installing the sprinkler system, to hear the man shuffle his walker along the hardwood floor. For the moment he was safe to approach the shelves and he did so with the fervor of a monk before a row of succulent market beef on the forty-first day of a tiring fast. His eyes flickered past each name, trying with difficulty not to stop and admire the collection in his search for the one most important. On a shelf, sharing space with books by authors like Salman Rushdie and Edward Said, he found it.
His breath released in a long summer wind and Holden nearly lost his balance as he very carefully traced a finger over the top edge of the paperback book. It was solid, nearly solid, there had been so many pages packed in there. With the gentlest care, he pulled it free from its position on the shelf. It was lighter than it looked, less substantial than it felt. Holden rested the book with a protective hand on the desk beside him before absorbing the cover he had been longing to find on the bus the day prior. It was worn and bent, with more than a few smudges and a blushing ring of dirt along the rim. The capital letter ‘D’ in Salinger’s first initials was nearly smudged down to the white of the background. Droplets of sweat escaped Holden’s hair line and soothed the taught wrinkles of skin on his forehead as he pulled free the page from his pocket and rested it beside the book on the writing table. And then, carefully – very carefully – he lifted the limp cover of The Catcher in the Rye and turned the many pieces of paper to page two-hundred and forty-seven.
An overwhelming joy that he had never felt before in his life overcame him as a smile took precedence upon his face. The pages matched. Perfectly. From the first word at the top to the last words at the bottom, they were identical. Holden hadn’t realized yet the importance of such a discovery, but it didn’t matter. He was right and had found it, against all fear and doubt. And now, with the complete, unedited manuscript at his fingertips he would finally be able to –
“So that’s the one, huh?”
Holden awoke from his trance and turned to see Winston standing at the base of the staircase without his walker, wearing a grin that didn’t mean to make sense. Holden did his best in the moments available to decipher what the man meant, but was lost in the emotions laced within his grin.
“I…I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t help myself. I noticed these books here and I…”
“Holden, please,” Winston complained, shuffling forward. “There is no need to lie, especially when you’re holding the book that revealed the lies to you.” As he lumbered near, Winston noticed the fragment of crumpled paper beside the book and approached the desk carefully, as if one wrong step could make the page disappear.
Holden thought the man was reaching for it when he passed his arm over the page and gently lifted the book from the desk. His grin shifted, but it remained unclear as he wiped the dust from the stained cover with ethereal delicacy. Holden had never before witnessed a person employ such a gesture with an inanimate object. This man, nearing the close of his life, had a love affair with the items on these shelves that Holden would never understand.
“ The Catcher in the Rye , by J.D. Salinger.” His shining, false teeth broke through the sly, enigmatic grin. “How ironic…that this is the book.”
Holden didn’t know how to respond, so he stood quietly and allowed Winston to continue.
“Did you know that, at one time, a printed copy of this book could be found in every school, book store, and library in the world? Shame…I don’t think many people read this book these days.”
“Listen, I didn’t mean to…”
“You have a good name, Holden. It makes me think that it called you to this book and the revision you found. Funny that most of this happened because of a name. It’s one of the reasons I trusted you with the act of protecting my
His breath released in a long summer wind and Holden nearly lost his balance as he very carefully traced a finger over the top edge of the paperback book. It was solid, nearly solid, there had been so many pages packed in there. With the gentlest care, he pulled it free from its position on the shelf. It was lighter than it looked, less substantial than it felt. Holden rested the book with a protective hand on the desk beside him before absorbing the cover he had been longing to find on the bus the day prior. It was worn and bent, with more than a few smudges and a blushing ring of dirt along the rim. The capital letter ‘D’ in Salinger’s first initials was nearly smudged down to the white of the background. Droplets of sweat escaped Holden’s hair line and soothed the taught wrinkles of skin on his forehead as he pulled free the page from his pocket and rested it beside the book on the writing table. And then, carefully – very carefully – he lifted the limp cover of The Catcher in the Rye and turned the many pieces of paper to page two-hundred and forty-seven.
An overwhelming joy that he had never felt before in his life overcame him as a smile took precedence upon his face. The pages matched. Perfectly. From the first word at the top to the last words at the bottom, they were identical. Holden hadn’t realized yet the importance of such a discovery, but it didn’t matter. He was right and had found it, against all fear and doubt. And now, with the complete, unedited manuscript at his fingertips he would finally be able to –
“So that’s the one, huh?”
Holden awoke from his trance and turned to see Winston standing at the base of the staircase without his walker, wearing a grin that didn’t mean to make sense. Holden did his best in the moments available to decipher what the man meant, but was lost in the emotions laced within his grin.
“I…I’m sorry, sir. I couldn’t help myself. I noticed these books here and I…”
“Holden, please,” Winston complained, shuffling forward. “There is no need to lie, especially when you’re holding the book that revealed the lies to you.” As he lumbered near, Winston noticed the fragment of crumpled paper beside the book and approached the desk carefully, as if one wrong step could make the page disappear.
Holden thought the man was reaching for it when he passed his arm over the page and gently lifted the book from the desk. His grin shifted, but it remained unclear as he wiped the dust from the stained cover with ethereal delicacy. Holden had never before witnessed a person employ such a gesture with an inanimate object. This man, nearing the close of his life, had a love affair with the items on these shelves that Holden would never understand.
“ The Catcher in the Rye , by J.D. Salinger.” His shining, false teeth broke through the sly, enigmatic grin. “How ironic…that this is the book.”
Holden didn’t know how to respond, so he stood quietly and allowed Winston to continue.
“Did you know that, at one time, a printed copy of this book could be found in every school, book store, and library in the world? Shame…I don’t think many people read this book these days.”
“Listen, I didn’t mean to…”
“You have a good name, Holden. It makes me think that it called you to this book and the revision you found. Funny that most of this happened because of a name. It’s one of the reasons I trusted you with the act of protecting my
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