J. D. Salinger
\nThe Heart of a Broken Story
\nEsquire XVI, September 1941, Page 32, 131-133
\nEVERY day Justin Horgenschlag, thirty-dollar-a-week printer\u2019s assistant, saw at close quarters approximately sixty women whom he had never seen before. Thus in the few years he had lived in New York, Horgenschlag had seen at close quarters about 75,120 different women. Of these 75,120 women, roughly 25,000 were under thirty years of age and over fifteen years of age. Of the 25,000 only 5,000 weighed between one hundred five and one hundred twenty-five pounds. Of these 5,000 only 1,000 were not ugly. Only 500 were reasonably attractive; only 100 of these were quite attractive; only 25 could have inspired a long, slow whistle. And with only 1 did Horgenschlag fall in love at first sight.
\nNow, there are two kinds of femme fatale. There is the femme fatale who is a femme fatale in every sense of the word, and there is the femme fatale who is not a femme fatale in every sense of the word.
\nHer name was Shirley Lester. She was twenty years old (eleven years younger than Horgenschlag), was five-foot-four (bringing her head to the level of Horgenschlag\u2019s eyes), weighed 117 pounds (light as a feather to carry). Shirley was a stenographer, lived with and supported her mother, Agnes Lester, an old Nelson Eddy fan. In reference to Shirley\u2019s looks people often put it this way: \u201cShirley\u2019s as pretty as a picture.\u201d
\nAnd in the Third Avenue bus early one morning, Horgenschlag stood over Shirley Lester, and was a dead duck. All because Shirley\u2019s mouth was open in a peculiar way. Shirley was reading a cosmetic advertisement in the wall panel of the bus; and when Shirley read, Shirley relaxed slightly at the jaw. And in that short moment while Shirley\u2019s mouth was open, lips were parted, Shirley was probably the most fatal one in all Manhattan. Horgenschlag saw in her a positive cure-all for a gigantic monster of loneliness which had been stalking around his heart since he had come to New York. Oh, the agony of it! The agony of standing over Shirley Lester and not being able to bend down and kiss Shirley\u2019s parted lips. The inexpressible agony of it!
\n* * *
\nThat was the beginning of the story I started to write for Collier\u2019s. I was going to write a lovely tender boy-meets-girl story. What could be finer, I thought. The world needs boy-meets-girl stories. But to write one, unfortunately, the writer must go about the business of having the boy meet the girl. I couldn\u2019t do it with this one. Not and have it make sense. I couldn\u2019t get Horgenschlag and Shirley together properly. And here are the reasons:
\nCertainly it was impossible for Horgenschlag to bend over and say in all sincerity:
\n\u201cI beg your pardon. I love you very much. I\u2019m nuts about you. I know it. I could love you all my life. I\u2019m a printer\u2019s assistant and I make thirty dollars a week. Gosh, how I love you. Are you busy tonight?\u201d
\nThis Horgenschlag may be a goof, but not that big a goof. He may have been born yesterday, but not today. You can\u2019t expect Collier\u2019s readers to swallow that kind of bilge. A nickel\u2019s a nickel, after all.
\nI couldn\u2019t, of course, all of a sudden give Horgenschlag a suave serum, mixed from William Powell\u2019s old cigarette case and Fred Astaire\u2019s old top hat.
\n\u201cPlease don\u2019t misunderstand me, Miss. I\u2019m a magazine illustrator. My card. I\u2019d like to sketch you more than I\u2019ve ever wanted to sketch anyone in my life. Perhaps such an undertaking would be to a mutual advantage. May I telephone you this evening, or in the very near future? (Short, debonair laugh.) I hope I don\u2019t sound too desperate. (Another one.) I suppose I am, really.\u201d
\nOh, boy. Those lines delivered with a weary, yet gay, yet reckless smile. If only Horgenschlag had delivered them. Shirley, of course, was an old Nelson Eddy fan herself, and an active member of the Keystone Circulating Library.
\nMaybe you\u2019re beginning to see what I was up against.
\nTrue, Horgenschlag might have said the following:
\n\u201cExcuse me, but aren\u2019t you Wilma Pritchard?\u201d
\nTo which Shirley would have replied coldly, and seeking a neutral point on the other side of the bus:
\n\u201cNo.\u201d
\n\u201cThat\u2019s funny,\u201d Horgenschlag could have gone on, \u201cI was willing to swear you were Wilma Pritchard. Uh. You don\u2019t by any chance come from Seattle?\u201d
\n\u201cNo.\u201d\u2014More ice where that came from.
\n\u201cSeattle\u2019s my home town.\u201d
\nNeutral point.
