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The Great GatsbyF. Scott Fitzgerald

The Great Gatsby

During one hot summer on Long Island, Jay Gatsby throws an amazing party every weekend. He is an extremely wealthy man, although no one knows where he or his money have come from. But Gatsby has a purpose: he is following a dream of love. Will his dream come true?

Penguin Readers are simplif ied texts which provide a step-by-step approach to the joys of reading for pleasure.

Classic British English

Number of words (excluding activities): 23,783

Cover illustration by © Mary Evans Picture LibraryT

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TT FITZGE

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9781405865173_CVR.indd 1 10/30/10 10:26:19 AM

Pearson Education Lim itedEdinburgh Gate, Harlow,

Essex CM 20 2JE, England and Associated Companies throughout the world.

ISBN: 978-1-4058-6517-3

First published in the Longman Fiction Series 1993 This adaptation first published in 1996 First published by Penguin Books 2000

This edition published 2008

3 5 7 9 10 8 6 4 2

Text copyright © Penguin Books Ltd 2000 This edition copyright © Pearson Education Ltd 2008

Typeset by Graphicraft Ltd, H ong Kong Set in 11/14pt Bembo

Printed in China SW T C /02

A ll rights reserved; no part o f this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,

electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherurise, without the prior written permission o f the Publishers.

Published by Pearson Education Ltd in association w ith Penguin Books Ltd, both companies being subsidiaries o f Pearson Pic

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Contents

page

In troduction V

C hapter 1 W est Egg and East Egg 1

C hapter 2 M rs W ilson 11

C hapter 3 M eeting M r Gatsby 16

C hapter 4 Gatsby and Daisy 25

C hap ter 5 T he Tea Party 33

C hapter 6 Gatsby’s Party 41

C hap ter 7 A H o t A fternoon 49

C hap ter 8 A ccident 59

C hap ter 9 M urder 63

C hap ter 10 Saying G oodbye 71

Activities 80

Introduction

‘They’re no good, any of them!’ I shouted across the lawn, and I meant Tom and Daisy, and all o f Gatsby’s fashionable friends’. ‘You’re worth the whole lot o f them!’

W hat is any m an or w om an w orth? T hat is a question that some o f the characters in The Great Gatsby struggle w ith and others simply ignore.

At the beginning o f the novel Jay Gatsby is a mysterious character. N o one knows w here he has com e from, how he has made his fortune or w hy he has bought an expensive house in West Egg on Long Island. B ut everyone seems to appear every w eekend at the brilliant parties at his grand house.

N ick Carraway is the storyteller and he connects East and West Egg for us. H e is Gatsby’s neighbour, and he know s Tom and Daisy B uchanan from East Egg, the m ost fashionable place to live on Long Island. N ick him self comes from a wealthy M idw estern family and looks at life on the east coast through the eyes o f an outsider. His description o f two very different worlds com ing together gives us an idea o f w hat life was like in the U n ited States in the 1920s.

B ut w hy are these tw o worlds throw n together? T h e Buchanans have little interest in anyone outside their circle o f rich, fashionable friends; they do no t attend Gatsby’s parties. B ut Gatsby is in West Egg for a purpose w hich involves the Buchanans. H e has com e to Long Island to find Daisy and to claim her.

A bout five years earlier, Gatsby and Daisy had a love affair, but Gatsby did no t have enough to offer a girl like Daisy. T hey w ent their separate ways, and Gatsby w orked hard to change him self in to the kind o f m an that Daisy’s w orld could accept. N ow he has com e to find her, to tell her that he loves her and to take her

v

away w ith him .W ill Gatsby’s dream com e true? W ill Daisy leave Tom and give

up everything she has to be w ith Gatsby? W ill the tw o worlds com e together th rough them?

Francis Scott Key Fitzgerald was b o rn in M innesota in 1896. T he tw o different sides o f his family helped to shape him in to the k ind o f w rite r he became. Like m any o f the characters in The Great Gatsby, his father, Edward, came from a wealthy upper- class family. In fact, M r Fitzgerald nam ed his son after a distant cousin, Francis Scott Key, the m an w ho w rote ‘T h e Star-Spangled B anner’ the national song, show ing by this that the Fitzgeralds came from traditional, A m erican roots. In contrast to the highly respected Fitzgeralds, Francis Scott’s m other, M ollie M cQ uillan, came from a family o f p o o r Irish farm ers, bu t in the U S her father, like the G reat Gatsby himself, achieved the A m erican D ream and, th rough hard w ork, becam e a wealthy shop owner.

W h en his ow n business failed in 1908, Edw ard Fitzgerald m oved his family back to M innesota and lived on the m oney that M ollies father had left her. F. Scott Fitzgerald understood the advantages o f an upper-class background as well as the advantages o f having a lo t o f money, even if it had to be earned. In his w riting , especially in 1'he Great Gatsby, he tries to answer the question o f w hat actually defines a person.

By the tim e he entered P rinceton U niversity in 1913, the young Fitzgerald already knew that he w anted to be a w riter. H e was well suited for this profession because, as he said himself, he had a strongly rom antic im agination and was very sensitive to the promises o f life. H e was a leading m em ber o f a group o f P rinceton students w h o were interested in literature, art and the theatre. U nfortunately, he w rote plays and short stories instead o f studying for exams. H e left P rinceton without his degree in 1917, and jo in ed the arm y for the last two years o f the World War

VI

I. Believing that he w ould die in battle, Fitzgerald quickly w rote his first novel.

In June 1918, the arm y sent Fitzgerald to Alabama, and he fell deeply in love w ith eighteen-year-old Zelda Sayre. T he love betw een Fitzgerald and Zelda shaped their lives and eventually dam aged bo th o f them . B ut in 1918, Zelda refused to m arry Fitzgerald because he had no money.

Fitzgerald w ent to N ew York, bu t after failing to make his fortune he retu rned to M innesota and re-w rote his novel. This Side o f Paradise, about a young m an’s search for financial success and rom antic happiness, came ou t in 1920 and was im m ediately successful.

T he novel made Fitzgerald rich and famous. His short stories soon appeared in the m ost fashionable magazines as well as in m ore serious ones. H e was then able to m arry Zelda, and the couple becam e know n as the prince and princess o f high society, according to the celebrated journalist and novelist R in g Lardner.

T h e Fitzgeralds were the m ost beautiful and m ost fashionable A m erican couple o f the 1920s. T he ir lifestyle defined the age they lived in. T hey spent m oney freely, ate in the best restaurants, w ent to the best parties, and danced and drank until dawn. T hen Fitzgerald w rote about it all. His second novel, The Beautiful and the Damned, tells the story o f a handsom e young m an and his beautiful wife and how their lives end in disaster.

To avoid his ow n path to personal disaster and to concentrate m ore on his w riting and less on his lifestyle, Fitzgerald took Zelda and the ir three-year-old daughter to France in 1924. Fitzgerald was criticized at that tim e for his heavy drinking. A lthough he insisted that he never drank w hen he was w riting , Fitzgerald’s alcoholism and Z elda’s habit o f d rinking heavily led to frequent quarrels betw een the couple. However, Fitzgerald m anaged to w rite The Great Gatsby du ring this period, and the novel appeared in A pril 1925.T he story was praised, b u t the book, w hich is based

V ll

on Fitzgerald’s ow n divided nature, was financially disappointing.T he Fitzgeralds stayed in France until the end o f 1926 and

becam e friends w ith w riters like E rnest Hemingway. B ut the period was m arked m ore by Z elda’s failing m ental health than by F. Scott Fitzgerald’s w riting. H e m ade very little progress on his fourth novel, and they re tu rned to the US to escape their exciting, bu t expensive, life in France.

Fitzgerald’s w riting still did no t go well and the family re turned to France in 1929, w here Zelda w orked hard to begin a career as a professional dancer, although she was already tw enty-n ine years o ld .T he difficult training further dam aged her health.

T hrough the 1930s, the Fitzgeralds fought an unsuccessful battle to save their m arriage. At the same tim e, Fitzgerald struggled w ith his w riting, only finishing his next novel, Tender is the Night, in 1934. Z elda’s m ental health becam e worse, and she spent the rest o f her life in and ou t o f m ental hospitals.

B etw een 1936 and 1937, Fitzgerald was ill, d runk and unable to make m uch money. H e lived in cheap hotels in N o rth Carolina to be near Z elda’s hospital and kept in contact w ith his daughter m ostly by post.

H e w ent to H ollyw ood in 1937 and began w riting for films. His salary was good enough to pay Z elda’s hospital bills, but never enough to pay for his d rink and his lifestyle. H e fell in love again, and spent his last few years w ith a film journalist called Sheilah Graham , w ho accepted his d runken nights and m ade a hom e for him . H e began his H ollyw ood novel, The Last lycoon, in 1939 but died o f a heart attack in G raham ’s apartm ent on D ecem ber 21, 1940 before he could finish it. Z elda’s life ended in a fire at a m ental hospital in 1948.

F. Scott Fitzgerald died believing that he was a failure, at life and at w riting. At the tim e o f his death, he was no t an im portant nam e in A m erican literature. B ut since 1960 he has been considered one o f A m erica’s greatest and m ost original writers.

For m any students o f literature, The Great Gatsby, w ith its exam ination o f the A m erican character, defines w hat an A m erican novel should be. B ut Fitzgerald is no t only rem em bered for his w riting. Gatsby s rich, fashionable w orld w ith beautiful people, am azing houses and exciting parties m irrored Fitzgerald’s life w ith Zelda in Paris and in the U n ited States. T he ir brilliant, but eventually disastrous, lifestyle provided the heart o f Fitzgerald’s short stories and novels and has becom e an im portan t part o f A m erican h istory If you w ant to understand the spirit o f the 1920s and 30s, w hile looking underneath the extraordinary appearance o f life in those days, Fitzgeralds w ork is a good place to start.

The Great Gatsby is one o f a group o f novels that came out o f the U n ited States after W orld W ar I and gave the w orld an idea o f w hat Am ericans were really like. M any critics consider Gatsby to be about the A m erican D ream , the optim istic belief that no m atter w hat background you com e from, if you w ork hard enough, you can get rich, find love and happiness, and even becom e president.

B ut Fitzgerald and o th er w riters in his group questioned this p icture o f the US and also began to question the m eaning o f life itself.The Great War had no t solved the w orld’s problems; instead, countries everyw here faced enorm ous financial difficulties and individuals began to w onder how to deal w ith the new century

T h e novel leaves us w ith som e im portan t questions. W hat is success? W hat is love? W h at makes a person hum an, admirable, truly wealthy? These questions and the warnings they give us about life guarantee The Great Gatsby a place in Am erican literature.Today the novel is taught in high schools and universities across the US and around the world, and four films and a play have been m ade from the story.

IX

C h ap te r 1 W est E gg and E ast E gg

Last autum n, after only six m onths in N ew York, I came back to this m idw estern city w here I grew up. T here have been Carraways living here for seventy years: the first one was my grandfathers brother, w ho came here in 1851 and started the business that my father carries on today. I never saw this great- uncle, bu t I ’m supposed to look like him .

