Um dia Perfeito para um Peixe Banana
Jerome David Salinger
A Perfect Day for Bananafish
There were ninety-seven New York
advertising men in the hotel, and, the way they were monopolizing the
long-distance lines, the girl in 507 had to wait from noon till almost two-thirty
to get her call through. She used the time, though. She read an article in a
women's pocket-size magazine, called "Sex Is Fun- or Hell." She
washed her comb and brush. She took the spot out of the skirt of her beige
suit. She moved the button on her Saks blouse. She tweezed out two freshly
surfaced hairs in her mole. When the operator finally rang her room, she was
sitting on the window seat and had almost finished putting lacquer on the nails
of her left hand.
She was a girl who for a ringing phone
dropped exactly nothing. She looked as if her phone had been ringing
continually ever since she had reached puberty.
With her little lacquer brush, while the
phone was ringing, she went over the nail of her little finger, accentuating
the line of the moon. She then replaced the cap on the bottle of lacquer and,
standing up, passed her left-the wet-hand back and forth through the air. With
her dry hand, she picked up a congested ashtray from the window seat and
carried it with her over to the night table, on which the phone stood. She sat
down on one of the made-up twin beds and-it was the fifth or sixth ring- picked
up the phone.
"Hello," she said, keeping the
fingers of her left hand outstretched and away from her white silk dressing
gown, which was all that she was wearing, except mules-her rings were in the
bathroom.
"I have your call to New York now,
Mrs. Glass," the operator said.
"Thank you," said the girl, and
made the room on the night table for the ashtray.
A woman's voice came through.
"Muriel? Is that you?"
The girl turned the receiver slightly away
from her ear. "Yes, Mother. How are you?" she said.
"I've been worried to death about
you. Why haven't you phoned? Are you all right?"
"I tried to get you last night and
the night before. The phone here's been-"
"Are you all right, Muriel?"
The girl increased the angle between the
receiver and her ear. "I'm fine. I'm hot. This is the hottest day they've
had in Florida in-"
"Why haven't you called me? I've been
worried to-"
"Mother, darling, don't yell at me. I
can hear you beautifully," said the girl. "I called you twice last
night. Once just after-"
"I told your father
you'd probably call last night. But, no, he had to-Are you all right, Muriel?
Tell me the truth."
"I'm fine. Stop asking me that,
please."
"When did you get there?"
"I don't know. Wednesday morning,
early."
"Who drove?"
"He did," said the girl.
"And don't get excited. He drove very nicely. I was amazed."
"He drove?
Muriel, you gave me your word of-"
"Mother," the girl interrupted,
"I just told you. He drove very nicely. Under fifty the
whole way, as a matter of fact."
"Did he try any of that funny
business with the trees?"
"I said he drove
very nicely, Mother. Now, please, I asked him to stay close to the white line,
and all, and he knew what I meant, and he did. He was even trying not to look
at the trees-you could tell. Did Daddy get the car fixed, incidentally?"
"Not yet. They want four hundred
dollars, just to-"
"Mother, Seymour told Daddy
that he'd pay for it. There's no reason for-"
"Well, we'll see. How did he
behave-in the car and all?"
"All right," said the girl.
"Did he keep calling you that
awful-"
"No. He has something new now."
"What?"
"Oh, what's the difference,
Mother?"
"Muriel, I want to know. Your
father-"
"All right, all right. He calls me
Miss Spiritual Tramp of 1948," the girl said, and giggled.
"It isn't funny, Muriel. It isn't
funny at all. It's horrible. It's sad, actually. When I think
how-"
"Mother," the girl interrupted,
"listen to me. You remember that book he sent me from Germany? You
know-those German poems. What'd I do with it? I've been
racking my-"
"You have it."
"Are you sure?" said
the girl.
"Certainly. That is, I have it. It's
in Freddy's room. You left it here and I didn't have room for it in the-Why?
Does he want it?"
"No. Only, he asked me
about it, when we were driving down. He wanted to know if I'd read it."
"It was in German!"
"Yes, dear. That doesn't make any
difference," said the girl, crossing her legs. "He said that the
poems happen to be written by the only great poet of the century. He
said I should've bought a translation or something. Or learned the
language, if you please."
