第8章
《THE CATCHER IN THE RYE(麦田里的守望者英文版)》章节:第8章,宠文网网友提供全文无弹窗免费在线阅读。!
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.
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"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?"