Великий Гэтсби / The Great Gatsby. Френсис Скотт Фицджеральд

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СКАЧАТЬ stood up into the room.

      “You see,” Daisy told Miss Baker. “I’ve been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.”

      I looked at Miss Baker, I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender girl, with an erect carriage[8]. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.

      “You live in West Egg,” she remarked contemptuously. “I know somebody there.”

      “I don’t know a single—”

      “You must know Gatsby.”

      “Gatsby?” demanded Daisy. “What Gatsby?”

      Before I could reply that he was my neighbour dinner was announced. Tom Buchanan took me from the room. We went out.

      The two young women preceded us toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table.

      “Why candles?” objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. “In two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.”

      She looked at us all radiantly.

      “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.”

      “Let’s plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table.

      “All right,” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan?” She turned to me helplessly. “What do people plan?”

      Before I could answer Daisy showed her little finger.

      “Look!” she complained. “I hurt it.”

      We all looked—the finger was black and blue.

      “You did it, Tom,” she said. “I know you didn’t mean to but you DID do it. Why did I marry such a man!”

      She and Miss Baker accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained.

      “I feel uncivilized with you, Daisy,” I said.

      “Civilization’s going to pieces,” said Tom violently. “If we don’t look out the white race will be submerged. It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.”

      “Tom is becoming a wise man,” said Daisy with an expression of sadness. “He reads clever books with long words in them. What was that word…”

      “Well, these books are all scientific,” insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. “We, the dominant race, must watch out or these other races will have control of things.”

      “If you lived in California—” began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her.

      “This idea is that we—I, you, and you—we’ve produced all the things that go to make civilization—oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?”

      There was something pathetic in his words. Suddenly the telephone rang and Tom left.

      Daisy leaned toward me.

      “I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a—of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn’t he?” She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation: “An absolute rose?”

      This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. Then she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.

      Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance devoid of meaning.

      “This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor,” I said.

      “Don’t talk. I want to hear what happens.”

      “Is something happening?” I inquired innocently.

      “Don’t you know?” said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. “I thought everybody knew.”

      “I don’t.”

      “Tom’s got some woman in New York,” said Miss Baker.

      “Got some woman?” I repeated.

      Miss Baker nodded.

      “She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don’t you think?”

      Tom and Daisy were back at the table.

      Daisy sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and said: “I looked outdoors for a minute and it’s very romantic outdoors. There’s a bird on the lawn, I think, a nightingale. He’s singing so sweetly! It’s romantic, isn’t it, Tom?”

      “Very romantic,” he said, and then to me: “After dinner I want to show you my horses.”

      The telephone rang inside, and Daisy shook her head decisively. The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker went into the library, while I followed Daisy around the house. Then we sat down side by side on a bench.

      Daisy took her face in her hands.

      “We don’t know each other very well, Nick,” said Daisy. “Even if we are cousins. You didn’t come to my wedding.”

      “I wasn’t back from the war.”

      “That’s true.” She hesitated. “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, and I’m pretty cynical about everything.”

      I waited but she didn’t say any more, and after a moment I decided to talk about her daughter.

      “I suppose she talks, and—eats, and everything.”

      “Oh, yes.” She looked at me absently. “Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?”

      “Very much.”

      “Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. ‘All right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool—that’s the best thing for a girl in this world, a beautiful little fool.”

      “You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow,” she went on. “Everybody thinks so—the most advanced people. And I KNOW. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.”

      Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat on the long couch and she read aloud to him from the newspaper.

      When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand.

      “To be continued,” she said, tossing the magazine on the table. She stood up.

      “Ten o’clock,” she remarked. “Time for this good girl to go to bed.”

      “Jordan’s going to play at Westchester tomorrow,” explained Daisy.

      “Oh—you’re Jordan Baker!”

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