"Awful. Awful. It's sad, actually,
is what it is. Your father said last night-"
"Just a second, Mother," the girl
said. She went over to the window seat for her cigarettes, lit one, and
returned to her seat on the bed. "Mother?" she said, exhaling smoke.
"Muriel. Now, listen to me."
"I'm listening."
"Your father talked to Dr.
Sivetski."
"Oh?" said the girl.
"He told him everything. At least, he
said he did-you know your father. The trees. That business with the window.
Those horrible things he said to Granny about her plans for passing away. What
he did with all those lovely pictures from Bermuda -everything."
"Well," said the girl.
"Well. In the first place, he said it
was a perfect crime the Army released him from the hospital-my
word of honor. He very definitely told your father there's a
chance-a very great [29] chance, he said-that Seymour
may completely lose control of himself. My word of
honor."
"There's a psychiatrist here at the
hotel" said the girl.
"Who? What's
his name?"
"I don't know. Rieser or something.
He's supposed to be very good."
"Never heard of him."
"Well, he's supposed to be very good,
anyway."
"Muriel, don't be fresh, please.
We're very worried about you. Your father wanted to wire
you last night to come home, as a matter of f-"
"I'm not coming home right now,
Mother. So relax."
"Muriel. My word of honor. Dr.
Sivetski said Seymour may completely lose contr-"
"I just got here,
Mother. This is the first vacation I've had in years, and I'm not going to just
pack everything and come home," said the girl. "I couldn't travel now
anyway. I'm so sunburned I can hardly move."
"You're badly sunburned? Didn't you
use that jar of Bronze I put in your bag? I put it right-"
"I used it. I'm burned anyway."
"That's terrible. Where are you
burned?"
"All over, dear, all over."
"That's terrible."
"I'll live."
"Tell me, did you talk to this
psychiatrist?"
"Well, sort of," said the girl.
"What'd he say? (Where was Seymour
when you talked to him?"
"In the Ocean Room, playing the
piano. He's played the piano both nights we've been here."
"Well, what'd he say?"
"Oh, nothing much. He spoke to me
first. I was sitting next to him at Bingo last night, and he asked me if that
wasn't my husband playing the piano in the other room. I said yes, it was, and
he asked me if Seymour's been sick or something. So I said-"
"Why'd he ask that?"
"I don't know, Mother. I guess
because he's so pale and all," [30] said the girl. "Anyway, after
Bingo he and his wife asked me if I wouldn't like to join them for a drink. So
I did. His wife was horrible, You remember that awful dinner dress we saw in
Bonwit's window? The one you said you'd have to have a tiny, tiny-"
"The green?"
"She had it on. And all hips. She
kept asking me if Seymour's related to that Suzanne Glass that has that place
on Madison Avenue-the millinery."
"What'd he say, though? The doctor."
"Oh. Well, nothing much, really. I
mean we were in the bar and all. It was terribly noisy." "
"Yes, but did-did you tell him what
he tried to do with Granny's chair?"
"No, Mother. I didn't go into details
very much," said the girl. "I'll probably get a chance to talk to him
again. He's in the bar all day long."
"Did he say he thought there was a
chance he might get- you know-funny or anything? Do something to you!"
"Not exactly," said the girl.
"He had to have more facts, Mother. They have to know about your
childhood-all that stuff. I told you, we could hardly talk, it was so noisy in
there."
"Well. How's your blue coat?"
"All right. I had some of the padding
taken out."
"How are the clothes
this year?"
"Terrible. But out of this world. You
see sequins-everything," said the girl.
"How's your room?"
"All right. Just all
right, though. We couldn't get the room we had before the war," said the
girl. "The people are awful this year. You should see what sits next to us
in the dining room. At the next table. They look as if they drove down in a
truck."
"Well, it's that way all over. How's
your ballerina?"
"It's too long. I told you
it was too long."
"Muriel, I'm only going to ask you
once more-are you really all right?"
"Yes, Mother,"
said the girl. "For the ninetieth time."
"And you don't want to come
home?"
"No, Mother."
