Nothing to say, yet
Transcription
The narrator arrives home, trying to be quiet so as not to wake his parents. He enters his sister Phoebe's room, but she isn't there because she sleeps in their brother's room when he's away. The narrator looks at Phoebe while she sleeps and feels good for a change. He notices her neatness and new shoes. He looks at her school books and reads her notebook, finding it amusing. Finally, he decides to wake her up. So do practically anything you want to them." I got off at our floor, limping like a bastard, and started walking over to the Dickstein side. Then, when I heard the elevator door shut, I turned around, and went over to our side. I was doing alright, I didn't even feel drunk anymore. Then I took out my door key, and opened our door, quiet as hell. Then, very, very carefully and all, I went inside and closed the door. I really should have been a crook. It was dark as hell in the foyer, and naturally, I couldn't turn on any lights. I had to be careful not to bump into anything and make a racket. I certainly knew I was home, though. Our foyer has this funny smell that doesn't smell like any place else, and I don't know what the hell it is. It isn't cauliflower. It isn't perfume. I don't know what the hell it is. But you always know you're home. I started to take off my coat and hang it up in the foyer closet. The back closet is full of hangers that rattle like a madman when you open the door, so I left it on. Then, I started walking, very, very slowly, back to our old Phoebe's room. I knew the maid wouldn't hear me, because she only had one eardrum. She had this brother that stuck a straw down her ear when she was a little kid, she once told me. She was pretty deaf and all, but my parents, especially my mother, she had ears like a goddamn bloodhound. So I took it very, very easy when I went past their door. I even held my breath for God's sake. You can hit my father over the head with a chair and he won't wake up, but my mother, all you'd have to do is cough somewhere in Siberia and she'd hear you. She's nervous as hell, and half the time she's up all night smoking cigarettes. Finally, after about an hour, I got to old Phoebe's room. She wasn't there, though. I forgot about that. I forgot she always sleeps in D.B.'s room when he's away in Hollywood or someplace. She likes it, because it's the biggest room in the house. Also because it has this big old madman desk in it that D.B. bought off some lady alcoholic in Philadelphia, and this big gigantic bed that's about ten miles wide and ten miles long. I don't know where he bought that bed. Anyway, old Phoebe likes to sleep in D.B.'s room when he's away, and he lets her. You ought to see her doing homework or something at that crazy desk. It's almost as big as the bed. You can hardly see her when she's doing her homework. That's the kind of stuff she likes, though. She doesn't like her own room, because it's too little, she says. She says she likes to spread out. That kills me. What's old Phoebe got to spread out? Nothing. Anyway, I went into D.B.'s room, quiet as hell, and turned the lamp on at the desk. Old Phoebe didn't even wake up. When the light was on and all, I sort of looked at her for a while. She was laying there, asleep, with her face sort of on the side of the pillow. She had her mouth way open. It's funny. You take adults. They look lousy when they're asleep and they have their mouths way open, but kids don't. Kids look alright. They can even have spit way over the pillow, and they still look alright. I went around the room, very quiet and all, looking at stuff for a while. I felt swell for a change. I didn't even feel like I was getting pneumonia or anything anymore. I just felt good for a change. Old Phoebe's clothes were on this chair right next to the bed. She's very neat for a child. I mean, she doesn't just throw stuff around like some kids. She's no slob. She had this jacket to this tan suit my mother bought her in Canada and hung up on the back of the chair. Then, her blouse and stuff were on the seat, and her shoes and socks were on the floor, right underneath the chair, right next to each other. I never saw the shoes before. They were new. They were these dark brown loafers, sort of like this pair I have. They went swell with that suit my mother bought her in Canada. My mother dresses her nice. She really does. My mother has this terrific taste in some things. She's no good at buying ice skates or anything like that, but clothes, she's perfect. I mean, Phoebe always has this dress that can kill you. You take most little kids, even if their parents are wealthy and all, and they usually have some terrible dress on. I wish I could see old Phoebe in that suit my mother bought her in Canada. I'm not kidding. I sat down on old D.B.'s desk and looked at the stuff on it. It was mostly Phoebe's stuff from school and all, mostly books. The one on top was called Arithmetic is Fun. I sort of opened the first page and took a look at it. This is what old Phoebe had on it. Phoebe Weatherfield Caulfield, 4B1. That killed me. Her middle name is Josephine, for God's sake, not Weatherfield. She doesn't like it, though. Every time you see her, she's got a new middle name for herself. The book underneath the arithmetic was a geography, and the book underneath the geography was a speller. She's very good in spelling. She's very good in all her subjects, but she's the best in spelling. Then under the speller, there are a bunch of notebooks. She has about 5,000 notebooks. Never saw a kid with so many notebooks. I opened the one on top and looked at the first page. It had on it, Bernice, meet me at recess. I have something very, very important to tell you. That was all there was on that page. The next one had on it, why has southeastern Alaska so many canning factories? Because there's so much salmon. Why has it valuable forests? Because it has the right climate. What has our government done to make life easier for the Alaskan Eskimos? Look it up tomorrow. C.B. Weatherfield Caulfield. C.B. Weatherfield Caulfield. C.B. Weatherfield Caulfield. C.B. W. Caulfield. C.B. Weatherfield Caulfield, Esquire. Please pass to Shirley. Shirley, you said you were Sagittarius, but you're only Taurus. Bring your skates when you come to my house. I sat there. On D.B.'s desk, and read the whole notebook. It didn't take me long, and I can read that kind of stuff, some kid's notebook, C.B.'s, or anybody's, all day and all night long. Kid's notebooks kill me. Then I lit another cigarette, it was my last one. I must have smoked about three cartons that day. Then finally, I woke her up. I mean, I couldn't sit there on that desk for the rest of my life, and besides, I was afraid my parents might barge in on me all of a sudden, and I wanted to at least say hello before they did. So I woke her up.
