting hat around
to the front, then pulled it way down over my eyes. That way, I couldn’t see a goddam
thing. “I think I’m going blind,” I said in this very hoarse voice. “Mother darling,
everything’s getting so dark in here.”
“You’re nuts. I swear to God,” Ackley said.
“Mother darling, give me your hand, Why won’t you give me your hand?”
“For Chrissake, grow up.”
I started groping around in front of me, like a blind guy, but without getting up or
anything. I kept saying, “Mother darling, why won’t you give me your hand?” I was only
horsing around, naturally. That stuff gives me a bang sometimes. Besides, I know it
annoyed hell out of old Ackley. He always brought out the old sadist in me. I was pretty
sadistic with him quite often. Finally, I quit, though. I pulled the peak around to the back
again, and relaxed.
“Who belongsa this?” Ackley said. He was holding my roommate’s knee
supporter up to show me. That guy Ackley’d pick up anything. He’d even pick up your
jock strap or something. I told him it was Stradlater’s. So he chucked it on Stradlater’s
bed. He got it off Stradlater’s chiffonier, so he chucked it on the bed.
He came over and sat down on the arm of Stradlater’s chair. He never sat down in
a chair. Just always on the arm. “Where the hellja get that hat?” he said.
“New York.”
“How much?”
“A buck.”
“You got robbed.” He started cleaning his goddam fingernails with the end of a
match. He was always cleaning his fingernails. It was funny, in a way. His teeth were
always mossy-looking, and his ears were always dirty as hell, but he was always cleaning
his fingernails. I guess he thought that made him a very neat guy. He took another look at
my hat while he was cleaning them. “Up home we wear a hat like that to shoot deer in,
for Chrissake,” he said. “That’s a deer shooting hat.”
“Like hell it is.” I took it off and looked at it. I sort of closed one eye, like I was
taking aim at it. “This is a people shooting hat,” I said. “I shoot people in this hat.”
“Your folks know you got kicked out yet?”
“Nope.”
“Where the hell’s Stradlater at, anyway?”
“Down at the game. He’s got a date.” I yawned. I was yawning all over the place.
For one thing, the room was too damn hot. It made you sleepy. At Pencey, you either
froze to death or died of the heat. “The great Stradlater,” Ackley said. “–Hey. Lend me your scissors a second,
willya? Ya got ’em handy?”
“No. I packed them already. They’re way in the top of the closet.”
“Get ’em a second, willya?” Ackley said, “I got this hangnail I want to cut off.”
He didn’t care if you’d packed something or not and had it way in the top of the
closet. I got them for him though. I nearly got killed doing it, too. The second I opened
the closet door, Stradlater’s tennis racket–in its wooden press and all–fell right on my
head. It made a big clunk, and it hurt like hell. It damn near killed old Ackley, though. He
started laughing in this very high falsetto voice. He kept laughing the whole time I was
taking down my suitcase and getting the scissors out for him. Something like that–a guy
getting hit on the head with a rock or something–tickled the pants off Ackley. “You have
a damn good sense of humor, Ackley kid,” I told him. “You know that?” I handed him the
scissors. “Lemme be your manager. I’ll get you on the goddam radio.” I sat down in my
chair again, and he started cutting his big horny-looking nails. “How ’bout using the table
or something?” I said. “Cut ’em over the table, willya? I don’t feel like walking on your
crumby nails in my bare feet tonight.” He kept right on cutting them over the floor,
though. What lousy manners. I mean it.
“Who’s Stradlater’s date?” he said. He was always keeping tabs on who Stradlater
was dating, even though he hated Stradlater’s guts.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“No reason. Boy, I can’t stand that sonuvabitch. He’s one sonuvabitch I really can’t
stand.”
“He’s crazy about you. He told me he thinks you’re a goddam prince,” I said. I call
people a “prince” quite often when I’m horsing around. It keeps me from getting bored or
something.
“He’s got this superior attitude all the time,” Ackley said. “I just can’t stand the
sonuvabitch. You’d think he–”
“Do you mind cutting your nails over the table, hey?” I said. “I’ve asked you about
fifty–”
“He’s got this goddam superior attitude all the time,” Ackley said. “I don’t even
think the sonuvabitch is intelligent. He thinks he is. He thinks he’s about the most–”
“Ackley! For Chrissake. Willya please cut your crumby nails over the table? I’ve
asked you fifty times.”
He started cutting his nails over the table, for a change. The only way he ever did
anything was if you yelled at him.
I watched him for a while. Then I said, “The reason you’re sore at Stradlater is
because he said that stuff about brushing your teeth once in a while. He didn’t mean to
insult you, for cryin’ out loud. He didn’t say it right or anything, but he didn’t mean
anything insulting. All he meant was you’d look better and feel better if you sort of
brushed your teeth once in a while.”
“I brush my teeth. Don’t gimme that.”
“No, you don’t. I’ve seen you, and you don’t,” I said. I didn’t say it nasty, though. I
felt sort of sorry for him, in a way. I mean it isn’t too nice, naturally, if somebody tells
you you don’t brush your teeth. “Stradlater’s all right He’s not too bad,” I said. “You don’t
know him, thats the trouble.”
“I still say he’s a sonuvabitch. He’s a conceited sonuvabitch.” “He’s conceited, but he’s very generous in some things. He really is,” I said.
“Look. Suppose, for instance, Stradlater was wearing a tie or something that you liked.
Say he had a tie on that you liked a helluva lot–I’m just giving you an example, now.