"Your father said last night that
he'd be more than willing to pay for it if you'd go away someplace by yourself
and think things over. You could take a lovely cruise. We both thought-"
"No, thanks," said the girl, and
uncrossed her legs. "Mother, this call is costing a for-"
"When I think of how you waited for
that boy all through the war--I mean when you think of all
those crazy little wives who-"
"Mother," said the girl,
"we'd better hang up. Seymour may come in any minute."
"Where is he?"
"On the beach."
"On the beach? By himself? Does he
behave himself on the beach?"
"Mother," said the girl,
"you talk about him as though he were a raving maniac-"
"I said nothing of the kind,
Muriel."
"Well, you sound that
way. I mean all he does is lie there. He won't take his bathrobe off."
"He won't take his bathrobe off? Why
not?"
"I don't know. I guess because he's
so pale."
"My goodness, he needs the
sun. Can't you make him?"
"You know Seymour," said the
girl, and crossed her legs again. "He says he doesn't want a lot of fools
looking at his tattoo."
"He doesn't have any tattoo! Did he
get one in the Army?"
"No, Mother. No, dear," said the
girl, and stood up. "Listen, I'll call you tomorrow, maybe."
"Muriel. Now, listen to me."
"Yes, Mother," said the girl,
putting her weight on her right leg.
"Call me the instant he
does, or says, anything at all funny- you know what I mean. Do
you hear me?"
"Mother, I'm not afraid of
Seymour."
"Muriel, I want you to promise
me."
"All right, I promise. Goodbye,
Mother," said the girl. "My Jove to Daddy." She hung up.
"See more glass," said Sybil
Carpenter, who was staying at the hotel with her mother. "Did you see more
glass?"
"Pussycat, stop saying that. It's
driving Mommy absolutely crazy. Hold still, please."
Mrs. Carpenter was putting sun-tan oil on
Sybil's shoulders, spreading it down over the delicate, winglike blades of her
back. Sybil was sitting insecurely on a huge, inflated beach ball, facing the ocean.
She was wearing a canary-yellow two-piece bathing suit, one piece of which she
would not actually be needing for another nine or ten years.
"It was really just an ordinary silk
handkerchief-you could see when you got up close," said the woman in the beach
chair beside Mrs. Carpenter's. "I wish I knew how she tied it. It was
really darling."
"It sounds darling," Mrs.
Carpenter agreed. "Sybil, hold still, pussy."
"Did you see more glass?" said
Sybil.
Mrs. Carpenter sighed. "All
right," she said. She replaced the cap on the sun-tan oil bottle.
"Now run and play, pussy. Mommy's going up to the hotel and have a Martini
with Mrs. Hubbel. I'll bring you the olive."
Set loose, Sybil immediately ran down to
the flat part of the beach and began to walk in the direction of Fisherman's
Pavilion. Stopping only to sink a foot in a soggy, collapsed castle, she was
soon out of the area reserved for guests of the hotel. She walked for about a
quarter of a mile and then suddenly broke into an oblique run up the soft part
of the beach. She stopped short when she reached the place where a young man
was lying on his back.
"Are you going in the water, see more
glass?" she said. The young- man started, his right hand going to the
lapels of his terry-cloth robe. He turned over on his stomach, letting a
sausaged towel fall away from his eyes, and squinted up at Sybil.
"Hey. Hello, Sybil." "Are
you going in the water?"
"I was waiting for you" said
the young man. "What's new?"
"What?" said Sybil.
"What's new? What's on the program?"
"My daddy's coming tomorrow on a
nairiplane," Sybil said, kicking sand.
"Not in my face, baby," the
young man said, putting his hand on Sybil's ankle. "Well, it's about time
he got here, your daddy. I've been expecting him hourly. Hourly."
"Where's the lady?" Sybil said.
"The lady?" The young man
brushed some sand out of his thin hair. "That's hard to say, Sybil. She
may be in any one of a thousand places. At the hairdresser's. Having her hair
dyed mink. Or making dolls for poor children, in her room." Lying prone
now, he made two fists, set one on top of the other, and rested his chin on the
top one. "Ask me something else, Sybil," he said. "That's a fine
bathing suit you have on. If there's one thing I like, it's a blue bathing
suit."
