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THE CATCHER IN THE RYE

by J.D. Salinger

MOTHER

If you really want to hear about it, the first thing you'll probably want to know is

where I was born, an what my lousy childhood was like, and how my parents were

occupied and all before they had me, and all that David Copperfield kind of crap, but I

don't feel like going into it, if you want to know the truth. In the first place, that stuff

bores me, and in the second place, my parents would have about two hemorrhages apiece

if I told anything pretty personal about them. They're quite touchy about anything like

that, especially my father. They're nice and all--I'm not saying that--but they're also

touchy as hell. Besides, I'm not going to tell you my whole goddam autobiography or

anything. I'll just tell you about this madman stuff that happened to me around last

Christmas just before I got pretty run-down and had to come out here and take it easy. I

mean that's all I told D.B. about, and he's my brother and all. He's in Hollywood. That

isn't too far from this crumby place, and he comes over and visits me practically every

week end. He's going to drive me home when I go home next month maybe. He just got a

Jaguar. One of those little English jobs that can do around two hundred miles an hour. It

cost him damn near four thousand bucks. He's got a lot of dough, now. He didn't use to.

He used to be just a regular writer, when he was home. He wrote this terrific book of

short stories, The Secret Goldfish, in case you never heard of him. The best one in it was

"The Secret Goldfish." It was about this little kid that wouldn't let anybody look at his

goldfish because he'd bought it with his own money. It killed me. Now he's out in

Hollywood, D.B., being a prostitute. If there's one thing I hate, it's the movies. Don't even

mention them to me.

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