I finished my studies at N ew Haven University in 1915, just a quarter o f a century after my father, and a little later I w ent over to E urope to take part in the Great War. I liked E urope so m uch that I came back to the U n ited States feeling restless. Instead o f being the w arm centre o f the world, the M iddle West now seem ed like its rough edge. So I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I supposed it could support one m ore single man. Father agreed to pay m y living costs for a year, and after various delays I came East in the spring o f 1922 - for ever, I thought.

I in tended to find room s in N ew York City, bu t it was the beginning o f sum m er and I had just left a country o f green lawns and friendly trees, so w hen a young m an at the office suggested that we take a house together in the country, it sounded like a great idea. H e found a small house to rent at only eighty dollars a m onth . B ut at the last m inute the firm ordered him to W ashington and I w ent ou t to the country alone. A Finnish w om an from the village cam e in to make my bed and cook my breakfast. It was lonely for a few days until one m orn in g some m an, m ore recently arrived than I, stopped m e on the road.

‘H ow do you get to West Egg village?’ he asked helplessly.I to ld him . A nd as I walked on, I was lonely no longer. I was

no t a new com er any m ore, I was a guide, a pathfinder.

1

A nd so w ith the sunshine and the great bursts o f leaves grow ing on the trees, I had the feeling that life was beginning over again w ith the sum m er.

T here was so m uch to read, for one thing. I bough t a lo t o f books about banking and m oney m atters, and they stood on my shelf in red and gold, prom ising to unfold the shining secrets o f wealth. A nd I had the in ten tion o f reading m any o ther books besides. W h en I was at college I was interested in literature, and now I was going to b ring back all such things in to my life.

By chance I had rented a house in one o f the strangest societies in N o rth Am erica. It was on Long Island, w hich stretches m ore than sixty miles east o f N ew York. B etw een Long Island and the m ainland lies a narrow part o f the sea called Long Island Sound. O n the coast, tw enty miles from the city, there are tw o unusual form ations o f land, almost exactly egg-shaped. T hey stick ou t into the Sound like a pair o f great eggs, separated by a small bay. B ut though they are so similar in shape and size, they are quite different in o th er ways.

I lived at West Egg, the less fashionable o f the two. M y little house was near the sea, betw een tw o enorm ous houses. T he one on my righ t was very grand by any standard. It was a copy o f som e French tow n hall, w ith a tow er on one side, a beautiful sw im m ing pool and a large area o f lawns and garden. I knew that a gentlem an called M r Gatsby lived there. M y ow n house was small and ugly, bu t I had a view o f the water, a view o f part o f my n e ighbour’s lawn, and the com forting nearness o f wealthy people — all for eighty dollars a m onth .

Across the bay the w hite palaces o f fashionable East Egg shone along the water. T he history o f the sum m er really begins on the day I drove over there to have dinner w ith Tom and Daisy Buchanan. Daisy was a distant relative o f m ine, and I’d know n Tom in college. A nd ju st after the war I spent tw o days w ith them in Chicago.

2

Tom was one o f the m ost pow erful football players there had ever been at N ew H aven University. His family were extrem ely wealthy. N o w h e ’d left C hicago and com e East, b ring ing his polo horses w ith him . It was hard to realize that a m an o f my ow n age was wealthy enough to do that.

I d o n ’t know w hy they came East. T hey had spent a year in France for no special reason, and then w andered here and there, w herever people played polo and were rich together. This time they were going to stay, said Daisy over the telephone, bu t I d idn’t believe it. I felt that Tom w ould keep m oving on, as if for ever searching for the excitem ent o f some long-lost football game.

A nd so it happened that on a w arm and w indy evening I drove over to East Egg to see tw o friends I hardly knew. T heir house was even grander than I had expected, a large n ineteen th - cen tury house looking ou t over the bay. T he lawn started w here the sand ended and ran all the way up to the front door. A long the front o f the house was a line o f tall w indow s, w ide open now to the w arm w ind .T om B uchanan, in rid ing clothes, was standing w ith his legs apart on the front porch.

H e had changed since his N ew Haven years. N o w he was a strongly built m an o f thirty, w ith a rather hard m outh and a scornful m anner. His rid ing clothes could no t hide the great strength o f that body — you could see the muscles m oving w hen his shoulder m oved under his th in coat. It was a body o f great pow er — a cruel body.

T he rough quality o f his speaking voice added to the effect o f bad tem per w hich he gave. T here were m en at N ew Haven who hated him . H e and I had never been close friends, bu t I always had the feeling that he approved o f me and w anted me to like him.

We talked for a few m inutes on the sunny porch.‘I’ve got a nice place here,’ he said.Turning m e around by one

arm , he po in ted a w ide, flat hand at the lawns, the rose gardens and the m otorboat tied up on the beach.

3

‘I b ough t it from D em aine, the oil m an.’ H e tu rn ed m e around again suddenly. ‘W e’ll go inside.’

W e walked through a high hallway in to a b righ t rosy-coloured room , w ith long w indow s at each end. T h e w indow s were open and shining w hite against the fresh grass outside. A w ind blew through the room , blow ing curtains in at one end and out at the o ther like pale flags, and then it m oved over the w ine-co loured floor, m aking a shadow on it as w ind does on the sea.

T h e only com pletely still object in the room was an enorm ous sofa on w hich two young w om en w ere lying. T hey were bo th in w hite, and their dresses were m oving in the w ind as if they had ju st been blow n in to the room after a short flight around the house. I stood there for a m om en t listening to the curtains blow ing. T h en Tom shut the back w indow s and the curtains and the tw o young w om en becam e still.

T he younger o f the tw o was a stranger to me. She was stretched ou t full-length at her end o f the sofa, and she d idn ’t m ove at all w hen I came in. If she saw m e ou t o f the co rner o f her eyes she gave no sign o f it.

T he o ther girl, Daisy, m ade an attem pt to rise. T hen she laughed, a lovely little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward in to the room .

‘I’m too, too happy to see you.’ She laughed again, as if she had said som ething very funny, and held m y hand for a m om ent, looking up into my face as if there was no one in the world she so m uch w anted to see. T h a t was a way she had. She told m e in a soft voice that the nam e o f the o ther girl was Baker.

N o w Miss B aker’s lips m oved a little, and she ben t her head very slightly in my direction.

M y relative began to ask m e questions in her low, exciting voice. H er face was sad and lovely w ith b righ t eyes and a beautiful m outh , bu t it was the excitem ent in her voice that m en found m ost difficult to forget.

4

I told her how I had stopped off in C hicago for a day on my way East, and how a lo t o f people there had asked m e to give her their love.

‘D o they miss m e?’ she cried happily.‘T h e w hole tow n is sad. All the cars have one w heel painted

black.’‘H ow wonderful! L et’s go back, Tom. Tom orrow !’ T h en she

added to me, ‘You ought to see the baby.’‘I’d like to.’‘She’s asleep. She’s three years old. H aven’t you ever seen her?’ ‘Never.’‘Well.You ought to see her. She’s—’Tom B uchanan, w ho had been m oving restlessly around the

room , stopped and placed his hand on my shoulder.‘W hat are you doing at the m om ent, N ick?’‘I sell bonds.’‘W h o do you w ork for?’I told him .‘N ever heard o f them ,’ he said firmly.This annoyed me. ‘You will hear o f them ,’ I answered.A t this po in t Miss Baker suddenly came to life, and stood up.

‘I’m stiff,’ she com plained .‘I’ve been lying on that sofa for as long as I can rem em ber.’

‘D o n ’t blam e me,’ Daisy said. ‘I’ve been try ing to get you to N ew York all afternoon.’

T h e bu tler b rough t in som e drinks, and offered them tous.

‘N o, thanks,’ said Miss Baker. ‘I’m in training.’Tom looked at her in disbelief. ‘You are?’ H e drank dow n his

d rink as if it were a drop in the b o tto m o f the glass. ‘I do n ’t understand how you ever get anything done.’

I looked at Miss Baker, w ondering w hat it was she ‘got done’. I enjoyed looking at her. H er grey eyes looked back at m e w ith

5

polite interest ou t o f a pale, interesting face. I realized now that I had seen her, o r a p icture o f her, som ew here before.

‘You live in West Egg,’ she said. ‘I know som ebody there.’‘I d o n ’t know a s in g le -’‘You m ust know Gatsby.’Before I could reply that he was my neighbour, the butler

came in to tell us that d inner was ready. Tom pu t his hand under m y arm and m oved m e from the room .

T he tw o young w om en w ent ou t before us onto a rosy- coloured porch, open towards the sunset, w here a table was laid for dinner. T here was less w ind now.

‘In tw o weeks i t’ll be the longest day in the year,’ said Daisy. She looked at us all brightly. ‘D o you always w atch for the longest day o f the year and then miss it? I always w atch for the longest day o f the year and then miss it.’

‘W e ough t to plan som ething,’ said Miss Baker in a tired voice, sitting dow n at the table as if she w ere getting in to bed. She and Daisy talked together, in a m anner that was as cool as their w hite dresses. T hey were here, and they accepted Tom and me, m aking only a polite effort to en tertain or to be entertained. T hey knew that soon dinner w ould be over and a little later the evening too w ould be over and carelessly pu t away. It was sharply different from the West, w here an evening was h u rried th rough its various stages.

‘You make m e feel uncivilized, Daisy,’ I adm itted. ‘C an ’t you talk about crops o r som ething?’

This rem ark had a strange effect on Tom.‘Civilization is breaking dow n!’ he burst out. ‘Have you read

The Rise o f the Coloured Empires ? ’‘W hy, no,’ I answered, surprised.‘Well, it’s a fine book , and everybody ough t to read it. It says

that if we d o n ’t loo k ou t the w hite race will be pushed under by the coloured races.’

6

‘T om ’s getting very serious,’ said Daisy ‘H e reads deep books w ith long words in them .’

‘Well, these books are all scientific,’ said Tom. ‘This person has w orked ou t the w hole thing. O u r race has produced all the things that make up civilization - oh, science and art and all that. A nd if we d o n ’t watch out, these o ther races will take control o f things. D o you see?’

At this m om ent the telephone rang and the bu tler w ent to answer it. H e came back and said som ething close to T om ’s ear. Tom looked annoyed, and w ithou t a w ord he w ent inside.

Daisy leaned forward.‘I love to see you at m y table, N ick. You rem ind m e o f a — o f a

rose. D oesn ’t he?’ She tu rn ed to Miss Baker.This was untrue. I am no t even a little like a rose. She was

saying the first th ing that came into her head — bu t a w arm th flowed from her, and her voice was exciting. T hen suddenly she excused herself and w ent in to the house.

Miss Baker and I looked at each other. I was about to speak w hen she sat up and said ,‘Ssshh!’ We could hear Tom talking on the telephone inside, bu t we cou ldn’t hear w hat he was saying. Miss Baker leaned forward, try ing to hear. T hen the voice stopped.