Sybil stared at him, then looked down at
her protruding stomach. "This is a yellow," she
said. "This is a yellow."
"It is? Come a little closer."
Sybil took a step forward.
"You're absolutely right. What a fool
I am."
"Are you going in the water?"
Sybil said.
"I'm seriously considering it. I'm
giving it plenty of thought, Sybil, you'll be glad to know."
Sybil prodded the rubber float that the
young man sometimes used as a head-rest. "It needs air" she
said.
"You're right. It needs more air than
I'm willing to admit." He took away his fists and let his chin rest on the
sand. "Sybil," he said, "you're looking fine. It's good to see
you. Tell me about yourself." He reached in front of him and took both of
Sybil's ankles in his hands. "I'm Capricorn," he said. "What are
you?"
"Sharon Lipschutz said you let her,
sit on the piano seat with you," Sybil said.
"Sharon Lipschutz said that?"
Sybil nodded vigorously.
He let go of her ankles, drew in his
hands, and laid the side of his face on his right forearm. "Well," he
said, "you know how those things happen, Sybil. I was sitting there
playing. And you were nowhere in sight. And Sharon Lipschutz came over and sat
down next to me. I couldn't push her off, could I?"
"Yes."
"Oh, no. No. I couldn't do
that," said the young man. "I'll tell you what I did do,
though." [34]
"What?"
"I pretended she was you:"
Sybil immediately stooped and began to dig
in the sand. "Let's go in the water," she said.
"All right," said the young man.
"I think I can work it in."
"Next time, push her off," Sybil
said.
"Push who off?"
"Sharon Lipschutz."
"Ah, Sharon Lipschutz," said the
young man. "How that name comes up. Mixing memory and desire." He
suddenly got to his feet. He looked at the ocean. "Sybil," he said,
"I'll tell you what we'll do. We'll see if we can catch a
bananafish."
"A what?"
"A bananafish," he said, and
undid the belt of his robe. He took off the robe. His shoulders were white and
narrow, and his trunks were royal blue. He folded the robe, first lengthwise,
then in thirds. He unrolled the towel he had used over his eyes, spread it out
on the sand, and then laid the folded robe on top of it. He bent over, picked
up the float, ad secured it under his right arm. Then, with his left hand, he
took Sybil's hand.
The two started to walk down to the ocean.
"I imagine you've seen quite a few bananafish in your day," the young
man said.
Sybil shook her head.
"You haven't? Where do you live, anyway?"
"I don't know," said Sybil.
"Sure you know. You must know. Sharon
Lipschutz knows where she lives and she's only three
and a half."
Sybil stopped walking and yanked her hand
away from him. She picked up an ordinary beach shell and looked at it with
elaborate interest. She threw it down. "Whirly Wood, Connecticut,"
she said, and resumed walking, stomach foremost.
"Whirly Wood, Connecticut," said
the young man. "Is that anywhere near Whirly Wood, Connecticut, by any
chance?"
Sybil looked at him. "That's where
I live," she said impatiently. "I live in
Whirly Wood, Connecticut." She ran a few steps ahead of him, caught up her
left foot in her left hand, and hopped two or three times.
"You have no idea how clear that
makes everything," the young man said.
Sybil released her foot. "Did you
read 'Little Black Sambo'?" she said.
"It's very funny you ask me that,"
he said. "It so happens I just finished reading it last night." He
reached down and took back Sybil's hand. "What did you think of it?"
he asked her.
"Did the tigers run all around that
tree?"
"I thought they'd never stop. I never
saw so many tigers."
"There were only six," Sybil
said.
"Only six!"
said the young man. "Do you call that only?"
"Do you like wax?" Sybil asked.
"Do I like what?" asked the
young man.
"Wax."
"Very much. Don't you?"
Sybil nodded. "Do you like
olives?" she asked.
"Olives-yes. Olives and wax. I never
go anyplace without 'em."
"Do you like Sharon Lipschutz?"
Sybil asked.
"Yes. Yes, I do," said the young
man. What I like particularly about her is that she never does anything mean to
little dogs in the lobby of the hotel. That little toy bull that belongs to
that lady from Canada, for instance. You probably won't believe this, but some little
girls like to poke that little dog with balloon sticks, Sharon doesn't. She's
never mean or unkind. That's why I like her so much."