\n\u201cGreat little town, Seattle. I mean it\u2019s really a great little town. I\u2019ve only been here\u2014I mean in New York\u2014four years. I\u2019m a printer\u2019s assistant. Justin Horgenschlag is my name.\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m really not inter-ested.\u201d
\nOh, Horgenschlag wouldn\u2019t have got anywhere with that kind of line. He had neither the looks, personality, or good clothes to gain Shirley\u2019s interest under the circumstances. He didn\u2019t have a chance. And, as I said before, to write a really good boy-meets-girl story it\u2019s wise to have the boy meet the girl.
\nMaybe Horgenschlag might have fainted, and in doing so grabbed for support: the support being Shirley\u2019s ankle. He could have torn the stocking that way, or succeeded in ornamenting it with a fine long run. People would have made room for the stricken Horgenschlag, and he would have got to his feet, mumbling: \u201cI\u2019m all right, thanks,\u201d then, \u201cOh, say! I\u2019m terribly sorry, Miss. I\u2019ve torn your stocking. You must let me pay for it. I\u2019m short of cash right now, but just give me your address.\u201d
\nShirley wouldn\u2019t have given him her address. She just would have become embarrassed and inarticulate. \u201cIt\u2019s all right,\u201d she would have said, wishing Horgenschlag hadn\u2019t been born. And besides, the whole idea is illogical. Horgenschlag, a Seattle boy, wouldn\u2019t have dreamed of clutching at Shirley\u2019s ankle. Not in the Third Avenue Bus.
\nBut what is more logical is the possibility that Horgenschlag might have got desperate. There are still a few men who love desperately. Maybe Horgenschlag was one. He might have snatched Shirley\u2019s handbag and run with it toward the rear exit door. Shirley would have screamed. Men would have heard her, and remembered the Alamo or something. Horgenschlag\u2019s flight, let\u2019s say, is now arrested. The bus is stopped. Patrolman Wilson, who hasn\u2019t made a good arrest in a long time, reports on the scene. What\u2019s going on here? Officer, this man tried to steal my purse.
\nHorgenschlag is hauled into court. Shirley, of course, must attend session. They both give their addresses; thereby Horgenschlag is informed of the location of Shirley\u2019s divine abode.
\nJudge Perkins, who can\u2019t even get a good, really good cup of coffee in his own house, sentences Horgenschlag to a year in jail. Shirley bites her lip, but Horgenschlag is marched away.
\nIn prison, Horgenschlag writes the following letter to Shirley Lester:
\n\u201cDear Miss Lester:
\n\u201cI did not really mean to steal your purse. I just took it because I love you. You see I only wanted to get to know you. Will you please write me a letter sometime when you get the time? It gets pretty lonely here and I love you very much and maybe even you would come to see me some time if you get the time.
\nYour friend,
\nJustin Horgenschlag\u201d
\nShirley shows the letter to all her friends. They say, \u201cAh, it\u2019s cute, Shirley.\u201d Shirley agrees that it\u2019s kind of cute in a way. Maybe she\u2019ll answer it. \u201cYes! Answer it. Give\u2019m a break. What\u2019ve ya got t\u2019lose?\u201d So Shirley answers Horgenschlag\u2019s letter.
\n\u201cDear Mr. Horgenschlag:
\n\u201cI received your letter and really feel very sorry about what has happened. Unfortunately there is very little we can do about it at this time, but I do feel abominable concerning the turn of events. However, your sentence is a short one and soon you will be out. The best of luck to you.
\nSincerely yours,
\nShirley Lester\u201d
\n\u201cDear Miss Lester:
\n\u201cYou will never know how cheered up you made me feel when I received your letter. You should not feel abominable at all. It was all my fault for being so crazy so don\u2019t feel that way at all. We get movies here once a week and it really is not so bad. I am 31 years of age and come from Seattle. I have been in New York 4 years and think it is a great town only once in a while you get pretty lonesome. You are the prettiest girl I have ever seen even in Seattle. I wish you would come to see me some Saturday afternoon during visiting hours 2 to 4 and I will pay your train fare.
\nYour friend,
\nJustin Horgenschlag\u201d
\nShirley would have shown this letter, too, to all her friends. But she would not answer this one. Anyone could see that this Horgenschlag was a goof. And after all. She had answered the first letter. If she answered this silly letter the thing might drag on for months and everything. She did all she could do for the man. And what a name. Horgenschlag.
\nMeanwhile, in prison Horgenschlag is having a terrible time, even though they have movies once a week. His cell-mates are Snipe Morgan and Slicer Burke, two boys from the back room, who see in Horgenschlag\u2019s face a resemblance to a chap in Chicago who once ratted on them. They are convinced that Ratface Ferrero and Justin Horgenschlag are one and the same person.
\n\u201cBut I\u2019m not Ratface Ferrero,\u201d Horgenschlag tells them.