‘This M r Gatsby you spoke o f is m y ne ighbour—’ I began. ‘D o n ’t talk. I w ant to hear w hat happens.’‘Is som ething happening?’ I inquired.‘You m ean to say you d o n ’t know ?’ said Miss B aker.‘I thought

everybody knew.’‘I d o n ’t.’‘W hy — T om ’s got som e w om an in N ew York.’‘G o t som e w om an?’ I repeated stupidly ‘Yes. She shouldn’t telephone h im at d inner tim e, though.’ A lm ost before I had understood her m eaning, Tom and Daisy

were back at the table. I avoided looking at their eyes.

7

A few m inutes later we got up from the table, and Tom and Miss Baker w andered inside. I followed Daisy to the front porch, w here we sat dow n.

Daisy looked o u t in to the darkening garden.‘We d o n ’t know each o ther very well, N ick,’ she said. ‘Even if

we are relatives.You d id n ’t com e to m y w edding.’‘I wasn’t back from the war.’‘T h a t’s true.’ She paused .‘Well, I ’ve had a very bad time, N ick,

and I feel pretty hopeless about everything.’Obviously she had reason to be. I waited, bu t she d idn’t say any

m ore. I began rather weakly to question her about her daughter.‘I suppose she talks, and - eats, and everything.’‘O h , yes.’ She looked at me. ‘Listen, N ick: let me tell you w hat

I said w hen she was born . W ould you like to hear?’‘Very m uch.’‘It’ll show you how I feel about - things. Well, I asked the

nurse righ t away if it was a boy or a girl. She to ld m e it was a girl, and so I tu rned m y head away and cried. “All right,” I said, “ I ’m glad it’s a girl. A nd I hope she’ll be a fool - th a t’s the best th ing a girl can be in this w orld, a beautiful little fool.” ’

‘You see, I th ink everything’s terrible,’ she w ent on. ‘Everybody thinks so - the cleverest people. A nd I know. I’ve been everyw here and seen everything and done everything.’

As soon as her voice stopped, I felt the basic insincerity o f w hat she had said. It w orried me. I w aited and, sure enough, in a m om en t she looked at m e w ith a smile o f satisfaction on her lovely face — she was pleased to th ink that she and Tom belonged to this small group o f ‘clever people’ w ho knew so m uch about the ways o f the w orld.

♦

Inside, the rose-red room was full o f light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end o f the long sofa, and she read ou t loud to h im

8

from the Saturday Evening Post. W h en we came in she stopped reading and stood up.

‘Ten o ’clock,’ she said .‘T im e for this good girl to go to bed.’ ‘Jo rdan ’s going to play in the m atch tom orrow ,’ explained

Daisy,‘over at W estchester.’‘O h - y o u ’re Jordan Baker.’I knew now w hy her face was familiar — she was a well-

know n go lf player. H er face had looked ou t at m e from many photographs o f the sporting life at H o t Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story about her too, an unpleasant story, but I had forgotten w hat it was.

‘G ood night,’ she said. ‘Wake m e at eight, w o n ’t you.’‘If yo u ’ll get up.’‘I will. G ood night, M r Carraway. See you soon.’ She w ent up

the stairs.‘O f course you will,’ said Daisy. ‘In fact I th ink I’ll arrange a

m arriage. C om e over often, N ick, and I’ll sort o f — oh, throw you together.’

‘She’s a nice girl,’ said Tom after a m om ent. ‘T hey o u g h tn ’t to let her run around the coun try this way.’

‘W h o o u g h tn ’t to?’ inquired Daisy coldly.‘H er family.’‘H er family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides,

N ick ’s going to look after her, aren’t you, Nick? She’s going to spend lots o f weekends ou t here this sum m er.’

‘Is she from N ew York?’ I asked.‘From Louisville, m y hom e tow n. We were girls together.’A few m inutes later I got up to go hom e. T hey came to the

door w ith m e and stood side by side in a cheerful square o f light. As I started my m otor, Daisy called: ‘Wait! I forgot to ask you som ething. We heard you were engaged to m arry a girl ou t West.’

‘T h a t’s right,’ Tom agreed .‘We heard that you were engaged.’ ‘It’s no t true. I’m too poor.’

9

‘B u t we heard it,’ Daisy repeated. ‘We heard it from three people, so it m ust be true.’

O f course I knew w hat they w ere talking about. T h e fact that people were saying I was engaged was one o f the reasons I had com e East. You can’t stop going w ith an o ld friend because people are talking, and on the o ther hand I had no in tention o f being talked in to m arriage.

T h e ir interest rather touched me. But as I drove away I felt confused about Daisy and Tom, and a little disgusted. It seem ed to m e that the th ing for Daisy to do in this situation was to rush ou t o f the house w ith her child in her arms. As for Tom, the fact that he ‘had som e w om an in N ew Y ork’ was really less surprising than that he had been upset by a book . H e had never been co n cern ed 'w ith the w orld o f books and ideas, and d idn’t know how to deal wTith them .

W h en I reached my house in W est Egg, I pu t the car in the garage and sat for a w hile in the yard. T he w ind had dropped, leaving a bright, m oonlit night. T h e dark shape o f a m oving cat w andered across the m oonlight, and, tu rn ing my head to watch it, I saw that I was no t alone. Twenty yards away a figure had com e ou t from the shadow o f my ne ighbour’s house, and was standing w ith his hands in his pockets looking up at the stars. Som ething in the way he stood suggested that it was M r Gatsby himself.

I decided to call to him . Miss Baker had m entioned him at dinner, and that w ould do for an in troduction. B u t I d idn’t call to him , for suddenly he did som ething w hich showed he was glad to be alone - he stretched ou t his arms towards the dark water, and, as far as I was from him , I could have sworn he was trem bling. I looked towards the sea myself, and could see no th ing except a single green light, very small and far away, on the coast o f East Egg. W h en I looked once m ore for Gatsby he had gone, and I was alone again in the darkness.

1 0

C h ap te r 2 M rs W ilson

A bout halfway betw een W est Egg and N ew York, the m o to r road jo ins the railroad and runs beside it a short way to avoid an area o f low ground w hich is being filled in w ith ashes. This grey land is always covered in clouds o f dust, in w hich ash-grey m en are w orking w ith spades on the piles o f ash.

Above the dust you see an enorm ous pair o f eyes, painted on a big board beside the road. Below the eyes is the nam e D octor T .J . Eckleburg. T h e eyes o f D r T .J . Eckleburg look ou t o f no face but, instead, from a pair o f large, yellow glasses. I supposed that D r Eckleburg had m oved away from this unprom ising area, leaving his advertisem ent behind him.

T he train stops here, and it was because o f this that I first m et Tom B uchanans lover.

T h e fact that he had one was m en tioned by everyone w ho knew him . His friends did no t approve o f the way he brough t her w ith him to popular cafes, as if to show her o ff to the world. T hough I was interested to see her, I had no desire to m eet her — bu t I did. I w ent up to N ew York w ith Tom on the train one Sunday afternoon, and w hen we stopped by the ash piles he ju m p ed to his feet.

‘W e’re getting off,’ he insisted.‘I w ant you to m eet my girl.’ H e took hold o f my arm and forced m e from the train.

W e walked back along the road, under the fixed stare o f D o c to r Eckleburg. T he only building in sight was a small block o f yellow brick sitting on the edge o f the wasteland. O n e o f the three shops it contained was em pty; another was an all-night cafe, w ith lines o f ashes leading to the door. T h e th ird was a garage — Repairs. G E O R G E B .W IL SO N . Cars bought and sold.

I followed Tom into the garage. T he inside was em pty and dirty, and the only car to be seen was the dust-covered w reck o f an old Ford. T he ow ner appeared in the door o f an office. H e was

11

a pale, miserable m an, w ho could have been good-look ing if he were no t so spiritless.

‘Hello, W ilson, old m an,’ said T o m .‘H o w ’s business?’‘N o t too bad,’ said W ilson unhappily .‘W h en are you going to

sell m e that car?’‘N ex t week; I’ve got my m an w orking on it now.’Tom was looking im patiently around the garage, and in a

m om en t the thickish figure o f a w om an appeared at the office door. She was in her m id-thirties, and there was no beauty in her face or body, bu t a k ind o f animal life force w hich m ade her strangely attractive.

She smiled slowly and, ignoring her husband as if he were no t there, shook hands w ith Tom.

‘G et some chairs, so som ebody can sit dow n,’ she said to her husband, w ho hu rried in to the office.

‘I w ant to see you,’ said T o m .‘G et on the nex t train.’‘All right.’‘I’ll m eet you by the new spaper shop.’She m oved away from him ju st as G eorge W ilson came ou t o f

the office w ith tw o chairs.We waited for her dow n the road and out o f sight.‘Terrible place, isn’t it?’ said T om .‘It does her good to get away. I

rent an apartm ent in town for her, w here I m eet her sometimes.’‘D oesn ’t her husband m ind?’‘Wilson? H e thinks she goes to see her sister in N ew York.

H e ’s so stupid h e ’ll believe anything.’So Tom B uchanan, his girl and I w ent up together to N ew

York - no t quite together, for M rs W ilson sat in another part o f the train.

At the new spaper shop she bough t a film magazine, and in the station drugstore som e face cream. O utside the station we got in to a taxi and drove off.

B ut im m ediately she stopped the taxi.

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‘I w ant to get one o f those dogs,’ she said. ‘I w ant to get one for the apartm ent. T h ey ’re nice to have - a dog.’

We stopped beside an old m an w ith a basket full o f very young dogs w hich he was selling.

‘W hat k ind are they?’ asked M rs W ilson.‘All k inds.W hat k ind do you want, lady?’‘I’d like to get one o f those police dogs; I d o n ’t suppose you

got that kind?’T he m an looked doubtfully in to the basket and pulled up one

o f the animals by the back o f the neck.‘T h a t’s no police dog,’ said Tom.‘N o, it’s no t exactly a police dog,’ said the man.‘I th ink it’s sweet,’ said M rs W ilson .‘H ow m uch is it?’‘T h a t dog?’ H e looked at it admiringly. ‘T hat dog will cost you

ten dollars.’‘Is it a boy or a girl?’ she asked delicately.‘T h a t dog? T hat dog’s a boy.’‘It’s a female,’ said Tom firmly. ‘H ere’s your money. G o and buy

ten m ore dogs w ith it.’T h e dog changed hands and settled dow n on M rs W ilson’s

knee. W e drove over to Fifth Avenue, w here I w anted to get out, bu t they b o th insisted that I go w ith them .

‘I ’ll call up my sister C atherine,’ said M rs W ilson, ‘and M r and M rs M cKee from the apartm ent below.’

T h e apartm ent was on 158th Street. We w ent up to the top floor, and M rs W ilson proudly opened the door. T h e small living room was filled w ith highly decorated furniture that was m uch too large for it.

M rs W ilson sent a boy ou t to get some m ilk and dog food and a box for the dog, w hile Tom brough t ou t a bottle o f whisky from a locked cupboard.

