Над пропастью во ржи - слова и пересказ

to shove - толкаться (p.97)

a yellow guy - трус (p. 102)

snotty - презрительный (p. 103)

to rile up - сердить, раздражать (p.103)

capacity - вместимость (p. 104)

nonchalant - беспечный (p.104)

dime - милостыня (p.119)

matinee - спектакль (p.122)

starches - мучное (p.124)

seductive - обольстительный (p.144)

conceited - самовлюбленный (р.157)

enlightening - поучительный (р.158)

precision - точность (р.158)

sacrilegious - кощунственный (р.159)

homey - простой (p.159)

furlough - отпуск (р.162)

sophisticated - изысканный (p.163)

boisterous - шумливый (р.173)

feverish - лихорадочный (р.180)

humility - скромность (р.218)

recess - переменка (p.230)

to pass out - терять сознание (р.235)

dizzy - головокружение (р.235)

to bawl - плакать (р. 245)

a bunch of hoodlumy-looking guys - хулиганская компания (р.94)

to get sore about smth - обижаться на что-то (р.95)

to be jam packed - битком набито (р.97)

to get in good with smb - подлизываться к кому-либо (р.101)

Let’s get it straight! - Давай разберемся! (р.103)

I certainly felt peculiar - Мне стало не по себе (р. 109)

Cut the crap! - Бросьте зубы заговаривать! (р.117)

to yell head off - орать во всю глотку (р.118)

inferiority complex - комплекс неполноценности (р.125)

I let it pass - я не стал спорить (p.129)

He gave me the creeps. - У меня от него мурашки по спине бегали (р.139)

Did you ever get fed up? - С тобой бывает так, что все вдруг надоедает до чертиков? (р.150)

I couldn’t care less. - Меня это нисколько не интересует. (р.171)

to adjust to a certain extent - в определенной степени приспособиться (р.171)

to beat it out - смываться (р.172)

to hit the sack - лечь спать (р.175)

The best break I had in years. - Мне давно так не везло. (р.181)

to make a racket - поднять шум (р.182)

they started in on him - они за него взялись (p.196)

We are both just dandy. - У нас все чудесно (р.209)

I’m a mess - я в ужасном виде (р.213)

just dive in - Принимайтесь! (р.213)

without batting an eyelash - не моргнув глазом (р.220)

to bum a ride - проситься на попутную машину (p.228)

to shoot the breeze - поговорить (p.232)

ПЕРЕСКАЗ

Holden walks back to the hotel, where Maurice offers him a prostitute for the night. He accepts. When the prostitute arrives, Holden becomes too nervous and refuses to go on with it. She demands ten dollars anyway, but Holden believes that he only accepted for five. Sunny and Maurice soon return and demand the extra five dollars. Maurice punches Holden in the stomach before leaving.

Holden calls Sally to meet her for a matinee. He leaves his bags at a locker at Grand Central Station so that he will not have to go back to the hotel, where he might again face Maurice. He shops for a record for Phoebe and feels depressed when he hears children singing the song, “If a body catch a body coming through the rye.” He meets Sally, and he immediately wants to marry her, but he doesn’t particularly like her.

During lunch, Holden complains that he is fed up with everything around him and suggests that they run away together to New England, where they can live in a cabin in the woods. When Sally dismisses the idea, Holden calls her a “royal pain” causing her to cry.

After the date, Holden calls Carl Luce, a friend from the Whooton School who goes to Columbia, and meets him at the Wicker Bar. Carl soon becomes annoyed at Holden for having a “typical Caulfield conversation” and he suggests that Holden see a psychiatrist. Holden remains at the Bar, where he gets drunk, then he nearly breaks down when he breaks Phoebe’s record. He thinks he may die of pneumonia.

Thinking that he may die soon, Holden returns home to see Phoebe. He awakens her, but she soon becomes distressed when she hears that Holden has failed out of Pencey. When he complains about the phoniness of Pencey, Phoebe asks him if he actually likes anything. He tells Phoebe that he would like to be “a catcher in the rye,” and he imagines himself standing at the edge of a cliff as children play around him. He would come out of somewhere and always catch them just before they fell off the edge.