\n\u201cDon\u2019t gimme that,\u201d says Slicer, knocking Horgenschlag\u2019s meager food rations to the floor.
\n\u201cBash his head in,\u201d says Snipe.
\n\u201cI tell ya I\u2019m just here because I stole a girl\u2019s purse on the Third Avenue Bus,\u201d pleads Horgenschlag. \u201cOnly I didn\u2019t really steal it. I fell in love with her, and it was the only way I could get to know her.\u201d
\n\u201cDon\u2019t gimme that,\u201d says Slicer.
\n\u201cBash his head in,\u201d says Snipe.
\nThen there is the day when seventeen prisoners try to make an escape. During play period in the recreation yard, Slicer Burke lures the warden\u2019s niece, eight-year-old Lisbeth Sue, into his clutches. He puts his eight-by-twelve hands around the child\u2019s waist and holds her up for the warden to see.
\n\u201cHey, warden!\u201d yells Slicer. \u201cOpen up them gates or it\u2019s curtains for the kid!\u201d
\n\u201cI\u2019m not afraid, Uncle Bert!\u201d calls out Lisbeth Sue.
\n\u201cPut down that child, Slicer!\u201d commands the warden, with all the impotence at his command.
\nBut Slicer knows he has the warden just where he wants him. Seventeen men and a small blonde child walk out the gates. Sixteen men and a small blonde child walk out safely. A guard in the high tower thinks he sees a wonderful opportunity to shoot Slicer in the head, and thereby destroy the unity of the escaping group. But he misses, and succeeds only in shooting the small man walking nervously behind Slicer, killing him instantly.
\nGuess who?
\nAnd, thus, my plan to write a boy-meets-girl story for Collier\u2019s, a tender, memorable love story, is thwarted by the death of my hero.
\nNow, Horgenschlag never would have been among those seventeen desperate men if only he had not been made desperate and panicky by Shirley\u2019s failure to answer his second letter. But the fact remains that she did not answer his second letter. She never in a hundred years would have answered it. I can\u2019t alter facts.
\nAnd what a shame. What a pity that Horgenschlag, in prison, was unable to write the following letter to Shirley Lester:
\n\u201cDear Miss Lester:
\n\u201cI hope a few lines will not annoy or embarrass you. I\u2019m writing, Miss Lester, because I\u2019d like you to know that I am not a common thief. I stole your bag, I want you to know, because I fell in love with you the moment I saw you on the bus. I could think of no way to become acquainted with you except by acting rashly\u2014foolishly, to be accurate. But then, one is a fool when one is in love.
\n\u201cI loved the way your lips were so slightly parted. You represented the answer to everything to me. I haven\u2019t been unhappy since I came to New York four years ago, but neither have I been happy. Rather, I can best describe myself as having been one of the thousands of young men in New York who simply exist.
\n\u201cI came to New York from Seattle. I was going to become rich and famous and well-dressed and suave. But in four years I\u2019ve learned that I am not going to become rich and famous and well-dressed and suave. I\u2019m a good printer\u2019s assistant, but that\u2019s all I am. One day the printer got sick, and I had to take his place. What a mess I made of things, Miss Lester. No one would take my orders. The typesetters just sort of giggled when I would tell them to get to work. And I don\u2019t blame them. I\u2019m a fool when I give orders. I suppose I\u2019m just one of the millions who was never meant to give orders. But I don\u2019t mind anymore. There\u2019s a twenty-three-year-old kid my boss just hired. He\u2019s only twenty-three, and I am thirty-one and have worked at the same place for four years. But I know that one day he will become head printer, and I will be his assistant. But I don\u2019t mind knowing this anymore.
\n\u201cLoving you is the important thing, Miss Lester. There are some people who think love is sex and marriage and six o\u2019clock-kisses and children, and perhaps it is, Miss Lester. But do you know what I think? I think love is a touch and yet not a touch.
\n\u201cI suppose it\u2019s important to a woman that other people think of her as the wife of a man who is either rich, handsome, witty or popular. I\u2019m not even popular. I\u2019m not even hated. I\u2019m just\u2014I\u2019m just\u2014Justin Horgenschlag. I never make people gay, sad, angry, or even disgusted. I think people regard me as a nice guy, but that\u2019s all.
\n\u201cWhen I was a child no one pointed me out as being cute or bright or good-looking. If they had to say something they said I had sturdy little legs.
\n\u201cI don\u2019t expect an answer to this letter, Miss Lester. I would like an answer more than anything else in the world, but truthfully I don\u2019t expect one. I merely wanted you to know the truth. If my love for you has only led me to a new and great sorrow, only I am to blame.
