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Short story translation "The Broken Story Heart"

By J.D. Salinger

Justin Holgenschlager, a print shop assistant who earns thirty dollars a week, interacts with about sixty people he has never met every day. Women get embarrassingly close. Thus, during the years he lived in New York, Holgenschlager had embarrassingly close encounters with seventy-five thousand one hundred and twenty women. Of these 70,000 women, approximately 25,000 were between the ages of thirty and fifteen, and of these women, only 5,000 weighed between 105 and 125 pounds. Of these five thousand women, one thousand were not ugly, five hundred were pleasing to the eye, one hundred were pretty, and only twenty-five had men willing to whistle to her. Among them, there was only one person whom Horgenschlag fell in love with at first sight.

We say that there are two kinds of fatal girls in a ***. One is a Deadly Lady who fits the definition of a Deadly Lady in every sense of the word. The other type is a fatal girl who cannot be considered a fatal girl in any sense.

Her name is Shirley Lester. She was twenty years old (eleven years younger than Holgenschlager), five feet four (Holgenschlager could just see the top of her head), and one hundred and seventeen pounds (she held it like a feather). . Shirley was a sketch writer, and her mother, Igg Lester, was a devoted listener of Nelson Eddy. Shirley lives with her mother, and her income supports their lives. Regarding Shirley's appearance, everyone usually commented like this: "Shirley is as beautiful as a picture."

One morning, on the Third Avenue bus, Horgenschlag stood in front of Shirley. In front of me, he was as dumb as a dead duck. All of this comes from the fact that Shirley's mouth is slightly open in a weird way. She was reading an advertisement for cosmetics on the top of the bus. Her jaw always relaxed when she read. In the moment when Shirley's mouth opened and her lips parted, she was probably the most deadly woman in Manhattan. Suddenly, Holgenschlager saw in her the antidote to the loneliness of a giant monster. Ever since Holgenschlager came to New York, this loneliness has been with him. Oh, this pain! The pain of standing in front of Shirley Lester and not being able to bend down and kiss her slightly parted lips! Unspeakable pain!

The above is the beginning of a story I wrote for Collier's Magazine. I originally wanted to write a cute story about a man and woman meeting each other. How could I write better, I thought. Of course, the world needs tender stories like this. But to write it well, the author has to worry about how to get that boy to meet that girl first. Unfortunately, I can't really make up such a story. At least there's no logical plot. I couldn't make Horgenschlager and Shirley come together in a logical way. Here are my reasons:

It would be completely impossible for Horgenschlager to bend down and say the following with all sincerity:

“Sorry to excuse you. I love you so much. I'm sure I'll love you forever. I'm a print shop assistant and I make $30 a week. How can I love you so much? Empty? "

This Holgenschlager may be a fool, but he will never be such a fool. He may be young and naive, but he was definitely not born today. Collier's readers would not have tolerated such folly. After all, a nickel is only worth a nickel.

Of course, I couldn’t suddenly make Holgenschlager glow, carrying William Powell’s old cigarette case and wearing Fred Astaire’s old top hat.

"Don't get me wrong, ma'am. I'm a magazine artist. Here's my business card. I've never seen anyone in my life who makes me want to come to life like you do. Say no. It's definitely a good thing for you and me. Can I call you tonight, or anytime soon? (A few crisp laughs.) I hope I'm not too eager. (Laughs again. .) But I probably am, really."

Friends, when he said these words, he still had a tired, yet happy and carefree smile on his face. If only Horgenschlag could do it. Shirley herself was, of course, an admirer of Nelson Eddy and an active reader of the Kerstone Lending Library.

Maybe you can already see what I'm going to say.

In fact, what Holgenschlager might have said was, “Excuse me.

Are you Velma Puschard? "

Shirley would reply with a cool, "No," and look to the other side of the bus, trying to balance the mood.

"That's interesting," Horgensch said. Large might have continued, "I swear, I thought you were her just now. Hey, you're not from Seattle, are you? "

"No. "The voice became even colder.

"Seattle is my hometown. "

Balance.

"A particularly nice small city, Seattle. I mean, Seattle is really, really nice. I've been here - I mean New York - for four years. I'm a print shop assistant. My name is Justin Holgenschlager. "

"I'm really not interested. ”

Alas, Horgenschlager’s words can’t have any effect. In this case, he doesn’t have any appearance, personality, or elegant clothes that can attract Shirley’s attention. Everything There is no hope. So, as I said before, to write a love story where a man and a woman meet, first the boy must meet the girl.

