The Uncollected J. D. Salinger - The Uncollected J. D. Salinger Part 28
Library

The Uncollected J. D. Salinger Part 28

"Sarah, dear," he said, "Sonny Varioni is here."

It registered immediately, but I denied it. "No, I don't believe you."

"He's here, my dear. He came into my office about twenty minutes ago."

"What does he want," I asked, just a little shrilly.

"I don't know," the professor said slowly. "I don't really know."

"I don't want to see him. I just don't want to see him, that's all. I'm married. I have two fine children. I don't want anything to do with him."

"Please, Sarah," Professor Voorhees said quietly. "This man is ill. He wants something. We must find out what it is."

I didn't think my voice would work, so I didn't say anything.

"Sarah"--the professor was gentle but firm--"the man in my office is harmless."

"All right," I said.

I followed Professor Voorhees down the corridor. My legs suddenly weren't too sure of themselves. They seemed in the process of dissolving.

He was sitting in one of the worn leather chairs in the professor's office. He stood up when he saw me.

"Hello, Sarah."

"Hello, Sonny."

He asked me if he could sit down. I said, very quickly, "Yes, please do."

Sonny sat down and Professor Voorhees moved into his place behind the big desk. I sat down, too, and I tried to look unhostile. I wanted to help this man. I think I said something about seventeen years being quite a long time. Sonny made no perfunctory reply. He was staring at the floor.

"What is it you want, Mr. Varioni?" Professor Voorhees asked him deliberately, yet helpfully. "What can we do for you?"

Sonny was a long time making an answer. Finally he said, "I have Joe's trunk with his script in it. I've read it. Most of it's written on the inside of a match folder."

I didn't know what he was getting at, but I knew he needed help.

"I know what you mean," I said. "He didn't care what he wrote on."

"I'd like to put his book together. Kind of type it up. I'd like to have a place to stay while I do it." He didn't look up at either of us.

"It isn't even finished," I said. "Joe didn't even finish it."

"He finished it. He finished it that time you went to California with your father. I never let him put it together."

Professor Voorhees accepted the responsibility of making further comment. He leaned forward over his desk. "It will be a tremendous job," he told Sonny.

"Yes."

"Why do you want to undertake it?"

"Because I hear the music for the first time in my life when I read his book." He looked up helplessly at both Professor Voorhees and me, as though hoping that neither of us would take advantage of the irony at his expense. Neither of us did.

The Young Folks.

by J.D. Salinger.

About eleven o'clock, Lucille Henderson, observing that her party was soaring at the proper height, and just having been smiled at by Jack Delroy, forced herself to glance over in the direction of Edna Phillips, who since eight o'clock had been sitting in the big red chair, smoking cigarettes and yodeling hellos and wearing a very bright eye which young men were not bothering to catch. Edna's direction still the same, Lucille Henderson sighed as heavily as her dress would allow, and then, knitting what there was of her brows, gazed about the room at the noisy young people she had invited to drink up her father's Scotch. Then abruptly she swished to where William Jameson Junior sat, biting his fingernails and staring at a small blonde girl sitting on the floor with three young men from Rutgers.

"Hello, there," Lucille Henderson said, clutching William Jameson Junior's arm. "Come on,"she said. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

"Who?"

"This girl. She's swell." And Jameson followed her across the room, at the same time trying to make short work of a hangnail on his thumb.

"Edna baby," Lucille Henderson said, "I'd love you to really know Bill Jameson. Bill - Edna Phillips. Or have you two birds met already?"

"No," said Edna, taking in Jameson's large nose, flabby mouth, narrow shoulders. "I'm awfully glad to meet you" she told him.

"Gladda know ya," Jameson replied, mentally contrasting Edna's all with the all of the small blonde across the room.

"Bill's a very good friend of Jack Delroy's,"Lucyreported.

"I don't know him so good," said Jameson.

"Well. I gotta beat it. See ya later, you two!"

"Take it easy!" Edna called after her. Then, "Won't you sit down?"

"Well, I don't know," Jameson said, sitting down. "I been sitting down all night, kinda."

"I didn't know you were a good friend of Jack Delroy's," Edna said. "He's a grand person, don't you think?"

"Yeah, he's all right, I guess. I don't know him so good. I never went around with his crowd much."

"Oh, really? I thought I heard Lu say you were a good friend of his"

"Yeah, she did. Only I don't know him so good. I really oughtta be gettin' home. I got this theme for Monday I'm supposed to do. I wasn't really gonna come home this week end."

"Oh, but the party's young!" Edna said. "The shank of the evening!"

"The what?"

"The shank of the evening. I mean it's so early yet."

"Yeah," said Jameson. "But I wasn't even gonna come t'night. Accounta this theme. Honest. I wasn't gonna come home this week end at all."

"But it's so early I mean!" Edna said.

"Yeah, I know, but-"

"What's your theme on, anyway?"

Suddenly, from the other side of the room, the small blonde shrieked with laughter, the three young men from Rutgers anxiously joining her.

"I say what's your theme on, anyway?" Edna repeated.

"Oh, I don't know," Jameson said. "About this description of some cathedral. This cathedral in Europe. I don't know."

"Well, I mean what do you have to do?"

"I don't know. I'm supposed to criticize it, sort of. I got it written down."

Again the small blonde and her friends went off into high laughter.

"Criticize it? Oh, then you've seen it?"

"Seen what?" said Jameson.

"This cathedral."

"Me. Hell, no."

",I mean how can you criticize it if you've never seen it?"

"Oh. Yeah. It's not me. It's this guy that wrote it. I'm supposed to criticize it from what he wrote, kinda."

"Mmm. I see. That sounds hard."

"Wudga say?"

"I say that sound hard. I know. I've wrestled with all that stuff puhlenty myself."

"Yeah."

"Who's the rat that wrote it?" Edna said.

Exuberance again from the locale of the small blonde.

"What?" Jameson said.

"I say who wrote it?"

"I don't know. John Ruskin."

"Oh, boy," Edna said. "You're in for it, fella."

"Wudga say?"

"I say you're in for it. I mean that stuff's hard."

"Oh. Yeah. I guess so."

Edna said, "Who're ya looking at? I know most of the gang here tonight."

"Me?" Jameson said. "Nobody. I think maybe I'll get a drink."

"Hey! You took the words right out of my mouth."

They arose simultaneously. Edna was taller than Jameson, and Jameson was shorter than Edna.

"I think, " Edna said, "there's some stuff out on the terrace. Some kind of junk, anyway. Not sure. We can try. Might as well get a breath of fresh air."

"All right," said Jameson.

They moved on toward the terrace, Edna crouching slightly and brushing off imaginary ashes from what had been her lap since eight o'clock. Jameson followed her, looking behind him and gnawing on the index finger of his left hand.

For reading, sewing, mastering crossword puzzles, the Henderson terrace was inadequately lighted. Lightly charging through the screen door, Edna was almost immediately aware of hushed vocal tones coming from a much darker vicinity to her left. But she walked directly to the front of the terrace, leaned heavily on the white railing, took a very deep breath, and then turned and looked behind her for Jameson.

"I hear somebody talkin'," Jameson said, joining her.

"Shhh. . . . Isn't it a gorgeous night? Just take a deep breath."

"Yeah. Where's the stuff? The Scotch?"

"Just a second," Edna said. "Take a deep breath. Just once."

"Yeah, I did. Maybe that's it over there." He left her and went over to a table. Edna turned and watched him. By silhouette mostly, she saw him lift and set things on the table.

"Nothing left!" Jameson called back.

"Shhh. Not so loud. C'mere a minute."

He went over to her.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

"Just look at the sky," Edna said.