Jerome Salinger - The Catcher in the Rye

“No. Shut up.”

I thought I was going to pass out cold. I mean I didn’t mean to tell her to shut up and all, but I thought I was going to pass out again.

“Why can’t I? Please, Holden! I won’t do anything— I’ll just go with you, that’s all! I won’t even take my clothes with me if you don’t want me to—I’ll just take my—”

“You can’t take anything. Because you’re not going. I’m going alone. So shut up.”

“Please, Holden. Please let me go. I’ll be very, very, very—You won’t even—”

“You’re not going. Now, shut up! Gimme that bag,” I said. I took the bag off her. I was almost all set to hit her, I thought I was going to smack her for a second. I really did.

She started to cry.

“I thought you were supposed to be in a play at school and all I thought you were supposed to be Benedict Arnold in that play and all,” I said. I said it very nasty. “Whuddaya want to do? Not be in the play, for God’s sake?” That made her cry even harder. I was glad. All of a sudden I wanted her to cry till her eyes practically dropped out. I almost hated her. I think I hated her most because she wouldn’t be in that play any more if she went away with me.

“Come on,” I said. I started up the steps to the museum again. I figured what I’d do was, I’d check the crazy suitcase she’d brought in the checkroom, and then she could get it again at three o’clock, after school. I knew she couldn’t take it back to school with her. “Come on, now,” I said.

She didn’t go up the steps with me, though. She wouldn’t come with me. I went up anyway, though, and brought the bag in the checkroom and checked it, and then I came down again. She was still standing there on the sidewalk, but she turned her back on me when I came up to her. She can do that. She can turn her back on you when she feels like it. “I’m not going away anywhere. I changed my mind. So stop crying, and shut up,” I said. The funny part was, she wasn’t even crying when I said that. I said it anyway, though, “C’mon, now. I’ll walk you back to school. C’mon, now. You’ll be late.”

She wouldn’t answer me or anything. I sort of tried to get hold of her old hand, but she wouldn’t let me. She kept turning around on me.

“Didja have your lunch? Ya had your lunch yet?” I asked her.

She wouldn’t answer me. All she did was, she took off my red hunting hat—the one I gave her—and practically chucked it right in my face. Then she turned her back on me again. It nearly killed me, but I didn’t say anything. I just picked it up and stuck it in my coat pocket.

“Come on, hey. I’ll walk you back to school,” I said.

“I’m not going back to school.”

I didn’t know what to say when she said that. I just stood there for a couple of minutes.

“You have to go back to school. You want to be in that play, don’t you? You want to be Benedict Arnold, don’t you?”

“No.”

“Sure you do. Certainly you do. C’mon, now, let’s go,” I said. “In the first place, I’m not going away anywhere, I told you. I’m going home. I’m going home as soon as you go back to school. First I’m gonna go down to the station and get my bags, and then I’m gonna go straight—”

“I said I’m not going back to school. You can do what you want to do, but I’m not going back to chool,” she said. “So shut up.” It was the first time she ever told me to shut up. It sounded terrible. God, it sounded terrible. It sounded worse than swearing. She still wouldn’t look at me either, and every time I sort of put my hand on her shoulder or something, she wouldn’t let me.

“Listen, do you want to go for a walk?” I asked her. “Do you want to take a walk down to the zoo? If I let you not go back to school this afternoon and go for walk, will you cut out this crazy stuff?”

She wouldn’t answer me, so I said it over again. “If I let you skip school this afternoon and go for a little walk, will you cut out the crazy stuff? Will you go back to school tomorrow like a good girl?”

“I may and I may not,” she said. Then she ran right the hell across the street, without even looking to see if any cars were coming. She’s a madman sometimes.

I didn’t follow her, though. I knew she’d follow me, so I started walking downtown toward the zoo, on the park side of the street, and she started walking downtown on the other goddam side of the street, She wouldn’t look over at me at all, but I could tell she was probably watching me out of the corner of her crazy eye to see where I was going and all. Anyway, we kept walking that way all the way to the zoo. The only thing that bothered me was when a double-decker bus came along because then I couldn’t see across the street and I couldn’t see where the hell she was. But when we got to the zoo, I yelled over to her, “Phoebe! I’m going in the zoo! C’mon, now!” She wouldn’t look at me, but I could tell she heard me, and when I started down the steps to the zoo I turned around and saw she was crossing the street and following me and all.

There weren’t too many people in the zoo because it was sort of a lousy day, but there were a few around the sea lions’ swimming pool and all. I started to go by but old Phoebe stopped and made out she was watching the sea lions getting fed—a guy was throwing fish at them—so I went back. I figured it was a good chance to catch up with her and all. I went up and sort of stood behind her and sort of put my hands on her shoulders, but she bent her knees and slid out from me—she can certainly be very snotty when she wants to. She kept standing there while the sea lions were getting fed and I stood right behind her. I didn’t put my hands on her shoulders again or anything because if I had she really would’ve beat it on me. Kids are funny. You have to watch what you’re doing.

She wouldn’t walk right next to me when we left the sea lions, but she didn’t walk too far away. She sort of walked on one side of the sidewalk and I walked on the other side. It wasn’t too gorgeous, but it was better than having her walk about a mile away from me, like before. We went up and watched the bears, on that little hill, for a while, but there wasn’t much to watch. Only one of the bears was out, the polar bear. The other one, the brown one, was in his goddam cave and wouldn’t come out. All you could see was his rear end. There was a little kid standing next to me, with a cowboy hat on practically over his ears, and he kept telling his father, “Make him come out, Daddy. Make him come out.” I looked at old Phoebe, but she wouldn’t laugh. You know kids when they’re sore at you. They won’t laugh or anything.

After we left the bears, we left the zoo and crossed over this little street in the park, and then we went through one of those little tunnels that always smell from somebody’s taking a leak. It was on the way to the carrousel. Old Phoebe still wouldn’t talk to me or anything, but she was sort of walking next to me now. I took a hold of the belt at the back of her coat, just for the hell of it, but she wouldn’t let me. She said, “Keep your hands to yourself, if you don’t mind.” She was still sore at me. But not as sore as she was before. Anyway, we kept getting closer and closer to the carrousel and you could start to hear that nutty music it always plays. It was playing “Oh, Marie!” It played that same song about fifty years ago when I was a little kid. That’s one nice thing about carrousels, they always play the same songs.

“I thought the carrousel was closed in the wintertime,” old Phoebe said. It was the first time she practically said anything. She probably forgot she was supposed to be sore at me.

“Maybe because it’s around Christmas,” I said.