Sitting on T om ’s knee, M rs W ilson telephoned her sister and the M cKees, and invited them up. T h en there were no cigarettes,

13

and I w ent ou t to buy some at the drugstore on the corner. W h en I came back they had both disappeared, so I sat dow n in the living room and w aited. T hey cam e ou t o f the bedroom just before the guests began to arrive.

I have been d runk ju st tw ice in m y life, and the second tim e was that evening. So I d o n ’t have too clear a m em ory o f m ost o f the conversation. I rem em ber that M rs M cK ee had a loud, unpleasant voice, and her husband d id n ’t say m uch.

T h e sister C atherine was an attractive girl o f about thirty, w ho seem ed to know rather m ore o f the w orld than M rs W ilson. She sat dow n beside m e on the sofa.

‘D o you live dow n on Long Island like Tom ?’ she inquired.‘I live at West Egg.’‘Really? I was dow n there at a party about a m o n th ago. It was

given by a m an nam ed Gatsby. D o you know him ?’‘I live next door to him .’‘Well, they say h e ’s a relative o f K ing W ilhelm o f G erm any

T h a t’s w here all his m oney comes from .’‘R eally?’ I d idn’t find this easy to believe.Catherine was looking at Tom and Mrs W ilson. ‘M yrtle and

Tom look good together, do n ’t they?’ She leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: ‘You know, they both hate the people they’re m arried to .They ought to get a divorce and m arry each other!’

I d id n ’t answer, bu t she w ent on: ‘I t’s really his wife th a t’s keeping them apart. S he’s a Catholic, and they d o n ’t believe in divorce.’

Daisy was no t a Catholic, and I was a little shocked at Tom ’s lie.As the evening w ent on, the bottle o f whisky - a second one -

was in frequent dem and by everybody except C atherine, w ho ‘felt ju st as good on noth ing at all’. Tom sent ou t for some sandwiches, w hich were a com plete supper in themselves. I w anted to get ou t and walk towards the park as darkness fell, but each tim e I tried to go I becam e caught up in some wild, loud

14

argum ent. T h en M yrtle pulled her chair close to m ine, and suddenly poured over m e the story o f her first m eeting w ith Tom.

‘I was on the train going up to N ew York to see my sister, and he was sitting facing me. H e had on a nice suit and a w hite shirt, and I cou ldn’t keep my eyes o ff him , bu t every tim e I looked at him I had to pretend to be looking at the advertisem ent over his head. W hen we came in to the station, he was next to m e and his body was pressing against me. So I told h im I’d have to call a policem an, bu t he knew I d id n ’t m ean it. W hen I got into a taxi w ith h im I was so excited, I kept thinking, over and over, “You can’t live for ever, you can’t live for ever” .’

It was nine o ’clock - alm ost im m ediately afterwards I looked at m y w atch and found it was ten. T h e little dog was sitting on the table looking blindly th rough the smoke. Tom and Mrs W ilson stood face to face discussing w hether M rs W ilson had any righ t to m ention Daisy’s name.

‘Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!’ shouted M rs W ilson .‘I’ll say it w henever I w ant to! Daisy! Dai—!’

M aking a short, sharp m ovem ent,T om broke her nose w ith his open hand.

T here was blood and confusion every where. W hile C atherine and M rs M cKee were com forting M yrtle and shouting at Tom, M r M cKee and I slipped ou t o f the room and away.

15

C h ap te r 3 M eeting M r G atsby

T here was music from m y neighbour’s house through the sum m er nights. In his blue gardens m en and girls came and w ent, floating am ong the w hisperings and the cham pagne and the stars. In the afternoon, by the shore, I w atched his guests sw im m ing in the Sound, or lying in the sun on the ho t sand, o r riding in his tw o m otorboats.

At weekends his big, open car becam e a bus, carrying groups o f people to and from the city betw een nine in the m orn ing and long past m idnight, w hile his second car m et all the trains at the station. A nd on M ondays, eight servants, including the gardener, w orked all day to repair the damage from the n ight before. Every Friday, five boxes o f fruit arrived from a shop in N ew York — every M onday, the same fruit left his back door in a pile o f em pty halves.

A bout once in tw o weeks there was a really big party. T he trees were all covered in coloured lights and a dance floor was laid dow n on the lawn; a big group o f musicians came dow n from N ew York to play music for dancing. W onderful food arrived, w ith lots o f waiters to serve it, and in the m ain hall a bar was set up, serving every possible kind o f alcoholic drink. I rem em ber the sense o f excitem ent at the beginning o f the party.

By seven o ’clock the last swim m ers have com e in from the beach and are dressing upstairs; cars from N ew York are arriving every m inute, and already the halls and sitting room s are full o f girls in b righ t dresses w ith the newest, strangest hairstyles. Waiters are floating through the garden outside w ith an endless supply o f drinks, until the air is alive w ith talk and laughter.

T h e lights grow brigh ter as darkness falls, and now the musicians are playing dance music and the voices are h igher and louder. Laughter is easier m inute by m inute. T h e party has begun.

♦

16

I believe that on the first n ight I w ent to Gatsby’s house I was one o f the few guests w ho had actually received an invitation. People w ere no t invited — they w ent there. T hey got into cars w hich carried them ou t to Long Island, and som ehow they ended up at Gatsby’s door. O nce they were there, they were in troduced to Gatsby by som eone w ho knew him . Som etim es they came and w ent w ith o u t having m et Gatsby at all.

I had been actually invited. A driver in a pale blue uniform crossed my lawn early that Saturday m orn ing w ith a surprisingly form al no te from his employer: the h o n o u r w ould be Gatsby’s, it said, if I w ould attend his ‘little party’ that night. H e had seen me several times, and had in tended to call on me, bu t som ething had always prevented it — signed Jay Gatsby.

I w ent over to his lawn a little after seven, and wandered around, feeling rather anxious am ong all these people I d idn’t know. As soon as I arrived I tried to find my host by asking various guests w here he was. B ut they stared at m e in such a surprised way that I gave up and m ade m y way to the drinks’ table - the only place in the garden w here a single m an could stand around w ithou t looking ou t o f place.

I was still there some tim e later, w hen Jordan Baker came out o f the house and stood at the top o f the steps looking dow n into the garden.

‘H ello!’ I shouted, m oving towards her.‘I thou g h t you m ight be here,’ she answered, as I came up. ‘I

rem em bered you lived nex t door t o - ’She was in terrup ted by two girls in yellow dresses, w ho

stopped at the foot o f the steps.‘H ello!’ they cried to g e th er.‘Sorry you d idn’t w in.’T hat was for the go lf com petition . She had lost in the last

m atch the week before.‘You d o n ’t know w ho w e are,’ said one o f the girls in yellow,

‘bu t we m et you here about a m o n th ago.’

17

‘Y ou’ve changed the co lour o f your hair since then,’ rem arked Jordan.

W ith Jo rdan’s golden arm resting on m ine, we w ent dow n the steps and w andered around the garden. A w aiter floated towards us, and we sat dow n at a table w ith the two girls in yellow and three m en.

‘I like to com e to these parties,’ said one o f the girls. ‘I never care w hat I do, so I always have a good time. W h en I was here last I tore m y dress on a chair, and he asked m e m y nam e and address - a w eek later I got a package w ith a beautiful new evening dress in it.Tw o hundred and sixty-five dollars.’

‘D id you keep it?’ asked Jordan.‘Sure I did. I was going to wear it tonight, bu t it was too big

around the top, and had to be m ade smaller.’‘T h e re ’s som ething funny about a m an tha t’ll do a th ing like

that,’ said the o th er girl. ‘H e doesn’t w ant any trouble w ith anybody.’

‘W h o doesn’t?’ I inquired.‘Gatsby. Som ebody told m e . .T he tw o girls and Jordan leaned together.‘Som ebody told m e they though t he killed a m an once.’A curren t o f excitem ent passed through all o f us.‘I heard,’ said one o f the m e n ,‘that he w orked for the G erm ans

during the war.’‘O h no,’ said the g ir l,‘he was in the A m erican army.’It seem ed that Gatsby was a m an everybody w hispered about. Supper was now being served, and Jordan invited m e to jo in

her group o f friends, w ho were spread around a table on the o ther side o f the garden. T hey were quiet, respectable people from East Egg, w ho seem ed no t to w ant to m ix w ith the rest o f the guests.

After half an h o u r Jordan w hispered to me, ‘L et’s get out. This is m uch too polite for me.’

18

We got up, and she explained that we were going to find the host: I had never m et him , she said, and that was obviously m aking m e anxious.

T he bar, w here we looked first, was crowded, bu t Gatsby was no t there. She cou ldn’t find h im from the top o f the steps, and he wasn’t on the porch. T hen we tried an im portan t-look ing door, and walked into a great library.

A fat, m iddle-aged m an w ith large, round glasses was sitting on the edge o f a great table, staring unsteadily at the shelves o f books. H e looked drunk. As we entered, he tu rned and looked at us excitedly.

‘W hat do you think?’ he dem anded.‘A bout w hat?’H e waved his hands towards the bookshelves.‘A bout the books. I thought they were just for show - but

they’re reall They have pages and everything. Look! Let m e show you.’ H e pulled down a heavy, serious-looking book and opened it.

‘W h o b rough t you?’ he dem anded. ‘I was b rough t by a w om an I m et som ew here last night. I ’ve been d runk for about a w eek now, and I th o ugh t it m ight make m e be tte r to sit in a library.’

‘Has it?’‘I can’t tell yet. I’ve only been here an hour. D id I tell you

about the books? T h ey ’re real.T hey’r e - ’‘You told us.’ We w ent back outside.T here was dancing now in the garden, and the pairs o f dancers

m oved in circles round the dance floor. A famous singer sang a song, som e actors acted a funny scene, and cham pagne was served in glasses bigger than finger bowls. By m idnight the fun was louder and wilder. From all over the garden happy, em pty bursts o f laughter rose towards the sum m er sky.

I was still w ith Jordan Baker. W e were sitting at a table w ith a m an o f about m y age and a girl w ho laughed all the time. I was

19

' n|t>yiii)> 11lyscll now. I had taken tw o glasses o f cham pagne, and (lie scene had changed before m y eyes in to som ething deep and meaningful.

T he m an looked at m e and smiled.‘Your face is familiar,’ he said p o lite ly ‘W eren’t you in the army

during the war? Perhaps we w ere in the same un it - were you in the First D ivision?’

‘Why, yes.’W e talked for a m o m en t about som e wet, grey little villages in

France. Obviously he lived in this neighbourhood , for he told me that he had just bough t a seaplane, and was going to try it ou t in the m orning.

‘W ant to go w ith me, old sport? Just near the shore along the Sound.’

I accepted. I was ju s t going to ask his nam e w hen Jordan looked around and smiled. ‘H aving a good tim e now ?’

‘M uch better.’ I tu rn ed again to my new friend. ‘This is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over th e r e - ’ I waved a hand in the d irection o f my house, ‘and this m an Gatsby sent over his driver w ith an invitation.’