When his parents come home, Holden sneaks out to stay with Mr. Antolini. Holden falls asleep on the couch. He tells Mr. Antolini that he has to get his bags from Grand Central Station but will return soon. In fact, Holden spends the night at Grand Central Station, then sends a note to Phoebe at school, telling her to meet him for lunch. He becomes distraught, believing that he will die every time he crosses the street. When he meets Phoebe, she tells him that she wants to go with him and becomes angry when he refuses. He buys Phoebe a ticket for the carousel at the nearby zoo, and as he watches her, he begins to bawl. Holden ends the story by relating that he misses Stradlater and Ackley and even Maurice.

Стр. 176-180

I made it very snappy on the phone because I was afraid my parents would barge in on me right in the middle of it. They didn't, though. Mr. Antolini was very nice. He said I could come right over if I wanted to. I think I probably woke he and his wife up, because it took them a helluva long time to answer the phone. The first thing he asked me was if anything was wrong, and I said no. I said I'd flunked out of Pencey, though. I thought I might as well tell him. He said "Good God," when I said that. He had a good sense of humor and all. He told me to come right over if I felt like it.

He was about the best teacher I ever had, Mr. Antolini. He was a pretty young guy, not much older than my brother D.B., and you could kid around with him without losing your respect for him. He was the one that finally picked up that boy that jumped out the window I told you about, James Castle. Old Mr. Antolini felt his pulse and all, and then he took off his coat and put it over James Castle and carried him all the way over to the infirmary. He didn't even give a damn if his coat got all bloody.

When I got back to D.B.'s room, old Phoebe'd turned the radio on. This dance music was coming out. She'd turned it on low, though, so the maid wouldn't hear it. You should've seen her. She was sitting smack in the middle of the bed, outside the covers, with her legs folded like one of those Yogi guys. She was listening to the music. She kills me.

"C'mon," I said. "You feel like dancing?" I taught her how to dance and all when she was a tiny little kid. She's a very good dancer. I mean I just taught her a few things. She learned it mostly by herself. You can't teach somebody how to really dance.

"You have shoes on," she said.

"I'll take 'em off. C'mon."

She practically jumped off the bed, and then she waited while I took my shoes off, and then I danced with her for a while. She's really damn good. I don't like people that dance with little kids, because most of the time it looks terrible. I mean if you're out at a restaurant somewhere and you see some old guy take his little kid out on the dance floor. Usually they keep yanking the kid's dress up in the back by mistake, and the kid can't dance worth a damn anyway, and it looks terrible, but I don't do it out in public with Phoebe or anything. We just horse around in the house. It's different with her anyway, because she can dance. She can follow anything you do. I mean if you hold her in close as hell so that it doesn't matter that your legs are so much longer. She stays right with you. You can cross over, or do some corny dips, or even jitterbug a little, and she stays right with you. You can even tango, for God's sake.

We danced about four numbers. In between numbers she's funny as hell. She stays right in position. She won't even talk or anything. You both have to stay right in position and wait for the orchestra to start playing again. That kills me. You're not supposed to laugh or anything, either.

Anyway, we danced about four numbers, and then I turned off the radio. Old Phoebe jumped back in bed and got under the covers. "I'm improving, aren't I?" she asked me.

"And how," I said. I sat down next to her on the bed again. I was sort of out of breath. I was smoking so damn much, I had hardly any wind. She wasn't even out of breath.

"Feel my forehead," she said all of a sudden.

"Why?"

"Feel it. Just feel it once."

I felt it. I didn't feel anything, though.

"Does it feel very feverish?" she said.

"No. Is it supposed to?"

"Yes--I'm making it. Feel it again."

I felt it again, and I still didn't feel anything, but I said, "I think it's starting to, now." I didn't want her to get a goddam inferiority complex.

She nodded. "I can make it go up to over the thermoneter."

"Thermometer. Who said so?"

