第32章
《THE CATCHER IN THE RYE(麦田里的守望者英文版)》章节:第32章,宠文网网友提供全文无弹窗免费在线阅读。!
Right? You don't think them fish just die when it
gets to be winter, do ya?"
"No, but--"
"You're goddam right they don't," Horwitz said, and drove off like a bat out of
hell. He was about the touchiest guy I ever met. Everything you said made him sore.
Even though it was so late, old Ernie's was jampacked. Mostly with prep school
jerks and college jerks. Almost every damn school in the world gets out earlier for
Christmas vacation than the schools I go to. You could hardly check your coat, it was so
crowded. It was pretty quiet, though, because Ernie was playing the piano. It was
supposed to be something holy, for God's sake, when he sat down at the piano. Nobody's
that good. About three couples, besides me, were waiting for tables, and they were all
shoving and standing on tiptoes to get a look at old Ernie while he played. He had a big
damn mirror in front of the piano, with this big spotlight on him, so that everybody could
watch his face while he played. You couldn't see his fingers while he played--just his big
old face. Big deal. I'm not too sure what the name of the song was that he was playing
when I came in, but whatever it was, he was really stinking it up. He was putting all these
dumb, show-offy ripples in the high notes, and a lot of other very tricky stuff that gives
me a pain in the ass. You should've heard the crowd, though, when he was finished. You
would've puked. They went mad. They were exactly the same morons that laugh like
hyenas in the movies at stuff that isn't funny. I swear to God, if I were a piano player or
an actor or something and all those dopes thought I was terrific, I'd hate it. I wouldn't
even want them to clap for me. People always clap for the wrong things. If I were a piano
player, I'd play it in the goddam closet. Anyway, when he was finished, and everybody
was clapping their heads off, old Ernie turned around on his stool and gave this very
phony, humble bow. Like as if he was a helluva humble guy, besides being a terrific
piano player. It was very phony--I mean him being such a big snob and all. In a funny
way, though, I felt sort of sorry for him when he was finished. I don't even think he
knows any more when he's playing right or not. It isn't all his fault. I partly blame all
those dopes that clap their heads off--they'd foul up anybody, if you gave them a chance.
Anyway, it made me feel depressed and lousy again, and I damn near got my coat back
and went back to the hotel, but it was too early and I didn't feel much like being all alone.
They finally got me this stinking table, right up against a wall and behind a
goddam post, where you couldn't see anything. It was one of those tiny little tables that if
the people at the next table don't get up to let you by--and they never do, the bastards--
you practically have to climb into your chair. I ordered a Scotch and soda, which is my
favorite drink, next to frozen Daiquiris. If you were only around six years old, you could
get liquor at Ernie's, the place was so dark and all, and besides, nobody cared how old
you were. You could even be a dope fiend and nobody'd care.
I was surrounded by jerks. I'm not kidding. At this other tiny table, right to my
left, practically on top of me, there was this funny-looking guy and this funny-looking
girl. They were around my age, or maybe just a little older. It was funny. You could see
they were being careful as hell not to drink up the minimum too fast. I listened to their
conversation for a while, because I didn't have anything else to do. He was telling her
about some pro football game he'd seen that afternoon. He gave her every single goddam
play in the whole game--I'm not kidding. He was the most boring guy I ever listened to.
And you could tell his date wasn't even interested in the goddam game, but she was even
funnier-looking than he was, so I guess she had to listen. Real ugly girls have it tough. I
feel so sorry for them sometimes. Sometimes I can't even look at them, especially if
they're with some dopey guy that's telling them all about a goddam football game. On my
right, the conversation was even worse, though. On my right there was this very Joe
Yale-looking guy, in a gray flannel suit and one of those flitty-looking Tattersall vests.
All those Ivy League bastards look alike. My father wants me to go to Yale, or maybe
Princeton, but I swear, I wouldn't go to one of those Ivy League colleges, if I was dying,
for God's sake. Anyway, this Joe Yale-looking guy had a terrific-looking girl with him.
Boy, she was good-looking. But you should've heard the conversation they were having.
In the first place, they were both slightly crocked. What he was doing, he was giving her
a feel under the table, and at the same time telling her all about some guy in his dorm that
had eaten a whole bottle of aspirin and nearly committed suicide. His date kept saying to
him, "How horrible . . . Don't, darling. Please, don't. Not here." Imagine giving somebody
a feel and telling them about a guy committing suicide at the same time!