III

minedvoice: “Wonder’fftellmewherethere’sagas’linestation?” Atleastadozenmen,someofthemalittlebetteroffthanhewas,explainedtohimthatwheelandcarwerenolongerjoinedbyanyphysicalbond. “Backout,”hesuggestedafteramoment.“Putherinreverse.” “Butthewheel’soff!” Hehesitated. “Noharmintrying,”hesaid. ThecaterwaulinghornshadreachedacrescendoandIturnedawayandcutacrossthelawntowardhome.Iglancedbackonce.AwaferofamoonwasshiningoverGatsby’shouse,makingthenightfineasbefore,andsurvivingthelaughterandthesoundofhisstillglowinggarden.Asuddenemptinessseemedtoflownowfromthewindowsandthegreatdoors,endowingwithcompleteisolationthefigureofthehost,whostoodontheporch,hishandupinaformalgestureoffarewell. ReadingoverwhatIhavewrittensofar,IseeIhavegiventheimpressionthattheeventsofthreenightsseveralweeksapartwereallthatabsorbedme.Onthecontrary,theyweremerelycasualeventsinacrowdedsummer,and,untilmuchlater,theyabsorbedmeinfinitelylessthanmypersonalaffairs. MostofthetimeIworked.IntheearlymorningthesunthrewmyshadowwestwardasIhurrieddownthewhitechasmsoflowerNewYorktotheProbityTrust.Iknewtheotherclerksandyoungbond-salesmenbytheirfirstnames,andlunchedwiththemindark,crowdedrestaurantsonlittlepigsausagesandmashedpotatoesandcoffee.IevenhadashortaffairwithagirlwholivedinJerseyCityandworkedintheaccountingdepartment,butherbrotherbeganthrowingmeanlooksinmydirection,sowhenshewentonhervacationinJulyIletitblowquietlyaway. ItookdinnerusuallyattheYaleClub—forsomereasonitwasthegloomiesteventofmyday—andthenIwentupstairstothelibraryandstudiedinvestmentsandsecuritiesforaconscientioushour.Thereweregenerallyafewriotersaround,buttheynevercameintothelibrary,soitwasagoodplacetowork.Afterthat,ifthenightwasmellow,IstrolleddownMadisonAvenuepasttheoldMurrayHillHotel,andover33rdStreettothePennsylvaniaStation. IbegantolikeNewYork,theracy,adventurousfeelofitatnight,andthesatisfactionthattheconstantflickerofmenandwomenandmachinesgivestotherestlesseye.IlikedtowalkupFifthAvenueandpickoutromanticwomenfromthecrowdandimaginethatinafewminutesIwasgoingtoenterintotheirlives,andnoonewouldeverknowordisapprove.Sometimes,inmymind,Ifollowedthemtotheirapartmentsonthecornersofhiddenstreets,andtheyturnedandsmiledbackatmebeforetheyfadedthroughadoorintowarmdarkness.AttheenchantedmetropolitantwilightIfeltahauntinglonelinesssometimes,andfeltitinothers—pooryoungclerkswholoiteredinfrontofwindowswaitinguntilitwastimeforasolitaryrestaurantdinner—youngclerksinthedusk,wastingthemostpoignantmomentsofnightandlife. Againateighto’clock,whenthedarklanesoftheFortieswerelinedfivedeepwiththrobbingtaxicabs,boundforthetheatredistrict,Ifeltasinkinginmyheart.Formsleanedtogetherinthetaxisastheywaited,andvoicessang,andtherewaslaughterfromunheardjokes,andlightedcigarettesmadeunintelligiblecirclesinside.ImaginingthatI,too,washurryingtowardsgaietyandsharingtheirintimateexcitement,Iwishedthemwell. ForawhileIlostsightofJordanBaker,andtheninmidsummerIfoundheragain.AtfirstIwasflatteredtogoplaceswithher,becauseshewasagolfchampion,andeveryoneknewhername.Thenitwassomethingmore.Iwasn’tactuallyinlove,butIfeltasortoftendercuriosity.Theboredhaughtyfacethatsheturnedtotheworldconcealedsomething—mostaffectationsconcealsomethingeventually,eventhoughtheydon’tinthebeginning—andonedayIfoundwhatitwas.Whenwewereonahouse-partytogetherupinWarwick,sheleftaborrowedcaroutintherainwiththetopdown,andthenliedaboutit—andsuddenlyIrememberedthestoryaboutherthathadeludedmethatnightatDaisy’s.Atherfirstbiggolftournamenttherewasarowthatnearlyreachedthenewspapers—asuggestionthatshehadmovedherballfromabadlieinthesemifinalround.Thethingapproachedtheproportionsofascandal—thendiedaway.Acaddyretractedhisstatement,andtheonlyotherwitnessadmittedthathemighthavebeenmistaken.Theincidentandthenamehadremainedtogetherinmymind. JordanBakerinstinctivelyavoidedclever,shrewdmen,andnowIsawthatthiswasbecauseshefeltsaferonaplanewhereanydivergencefromacodewouldbethoughtimpossible.Shewasincurablydishonest.Shewasn’tabletoendurebeingatadisadvantageand,giventhisunwillingness,Isupposeshehadbegundealinginsubterfugeswhenshewasveryyounginordertokeepthatcool,insolentsmileturnedtotheworldandyetsatisfythedemandsofherhard,jauntybody. Itmadenodifferencetome.Dishonestyinawomanisathingyouneverblamedeeply—Iwascasuallysorry,andthenIforgot.Itwasonthatsamehouse-partythatwehadacuriousconversationaboutdrivingacar.Itstartedbecauseshepassedsoclosetosomeworkmenthatourfenderflickedabuttonononeman’scoat. “You’rearottendriver,”Iprotested.“Eitheryououghttobemorecareful,oryououghtn’ttodriveatall.” “Iamcareful.” “No,you’renot.” “Well,otherpeopleare,”shesaidlightly. “What’sthatgottodowithit?” “They’llkeepoutofmyway,”sheinsisted.“Ittakestwotomakeanaccident.” “Supposeyoumetsomebodyjustascarelessasyourself.” “IhopeIneverwill,”sheanswered.“Ihatecarelesspeople.That’swhyIlikeyou.” Hergrey,sun-strainedeyesstaredstraightahead,butshehaddeliberatelyshiftedourrelations,andforamomentIthoughtIlovedher.ButIamslow-thinkingandfullofinteriorrulesthatactasbrakesonmydesires,andIknewthatfirstIhadtogetmyselfdefinitelyoutofthattanglebackhome.I’dbeenwritinglettersonceaweekandsigningthem:“Love,Nick,”andallIcouldthinkofwashow,whenthatcertaingirlplayedtennis,afaintmoustacheofperspirationappearedonherupperlip.NeverthelesstherewasavagueunderstandingthathadtobetactfullybrokenoffbeforeIwasfree. Everyonesuspectshimselfofatleastoneofthecardinalvirtues,andthisismine:IamoneofthefewhonestpeoplethatIhaveeverknown.