You know what he’d do? He’d probably take it off and give it ta you. He really would.
Or–you know what he’d do? He’d leave it on your bed or something. But he’d give you
the goddam tie. Most guys would probably just–”
“Hell,” Ackley said. “If I had his dough, I would, too.”
“No, you wouldn’t.” I shook my head. “No, you wouldn’t, Ackley kid. If you had
his dough, you’d be one of the biggest–”
“Stop calling me ‘Ackley kid,’ God damn it. I’m old enough to be your lousy
father.”
“No, you’re not.” Boy, he could really be aggravating sometimes. He never missed
a chance to let you know you were sixteen and he was eighteen. “In the first place, I
wouldn’t let you in my goddam family,” I said.
“Well, just cut out calling me–”
All of a sudden the door opened, and old Stradlater barged in, in a big hurry. He
was always in a big hurry. Everything was a very big deal. He came over to me and gave
me these two playful as hell slaps on both cheeks–which is something that can be very
annoying. ‘Listen,” he said. “You going out anywheres special tonight?”
“I don’t know. I might. What the hell’s it doing out–snowing?” He had snow all
over his coat.
“Yeah. Listen. If you’re not going out anyplace special, how ’bout lending me
your hound’s-tooth jacket?”
“Who won the game?” I said.
“It’s only the half. We’re leaving,” Stradlater said. “No kidding, you gonna use
your hound’s-tooth tonight or not? I spilled some crap all over my gray flannel.”
“No, but I don’t want you stretching it with your goddam shoulders and all,” I
said. We were practically the same heighth, but he weighed about twice as much as I did.
He had these very broad shoulders.
“I won’t stretch it.” He went over to the closet in a big hurry. “How’sa boy,
Ackley?” he said to Ackley. He was at least a pretty friendly guy, Stradlater. It was partly
a phony kind of friendly, but at least he always said hello to Ackley and all.
Ackley just sort of grunted when he said “How’sa boy?” He wouldn’t answer him,
but he didn’t have guts enough not to at least grunt. Then he said to me, “I think I’ll get
going. See ya later.”
“Okay,” I said. He never exactly broke your heart when he went back to his own
room.
Old Stradlater started taking off his coat and tie and all. “I think maybe I’ll take a
fast shave,” he said. He had a pretty heavy beard. He really did.
“Where’s your date?” I asked him.
“She’s waiting in the Annex.” He went out of the room with his toilet kit and
towel under his arm. No shirt on or anything. He always walked around in his bare torso
because he thought he had a damn good build. He did, too. I have to admit it. I didn’t have anything special to do, so I went down to the can and chewed the rag
with him while he was shaving. We were the only ones in the can, because everybody
was still down at the game. It was hot as hell and the windows were all steamy. There
were about ten washbowls, all right against the wall. Stradlater had the middle one. I sat
down on the one right next to him and started turning the cold water on and off–this
nervous habit I have. Stradlater kept whistling ‘Song of India” while he shaved. He had
one of those very piercing whistles that are practically never in tune, and he always
picked out some song that’s hard to whistle even if you’re a good whistler, like “Song of
India” or “Slaughter on Tenth Avenue.” He could really mess a song up.
You remember I said before that Ackley was a slob in his personal habits? Well,
so was Stradlater, but in a different way. Stradlater was more of a secret slob. He always
looked all right, Stradlater, but for instance, you should’ve seen the razor he shaved
himself with. It was always rusty as hell and full of lather and hairs and crap. He never
cleaned it or anything. He always looked good when he was finished fixing himself up,
but he was a secret slob anyway, if you knew him the way I did. The reason he fixed
himself up to look good was because he was madly in love with himself. He thought he
was the handsomest guy in the Western Hemisphere. He was pretty handsome, too–I’ll
admit it. But he was mostly the kind of a handsome guy that if your parents saw his
picture in your Year Book, they’d right away say, “Who’s this boy?” I mean he was
mostly a Year Book kind of handsome guy. I knew a lot of guys at Pencey I thought were
a lot handsomer than Stradlater, but they wouldn’t look handsome if you saw their
pictures in the Year Book. They’d look like they had big noses or their ears stuck out. I’ve
had that experience frequently.
Anyway, I was sitting on the washbowl next to where Stradlater was shaving, sort
of turning the water on and off. I still had my red hunting hat on, with the peak around to
the back and all. I really got a bang out of that hat.
“Hey,” Stradlater said. “Wanna do me a big favor?”
“What?” I said. Not too enthusiastic. He was always asking you to do him a big
favor. You take a very handsome guy, or a guy that thinks he’s a real hot-shot, and they’re
always asking you to do them a big favor. Just because they’re crazy about themseif, they
think you’re crazy about them, too, and that you’re just dying to do them a favor. It’s sort
of funny, in a way.
“You goin’ out tonight?” he said.
“I might. I might not. I don’t know. Why?”
“I got about a hundred pages to read for history for Monday,” he said. “How ’bout
writing a composition for me, for English? I’ll be up the creek if I don’t get the goddam
thing in by Monday, the reason I ask. How ’bout it?”
It was very ironical. It really was.
“I’m the one that’s flunking out of the goddam place, and you’re asking me to
write you a goddam composition,” I said.
“Yeah, I know. The thing is, though, I’ll be up the creek if I don’t get it in. Be a
buddy. Be a buddyroo. Okay?”
I didn’t answer him right away. Suspense is good for some bastards like
Stradlater.
“What on?” I said