Sybil was silent.
"I like to chew candles," she
said finally.
"Who doesn't?" said the young
man, getting his feet wet. "Wow! It's cold." He dropped the rubber
float on its back. "No, wait just a second, Sybil. Wait'll we get out a
little bit."
They waded out till the water was up to
Sybil's waist. Then the young man picked her up and laid her down on her
stomach on the float.
"Don't you ever wear a bathing cap or
anything?" he asked.
"Don't let go," Sybil ordered.
"You hold me, now."
"Miss Carpenter. Please. I know my
business," the young man said. "You just keep your eyes open for any
bananafish. This is a perfect day for bananafish."
"I don't see any," Sybil said.
"That's understandable. Their habits
are very peculiar." He kept pushing the float. The water
was not quite up to his chest. "They lead a very tragic life," he
said. "You know what they do, Sybil?"
She shook her head.
"Well, they swim into a hole where
there's a lot of bananas. They're very ordinary-looking fish when they
swim in. But once they get in, they behave like pigs. Why,
I've known some bananafish to swim into a banana hole and eat as many as
seventy-eight bananas " He edged the float and its passenger a foot closer
to the horizon. "Naturally, after that they're so fat they can't get out
of the hole again. Can't fit through the door."
"Not too far out," Sybil said.
"What happens to them?"
"What happens to who?"
"The bananafish."
"Oh, you mean after they eat so many
bananas they can't get out of the banana hole?"
"Yes," said Sybil.
"Well, I hate to tell you, Sybil.
They die."
"Why?" asked Sybil.
"Well, they get banana fever. It's a
terrible disease."
"Here comes a wave," Sybil
said nervously.
"We'll ignore it. We'll snub
it," said the young man, "Two snobs." He took Sybil's ankles in
his hands and pressed down and forward. The float nosed over the top of the
wave. The water soaked Sybil's blond hair, but her scream was full of pleasure.
With her hand, when the float was level
again, she wiped away a flat, wet band of hair from her eyes, and reported,
"I just saw one."
"Saw what, my love?"
"A bananafish."
"My God, no!" said the young
man. "Did he have any bananas in his mouth?"
"Yes," said Sybil.
"Six."
The young man suddenly picked up one of
Sybil's wet feet, which were drooping over the end of the float, and kissed the
arch.
"Hey!" said the owner of the
foot, turning around.
"Hey, yourself! We're going in now.
You had enough?"
"No!"
"Sorry," he said, and pushed the
float toward shore until Sybil got off it. He carried it the rest of the way.
"Goodbye," said Sybil, and ran
without regret in the direction of the hotel.
The young man put on his robe, closed the
lapels tight, and jammed his towel into his pocket. He picked up the slimy wet,
cumbersome float and put it under his arm. He plodded alone through the soft,
hot sand toward the hotel.
On the sub-main floor of the hotel, which
the management directed bathers to use, a woman with zinc salve on her nose got
into the elevator with the young man.
"I see you're looking at
my feet," he said to her when the car was in motion.
"I beg your pardon?" said the
woman.
"I said I see you're looking at my
feet."
"I beg your pardon.
I happened to be looking at the floor," said the woman, and faced the
doors of the car.
"If you want to look at my feet, say
so," said the young man. "But don't be a God-damned sneak about
it."
"Let me out of here, please,"
the woman said quickly to the girl operating the car.
The car doors opened and the woman got out
without looking back.
"I have two normal feet and I can't
see the slightest Goddamned reason why anybody should stare at them," said
the young man. "Five, please." He took his room key out of his robe
pocket.
He got off at the fifth floor, walked down
the hall, and let himself into 507. The room smelled of new calfskin luggage
and nail-lacquer remover.
He glanced at the girl lying asleep on one
of the twin beds. Then he went over to one of the pieces of luggage, opened it,
and from under a pile of shorts and undershirts he took out an Ortgies calibre
7.65 automatic. He released the magazine, looked at it, then reinserted it. He
cocked the piece. Then he went over and sat down on the unoccupied twin
bed, looked at the girl, aimed the pistol, and fired a bullet through his right
temple.