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.
Salinger, The Catcher in the rye, 1951.
Salinger, The Catcher in the rye, 1951.
You’ll probably think I’m making a lot of this
up just to make me sound better than I really am or smarter or even
luckier but I’m not. Besides, a lot of the things that’ve happened to me
in my life so far which I’ll get to pretty soon’ll make me sound evil
or just plain dumb or the tragic victim of circumstances. Which I know
doesn’t exactly prove I’m telling the truth but if I wanted to make
myself look better than I am or smarter or the master of my own fate so
to speak I could. The fact is the truth is more interesting than
anything I could make up and that’s why I’m telling it in the first
place.
Anyhow my life got interesting you might say the summer I
turned fourteen and was heavy into weed but I didn’t have any money to
buy it with so I started looking around the house all the time for
things I could sell but there wasn’t much. My mother who was still like
my best friend then and my stepfather Ken had this decent house that my
mother’d got in the divorce from my real father about ten years ago and
about that she just says she got a mortgage not a house and about him
she doesn’t say much at all although my grandmother does. My mom and Ken
both had these cheesy jobs and didn’t own anything you could rob at
least not without them noticing right away it was gone. Ken
worked as a maintenance man out at the airbase which is like being a
janitor only he said he was a building services technician and my mom
was a bookkeeper at the clinic which is also a nothing job looking at a computer screen all day and punching numbers into it.
Russell Banks, The Rule of Bone, 1995.