"Alice Holmborg showed me how. You cross your legs and hold your breath and think of something very, very hot. A radiator or something. Then your whole forehead gets so hot you can burn somebody's hand."

That killed me. I pulled my hand away from her forehead, like I was in terrific danger. "Thanks for telling me," I said.

"Oh, I wouldn't've burned your hand. I'd've stopped before it got too--Shhh!" Then, quick as hell, she sat way the hell up in bed.

She scared hell out of me when she did that. "What's the matter?" I said.

"The front door!" she said in this loud whisper. "It's them!"

I quick jumped up and ran over and turned off the light over the desk. Then I jammed out my cigarette on my shoe and put it in my pocket. Then I fanned hell out of the air, to get the smoke out--I shouldn't even have been smoking, for God's sake. Then I grabbed my shoes and got in the closet and shut the door. Boy, my heart was beating like a bastard.

I heard my mother come in the room.

"Phoebe?" she said. "Now, stop that. I saw the light, young lady."

"Hello!" I heard old Phoebe say. "I couldn't sleep. Did you have a good time?"

"Marvelous," my mother said, but you could tell she didn't mean it. She doesn't enjoy herself much when she goes out. "Why are you awake, may I ask? Were you warm enough?"

"I was warm enough; I just couldn't sleep."

"Phoebe, have you been smoking a cigarette in here? Tell me the truth, please, young lady."

"What?" old Phoebe said.

"You heard me."

"I just lit one for one second. I just took one puff. Then I threw it out the window."

"Why, may I ask?"

"I couldn't sleep."

"I don't like that, Phoebe. I don't like that at all," my mother said.

"Do you want another blanket?"

"No, thanks. G'night!" old Phoebe said. She was trying to get rid of her, you could tell.

"How was the movie?" my mother said.

"Excellent. Except Alice's mother. She kept leaning over and asking her if she felt grippy during the whole entire movie. We took a taxi home."

"Let me feel your forehead."

"I didn't catch anything. She didn't have anything. It was just her mother."

"Well. Go to sleep now. How was your dinner?"

"Lousy," Phoebe said.

ПЕРЕВОД

After we left the bears, we left the zoo and crossed over this little street in the park, and then we went through one of those little tunnels that always smell from somebody's taking a leak. It was on the way to the carrousel. Old Phoebe still wouldn't talk to me or anything, but she was sort of walking next to me now. I took a hold of the belt at the back of her coat, just for the hell of it, but she wouldn't let me. She said, "Keep your hands to yourself, if you don't mind." She was still sore at me. But not as sore as she was before. Anyway, we kept getting closer and closer to the carrousel and you could start to hear that nutty music it always plays. It was playing "Oh, Marie!" It played that same song about fifty years ago when I was a little kid. That's one nice thing about carrousels, they always play the same songs. "I thought the carrousel was closed in the wintertime," old Phoebe said. It was the first time she practically said anything. She probably forgot she was supposed to be sore at me. "Maybe because it's around Christmas," I said.

После того, как мы ушли от медведей, мы вышли из зоопарка и пересекли эту маленькую улицу в парк, а затем мы прошли через один из тех маленьких туннелей, где всегда чем-то пахнет. Это был путь к карусели. Фиби все еще не разговаривала со мной, но теперь она шла рядом. Я попытался ухватиться за пояс на ее пальто, черт побери, но она не позволила мне этого сделать. Она сказала: «Держи руки при себе, если не возражаешь». Она все еще обижалась на меня. Но не так сильно, как раньше. Во всяком случае, мы подходили все ближе и ближе к карусели, и могли слышать эту чудную музыку, которая всегда играет. "О, Мари!" Эта песня играли еще около пятидесяти лет назад, когда я был маленьким ребенком. Это самое лучшее в карусели - они всегда играют одни и те же песни. «Я думала, что карусель закрыта на зиму», сказала Фиби. Она впервые обратилась ко мне. Наверное, уже и забыла, что обиделась. «Может потому, что скоро Рождество», ответил я.