Над пропастью во ржи

           Iwasn’tknockedoutoranything,though,becauseIrememberlookingupfromthefloorandseeingthembothgooutthedoorandshutit.ThenIstayedonthefloorafairlylongtime,sortofthewayIdidwithStradlater.Only,thistimeIthoughtIwasdying.Ireallydid.IthoughtIwasdrowningorsomething.Thetroublewas,Icouldhardlybreathe.WhenIdidfinallygetup,Ihadtowalktothebathroomalldoubledupandholdingontomystomachandall.

           ButI’mcrazy.IsweartoGodIam.Abouthalfwaytothebathroom,IsortofstartedpretendingIhadabulletinmyguts.Old‘Mauricehadpluggedme.NowIwasonthewaytothebathroomtogetagoodshotofbourbonorsomethingtosteadymynervesandhelpmereallygointoaction.Ipicturedmyselfcomingoutofthegoddambathroom,dressedandall,withmyautomaticinmypocket,andstaggeringaroundalittlebit.ThenI’dwalkdownstairs,insteadofusingtheelevator.I’dholdontothebanisterandall,withthisbloodtricklingoutofthesideofmymouthalittleatatime.WhatI’ddo,I’dwalkdownafewfloors—holdingontomyguts,bloodleakingallovertheplace—andthenI’dringtheelevatorbell.AssoonasoldMauriceopenedthedoors,he’dseemewiththeautomaticinmyhandandhe’dstartscreamingatme,inthisveryhigh-pitched,yellow-bellyvoice,toleavehimalone.ButI’dplughimanyway.Sixshotsrightthroughhisfathairybelly.ThenI’dthrowmyautomaticdowntheelevatorshaft—afterI’dwipedoffallthefingerprintsandall.ThenI’dcrawlbacktomyroomandcallupJaneandhavehercomeoverandbandageupmyguts.IpicturedherholdingacigaretteformetosmokewhileIwasbleedingandall.

           Thegoddammovies.Theycanruinyou.I’mnotkidding.