For a m om ent he looked at m e as if he d idn’t understand.‘I’m Gatsby,’ he said suddenly.‘W hat!’ I c r ied .‘O h , I ’m so sorry.’‘I though t you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I ’m no t a very good

host.’ .H e smiled understandingly. It was one o f those rare smiles w ith a

quality o f com fort in it, that you may com e across four or five times in life. It seemed to face the w hole world for a m om ent, and then fixed on you. It understood you as you wanted to be understood, and believed in you as you w ould like to believe in yourself. T hen the smile disappeared, and I was looking at a fashionably dressed young man, a year or two over thirty, whose formal way o f speaking

20

was very nearly funny Some time before he introduced him self I’d got a strong feeling that he was picking his words with care.

At this m om en t a butler h u rried towards h im w ith the inform ation that Chicago was calling h im on the telephone.

‘Excuse me. I will rejoin you later,’ he said politely.W hen he was gone I tu rned to Jordan, to tell her o f my

surprise. I had expected Gatsby to be quite different — older, fatter, red-faced.

‘W h o is he?’ I dem anded. ‘D o you know ?’‘H e ’s ju st a m an nam ed Gatsby.’‘W here is he from, I mean? A nd w hat does he do?’‘N o w you’re started on the subject,’ she said w ith a pale smile.

‘Well, he told m e once he had been to O xford University. B ut I d o n ’t believe it.’

‘W hy no t?’‘I d o n ’t know. I just d o n ’t th ink he w ent there.’T here was really som ething very m ysterious about Gatsby’s

background.'Surely young m en d idn’t ju st appear ou t o f now here and buy a grand house on Long Island Sound?

T he band began to play some loud music. At this m o m en t my eye fell 0 1 1 Gatsby, standing alone on the steps and looking from one group to another w ith approving eyes. His skin was sm ooth and brow ned by the sun, and his short hair looked as if it was cut every day. I could see no th ing m ysterious about him . I w ondered if the fact that he was no t d rink ing helped to set him apart from his guests, for it seem ed that he grew m ore correct as everyone else grew wilder. People were singing loudly, girls were falling backwards playfully into m en ’s arms, bu t no one fell backwards on Gatsby.

Gatsby’s bu tler was suddenly standing beside us.‘Miss Baker?’ he inquired. ‘Excuse me, bu t M r Gatsby would

like to speak to you alone.’

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Jordan gave m e a look o f extrem e surprise and followed the butler towards the house. I no ticed that she w ore her evening dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes.

A n hour later I decided that it was tim e to go hom e. As I w aited for m y hat in the hall, the d o o r o f the library opened and Jordan and Gatsby cam e ou t together. H e was speaking eagerly to her, until some o th er guests came up to say goodbye.

Jo rdans friends were calling to her from the porch, but she came over to me. ‘I’ve just heard the strangest thing,’ she w hispered .‘H ow long w ere we in there?’

‘W hy, about an hour.’‘It was so strange. B ut I prom ised I w ou ldn ’t tell it. Please

com e and see m e . . . te lephone book . . . under the nam e o f M rs S igourney H ow ard . . . m y aunt . . .’ She was hu rry ing off as she talked.

T h e last o f Gatsby’s guests were standing around him . I felt rather guilty that on my first appearance I had stayed so late, and tried to explain that I’d hunted for h im early in the evening.

‘D o n ’t m en tion it,’ he said eagerly. ‘A nd d o n ’t forget w e’re going up in the seaplane tom orrow m orning , at nine.’

T h en the butler, behind his shoulder: ‘Philadelphia wants you on the phone, sir.’

‘All right, I’ll be there in a m inute . . . G ood night, old sport . . . G ood night.’ H e smiled, and suddenly it seem ed right to be am ong the last to leave, as if he had w anted it all the time.

♦

R ead ing over w hat I have w ritten so far, I see I have given the idea that the events o f three evenings were all that interested me. B ut in fact, at the tim e they were ju st som e events am ong others in a crow ded sum m er - they did no t seem specially im portan t to m e until m uch later.

M ost o f the tim e I worked. M y days usually followed the same

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pattern: I arrived at my place o f w ork in the early m orning , and stayed there until the evening. I was friendly w ith the o ther clerks and lunched w ith them in dark, crow ded restaurants. I took d inner usually at the Yale Club, and then I w en t to the library and studied m oney m atters for an hour. After that I walked dow n M adison Avenue and over 33rd Street to the station, to catch m y train back to W est Egg.

For a w hile I lost sight o f Jordan Baker, and then in m idsum m er I found her again. At first I was proud to go places w ith her, because she was a famous golf player and everyone knew her nam e.T hen it was som ething more. I wasn’t in love, but I felt a sort o f gentle wish to understand her. T he cold, scornful face that she tu rned to the world hid som ething - and one day I found w hat it was.

W h en we were at a house party together up in W arwick, she left a borrow ed car ou t in the rain w ith the top dow n, and then lied about it. Suddenly I rem em bered the story about her that I’d tried to th ink o f that n ight at Daisy’s. At her first big go lf m atch there was a scandal that nearly reached the newspapers - a suggestion that she had m oved her ball in order to w in.

Jordan Baker was dishonest. She cou ldn’t bear to be at a disadvantage, so she used deceit to get w hat she w anted. In this way she was able to keep that cool, proud smile tu rned to the w orld. I realized that she avoided clever m en. She felt safer w ith people w ho w ould no t doub t her standards o f behaviour.

It m ade no difference to me. D ishonesty in a w om an is a thing you learn to accept - I was sorry, and then I forgot. It was at that same house party that we had a strange conversation about driving a car. It started because she drove too close to some w orkm en on the road.

‘You ough t to drive m ore carefully,’ I told her.‘I am careful.’‘N o, y o u ’re not.’

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‘Well, o ther people are. T h ey ’ll keep ou t o f m y way.’‘Suppose you m et som ebody ju st as careless as yourself.’‘I hope I never will,’ she answered. ‘I hate careless people.

T h a t’s w hy I like you.’H er grey eyes stared straight ahead, bu t she had m ade a change

in ou r relationship, and for a m om en t I though t I loved her. B ut I am full o f rules that stop m e from doing w hat I w ant to do. I knew that before I was free I had to break o ff that understanding w ith the girl back hom e, the girl I had been w riting letters to once a week.

You see, I am one o f the few honest people that I have ever know n.

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C h ap te r 4 G atsby an d D aisy

A t nine o ’clock one m orn ing late in July, Gatsby’s beautiful car pulled up outside my door. It was the first tim e he had visited me, though I had attended two o f his parties, gone up in his seaplane and m ade frequent use o f his beach.

‘G ood m orning , old sport.Y ou’re having lunch w ith m e today and I th o ugh t w e’d drive up to tow n together.’

H e saw m e looking w ith adm iration at his car.‘It’s pretty, isn’t it? H aven’t you ever seen it before?’I’d seen it. Everybody had seen it. It was enorm ous; a rich

creamy yellow, w ith green leather seats. We set off.I had talked w ith h im a num ber o f times in the past m onth

and found, to m y disappointm ent, that he had little to say. I had felt at first that he was som eone w ho m attered, bu t now this feeling had disappeared: he had becom e simply the ow ner o f a lovely house nex t door.

A nd th en came that surprising ride. As we talked, Gatsby seem ed strangely uncertain o f himself, and began leaving his sentences unfinished. ‘Look here, old sport,’ he said suddenly, ‘w h at’s your op in ion o f m e?’

I began m aking the k ind o f general remarks w hich that question deserves.

‘Well, I ’m going to tell you som ething about my life,’ he in terrup ted . ‘I d o n ’t w ant you to get a w rong idea o f m e from all these stories you hear. I ’ll tell you G o d ’s tru th . I am the son o f some wealthy people in the M iddle W est — all dead now. I was brough t up in A m erica, bu t educated at O xford University, in England, because the m en in my family were always educated at O xford.’

H e looked at m e sideways - and I knew w hy Jordan Baker had believed he was lying. H e h u rried the phrase ‘educated at O xfo rd ’, o r swallowed it, as if it troubled him.

25

'M y family ;ill died and I was left a good deal o f money. A fter that I lived like a lord in all the capitals o f E urope - Paris, Venice, R o m e - collecting jewels, hun ting w ild animals, painting a little, and try ing to forget som ething very sad that happened to m e long ago.’

W ith an effort I m anaged to hold back m y laughter. I d idn ’t believe a w ord o f it.

‘T hen came the war, old sport. I was glad, and I tried very hard to die, bu t some m agic seem ed to keep m e alive. I was m ade an officer w hen the w ar began, and pu t in charge o f a m achine-gun unit. In the A rgonne Forest I took my m en far in front o f the foot soldiers. We stayed there for tw o days and tw o nights, 130 m en w ith sixteen guns, and w hen the foot soldiers came up at last they found the flags o f three G erm an divisions am ong the piles o f dead. I was given a h igher rank, and every governm ent on ou r side gave m e a decoration - even M ontenegro, little M ontenegro dow n on the A driatic Sea!’

H e reached in to his pocket, and pulled ou t a circle o f metal on a coloured band.

‘T h a t’s the one from M ontenegro .’To m y surprise, the th ing looked real. ‘C aptain Jay Gatsby,’ I

read, ‘For Extraordinary C ourage.’‘H e re ’s another th ing I always carry. A m em ory o f O xford

days. It was taken in T rin ity College.’It was a photograph o f six or seven young m en standing in

front o f an old building, w ith towers behind them . T here was Gatsby, looking a little, no t m uch, younger.

T h en it was all true. I im agined him in his palace in Venice, w ith tiger skins on the walls, staring into a chest o f rich, dark jew els to take away the pain o f his broken heart.

‘I ’m going to ask you to do a big th ing for m e today,’ he said, ‘so I though t you ough t to know som ething about me. I d idn ’t

26

w ant you to th ink I was ju st some nobody.’ H e paused. ‘You’ll hear about it this afternoon.’

‘At lunch?’‘N o, this afternoon. I happened to find ou t that y o u ’re taking

Miss Baker to tea.’‘D o you m ean you’re in love w ith Miss Baker?’‘N o, old sport, I’m not. B ut Miss Baker has kindly agreed to

speak to you about this m atter.’I hadn ’t the faintest idea w hat ‘this m atter’ was, bu t I was m ore

annoyed than interested. I hadn ’t asked Jordan to tea in order to discuss M r Jay Gatsby.

H e w o u ld n ’t say ano ther w ord. We drove on, beside the valley o f ashes. A t W ilson’s garage I caught sight o f M rs W ilson w orking the pum p w ith her breathless animal energy.

Gatsby was driving very fast.I heard the sound o f a m otorcycle, and a policem an rode up

beside us. Gatsby stopped. Taking a w hite card from his pocket, he waved it before the m an’s eyes.

‘R ig h t you are!’ agreed the policem an, raising his cap. ‘K now you next time, M r Gatsby. Excuse meV

‘W hat was that?’ I in q u ired .‘T h e picture o f O xford?’‘I was able to do som ething for the C h ie f o f Police once, and

he sends m e a Christm as card every year.’

