VII

” PresentlyTomliftedhisheadwithajerkand,afterstaringaroundthegaragewithglazedeyes,addressedamumbledincoherentremarktothepoliceman. “M-a-v—”thepolicemanwassaying,“—o—” “No,r—”correctedtheman,“M-a-v-r-o—” “Listentome!”mutteredTomfiercely. “r—”saidthepoliceman,“o—” “g—” “g—”HelookedupasTom’sbroadhandfellsharplyonhisshoulder.“Whatyouwant,fella?” “Whathappened?—that’swhatIwanttoknow.” “Autohither.Ins’antlykilled.” “Instantlykilled,”repeatedTom,staring. “Sheranoutinaroad.Son-of-a-bitchdidn’tevenstopuscar.” “Therewastwocars,”saidMichaelis,“onecomin’,onegoin’,see?” “Goingwhere?”askedthepolicemankeenly. “Onegoin’eachway.Well,she”—hishandrosetowardtheblanketsbutstoppedhalfwayandfelltohisside—“sheranouttherean’theonecomin’fromN’Yorkknockrightintoher,goin’thirtyorfortymilesanhour.” “What’sthenameofthisplacehere?”demandedtheofficer. “Hasn’tgotanyname.” Apalewell-dressednegrosteppednear. “Itwasayellowcar,”hesaid,“bigyellowcar.New.” “Seetheaccident?”askedthepoliceman. “No,butthecarpassedmedowntheroad,goingfaster’nforty.Goingfifty,sixty.” “Comehereandlet’shaveyourname.Lookoutnow.Iwanttogethisname.” SomewordsofthisconversationmusthavereachedWilson,swayingintheofficedoor,forsuddenlyanewthemefoundvoiceamonghisgraspingcries: “Youdon’thavetotellmewhatkindofcaritwas!Iknowwhatkindofcaritwas!” WatchingTom,Isawthewadofmusclebackofhisshouldertightenunderhiscoat.HewalkedquicklyovertoWilsonand,standinginfrontofhim,seizedhimfirmlybytheupperarms. “You’vegottopullyourselftogether,”hesaidwithsoothinggruffness. Wilson’seyesfelluponTomhestarteduponhistiptoesandthenwouldhavecollapsedtohiskneeshadnotTomheldhimupright. “Listen,”saidTom,shakinghimalittle.“Ijustgothereaminuteago,fromNewYork.Iwasbringingyouthatcoupéwe’vebeentalkingabout.ThatyellowcarIwasdrivingthisafternoonwasn’tmine—doyouhear?Ihaven’tseenitallafternoon.” OnlythenegroandIwerenearenoughtohearwhathesaid,butthepolicemancaughtsomethinginthetoneandlookedoverwithtruculenteyes. “What’sallthat?”hedemanded. “I’mafriendofhis.”TomturnedhisheadbutkepthishandsfirmonWilson’sbody.“Hesaysheknowsthecarthatdidit…Itwasayellowcar.” SomedimimpulsemovedthepolicemantolooksuspiciouslyatTom. “Andwhatcolour’syourcar?” “It’sabluecar,acoupé.” “We’vecomestraightfromNewYork,”Isaid. Someonewhohadbeendrivingalittlebehindusconfirmedthis,andthepolicemanturnedaway. “Now,ifyou’llletmehavethatnameagaincorrect—” PickingupWilsonlikeadoll,Tomcarriedhimintotheoffice,sethimdowninachair,andcameback. “Ifsomebody’llcomehereandsitwithhim,”hesnappedauthoritatively.Hewatchedwhilethetwomenstandingclosestglancedateachotherandwentunwillinglyintotheroom.ThenTomshutthedooronthemandcamedownthesinglestep,hiseyesavoidingthetable.Ashepassedclosetomehewhispered:“Let’sgetout.” Self-consciously,withhisauthoritativearmsbreakingtheway,wepushedthroughthestillgatheringcrowd,passingahurrieddoctor,caseinhand,whohadbeensentforinwildhopehalfanhourago. Tomdroveslowlyuntilwewerebeyondthebend—thenhisfootcamedownhard,andthecoupéracedalongthroughthenight.InalittlewhileIheardalowhuskysob,andsawthatthetearswereoverflowingdownhisface. “TheGoddamnedcoward!”hewhimpered.“Hedidn’tevenstophiscar.” TheBuchanans’housefloatedsuddenlytowardusthroughthedarkrustlingtrees.Tomstoppedbesidetheporchandlookedupatthesecondfloor,wheretwowindowsbloomedwithlightamongthevines. “Daisy’shome,”hesaid.Aswegotoutofthecarheglancedatmeandfrownedslightly. “IoughttohavedroppedyouinWestEgg,Nick.There’snothingwecandotonight.” Achangehadcomeoverhim,andhespokegravely,andwithdecision.Aswewalkedacrossthemoonlightgraveltotheporchhedisposedofthesituationinafewbriskphrases. “I’lltelephoneforataxitotakeyouhome,andwhileyou’rewaitingyouandJordanbettergointhekitchenandhavethemgetyousomesupper—ifyouwantany.”Heopenedthedoor.