Maybe Holdschlager fainted and fell. He grabbed a bit of support: Shirley's ankle. He tore his stockings, and maybe he would make room for the uncomfortable Horgenschlager as he slowly stood up. , murmured vaguely, "I'm fine, thank you. ” And then, “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry, miss. I tore your socks, let me compensate you. I don't have enough cash with me right now, but just tell me your address. "

Shirley would not tell him her address. She would just hesitate awkwardly: "It doesn't matter. ” she would say, and she would wish that Holgenschlager had never been born. But none of that made sense. Holgenschlager was a Seattleite, and he couldn’t even think of catching Shirley. Ankles. Definitely not on the Third Avenue Bus.

A more reasonable possibility is that Horgenschlager may be impatient for love. Several, and Horgenschlag might have been one of them. He might have snatched Shirley's handbag and ran to the back door. Shirley would have called out to the Alamo. War or some other memory. As a result, Horgenschlag's escape was stopped. Patrolman Wilson had not made a decent arrest in a long time. What happened here? This man wants to steal my bag.

Hulgenschlag was dragged to court. Of course, Shirley also had to show up to each other, so Holgenschlag knew about Snow. The address of Lee's sanctuary.

Judge Perkin, who couldn't even get a cup of really good coffee at home every morning, sentenced Holgenschlag to a year in prison for chewing her lower lip. , and Horgenschlag has been taken away

In prison, Horgenschlag wrote a letter to Shirley:

"Dear Len. Ms. Ste:

I really didn’t want to steal your wallet. I did that just because I fell in love with you. You see, I just want to get to know you. When you are free, can you write me a letter? It's a little lonely here. I really love you, maybe you would like to come and see me when you are free?

Your friend,

Justin Horgenschlager"

Shirley read this letter to all her friends. They said, “Oh my God, Shirley, this is so cute. "Shirley agreed, it was indeed a bit cute, she might write a reply. "That's right! Write him back! I can’t stand it, so you’re not at a loss! "So, Shirley wrote a reply to Holgenschlag:

"Dear Mr. Holgenschlager,

I received your letter. I'm really sorry that this happened. It's a pity that there's nothing we can do now, but I really think it's too bad for this result. Fortunately your sentence is not long and you will be out soon. Wish you all the best.

Yours, sincerely,

Shirley Lester. "

"Dear Miss Leicester:

You have no idea how happy I was when I received your letter. Don't feel bad. It's all my fault for doing something crazy, so don't feel bad. Here we can watch a movie once a week, and really, it's not that bad. I'm thirty-one years old and I'm from Seattle.

I have been in New York for four years. It is a very nice city, but sometimes it feels lonely. Even counting Seattle, you are the cutest girl I have ever seen in my life. I hope that you can come and see me during the prison visitation time from 2 to 4 o'clock on a Saturday afternoon, and I will help you pay for the bus fare.

Your friend,

Justin Horgenschlager"

Shirley would also read this letter to all her friends. But she Wouldn't reply to this letter. Anyone could see that Holgenschlager was a fool. After all, she had already replied to the first one. If she replied to this nonsense again, the matter would probably be broken. For months. She had done what she could for this man. And what a strange name it was.

Meanwhile, Horgenschlag was doing it. Suffering in prison, even though they had a movie to watch every week, his fellow inmates, one named Sniper Morgan and the other Slice Man, both thought Holgenschlager looked a lot like a whistleblower in Chicago. They got their little rat-faced guy and were convinced that rat-face and Justin Horgenschlager were definitely the same person

"I'm not rat-faced Ferrero," Horgenschlager told them. .

"Stop it," said the Slicer, knocking Horgenschlag's poor food to the ground.

"Push his head down." "said the sniper.

"I said I only went to jail because I stole a girl's wallet on the Third Avenue bus," Holgenschlager begged for mercy. "But I didn't mean it. Steal! I fell in love with her at first sight, and that was the only way I could strike up a conversation with her. "

"Stop it," said the Slicer.

"Push his head down," said the Sniper.

Then one day, Seventeen A prisoner attempted to escape. During activity time, Slicer Porker lured the warden's eight-year-old niece, Lizbeth Sue, into his palm. He put his huge hand on the child's waist and lifted her up. Get up and show the warden

“Hey, warden! ," shouted the Slicer, "open the door, or this kid will be doomed! "

"Uncle Poker, I'm not afraid! " Lisbeth Sue declared.

"Slicer, put the kid down! "The warden's order was obviously weak.

Slicer knew that he had complete control over the warden. In this way, seventeen prisoners and a blond child walked out of the prison door. Sixteen prisoners and A blond child walked out safely. A prison guard in the watchtower thought he had found the perfect opportunity to shoot through the Slicer's head and undermine the confidence of the escape team, but he missed the target and the bullet only missed. Hit a little man with a hurried look who was following the Slice Man, and he was killed on the spot.

Who do you think this is?

Write a warm and soft person. The idea of ??a long-lasting love story ended with the death of my hero.