♦

I m et Gatsby for lunch in a little restaurant on 42nd Street.T here was som eone w ith him: a small, m iddle-aged man w ith a flat nose and small eyes.

‘M r Carraway, this is my friend M r Wolfshiem.’We sat dow n at our table and ordered our food.‘This is a nice restaurant,’ said M r W olfshiem. ‘B ut I like the

old M etropole better, across the street.’

27

‘I t’s too ho t over there,’ said Gatsby.‘H o t and small - bu t full o f m em ories. Filled w ith faces dead

and gone. I’ll never forget the n ight they shot R osy R osenthal there. There were six o f us at the table, and R osy had been eating and drinking all evening. A t four o ’clock in the m orn ing the w aiter came up to h im w ith a funny look and said som ebody w anted to speak to h im outside. I to ld him no t to go.’

‘D id he go?’ I asked.‘Sure he w ent. H e tu rned around in the doo r and said to us,

“D o n ’t let that w aiter take away m y coffee!” T h en he w ent ou t in to the street, and they shot him three times in his full stom ach and drove away.’

H e looked at m e and said suddenly: ‘I understand yo u ’re looking for a business connection .’

Gatsby answered for me. ‘O h , no, M eyer, this isn’t the man! W e’ll talk about that som e o ther time.’

We had nearly finished our meal w hen Gatsby looked at his w atch, ju m p ed up and h u rried from the room .

‘H e has to telephone,’ said M r W olfshiem. ‘A business matter. Fine man, isn’t he. A perfect gentlem an. H e w ent to O xford C ollege in England.’

‘Have you know n Gatsby for a long tim e?’ I inquired.‘Som e years. I m et h im just after the war, and w e’ve done a lot

o f business - I’ve helped him and h e ’s helped me.’W h en Gatsby retu rned , M r Wolfshiem took his leave.‘I ’ll leave you tw o young m en to discuss your sports and your

young ladies,’ he said. We shook hands.‘M eyer W olfshiem ’s quite a character around Broadway,’ said

Gatsby after he had gone.‘W ho is he?’ I asked.‘H ow did he make his m oney?’‘O h , in various ways.’ Gatsby paused. ‘D o you rem em ber that

big sports scandal, back in 1919? Well, M eyer was responsible for that. H e made a lo t o f m oney ou t o f it.’

28

I was astonished. ‘W hy isn’t he in prison?’‘T hey can’t get him , old sport. H e ’s a clever man.’I insisted on paying the bill. As the w aiter brought my change,

I noticed Tom Buchanan across the crow ded room .‘C om e along w ith m e for a m inute,’ I said to Gatsby. ‘I ’ve got

to say hello to som eone.’W h en he saw us, Tom ju m p ed up eagerly. ‘W h ere ’ve you

been? Daisy’s angry because you haven’t telephoned.’‘This is M r Gatsby, M r B uchanan.’T hey shook hands, and an unusual troubled look came over

Gatsby’s face.‘H o w ’ve you been?’ dem anded Tom o f me. ‘H o w ’d you

happen to com e up this far to eat?’‘I’ve been having lunch w ith M r Gatsby.’I tu rn ed towards M r Gatsby, bu t he was no longer there.

♦

T hat afternoon, in the tea garden at the Plaza H otel, Jordan Baker told m e this story. T he place was Louisville, the small m idwest tow n w here she grew up; the tim e was the year the U n ited States entered the Great War.

O ne O ctober day in 1917 - (said Jordan) - I was walking along the street w here Daisy Fay lived. She was just eighteen, tw o years older than me, and by far the m ost popular o f all the young girls in Louisville. I admired her a lot. She dressed in w hite, and had a little w hite car, and all day long the telephone rang in her house and excited young officers dem anded to take her ou t that night.

W h en I came opposite her house that m orn ing her car was in the road, and she was sitting in it w ith an officer I had never seen before. T hey were so interested in each o ther that she d idn’t see m e until I was quite near.

‘Hello, Jordan,’ she called .‘Please com e here.’She asked if I was going to the R e d Cross to sew things for

29

the soldiers. I was. Well then, she said, w ould I tell them that she cou ldn ’t com e that day? W hile she was speaking, the officer looked at Daisy in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at som etim es. His nam e was Jay Gatsby, and I d idn’t lay eyes on him again for over four years - even after I ’d m et him on L ong Island I d id n ’t realize it was the same m an.

T h at was 1917. By the next year I had a few young m en myself, and I began to play in go lf com petitions, so I d idn’t see Daisy very often. She w ent w ith a slightly o lder crowd - w hen she w ent w ith anyone at all. T here was a story going around that h er m o ther had found her packing her bag one n ight to go to N ew York and say goodbye to a soldier w ho was going overseas. T hey stopped her, o f course.

By the next au tum n she was happy again, happy as ever, and in February she was said to be engaged to a m an from N ew Orleans. In June she m arried Tom B uchanan o f Chicago, w ith a cerem ony like Louisville had never know n before. H e came dow n w ith a hundred people in four private cars, and hired a w hole floor o f the hotel, and the day before the w edding he gave her a string o f jewels valued at three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.

I was an attendant at her w edding. T he evening before, I came in to her room half an h o u r before the grand dinner and found her lying on her bed as lovely as the June n ight in her flowered dress - and as d runk as a monkey. She had a bottle o f w ine in one hand and a letter in the other.

‘N ever had a drink before,’ she said.‘W hat’s the m atter, Daisy?’I was frightened: I’d never seen a girl in that state.‘H ere, dearest.’ She pu t her hand in a wastebasket and pulled

ou t the string o f jew els.‘Take them downstairs and give ’em back to w hoever they belong to.Tell ’em all Daisy’s changed her m ind. Say: “ Daisy’s changed her m ind!” ’

She began to cry - she cried and cried. I rushed ou t and found

30

her m o th er’s servant, and w e locked the door and got her into a cold bath. She w ou ldn ’t let go o f the letter. She took it into the bath w ith her, until it was a w et ball.

B ut she d idn’t say any m ore. We pu t ice on her forehead and got her back in to her dress, and half an h o u r later the jewels were around her neck and she w ent dow n to dinner.

N ex t day at five o ’clock she m arried Tom B uchanan and started o ff on a three m onths’ trip to the South Seas.

I saw them in Santa Barbara w h en they came back, and I though t I’d never seen a girl so crazy about her husband. If he left the room for a m inute she’d say: ‘W h ere ’s Tom gone?’ and look w orried until he came back again. She used to sit on the sand w ith his head on her knee, rubb ing her fingers over his eyes and looking at h im w ith deepest delight. T hat was August. A week after I left Santa Barbara, Tom had a car accident, w hich was reported in the newspapers. T here was a girl w ith him , whose arm was broken - she was one o f the girls w orking in the Santa Barbara hotel. T hat was the first o f T oni’s affairs.

T h e next April, Daisy had her child, and they w ent to France for a year or two. T h en they came back to C hicago to settle down. T hey moved w ith a fast crowd, all o f them young and rich and wild, bu t Daisy came ou t u n touched by any scandal. Perhaps because she doesn’t drink. It’s a great advantage n o t to drink am ong hard-drink ing people.

Well, about six weeks ago, she heard the nam e Gatsby for the first tim e in years. It was w hen I asked you - do you rem em ber? - if you knew Gatsby in W est Egg. After you had gone hom e she came into my room and w oke me up, and said: ‘W hat Gatsby?’ and w hen I described him , she said in the strangest voice that it m ust be the m an she used to kno w It wasn’t until then that I connected this Gatsby w ith the officer in her w hite car.

W h en Jordan had finished telling all this, we had left the Plaza and were driving through C entral Park.

31

‘It was a strange chance that b rough t h im so near her,’ I said. ‘B u t it wasn’t chance at all.’‘W hy not?’‘Gatsby bought that house so that Daisy w ould be ju st across

the bay.’

I rem em bered m y first sight o f Gatsby, staring ou t across the bay - it had no t been the stars, then, w hich seem ed to fill h im w ith such feeling. N o w he came alive to me.

‘H e wants to know,’ said Jordan, ‘if yo u ’ll invite Daisy to your house som e afternoon and then let h im com e over.’

I was astonished that he should dem and so little. H e had w aited five years and b ough t a great house - so that he could ‘com e over’ some afternoon to a stranger’s garden.

‘W hy d idn’t he ask you to arrange a m eeting?’‘H e wants her to see his house,’ she explained. ‘I th ink he half

expected her to w ander in to one o f his parties, bu t she never did. T h en he began asking people if they knew her, and I was the first one he found.’

‘D oes Daisy w ant to see Gatsby?’ I asked.‘She m ustn’t know. You ju st have to invite her to tea.’It was dark now, and I pu t my arm around Jo rdan ’s golden

shoulder and pulled her towards m e and asked h er to dinner.Suddenly I w asn’t th ink ing o f Daisy and Gatsby any m ore. I

tigh tened my arms around her. H er pale, scornful m ou th smiled, and so I pulled her closer, this tim e to my face.

32

C h ap te r 5 T h e Tea P arty

W hen I cam e hom e to W est Egg at tw o in the m orn ing , light was shining all over my garden. T urn ing a corner, I saw that it came from Gatsby’s house, lit from top to bo ttom . A t first I th o u g h t it was another party, b u t there w asn’t a sound. As my taxi drove noisily away, I saw Gatsby w alking towards m e across

his lawn.‘Your place looks like an en terta inm ent hall,’ I said.H e tu rn ed his eyes towards it. ‘I have been looking in to some

o f the room s. Suppose we have a sw im in the pool, old sport? I haven’t used it all sum m er.’

‘It’s too late. I’ve got to go to bed.’‘All right.’ H e waited, looking at m e eagerly.‘I talked w ith Miss Baker,’ I said after a m om ent. ‘I’m going to

call up Daisy tom orrow and invite her over here to tea.’‘O h , th a t’s all right,’ he said carelessly. ‘I do n ’t w ant to pu t you

to any trouble.’‘W hat day w ould suit you?’‘W hat day w ould suit you?’ he corrected me quickly.‘H ow about the day after tom orrow , at four o ’clock?’H e though t for a m o m e n t.‘I w ant to get the grass cut.’We bo th looked dow n at the grass - there was a sharp line

w here m y untidy lawn ended and his w ell-kept one began. I suspected that he m eant my grass.

‘T h e re ’s another little thing.’ H e paused. ‘I th o ugh t — look here, old sport, you d o n ’t make m uch money, do you?’

‘N o t very m uch.’‘I though t you d idn’t, if you’ll pardon my — you see, I carry on

a little business on the side, a sort o f sideline, you understand. And I though t that if you d o n ’t make very m uch - yo u ’re selling bonds, aren’t you, old sport?’

‘Trying to.’

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‘Well, this w ould interest you. It w ou ld n ’t take up m uch o f your tim e and you m ight pick up a nice bit o f money.’