\n\u201cPerhaps one day you will understand and forgive your blundering admirer,
\nJustin Horgenschlag\u201d
\nSuch a letter would be no more unlikely than the following:
\n\u201cDear Mr. Horgenschlag:
\n\u201cI got your letter and loved it. I feel guilty and miserable that events have taken the turn they have. If only you had spoken to me instead of taking my purse! But then, I suppose I should have turned the conversational chill on you.
\n\u201cIt\u2019s lunch hour at the office, and I\u2019m alone here writing to you. I felt that I wanted to be alone today at lunch hour. I felt that if I had to go have lunch with the girls at the Automat and they jabbered through the meal as usual, I\u2019d suddenly scream.
\n\u201cI don\u2019t care if you\u2019re not a success, or that you\u2019re not handsome, or rich, or famous or suave. Once upon a time I would have cared. When I was in high school I was always in love with the Joe Glamor boys. Donald Nicolson, the boy who walked in the rain and knew all Shakespeare\u2019s sonnets backwards. Bob Lacey, the handsome gink who could shoot a basket from the middle of the floor, with the score tied and the chukker almost over. Harry Miller, who was so shy and had such nice, durable brown eyes.
\n\u201cBut that crazy part of my life is over.
\n\u201cThe people in your office who giggled when you gave them orders are on my black list. I hate them as I\u2019ve never hated anybody.
\n\u201cYou saw me when I had all my make-up on. Without it, believe me, I\u2019m no raving beauty. Please write me when you\u2019re allowed to have visitors. I\u2019d like you to take a second look at me. I\u2019d like to be sure that you didn\u2019t catch me at a phony best.
\n\u201cOh, how I wish you\u2019d told the judge why you stole my purse! We might be together and able to talk over all the many things I think we have in common.
\n\u201cPlease let me know when I may come to see you.
\nYours sincerely,
\nShirley Lester\u201d
\nBut Justin Horgenschlag never got to know Shirley Lester. She got off at Fifty-Sixth Street, and he got off at Thirty-Second Street. That night Shirley Lester went to the movies with Howard Lawrence with whom she was in love. Howard thought Shirley was a darn good sport, but that was as far as it went. And Justin Horgenschlag that night stayed home and listened to the Lux Toilet Soap radio play. He thought about Shirley all night, all the next day, and very often during that month. Then all of a sudden he was introduced to Doris Hillman who was beginning to be afraid she wasn\u2019t going to get a husband. And then before Justin Horgenschlag knew it, Doris Hillman and things were filing away Shirley Lester in the back of his mind. And Shirley Lester, the thought of her, no longer was available.
\nAnd that\u2019s why I never wrote a boy-meets-girl story for Collier\u2019s. In a boy-meets-girl story the boy should always meet the girl.<\/p>\n
—–<\/p>\n
There are some people who think love is sex and marriage and six o\u2019clock-kisses and children, and perhaps it is, Miss Lester. But do you know what I think? I think love is a touch and yet not a touch.<\/span> —–<\/span><\/p>\n And that\u2019s why I never wrote a boy-meets-girl story for Collier\u2019s. In a boy-meets-girl story the boy should always meet the girl.<\/span> \u8fd9\u5c31\u662f\u6211\u4e3a\u4f55\u4e00\u76f4\u6ca1\u6709\u7ed9\u514b\u83b1\u5c14\u5199\u4e00\u7bc7\u840d\u6c34\u76f8\u9022\u7684\u6545\u4e8b\u7684\u539f\u56e0\u3002\u5728\u4e00\u4e2a\u840d\u6c34\u76f8\u9022\u7684\u6545\u4e8b\u91cc\uff0c\u4e3a\u4ec0\u4e48\u7537\u5b69\u548c\u5973\u5b69\u4e00\u5b9a\u8981\u76f8\u8bc6\u5462\uff1f<\/span><\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" J. D. Salinger The Heart of a Broken Story Esquire XVI, […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1064"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=1064"}],"version-history":[{"count":2,"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1064\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1067,"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1064\/revisions\/1067"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=1064"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=1064"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.bluemountain.pw\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=1064"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
\n\u6709\u4e9b\u4eba\u89c9\u5f97\u7231\u662f\u6027\u548c\u5a5a\u59fb\uff0c\u8fd8\u67096\u70b9\u949f\u7684\u543b\u548c\u4e00\u5806\u5b69\u5b50\uff0c\u4e5f\u8bb8\u662f\u5427\uff0c\u83b1\u65af\u7279\u5c0f\u59d0\u3002\u4f46\u662f\u4f60\u77e5\u9053\u6211\u548b\u60f3\u4e48\uff1f\u6211\u89c9\u5f97\u7231\u662f\u60f3\u8981\u89e6\u78b0\u53c8\u6536\u56de\u7684\u624b\u3002<\/span><\/p>\n
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