IV
關燈
小
中
大
iscoat.“Yeah,Gatsby’sverycarefulaboutwomen.Hewouldneversomuchaslookatafriend’swife.”
WhenthesubjectofthisinstinctivetrustreturnedtothetableandsatdownMr.Wolfshiemdrankhiscoffeewithajerkandgottohisfeet.
“Ihaveenjoyedmylunch,”hesaid,“andI’mgoingtorunofffromyoutwoyoungmenbeforeIoutstaymywelcome.”
“Don’thurryMeyer,”saidGatsby,withoutenthusiasm.Mr.Wolfshiemraisedhishandinasortofbenediction.
“You’reverypolite,butIbelongtoanothergeneration,”heannouncedsolemnly.“Yousithereanddiscussyoursportsandyouryoungladiesandyour—”Hesuppliedanimaginarynounwithanotherwaveofhishand.“Asforme,Iamfiftyyearsold,andIwon’timposemyselfonyouanylonger.”
Asheshookhandsandturnedawayhistragicnosewastrembling.IwonderedifIhadsaidanythingtooffendhim.
“Hebecomesverysentimentalsometimes,”explainedGatsby.“Thisisoneofhissentimentaldays.He’squiteacharacteraroundNewYork—adenizenofBroadway.”
“Whoishe,anyhow,anactor?”
“No.”
“Adentist?”
“MeyerWolfshiem?No,he’sagambler.”Gatsbyhesitated,thenadded,coolly:“He’sthemanwhofixedtheWorld’sSeriesbackin1919.”
“FixedtheWorld’sSeries?”Irepeated.
Theideastaggeredme.Iremembered,ofcourse,thattheWorld’sSerieshadbeenfixedin1919,butifIhadthoughtofitatallIwouldhavethoughtofitasathingthatmerelyhappened,theendofsomeinevitablechain.Itneveroccurredtomethatonemancouldstarttoplaywiththefaithoffiftymillionpeople—withthesingle-mindednessofaburglarblowingasafe.
“Howdidhehappentodothat?”Iaskedafteraminute.
“Hejustsawtheopportunity.”
“Whyisn’theinjail?”
“Theycan’tgethim,oldsport.He’sasmartman.”
Iinsistedonpayingthecheck.AsthewaiterbroughtmychangeIcaughtsightofTomBuchananacrossthecrowdedroom.
“Comealongwithmeforaminute,”Isaid“I’vegottosayhellotosomeone.”
WhenhesawusTomjumpedupandtookhalfadozenstepsinourdirection.
“Where’veyoubeen?”hedemandedeagerly.“Daisy’sfuriousbecauseyouhaven’tcalledup.”
“ThisisMr.Gatsby,Mr.Buchanan.”
Theyshookhandsbriefly,andastrained,unfamiliarlookofembarrassmentcameoverGatsby’sface.
“How’veyoubeen,anyhow?”demandedTomofme.“How’dyouhappentocomeupthisfartoeat?”
“I’vebeenhavinglunchwithMr.Gatsby.”
IturnedtowardMr.Gatsby,buthewasnolongerthere.
OneOctoberdayinnineteen-seventeen—
(saidJordanBakerthatafternoon,sittingupverystraightonastraightchairinthetea-gardenatthePlazaHotel)
—Iwaswalkingalongfromoneplacetoanother,halfonthesidewalksandhalfonthelawns.IwashappieronthelawnsbecauseIhadonshoesfromEnglandwithrubberknobsonthesolesthatbitintothesoftground.Ihadonanewplaidskirtalsothatblewalittleinthewind,andwheneverthishappenedthered,white,andbluebannersinfrontofallthehousesstretchedoutstiffandsaidtut-tut-tut-tut,inadisapprovingway.
ThelargestofthebannersandthelargestofthelawnsbelongedtoDaisyFay’shouse.Shewasjusteighteen,twoyearsolderthanme,andbyfarthemostpopularofalltheyounggirlsinLouisville.Shedressedinwhite,andhadalittlewhiteroadster,andalldaylongthetelephoneranginherhouseandexcitedyoungofficersfromCampTaylordemandedtheprivilegeofmonopolizingherthatnight.“Anyways,foranhour!”
WhenIcameoppositeherhousethatmorningherwhiteroadsterwasbesidethekerb,andshewassittinginitwithalieutenantIhadneverseenbefore.Theyweresoengrossedineachotherthatshedidn’tseemeuntilIwasfivefeetaway.
“Hello,Jordan,”shecalledunexpectedly.“Pleasecomehere.”
Iwasflatteredthatshewantedtospeaktome,becauseofalltheoldergirlsIadmiredhermost.SheaskedmeifIwasgoingtotheRedCrosstomakebandages.Iwas.Well,then,wouldItellthemthatshecouldn’tcomethatday?TheofficerlookedatDaisywhileshewasspeaking,inawaythateveryyounggirlwantstobelookedatsometime,andbecauseitseemedromantictomeIhaverememberedtheincidenteversince.HisnamewasJayGatsby,andIdidn’tlayeyesonhimagainforoverfouryears—evenafterI’dmethimonLongIslandIdidn’trealizeitwasthesameman.
Thatwasnineteen-seventeen.BythenextyearIhadafewbeauxmyself,andIbegantoplayintournaments,soIdidn’tseeDaisyveryoften.Shewentwithaslightlyoldercrowd—whenshewentwithanyoneatall.Wildrumourswerecirculatingabouther—howhermotherhadfoundherpackingherbagonewinternighttogotoNewYorkandsaygoodbyetoasoldierwhowasgoingoverseas.Shewaseffectuallyprevented,butshewasn’tonspeakingtermswithherfamilyforseveralweeks.Afterthatshedidn’tplayaroundwiththesoldiersanymore,butonlywithafewflat-footed,shortsightedyoungmenintown,whocouldn’tgetintothearmyatall.
Bythenextautumnshewasgayagain,gayasever.Shehadadébutafterthearmistice,andinFebruaryshewaspresumablyengagedtoamanfromNewOrleans.InJuneshemarriedTomBuchananofChicago,withmorepompandcircumstancethanLouisvilleeverknewbefore.Hecamedownwithahundredpeopleinfourprivatecars,andhiredawholeflooroftheMuhlbachHotel,andthedaybeforetheweddinghegaveherastringofpearlsvaluedatthreehundredandfiftythousanddollars.
Iwasabridesmaid.Icameintoherroomhalfanhourbeforethebridaldinner,andfoundherlyingonherbedaslovelyastheJunenightinherflowereddress—andasdrunkasamonkey.ShehadabottleofSauterneinonehandandaletterintheother.
“?’Gratulateme,”shemuttered.“Neverhadadrinkbefore,butohhowIdoenjoyit.”
“What’sthematter,Daisy?”
Iwasscared,IcantellyouI’dneverseenagirllikethatbefore.
“Here,dearies.”Shegropedaroundinawastebas