In a different situation, that conversation m ight have changed my life. B ut I realized that his offer was made to repay m e for the service I was about to perform for him - so how could I accept it?

‘I ’ve got my hands full,’ I said. ‘Thanks, bu t I cou ldn ’t take on any m ore w ork.’

I called up Daisy from the office next m orn ing , and invited her to com e to te a .‘D o n ’t b ring Tom,’ I told her.

O n the agreed day it was raining heavily. A t eleven o ’clock a m an in a raincoat knocked at m y doo r and said M r Gatsby had sent h im over to cut m y grass. I rem em bered I had to go into the village to buy some cups and fresh fruit and flowers, and to ask m y Finnish w om an to com e back.

T he flowers were unnecessary, for at tw o o ’clock a great pile o f flowers arrived from Gatsby’s, w ith a num ber o f pots to hold them . An hour later there was a knock at the front door and Gatsby, in a w hite suit, silver shirt, and gold-coloured tie, hu rried in. H e was pale, and there were dark signs o f sleeplessness beneath his eyes.

‘Is everything all righ t?’ he asked.‘T h e grass looks fine, if th a t’s w hat you m ean.’‘W hat grass?’ he inquired. ‘O h , the grass ou t there.’ H e looked

ou t o f the w indow at it, bu t I d o n ’t believe he saw a th in g .‘Have you got everything you need in the way o f - tea?’

I took him into the k itchen. Together we exam ined the twelve cakes from the village shop.

‘W ill they do?’ I asked.‘O f course, o f course! T h ey ’re fine!’H e sat dow n in the living room , and began tu rn ing the pages

o f one o f m y books. From tim e to tim e he looked miserably towards the window. Finally he got up and in fo rm ed me, in an uncerta in voice, that he was going hom e.

34

‘W h y ’s that?’‘N o b o d y ’s com ing to tea. I t’s too late!’‘D o n ’t be silly; i t ’s just tw o m inutes to four.’At that m om en t there was the sound o f a car tu rn ing into my

drive. I w ent ou t into the yard and saw a large car com ing up the drive.T he driver stopped, and Daisy’s face looked ou t at m e with a delighted smile.

‘Is this really w here you live, my dearest one?’H er musical voice was as exciting as ever. ‘Are you in love

w ith me,’ she said low in m y ear, ‘o r w hy did I have to com e

alone?’‘T h a t’s a secret. Tell your driver to go far away and spend an

hour.’We w ent in .T o my great surprise, the living room was empty.T h en we heard a light knocking at the front door. I w ent and

opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, was standing staring miserably into my eyes. H e m arched by m e in to the hall and disappeared into the living room .

For half a m inute there wasn’t a sound. I could feel my own heart beating loudly. T h en I heard Daisy’s clear voice.

‘I certainly am very glad to see you again.’I had no th ing to do in the hall, so I w ent into the room .Gatsby was leaning stiffly against the fireplace and Daisy was

sitting on the edge o f a hard chair. N e ith e r o f them was speaking.‘W e’ve m et before,’ said Gatsby now, in a low voice.‘We haven’t m et for m any years,’ said Daisy flatly.‘Five years next N ovem ber,’ said Gatsby quickly, and there was

another silence.T h en my Finnish w om an brought in the tea, and we were able

to keep ourselves busy by passing round cups and cakes. Daisy and I began to talk, and Gatsby looked from one to the o ther o f us w ith unhappy eyes. After a little w hile I made an excuse and got to my feet.

35

‘W here are you going?’ dem anded Gatsby anxiously.‘I’ll be back.’‘I’ve got to speak to you about som ething before you go.’ H e

followed m e wildly in to the k itchen, closed the door, and w hispered ‘O h, G od!’ in a miserable way

‘W h a t’s the m atter?’‘This is a terrible mistake,’ he said, shaking his head from side

to side. ‘A terrible, terrib le mistake.’‘You’re just embarrassed, th a t’s all,’ and luckily I added :‘Daisy’s

embarrassed too.’‘She’s embarrassed?’ he repeated unbelievingly.‘Just as m uch as you are.’‘D o n ’t talk so loud.’‘You’re acting like a little boy,’ I said impatiently. ‘N o t only

that, bu t you ’re rude. Daisy’s sitting in there all alone.’H e raised his hand to stop m y painful words, gave m e a

w o rried look, and w ent back in to the o ther room .I w alked out the back way, ju st as Gatsby had done earlier. It

was raining hard again, and I ran to a large, black tree, w hose th ick leaves gave som e shelter.There was no th ing to look at from under the tree except Gatsby’s enorm ous house, so I stared at it for half an hour.

T h en the sun shone again, and I felt it was tim e to go back. I w ent in - after m aking every possible noise in the kitchen - bu t I d o n ’t believe they heard a sound .T hey were sitting at either end o f the sofa, looking at each other, and all em barrassm ent was gone. D aisy’s face was m arked w ith tears, and w hen I came in she began drying her eyes in front o f a m irror. B ut there was a change in Gatsby that was simply astonishing - his joy shone from h im and filled the little room .

‘O h , hello old sport,’ he said, as if he hadn’t seen me for years.‘I t’s stopped raining.’‘Has it?’W hen he realized w hat I was talking about, he smiled

36

happily and repeated the news to Daisy. ‘W hat do you th ink o f that? It’s stopped raining.’

‘I’m glad,Jay.’‘I w ant you and Daisy to com e over to my house,’ he said. ‘I’d

like to show her around.’Daisy w en t upstairs to wash her face, while Gatsby and I

w aited on the lawn.‘M y house looks good, doesn’t it?’ he dem anded .‘See how the

w hole front o f it catches the light.’I agreed that it was lovely.His eyes w ent over it, every curve, every straight line, every

square tower.‘It took m e just three years to earn the m oney that b ough t it.’ ‘I thou g h t you were left your m oney by your father.’‘I was, old sport, but I lost m ost o f it during the war.’I th ink he hardly knew w hat he was saying, for w h en I asked

him w hat business he was in he answered: ‘T h a t’s my affair,’ before he realized that it was a rude reply.

‘O h , I’ve been in several things,’ he corrected h im self.‘I was in the drugstore business and then I was in the oil business. B ut I’m no t in either one now.’

Just then Daisy came ou t o f the house.‘T hat enorm ous place there?’ she cried, pointing.‘D o you like it?’‘I love it, bu t I d o n ’t see how you live there all alone.’‘I keep it always full o f interesting people, n ight and day.

People w ho do interesting things. Fam ous people.’Instead o f going across the lawn we w ent dow n the road and

entered by the m ain gate. Daisy adm ired the view o f the house standing dark against the sky, she adm ired the gardens, rich w ith sweet-sm elling flowers.

It was strange to reach the w ide steps and find no m ovem ent o f b righ t dresses in and ou t o f the door, and to hear no sound but

37

bird voices in the trees. A nd inside, as we w andered through the great room s, I felt that there were guests h idden beh ind every sofa and table, u nder orders to be silent until we had passed through.

W e w ent upstairs, th rough old-style bedroom s full o f fresh flowers, through dressing room s and bathroom s w ith baths sunk in the floor. We w ent in to one room w here a young m an was do ing exercises o n the floor. It was M r K lipspringer, w ho was living in the house as Gatsby’s guest. Finally we cam e to Gatsby s ow n room s - a bedroom , a bathroom and a study — w here we sat dow n and drank a glass o f som e C hartreuse he took from a cupboard in the wall.

H e h ad n ’t once stopped looking at Daisy, and I th ink he gave a new value to everything in his house according to how m uch she liked it. Som etim es, too, he stared around his possessions in a confused w ay as though in her presence none o f it was real any longer. O nce he nearly fell dow n some stairs.

His bedroom was the simplest room o f all - except that on the dressing table was a brush-and-com b set o f pure, dull gold. Daisy took the brush w ith delight, and put it to her hair. Gatsby sat dow n and began to laugh.

‘I t’s the funniest thing, old sport,’ he said .‘I can’t when I try to —’

H e had passed through tw o states and was en tering a third. A fter his em barrassm ent and his joy he was now filled w ith w onder at her presence. H e had been full o f the idea o f her for so long - it was a dream w hich he had dream ed right through to the end. N ow the w aiting was over.

H e opened for us tw o great cupboards w hich held his suits and ties, and his shirts, in several high piles.

‘I ’ve got a m an in England w ho buys me clothes. 1 le sends over w hat he has chosen at the beginning o f each season.’

H e too k ou t a pile o f shirts and began throw ing them , one by

38

one, before us - shirts o f fine co tton and thick silk, w hich covered the table in a confusion o f m any colours. W hile we adm ired them he brought m ore, and the soft, rich pile rose higher. Suddenly Daisy ben t her head into the shirts and began to cry wildly.

‘T h ey ’re such beautiful shirts,’ she cried. ‘It makes m e sad because I’ve never seen such - such beautiful shirts before.’

♦

After the house, we were going to see the gardens and the sw im m ing pool, and the seaplane, and the m idsum m er flowers - but outside Gatsby’s w indow it began to rain again, so we stood and looked at the misty surface o f the Sound.

‘If it w asn’t for the m ist we could see your hom e across the bay,’ said Gatsby. ‘You always have a green light that burns all night at the end o f your sea wall.’

H e seem ed to be thinking. Perhaps he realized that the enorm ous im portance o f that light had now gone for ever. W hen he had been separated from Daisy by a great distance, the light had seem ed very near to her, almost touching her. It had seem ed as close as a star to the m oon. N ow it was ju st a green light on a wall.

I began to walk about the room , exam ining various objects. A large photograph o f an oldish m an in sailing clothes attracted me.

‘W h o ’s this?’‘That? T h a t’s M r D an Cody, old sport. H e ’s dead now. H e used

to be my best friend years ago.’‘C om e here quickV cried Daisy at the window.T he rain was still falling, but in the west pink and gold clouds

floated above the sea.‘Look at that,’ she w hispered .‘I’d like to get one o f those pink

clouds and pu t you in it and push you around.’I tried to go then, bu t they w ou ldn ’t let me.

39

‘I know w hat w e’ll do,’ said Gatsby, ‘w e’ll have Klipspringer play the piano.’

H e w en t ou t o f the room and came back w ith the young man, w ho looked embarrassed.

‘I d o n ’t play well,’ he said. ‘I d o n ’t - hardly play at all. I’m out o f p ra c tic e -’

‘W e’ll go downstairs,’ in te rrup ted Gatsby.In the music room Gatsby tu rned on a single lamp beside the

piano. H e lit Daisy’s cigarette w ith a shaking hand, and sat dow n w ith her on a sofa in a dark corner o f the room .

W hen K lipspringer had played ‘T he Love N est’, he tu rned around unhappily

‘I’m all ou t o f practice, you see, I told you I co u ldn ’t play I’m all ou t o f p r a c - ’

‘D o n ’t talk so m uch, old sport,’ ordered ( iatsby.1 Play! ’O utside the w ind was loud. All the lights were going on in

W est Egg now. It was tim e for m e to go home.As I w ent over to say goodbye, I saw an expression o f

uncertain ty on Gatsby s face, as if he felt some doub t about his present happiness. A lm ost five years! All that tim e he had been building up his dream o f her. H ow could any real person equal the enorm ous pow er o f the dream? T here m ust have been m om ents that afternoon w hen Daisy had disappointed him.