“Comein.” “No,thanks.ButI’dbegladifyou’dordermethetaxi.I’llwaitoutside.” Jordanputherhandonmyarm. “Won’tyoucomein,Nick?” “No,thanks.” IwasfeelingalittlesickandIwantedtobealone.ButJordanlingeredforamomentmore. “It’sonlyhalf-pastnine,”shesaid. I’dbedamnedifI’dgoinI’dhadenoughofallofthemforoneday,andsuddenlythatincludedJordantoo.Shemusthaveseensomethingofthisinmyexpression,forsheturnedabruptlyawayandranuptheporchstepsintothehouse.Isatdownforafewminuteswithmyheadinmyhands,untilIheardthephonetakenupinsideandthebutler’svoicecallingataxi.ThenIwalkedslowlydownthedriveawayfromthehouse,intendingtowaitbythegate. Ihadn’tgonetwentyyardswhenIheardmynameandGatsbysteppedfrombetweentwobushesintothepath.Imusthavefeltprettyweirdbythattime,becauseIcouldthinkofnothingexcepttheluminosityofhispinksuitunderthemoon. “Whatareyoudoing?”Iinquired. “Juststandinghere,oldsport.” Somehow,thatseemedadespicableoccupation.ForallIknewhewasgoingtorobthehouseinamomentIwouldn’thavebeensurprisedtoseesinisterfaces,thefacesof“Wolfshiem’speople,”behindhiminthedarkshrubbery. “Didyouseeanytroubleontheroad?”heaskedafteraminute. “Yes.” Hehesitated. “Wasshekilled?” “Yes.” “IthoughtsoItoldDaisyIthoughtso.It’sbetterthattheshockshouldallcomeatonce.Shestooditprettywell.” HespokeasifDaisy’sreactionwastheonlythingthatmattered. “IgottoWestEggbyasideroad,”hewenton,“andleftthecarinmygarage.Idon’tthinkanybodysawus,butofcourseIcan’tbesure.” IdislikedhimsomuchbythistimethatIdidn’tfinditnecessarytotellhimhewaswrong. “Whowasthewoman?”heinquired. “HernamewasWilson.Herhusbandownsthegarage.Howthedevildidithappen?” “Well,Itriedtoswingthewheel—”Hebrokeoff,andsuddenlyIguessedatthetruth. “WasDaisydriving?” “Yes,”hesaidafteramoment,“butofcourseI’llsayIwas.Yousee,whenweleftNewYorkshewasverynervousandshethoughtitwouldsteadyhertodrive—andthiswomanrushedoutatusjustaswewerepassingacarcomingtheotherway.Itallhappenedinaminute,butitseemedtomethatshewantedtospeaktous,thoughtweweresomebodysheknew.Well,firstDaisyturnedawayfromthewomantowardtheothercar,andthenshelosthernerveandturnedback.ThesecondmyhandreachedthewheelIfelttheshock—itmusthavekilledherinstantly.” “Itrippedheropen—” “Don’ttellme,oldsport.”Hewinced.“Anyhow—Daisysteppedonit.Itriedtomakeherstop,butshecouldn’t,soIpulledontheemergencybrake.ThenshefelloverintomylapandIdroveon. “She’llbeallrighttomorrow,”hesaidpresently.“I’mjustgoingtowaithereandseeifhetriestobotherheraboutthatunpleasantnessthisafternoon.She’slockedherselfintoherroom,andifhetriesanybrutalityshe’sgoingtoturnthelightoutandonagain.” “Hewon’ttouchher,”Isaid.“He’snotthinkingabouther.” “Idon’ttrusthim,oldsport.” “Howlongareyougoingtowait?” “Allnight,ifnecessary.Anyhow,tilltheyallgotobed.” Anewpointofviewoccurredtome.SupposeTomfoundoutthatDaisyhadbeendriving.Hemightthinkhesawaconnectioninit—hemightthinkanything.IlookedatthehousethereweretwoorthreebrightwindowsdownstairsandthepinkglowfromDaisy’sroomonthegroundfloor. “Youwaithere,”Isaid.“I’llseeifthere’sanysignofacommotion.” Iwalkedbackalongtheborderofthelawn,traversedthegravelsoftly,andtiptoeduptheverandasteps.Thedrawing-roomcurtainswereopen,andIsawthattheroomwasempty.CrossingtheporchwherewehaddinedthatJunenightthreemonthsbefore,IcametoasmallrectangleoflightwhichIguessedwasthepantrywindow.Theblindwasdrawn,butIfoundariftatthesill. DaisyandTomweresittingoppositeeachotheratthekitchentable,withaplateofcoldfriedchickenbetweenthem,andtwobottlesofale.Hewastalkingintentlyacrossthetableather,andinhisearnestnesshishandhadfallenuponandcoveredherown.Onceinawhileshelookedupathimandnoddedinagreement. Theyweren’thappy,andneitherofthemhadtouchedthechickenortheale—andyettheyweren’tunhappyeither.Therewasanunmistakableairofnaturalintimacyaboutthepicture,andanybodywouldhavesaidthattheywereconspiringtogether. AsItiptoedfromtheporchIheardmytaxifeelingitswayalongthedarkroadtowardthehouse.GatsbywaswaitingwhereIhadlefthiminthedrive. “Isitallquietupthere?”heaskedanxiously. “Yes,it’sallquiet.”Ihesitated.“You’dbettercomehomeandgetsomesleep.” Heshookhishead. “IwanttowaitheretillDaisygoestobed.Goodnight,oldsport.” Heputhishandsinhiscoatpocketsandturnedbackeagerlytohisscrutinyofthehouse,asthoughmypresencemarredthesacrednessofthevigil.SoIwalkedawayandlefthimstandingthereinthemoonlight—watchingovernothing.