IX
關燈
小
中
大
egramsignedHenryC.GatzarrivedfromatowninMinnesota.Itsaidonlythatthesenderwasleavingimmediatelyandtopostponethefuneraluntilhecame.
ItwasGatsby’sfather,asolemnoldman,veryhelplessanddismayed,bundledupinalongcheapulsteragainstthewarmSeptemberday.Hiseyesleakedcontinuouslywithexcitement,andwhenItookthebagandumbrellafromhishandshebegantopullsoincessantlyathissparsegreybeardthatIhaddifficultyingettingoffhiscoat.Hewasonthepointofcollapse,soItookhimintothemusic-roomandmadehimsitdownwhileIsentforsomethingtoeat.Buthewouldn’teat,andtheglassofmilkspilledfromhistremblinghand.
“IsawitintheChicagonewspaper,”hesaid.“ItwasallintheChicagonewspaper.Istartedrightaway.”
“Ididn’tknowhowtoreachyou.”
Hiseyes,seeingnothing,movedceaselesslyabouttheroom.
“Itwasamadman,”hesaid.“Hemusthavebeenmad.”
“Wouldn’tyoulikesomecoffee?”Iurgedhim.
“Idon’twantanything.I’mallrightnow,Mr.—”
“Carraway.”
“Well,I’mallrightnow.WherehavetheygotJimmy?”
Itookhimintothedrawing-room,wherehissonlay,andlefthimthere.SomelittleboyshadcomeuponthestepsandwerelookingintothehallwhenItoldthemwhohadarrived,theywentreluctantlyaway.
AfteralittlewhileMr.Gatzopenedthedoorandcameout,hismouthajar,hisfaceflushedslightly,hiseyesleakingisolatedandunpunctualtears.Hehadreachedanagewheredeathnolongerhasthequalityofghastlysurprise,andwhenhelookedaroundhimnowforthefirsttimeandsawtheheightandsplendourofthehallandthegreatroomsopeningoutfromitintootherrooms,hisgriefbegantobemixedwithanawedpride.IhelpedhimtoabedroomupstairswhilehetookoffhiscoatandvestItoldhimthatallarrangementshadbeendeferreduntilhecame.
“Ididn’tknowwhatyou’dwant,Mr.Gatsby—”
“Gatzismyname.”
“—Mr.Gatz.IthoughtyoumightwanttotakethebodyWest.”
Heshookhishead.
“JimmyalwayslikeditbetterdownEast.HeroseuptohispositionintheEast.Wereyouafriendofmyboy’s,Mr.—?”
“Wewereclosefriends.”
“Hehadabigfuturebeforehim,youknow.Hewasonlyayoungman,buthehadalotofbrainpowerhere.”
Hetouchedhisheadimpressively,andInodded.
“Ifhe’doflived,he’dofbeenagreatman.AmanlikeJamesJ.Hill.He’dofhelpedbuildupthecountry.”
“That’strue,”Isaid,uncomfortably.
Hefumbledattheembroideredcoverlet,tryingtotakeitfromthebed,andlaydownstiffly—wasinstantlyasleep.
Thatnightanobviouslyfrightenedpersoncalledup,anddemandedtoknowwhoIwasbeforehewouldgivehisname.
“ThisisMr.Carraway,”Isaid.
“Oh!”Hesoundedrelieved.“ThisisKlipspringer.”
Iwasrelievedtoo,forthatseemedtopromiseanotherfriendatGatsby’sgrave.Ididn’twantittobeinthepapersanddrawasightseeingcrowd,soI’dbeencallingupafewpeoplemyself.Theywerehardtofind.
“Thefuneral’stomorrow,”Isaid.“Threeo’clock,hereatthehouse.Iwishyou’dtellanybodywho’dbeinterested.”
“Oh,Iwill,”hebrokeouthastily.“OfcourseI’mnotlikelytoseeanybody,butifIdo.”
Histonemademesuspicious.
“Ofcourseyou’llbethereyourself.”
“Well,I’llcertainlytry.WhatIcalledupaboutis—”
“Waitaminute,”Iinterrupted.“Howaboutsayingyou’llcome?”
“Well,thefactis—thetruthofthematteristhatI’mstayingwithsomepeopleuphereinGreenwich,andtheyratherexpectmetobewiththemtomorrow.Infact,there’sasortofpicnicorsomething.OfcourseI’lldomybesttogetaway.”
Iejaculatedanunrestrained“Huh!”andhemusthaveheardme,forhewentonnervously:
“WhatIcalledupaboutwasapairofshoesIleftthere.Iwonderifit’dbetoomuchtroubletohavethebutlersendthemon.Yousee,they’retennisshoes,andI’msortofhelplesswithoutthem.MyaddressiscareofB.F.—”
Ididn’theartherestofthename,becauseIhungupthereceiver.
AfterthatIfeltacertainshameforGatsby—onegentlemantowhomItelephonedimpliedthathehadgotwhathedeserved.However,thatwasmyfault,forhewasoneofthosewhousedtosneermostbitterlyatGatsbyonthecourageofGatsby’sliquor,andIshouldhaveknownbetterthantocallhim.
ThemorningofthefuneralIwentuptoNewYorktoseeMeyerWolfshiemIcouldn’tseemtoreachhimanyotherway.ThedoorthatIpushedopen,ontheadviceofanelevatorboy,wasmarked“TheSwastikaHoldingCompany,”andatfirsttheredidn’tseemtobeanyoneinside.ButwhenI’dshouted“hello”severaltimesinvain,anargumentbrokeoutbehindapartition,andpresentlyalovelyJewessappearedataninteriordoorandscrutinizedmewithblackhostileeyes.
“Nobody’sin,”shesaid.“Mr.Wolfshiem’sgonetoChicago.”
Thefirstpartofthiswasobviouslyuntrue,forsomeonehadbeguntowhistle“TheRosary,”tunelessly,inside.
“PleasesaythatMr.Carrawaywantstoseehim.”
“Ican’tgethimbackfromChicago,canI?”
Atthismomentavoice,unmistakablyWolfshiem’s,called“Stella!”fromtheothersideofthedoor.
“Leaveyournameonthedesk,”shesaidquickly.“I’llgiveittohimwhenhegetsback.”
“ButIknowhe’sthere.”
Shetookasteptowardmeandbegantoslideherhandsindignantlyupanddownherhips.
“Youyoungmenthinkyoucanforceyourwayinhereanytime,”shescolded.“We’regettingsickantiredofit.WhenIsayhe’sinChicago,he’sinChicago
