Old Spencer's House

They were about seventy. Spencer and his wife. They got a kick out of some things, in a sort of half-assed way. He was hunched all over, and his posture was pleasantly awful. Whenever he was writing something I class and he dropped the chalk on the floor, some poor guy in the first row had to get up and hand it to him. He showed us this old worn out Navajo blanket that he and Mrs. Spencer had bought off some Indian in Yellowstone Park once. That’s what I meant about half-assed. Getting a kick out of things, you take an old guy like Spencer, and they can get a big kick out of buying an old, tatty blanket.

The door was open, but I knocked on it anyway, being polite and all. I could see him. Sitting there. In this big leather chair wrapped up in that goddam blanket I was just on about. He looked at me after I knocked and yelled “Caulfield? Come in boy.” He always yelled. It kinda got on your nerves.

As soon I walked in the room I sort of wished I never did. The whole goddam room smelt like Vicks Nose Drops. The thing that made it depressing was he was wearing this disgusting bathrobe that he was probably born in or something. I’m not too crazy about that. Seeing old sick guys in their pajamas. Their wrinkly chests are always on show.

“Have a seat boy.” He meant on the bed. So I did. Obviously.
“How’s the grippe sir?”
He made the worst joke ever. I regret even asking him. “M’boy, if I felt any better, I would have to send for the doctor!” That was it. He started chuckling like a madman. When he finally straightened himself out, he asked why I wasn’t down at the big game like everybody else in the goddam school.
“So you’re leaving us eh?”
“Yes sir, I spose I am.”
He started doing this nodding thing. You never saw anybody that nodded as much as Spencer did. The worst bit was, you couldn’t work out, whether he was nodding because he was thinking or just a nice old guy that didn’t know his ass from his elbow.

He talked about Life being a game and all. And how you should play by the rules. He didn’t shout or anything. He was pretty nice about it. He just kept going on about life being a game and all.

“Have you told your parents?”
“Not yet sir. I’ll probably tell them when I see them on Wednesday.”
“How do you think they’ll react?” Well they won’t be too happy about it. I mean this is the fourth school I’ve gone to now. It’s partly because my vocabulary’s pretty lousy and I’m seventeen, but most of the time I act like I should be at pre-school or something.

He started the nodding thing again. He also started to pick his nose. He tried to make it look like he was just pinching it but I knew he wasn’t. I spose he thought he had the right because it was just me in the room. Then he said, “I had the gratification of meeting your parent when Dr Thurmer had a little chat with them some weeks back. They’re grand people.”
“Yes they are.”
I hate the word grand. That’s the word I really hate. It’s so phoney. I could puke every time I hear it. Grand.

He started going on about my history paper and how he flunked me because I knew nothing. I had to sit there and listen to him read out my essay. He asked me if I wanted to hear it and I said “No.” But he went ahead and read it anyway. By the time he had finished I really started to hate him. And said in a very sarcastic voice “And your essay, if that’s what you want to call it, stops there. However, i see you left me a little note at the bottom of the page.”
“Yes I know I did.” I tried to say it quickly to stop him from reading it out loud, but it didn’t work.

He read, “Dear Mr Spencer that is all I know about the Egyptians. I cannot seem to get interested in them. Unlike your lectures. Which are of course, very interesting. I don’t mind if flunk me as I am failing in every other subject except from English. Respectfully yours. HOLDEN CAULFIELD."

When he looked at me you could see he was feeling pretty lousy for flunking me. So I told him I was a moron and stuff like that. We talked about Elkton Hills, and he asked me if I had and any qualms about leaving Pency. I said I had a few. But not too many. I guess it hadn’t really hit me. That I was leaving Pency. For good.

I decided to go shortly after and just as I was leaving Mrs Spencer kindly asked me if I wanted a cup of hot chocolate before I left, but I told her I had to get going. “I’ll drop you a line sir. Take care of your grippe.”
“Good-by M’boy.”

I'm stuck here. In this goddamn institute. I've got T.B. I go to this school call Pency Prep but they've kicked me out. I only passed in English. I'm not going into it. I'll just tell you about the stuff that happened to me when things got really bad and I had to come out here to cool off. That's all he told me. D.B i mean. He's my brother. He works in Hollywood writing short stories. He wrote an amazing one called The Secret Goldfish. Just incase you've never heard of him.

I'll start on the day I left Pency Prep. The big game. It was a big deal at Pency, the game against Saxon Hall. You were sposed to kill yourself or something if Pency didn't win. I remember standing way up on the hill, next to this goddamn cannon from the Revolutionary War and all. All you could see was the pitch and two teams bashing the hell out of each other. You couldn't really see the grandstand but you could hear them yelling, practicallly the whole school was there. Except for me.

The only reason I was up there was because I'd just got back from New York. I was coaching my goddamn fencing team. Very big deal. We were in New York that morning for this meet with McBurney School. Only, we didnt have the meet. I ended up leaving all the foils and equipment and stuff on the goddam subway, it's not my fault I had to keep getting up to look at the goddam map so we wouldn't get off at the wrong place. Plus, I was on my way to see my history teacher, old Spencer, thats another reason why I wasnt at the game. I figured seeing as he had the grippe, I probably wouldn't see him again till christmas vacation.

Anyway, it was december and all and it was as cold as ice, especially up on the goddam hill. I had no gloves or anything, just my reversible. the week before, somebody'd stolen my camel hair jacket and my fur-lined gloves were in the goddam pocket. Old Pency was full of crooks. And goddam phoneys. Quite a few of 'em came from rich families but they were still crooks and phoneys. Anyway, there i was on the hill, freezing my goddam ass off. Only, I wasn't really watching the game. I was trying to feel some kind of good-by. I mean, I've left places and schools before, but without knowing im actually leaving it. I hate it. When im leaving a place i like to know im leaving it. But all of a sudden i remmembered something that helped me know i getting the hell out of this place.

I turned round and started running to old spencer's house. I ran all the way to the main gate. I had to wait a second. Catch my breath. I'm a heavy smoker you see. I carried on though. It was so goddam icy i nearly gell and broke my goddam neck and all. I don't even know why i was running. I just felt like it.

When i finally got there, i rang the doorbell. Boy was i frozen. My face was hurting and i could hardly move at all. I shouted right out loud Untill finally, Mrs Spencer opened the door. They didn't have too much dough, so they didn't have a maid or anthing. So they always opened the door themselves. "Holden dear!" Mrs Spencer said. "How delightful to see you! Come on in! Are you frozen to death?" I guessed she was glad to see me. At least, it seemed that way.

Boy, did i move quick. I needed to get out of the cold, before i froze my ass off. "How have you been Mrs Spencer?, hows Mr Spencer?"
"Give me your coat dear". I don't think she heard me asking her how she or Mr Spencer was. She's sort of deaf.
She hung up my coat and brushed my hair back with her hand. I have a crew cut most of the time so i never have to comb it often. I asked her again. "How have you been Mrs Spencer?," i said ot louder this time, just incase she didn't hear me.
"I've been fine Holden. How have you been?" I knew from the way she asked me, old Spencer'd told her they kicked me out.
"And hows Mr Spencer, has he still got the grippe?"
"He's in his room dear, go right in."