你要是真的想听我聊，首先想知道的，大概就是我在哪儿出生，我糟糕的童年是怎么过来的，我爸妈在我出生前是干吗的，还有什么大卫?科波菲尔故事式的屁话，可是说实话，那些我都不想说。首先我嫌烦，其次，如果我提到我爸妈什么很私人的事，他们准会气得吐血。他们对这种事总是很敏感，特别是我爸。他们人都挺好的—这个先不提—可又都是敏感得要命；再说，我他妈又不打算口述整个一部自传还是怎么样。我只跟你说说去年圣诞节前后我经历的几件荒唐事吧，在那之后，我整个人就垮掉了，不得不到这儿放松一下。我是说我也是这么告诉D.B.的，他是我哥，在好莱坞，离这个破地方不太远，他几乎每个周末都来看我。我可能下个月回家，他还会开车送我。他刚买了一辆捷豹牌汽车，是那种能开到时速两百英里左右的英国造小型车，花了他将近四千块。他现在有的是钱，以前可不是。他在家那阵子，还不过是个一般的作家呢。如果你从来没听说过他，我可以告诉你他写过一本特棒的短篇小说集—《秘密金鱼》。书里好的一篇就是《秘密金鱼》，写的是有个小孩儿养的金鱼谁也不给看，因为是他自个儿花钱买的，这篇让我喜欢得要命。他现在去了好莱坞，这个D.B.，当了婊子。要说有什么让我讨厌，那就得数电影了，你根本别跟我提。
我还是从离开潘西中学那天说起吧。潘西中学在宾夕法尼亚州的埃吉斯镇，你很可能听说过，不管怎么样，你很可能看到过它的广告。他们在上千种杂志上做广告，上面总有个棒小伙子在骑马跨越障碍，好像在潘西除了打马球，别的什么都不干似的，可是我在那儿附近从来一匹马也没见过。骑马小伙的下方，总是印了一行字：“一八八八年以来，我们一直致力于把男孩培育成出类拔萃、善于思考的年轻人。”纯属蒙人，跟别的学校比起来，他们在潘西做的培育工作他妈的强不到哪儿去。我在那儿根本没见识过一个出类拔萃、善于思考的家伙，可能有两个吧，就那么多，不过很可能在他们来潘西之前，就已经是那样了。
总之，那天是星期六，是跟萨克森豪尔中学比赛橄榄球的日子。在潘西，跟萨克森豪尔的比赛被当作是件天大的事。这是年末的后一场比赛，潘西赢不了的话，大家就该自杀什么的。我记得当时是下午三点钟左右，我他妈正高高地站在汤姆逊小山顶上，就在革命战争还是什么时候留下的一尊破大炮旁边。从那儿看得到两支球队在四下里死掐。看台那边看不太清楚，不过能听见潘西这边看台上一片大呼小叫，喧声震天，因为今天学校里除了我，几乎全体都在那儿。但是萨克森豪尔那边看台上人数寥寥、不成气候，因为随客队来的几乎一向都没有多少人。
橄榄球比赛从来没几个女孩儿到场，只有毕业班的学生才可以带女孩儿去看。这所学校怎么看怎么糟糕透顶。我想待的地方，就是至少在那儿偶尔能看到几个女孩儿，即便她们只是一个劲儿搔手臂或者擤鼻子，甚至只会傻笑还是怎么样。塞尔玛?瑟默这妞儿—她是校长的闺女—倒是很经常去球场上露露脸，但是说起来她算不上那种能让你想入非非的女孩儿，不过她还算挺不错。有次在从埃吉斯镇开出的大巴上，我跟她坐一起，我们多少聊了几句，我喜欢她。她鼻子长得不小，手指甲全是啃短的，好像还在流血。她戴着那种垫高了的破胸罩，绷得鼓鼓的，你会有点儿同情她。我喜欢她，因为她没多说她爹如何如何了不起之类的屁话，大概她也知道她爹是个卑鄙虚伪的货色。
我之所以高高地站在汤姆逊小山顶上，而不是在下边看比赛，是因为我刚刚跟击剑队一块儿从纽约回来。我是击剑队的破领队，够牛吧。那天上午我们去纽约跟麦克伯尼中学比赛，只不过没赛成，我把剑还有别的装备什么的全给忘在破地铁上了。也不能全怪我，我老是得起身看地图，好知道在哪儿下车。所以我们两点半就回到了潘西，而不是在晚饭时候。坐火车回来的一路上，整队人都不理我，这件事说起来挺滑稽的。
我没在下边看比赛还有另外一个原因：我要去跟斯潘塞老先生告别，他是我的历史老师，得了流感，我琢磨圣诞节放假前很可能见不到他。他给我留了张纸条，说在我回家前想见见我，他知道我不会再回潘西了。
忘了跟你说，我被开除了。过完圣诞节假，我不回来了，因为我有四门课不及格，而且根本没用功，他们一再警告我得开始用功—特别在期中时，我爸妈来校时跟老瑟默校长见了面—可我还是没有，所以被开除了。潘西经常开除人，它的教学水平排名很靠前，确实不假。
当时已经是十二月，天气冷得邪门，特别在那个破山顶上。我只穿了一件两面穿的外套，没戴手套什么的。一个星期前，有人进我房间偷了我的骆驼毛大衣，我的毛里子手套就放在大衣口袋里，也给偷走了。潘西到处有小偷，这儿颇有些家里很有钱的家伙，但照样到处有小偷。越是收费高的学校，里面的小偷就越多—我不是开玩笑。总之，我就一直站在那尊破炮旁边看下边的比赛，屁股都快给冻掉了。只是我没有很投入地看比赛，那么闲待着，实际上是想感受一下离别的滋味。我是说，以前我也离开过一些学校还有地方，当时根本没感觉正在离开那儿，我不喜欢那样。不管那种离别是伤感的还是糟糕的，但是在离开一个地方时，我希望我明白我正在离开它。如果不明白，我甚至会更加难受。
If you really want to hear about it， the first thing you’ll probably want to know is where I was born， and 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 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 last Christmas just before I got pretty run-down and had to come out 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.
