VI
關燈
小
中
大
.”
“Pleasedon’thurry,”Gatsbyurgedthem.Hehadcontrolofhimselfnow,andhewantedtoseemoreofTom.“Whydon’tyou—whydon’tyoustayforsupper?Iwouldn’tbesurprisedifsomeotherpeopledroppedinfromNewYork.”
“Youcometosupperwithme,”saidtheladyenthusiastically.“Bothofyou.”
Thisincludedme.Mr.Sloanegottohisfeet.
“Comealong,”hesaid—buttoheronly.
“Imeanit,”sheinsisted.“I’dlovetohaveyou.Lotsofroom.”
Gatsbylookedatmequestioningly.Hewantedtogoandhedidn’tseethatMr.Sloanehaddeterminedheshouldn’t.
“I’mafraidIwon’tbeableto,”Isaid.
“Well,youcome,”sheurged,concentratingonGatsby.
Mr.Sloanemurmuredsomethingclosetoherear.
“Wewon’tbelateifwestartnow,”sheinsistedaloud.
“Ihaven’tgotahorse,”saidGatsby.“Iusedtorideinthearmy,butI’veneverboughtahorse.I’llhavetofollowyouinmycar.Excusemeforjustaminute.”
Therestofuswalkedoutontheporch,whereSloaneandtheladybegananimpassionedconversationaside.
“MyGod,Ibelievetheman’scoming,”saidTom.“Doesn’theknowshedoesn’twanthim?”
“Shesaysshedoeswanthim.”
“Shehasabigdinnerpartyandhewon’tknowasoulthere.”Hefrowned.“IwonderwhereinthedevilhemetDaisy.ByGod,Imaybeold-fashionedinmyideas,butwomenrunaroundtoomuchthesedaystosuitme.Theymeetallkindsofcrazyfish.”
SuddenlyMr.Sloaneandtheladywalkeddownthestepsandmountedtheirhorses.
“Comeon,”saidMr.SloanetoTom,“we’relate.We’vegottogo.”Andthentome:“Tellhimwecouldn’twait,willyou?”
TomandIshookhands,therestofusexchangedacoolnod,andtheytrottedquicklydownthedrive,disappearingundertheAugustfoliagejustasGatsby,withhatandlightovercoatinhand,cameoutthefrontdoor.
TomwasevidentlyperturbedatDaisy’srunningaroundalone,foronthefollowingSaturdaynighthecamewithhertoGatsby’sparty.Perhapshispresencegavetheeveningitspeculiarqualityofoppressiveness—itstandsoutinmymemoryfromGatsby’sotherpartiesthatsummer.Therewerethesamepeople,oratleastthesamesortofpeople,thesameprofusionofchampagne,thesamemany-coloured,many-keyedcommotion,butIfeltanunpleasantnessintheair,apervadingharshnessthathadn’tbeentherebefore.OrperhapsIhadmerelygrownusedtoit,growntoacceptWestEggasaworldcompleteinitself,withitsownstandardsanditsowngreatfigures,secondtonothingbecauseithadnoconsciousnessofbeingso,andnowIwaslookingatitagain,throughDaisy’seyes.Itisinvariablysaddeningtolookthroughneweyesatthingsuponwhichyouhaveexpendedyourownpowersofadjustment.
Theyarrivedattwilight,and,aswestrolledoutamongthesparklinghundreds,Daisy’svoicewasplayingmurmuroustricksinherthroat.
“Thesethingsexcitemeso,”shewhispered.“Ifyouwanttokissmeanytimeduringtheevening,Nick,justletmeknowandI’llbegladtoarrangeitforyou.Justmentionmyname.Orpresentagreencard.I’mgivingoutgreen—”
“Lookaround,”suggestedGatsby.
“I’mlookingaround.I’mhavingamarvellous—”
“Youmustseethefacesofmanypeopleyou’veheardabout.”
Tom’sarroganteyesroamedthecrowd.
“Wedon’tgoaroundverymuch,”hesaid“infact,IwasjustthinkingIdon’tknowasoulhere.”
“Perhapsyouknowthatlady.”Gatsbyindicatedagorgeous,scarcelyhumanorchidofawomanwhosatinstateunderawhite-plumtree.TomandDaisystared,withthatpeculiarlyunrealfeelingthataccompaniestherecognitionofahithertoghostlycelebrityofthemovies.
“She’slovely,”saidDaisy.
“Themanbendingoverherisherdirector.”
Hetookthemceremoniouslyfromgrouptogroup:
“Mrs.Buchanan…andMr.Buchanan—”Afteraninstant’shesitationheadded:“thepoloplayer.”
“Ohno,”objectedTomquickly,“notme.”
ButevidentlythesoundofitpleasedGatsbyforTomremained“thepoloplayer”fortherestoftheevening.
“I’venevermetsomanycelebrities,”Daisyexclaimed.“Ilikedthatman—whatwashisname?—withthesortofbluenose.”
Gatsbyidentifiedhim,addingthathewasasmallproducer.
“Well,Ilikedhimanyhow.”
“I’dalittlerathernotbethepoloplayer,”saidTompleasantly,“I’dratherlookatallthesefamouspeoplein—inoblivion.”
DaisyandGatsbydanced.Irememberbeingsurprisedbyhisgraceful,conservativefoxtrot—Ihadneverseenhimda