Horgenschlager would not have fallen into despair if it had not been for Shirley's failure to reply to the second letter. She panicked and escaped from prison with sixteen other people. But the fact is that she did not reply to the second letter. Give her another hundred years and she will not reply to that letter.

What a pity. Why didn’t Holgenschlag write a letter like this to Shirley in prison:

“Dear Miss Lester:

I hope these few words don't offend you or embarrass you. I am writing this letter to you because I want to tell you, Miss Leicester, that I am not a habitual thief. I want to tell you that I stole your bag just because I fell in love with you the first time I saw you on the bus. I can't think of any other way to recognize you than through extreme exaggeration - silly, but true. But who is not a fool when they fall in love?

I love the way your lips are slightly parted. You seem to have solved all my problems. Since I came to New York four years ago, it’s not that I’m unhappy in life, but I’m not happy either. Like thousands of young people in New York, I just exist.

I'm from Seattle. At that time I dreamed of becoming rich, famous, glamorous and elegant. But four years later, I realized that I could not become a glamorous and personable person with both fame and fortune. I'm a pretty good print shop assistant, but that's about all I can get.

Once my boss was ill and asked me to take his place temporarily. Miss Lester, it was such a chaotic day. No one listens to me. When I told the typesetters to get to work, they just stood around and laughed at me. But I don't blame them. I act like a fool when it comes to giving orders to others. Maybe, there are thousands of people in the world who are destined not to give orders, and I am such a person. But I don't care anymore. My boss recently hired a twenty-three-year-old kid. He is only twenty-three. I am thirty-one years old and have worked here for four years. But I knew one day he would be the print shop manager and I would still be his assistant. But I don't mind knowing such things.

Falling in love with you is an important thing to me. Some people think love is sex, marriage, a six o'clock kiss in the morning, children. That may be so, Miss Leicester. But you want to know what I think? I think love is a hand that wants to touch and then withdraws.

I guess it is important for a woman to be the wife of a rich, handsome, or smart, popular man in the eyes of others. I was never popular. I haven't been hated either. I'm just - just Justin Horgenschlager. I have never made anyone happy, sad, angry, or annoying. Others think I'm a good person, that's all.

When I was a child, no one ever told me I was cute, smart or beautiful. If I have to say something, some people say that I have a pair of strong short legs.

I don't expect a reply from you, Miss Leicester. Even though that was the thing I wanted most in the whole world, to be honest, I guessed there would be no reply. I just want to tell you the truth. If my love for you only leads me to new and violent sorrows, it is not your fault but my own.

Maybe one day you will understand and forgive your reckless admirer.

Justin Holgenschlager. "

Such a letter is as unlikely as the following reply.

"Dear Mr. Holgenschlager:

I accept Arrived your letter. I enjoyed your letter. I feel so guilty and miserable about how things got out of hand. It would be nice if you just talked to me instead of grabbing my bag! But, I guess I probably won't take your word for it.

It is lunch time and I am writing this letter to you alone in my office. I wanted to spend some time by myself at noon today. If I had to go to a diner with the girls for lunch as usual today and listen to them chatter the whole time, I would probably burst into tears.

I don’t care if you are successful or not, or if you are not handsome, rich, famous, or cool. Once I would have minded. In high school I always dated the cutest boys. Donald Nickerson, who walked in the rain and knew Shakespeare's sonnets by heart. Bob Lacey was handsome, but he was so stupid that he stood in the middle of the room and missed his target seven and a half times. Harry Miller was shy, but he had such lovely brown eyes.

But those crazy chapters of my life are behind me.

Those people in your company who laugh at you have been blacklisted by me. I hate them, even though I've never hated anyone.

What you see is my complete makeup look. Without makeup, believe me, I have nothing to do with being stunningly beautiful. Please write to tell me when you will be able to see visitors. I want to ask you to look at me again. I want you to confirm that what you were looking for was not illusory perfection.

Oh my gosh, I really hope you tell the judge why you stole my bag! In that case, maybe we can sit down and chat. I seem to feel that we have many similarities.

Please tell me when I can visit you.

Sincerely,

Shirley Lester”

But Justin Holgenschlager would never know Shirley Lester. She got off at Fifty-sixth Avenue and he got off at Thirty-second Avenue. That night, Shirley Lester was going to the movies with the boy she liked at the time, Howard Lawrence. Howard thought Shirley was a pretty girl to play with, but that was all. Justin Holgenschlager was at home listening to the broadcast that night, and he was thinking about Shirley. The next day, and many more moments that month.

Then he was accidentally introduced to Doris Hillman - who was beginning to worry that she would never get married. Before Justin Holgenschlager knew it, Doris Hillman and all sorts of things had diluted Shirley Lester. Shirley Lester, and her memory, were gone.

This is why I never write a love story for Kaulier where a man and a woman meet. In such a story, the boy has to meet the girl first.