Where I want to start is the day I left Pencey Prep. Pencey Prep is the school that’s in Agerstown， Pennsylvania. You probably heard of it. You’ve probably seen the ads， anyway. They advertise in about a thousand magazines， always showing some hot-shot guy on a horse jumping over a fence. Like as if all you ever did at Pencey was play polo all the time. I never even once saw a horse anywhere near the place. And underneath the guy on the horse’s picture， it always says: “Since 1888 we have been molding boys into splendid， clear-thinking young men”. Strictly for the birds. They don’t do any damn more molding at Pencey than they do at any other school. And I didn’t know anybody there that was splendid and clear-thinking and all. Maybe two guys. If that many. And they probably came to Pencey that way.
Anyway， it was the Saturday of the football game with Saxon Hall. The game with Saxon Hall was supposed to be a very big deal around Pencey. It was the last game of the year， and you were supposed to commit suicide or something if old Pencey didn’t win. I remember around three o’clock that afternoon I was standing way the hell on top of Thomsen Hill， right next to this crazy cannon that was in the Revolutionary War and all. You could see the whole field from there， and you could see the two teams bashing each other all over the place. You couldn’t see the grandstand too hot， but you could hear them all yelling， deep and terrific on the Pencey side， because practically the whole school except me was there， and scrawny and faggy on the Saxon Hall side， because the visiting team hardly ever brought many people with them.
There were never many girls at all at the football games. Only seniors were allowed to bring girls with them. It was a terrible school， no matter how you looked at it. I like to be somewhere at least where you can see a few girls around once in a while， even if they’re only scratching their arms or blowing their noses or even just giggling or something. Old Selma Thurmer--she was the headmaster’s master--showed up at the games quite often， but she wasn’t exactly the type that drove you mad with desire. She was a pretty nice girl， though， I sat next to her once in the bus from Agerstown and we sort of struck up a conversation. I liked her. She had a big nose and her nails were all bitten down and bleedy-looking and she had on those damn falsies that point all over the place， but you felt sort of sorry for her. What I liked about her， she didn’t give you a lot of horse manure about what a great guy her father was. She probably knew what a phony slob h e was.
The reason I was standing way up on Thomsen Hill， instead of down at the game， was because I’d just got back from New York with the fencing team. I was the goddam manager of the fencing team. Very big deal. We’d gone in to New York that morning for this fencing meet with McBurney School. Only， we didn’t have the meet. I left all the foils and equipment and stuff on the goddam subway. It wasn’t all my fault. I had to keep getting up to look at this map， so we’d know where to get off. So we got back to Pencey around two-thirty instead of around dinnertime. The whole team ostracized me the whole way back on the train. It was pretty funny， in a way.
The other reason I wasn’t down at the game was because I was on my way to say good-by to old Spencer， my history teacher. He had the grippe， and I figured I probably wouldn’t see him again till Christmas vacation started. He wrote me this note saying he wanted to see me before I went home. He knew I wasn’t coming back to Pencey.
I forgot to tell you about that. They kicked me out. I wasn’t supposed to come back after Christmas vacation， on account of I was flunking four subjects and not applying myself and all. They gave me frequent warning to start applying myself - especially around mid-terms， when my parents came up for a conference with old Thurmer--but I didn’t do it. So I got the ax. They give guys the ax quite frequently at Pencey. It has a very good academic rating， Pencey. It really does.
Anyway， it was December and all， and it was cold as a witch’s teat， especially on top of that stupid hill. I only had on my reversible and no gloves or anything. The week before that， somebody’d stolen my camel’s-hair coat right out of my room， with my fur-lined gloves right in the pocket and all. Pencey was full of crooks. Quite a few guys came from these very wealthy families， but it was full of crooks anyway. The more expensive a school is， the more crooks it has - I’m not kidding. Anyway， I kept standing next to that crazy cannon， looking down at the game and freezing my ass off. Only， I wasn’t watching the game too much. What I was really hanging around for， I was trying to feel some kind of a good-by. I mean I’ve left schools and places I didn’t even know I was leaving them. I don’t care if it’s a sad good-by or a bad good-by， but when I leave a place I live I like to know I’m leaving it. If you don’t， you feel even worse.
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