VIII

howsurprisedIwastofindoutIlovedher,oldsport.Ievenhopedforawhilethatshe’dthrowmeover,butshedidn’t,becauseshewasinlovewithmetoo.ShethoughtIknewalotbecauseIknewdifferentthingsfromher…Well,thereIwas,wayoffmyambitions,gettingdeeperinloveeveryminute,andallofasuddenIdidn’tcare.WhatwastheuseofdoinggreatthingsifIcouldhaveabettertimetellingherwhatIwasgoingtodo?” Onthelastafternoonbeforehewentabroad,hesatwithDaisyinhisarmsforalong,silenttime.Itwasacoldfallday,withfireintheroomandhercheeksflushed.Nowandthenshemovedandhechangedhisarmalittle,andoncehekissedherdarkshininghair.Theafternoonhadmadethemtranquilforawhile,asiftogivethemadeepmemoryforthelongpartingthenextdaypromised.Theyhadneverbeencloserintheirmonthoflove,norcommunicatedmoreprofoundlyonewithanother,thanwhenshebrushedsilentlipsagainsthiscoat’sshoulderorwhenhetouchedtheendofherfingers,gently,asthoughshewereasleep. Hedidextraordinarilywellinthewar.Hewasacaptainbeforehewenttothefront,andfollowingtheArgonnebattleshegothismajorityandthecommandofthedivisionalmachine-guns.Afterthearmisticehetriedfranticallytogethome,butsomecomplicationormisunderstandingsenthimtoOxfordinstead.Hewasworriednow—therewasaqualityofnervousdespairinDaisy’sletters.Shedidn’tseewhyhecouldn’tcome.Shewasfeelingthepressureoftheworldoutside,andshewantedtoseehimandfeelhispresencebesideherandbereassuredthatshewasdoingtherightthingafterall. ForDaisywasyoungandherartificialworldwasredolentoforchidsandpleasant,cheerfulsnobberyandorchestraswhichsettherhythmoftheyear,summingupthesadnessandsuggestivenessoflifeinnewtunes.Allnightthesaxophoneswailedthehopelesscommentofthe“BealeStreetBlues”whileahundredpairsofgoldenandsilverslippersshuffledtheshiningdust.Atthegreyteahourtherewerealwaysroomsthatthrobbedincessantlywiththislow,sweetfever,whilefreshfacesdriftedhereandtherelikerosepetalsblownbythesadhornsaroundthefloor. ThroughthistwilightuniverseDaisybegantomoveagainwiththeseasonsuddenlyshewasagainkeepinghalfadozendatesadaywithhalfadozenmen,anddrowsingasleepatdawnwiththebeadsandchiffonofanevening-dresstangledamongdyingorchidsonthefloorbesideherbed.Andallthetimesomethingwithinherwascryingforadecision.Shewantedherlifeshapednow,immediately—andthedecisionmustbemadebysomeforce—oflove,ofmoney,ofunquestionablepracticality—thatwascloseathand. ThatforcetookshapeinthemiddleofspringwiththearrivalofTomBuchanan.Therewasawholesomebulkinessabouthispersonandhisposition,andDaisywasflattered.Doubtlesstherewasacertainstruggleandacertainrelief.TheletterreachedGatsbywhilehewasstillatOxford. ItwasdawnnowonLongIslandandwewentaboutopeningtherestofthewindowsdownstairs,fillingthehousewithgrey-turning,gold-turninglight.Theshadowofatreefellabruptlyacrossthedewandghostlybirdsbegantosingamongtheblueleaves.Therewasaslow,pleasantmovementintheair,scarcelyawind,promisingacool,lovelyday. “Idon’tthinksheeverlovedhim.”Gatsbyturnedaroundfromawindowandlookedatmechallengingly.“Youmustremember,oldsport,shewasveryexcitedthisafternoon.Hetoldherthosethingsinawaythatfrightenedher—thatmadeitlookasifIwassomekindofcheapsharper.Andtheresultwasshehardlyknewwhatshewassaying.” Hesatdowngloomily. “Ofcourseshemighthavelovedhimjustforaminute,whentheywerefirstmarried—andlovedmemoreeventhen,doyousee?” Suddenlyhecameoutwithacuriousremark. “Inanycase,”hesaid,“itwasjustpersonal.” Whatcouldyoumakeofthat,excepttosuspectsomeintensityinhisconceptionoftheaffairthatcouldn’tbemeasured? HecamebackfromFrancewhenTomandDaisywerestillontheirweddingtrip,andmadeamiserablebutirresistiblejourneytoLouisvilleonthelastofhisarmypay.Hestayedthereaweek,walkingthestreetswheretheirfootstepshadclickedtogetherthroughtheNovembernightandrevisitingtheout-of-the-wayplacestowhichtheyhaddriveninherwhitecar.JustasDaisy’shousehadalwaysseemedtohimmoremysteriousandgaythanotherhouses,sohisideaofthecityitself,eventhoughshewasgonefromit,waspervadedwithamelancholybeauty. Heleftfeelingthatifhehadsearchedharder,hemighthavefoundher—thathewasleavingherbehind.Theday-coach—hewaspennilessnow—washot.Hewentouttotheopenvestibuleandsatdownonafolding-chair,andthestationslidawayandthebacksofunfamiliarbuildingsmovedby.Thenoutintothespringfields,whereayellowtrolley