As I w atched him , his expression changed. I Iis hand took hold o f hers, and w hen she w hispered som ething in his ear he tu rned towards her w ith a rush o f feeling. H er voice had a magic that was beyond all dreams.

T hey had forgotten me, bu t Daisy looked up and held ou t her hand; Gatsby d idn’t know m e now at all. I w ent ou t o f the room and dow n the w ide steps in to the rain, leaving them there together.

40

C h ap te r 6 G atsby’s P arty

A bout this tim e a young reporter from a N ew York newspaper arrived one m orn ing at Gatsby’s doo r and asked h im if he had anything to say.

‘A nything to say about w hat?’ inquired Gatsby politely.‘W hy - any statem ent to give out.’It appeared that he had heard people talking about Gatsby, and

though t there should be a story there for the newspapers. Gatsby’s fam e was grow ing, bu t it was the w rong k ind o f fame. All sum m er the hundreds o f people w ho had attended his parties were spreading stories about his past — stories that were com pletely untrue.

I had reached the po in t o f believing everything and noth ing about him . It was no t until m uch later that I learnt the tru th about his beginnings, w hen he told m e himself. B ut I am going to b ring it in at this po in t in my story, to clear away all the false ideas.

H e w asn’t Jay Gatsby at all at first. His nam e was James Gatz, and he lived in N o rth Dakota. His parents were p o o r and unsuccessful farm people - in his im agination he had never really accepted them as his parents at all. In his ow n m ind he was a com pletely different person. Every n ight as he lay in bed he was troubled by strange thoughts, dreams o f an extraordinary and beautiful w orld w hich was quite beyond his experience. B ut som eone like James Gatz did no t belong in such a world: he needed to be a new person, to have a new name.

At the age o f seventeen he invented Jay Gatsby, the kind o f person he w anted to be. A nd to this idea o f him self he was true until the end.

His new life began at the m om en t w hen he saw D an C o d y ’s boat on Lake Superior. For over a year James Gatz had been w orking his way along the south shore o f Lake Superior, catching

41

fish or digging in the sand for shellfish, o r doing anything that w ould b ring him food and a bed. H e was still searching for som ething to do on the day that D an C o d y ’s boat sailed into Little G irl Bay. It was a beautiful boat.

As he was w andering along the shore, he looked up and saw it stop in a dangerous area a little way from the shore. So he borrow ed a row boat, row ed ou t to the sailing boat, and inform ed its ow ner that a w ind m ight catch it and break it up in half an hour.

I suppose he smiled at C ody — he had probably discovered that people liked him w hen he smiled. A nd w hen C ody asked him his nam e, he had the answer ready: Jay Gatsby.

C ody was fifty years old then, and a very rich m an, from his gold and silver mines. H e was still strong in body, bu t no t in m ind; and suspecting this, a num ber o f w om en had chased him for his money, including Ella Kaye, the new spaper w om an. H e had been living on his boat, the Tuomalee, for five years, sailing along friendly shores, w hen he tu rn ed up in front o f James Gatz.

To young Gatz, as he rowed ou t to the sailing boat, it represented all the beauty and wealth in the world.

W h en C ody asked h im a few questions, he found that the boy was quick and determ ined to be successful, so he decided to em ploy him . A few days later he bought him a blue coat, six pairs o f w hite trousers and a sailing cap. A nd w hen the Tuomalee left for the W est Indies and the N o rth African coast, Gatsby left too. H e helped to sail the boat, acted as C o d y ’s secretary, and sometimes even as his keeper. For w hen D an C ody was d runk he was not responsible for his actions, and then he trusted in Gatsby to look after him . T he arrangem ent lasted five years, du ring which the boat w en t three times around A m erica .T hen one n ight in Boston Ella Kaye came on board, and a w eek later D an C ody died.

I rem em bered the pho tograph o f him up in Gatsby s bedroom , a grey-looking m an w ith a hard, em pty face. H e had

42

been m uch too fond o f w om en and drink - especially drink. T hat was the reason Gatsby drank so little himself. Som etim es during his parties w om en used to rub cham pagne in to his hair; bu t apart from that, he form ed the habit o f keeping away from alcohol.

And it was C ody w ho left h im m oney - twenty-five thousand dollars. B ut Gatsby never go t the m oney: somehow, w ith the help o f a clever lawyer, Ella Kaye m anaged to take all that rem ained o f C ody’s millions.

♦

For several weeks after my tea party for Daisy I d idn’t see Gatsby. M ostly I was in N ew York, going around w ith Jordan and trying to make m yself pleasant to her old aunt. B ut finally I w ent over to Gatsby’s house one Sunday afternoon. I’d been there only tw o m inutes w hen som ebody brought Tom B uchanan in for a drink. I was surprised, o f course, bu t the really surprising th ing was that it hadn’t happened before.

T here were three o f them , rid ing horses - Tom and a m an nam ed Sloane and a pretty w om an w ho had been there before.

‘I’m delighted to see you,’ said Gatsby, standing on his porch. ‘I’m delighted that you dropped in. Sit right dow n. Have a cigarette.’ H e walked around the room quickly, ring ing bells.‘I’ll have som eth ing to drink for you in ju st a m inute.’

M r Sloane w anted nothing. A soft drink? N o thanks. A little champagne? N o th in g at all, thanks . . .

Gatsby tu rn ed to Tom.‘I believe w e’ve m et som ew here before, M r Buchanan.’‘O h , yes,’ said Tom , polite, bu t obviously no t rem em bering. ‘A bout tw o weeks ago.’‘O h , tha t’s right.You were w ith N ick.’‘I know your wife,’ continued Gatsby, almost angrily.‘Is that so?’Tom tu rned to m e .‘You live near here, N ick?’

43

‘N ex t door.’‘T h a t so?’M r Sloane d idn’t enter in to the conversation and the w om an

said no th ing either — until suddenly, after tw o drinks, she becam e very friendly.

‘W e’ll all com e over to your next party, M r Gatsby,’ she suggested.‘W hat do you say?’

‘Certainly; I’d be delighted to have you.’‘T h a t w ould be very nice,’ said M r Sloane coldly.‘Well - think

we ough t to be going hom e.’ H e got to his feet.‘W hy d o n ’t you stay for supper?’ said Gatsby, w ho w anted to

see m ore o f Tom.‘You com e to supper w ith me,’ said the lady.‘C om e along,’ said M r Sloane - to her only.Gatsby w anted to go w ith them , and d idn’t see that M r Sloane

d id n ’t w ant h im .‘I haven’t got a horse,’ he said.‘I’ll have to follow you in my car. Excuse m e for ju st a m inute.’

T h e rest o f us w en t ou t on the porch, and M r Sloane and the lady walked dow n the steps towards their horses.

‘W here the devil did he m eet Daisy?’ said Ibm angrily to me. ‘I d o n ’t like her runn ing around by herself.’

‘C om e on, Tom ,’ M r Sloane called. ‘W e’re late. W e’ve got to go.’A nd then to m e :‘Tell h im we cou ldn’t wait.’

T hey all rode quickly dow n the drive. W hen Gatsby came out o f the front door w ith his hat and coat, they had disappeared.

Tom was obviously w orried at Daisy’s going around alone, for on the following Saturday n ight he came w ith her to Gatsby’s party. Perhaps his presence there gave the evening its strange heaviness — it stands ou t in my m em ory from Gatsby’s o ther parties that sum m er. T here were the same people, the same enorm ous quantities o f cham pagne, the same noise and m any- coloured activity, bu t I felt an unpleasantness in the air that hadn’t been there before.

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Tom and Daisy arrived as it was getting dark, and we walked over the lawn am ong the brigh t crowds.

‘These things excite m e so,’ Daisy w hispered to me. ‘If you w ant to kiss m e at any tim e during the evening, N ick, ju st let me know and I ’ll be glad to arrange it for you.’

‘Look around,’ suggested Gatsby.i ’m looking around. I’m having a w o n d e rfu l-’‘You m ust see the faces o f m any people yo u ’ve heard about.’ T om ’s scornful eyes looked over the crow d.‘I was ju st th inking

I do n ’t know anyone here,’ he said.‘Perhaps you know that lady.’ Gatsby poin ted to a fine

creature, looking m ore like a beautiful flower than a w om an, w ho sat under a tree surrounded by admirers. Tom and Daisy stared, recognizing a famous film star.

‘She’s lovely,’ said Daisy.‘T he m an bending over her is her director.’H e took them formally from group to group:‘M rs B uchanan . . . and M r B uchanan - the polo player.’‘I’ve never m et so m any famous people,’ Daisy said, i liked

that m an — w hat was his name? — w ith the sort o f blue nose.’ Gatsby to ld her his nam e and added that he was a film

producer.‘If you d o n ’t m ind, I’d rather no t be called the polo player,’ said

Tom pleasantly.Daisy and Gatsby danced. I was surprised by his graceful, old-

fashioned way o f dancing. T h en we w andered over to my house and they sat on the steps for ha lf an hour, w hile I rem ained watchfully in the garden.

We re tu rned to the party, and as we were sitting dow n to supper Tom appeared. ‘D o you m ind if I eat w ith som e people over here?’ he said.

‘G o ahead,’ answered Daisy,‘and if you w ant to take dow n any addresses, here’s m y little gold pencil.’ She looked around after a

45

m o m en t and told m e the girl w ith Tom was ‘ordinary bu t p re tty ’. I knew then that except for the half-hour she’d been alone w ith Gatsby she wasn’t having a good time.

T he o ther people at ou r table were all rather drunk. Two weeks ago I had enjoyed these same people, bu t now their silly conversation annoyed me. It obviously offended Daisy. I could see that she disapproved o f West Egg society.

I sat on the front steps w ith Daisy and Tom w hile they waited for their car.

‘W h o is this Gatsby?’ dem anded Tom suddenly. ‘Som e big bootlegger?’

‘W here did you hear that?’ I inquired.‘I d id n ’t hear it. I guessed it. A lot o f these newly rich people

are ju s t big bootleggers, you know.’‘N o t Gatsby,’ I said shortly.‘Well, he m ust have had to w ork hard to get this strange

collection o f people here tonight.’‘At least they are m ore interesting than the people we know,’

said Daisy.‘You d id n ’t look so interested.’‘Well, I was.’ Daisy began to sing w ith the music, in her warm ,

m agic vo ice .‘Lots o f people com e w ho haven’t been invited,’ she said suddenly.‘T hat girl hadn ’t been invited. T hey force their way in and h e ’s too polite to send them away.’

‘I ’d like to know w ho he is and w hat he does,’ insisted Tom. ‘A nd I’m going to find out.’

‘I can tell you righ t now,’she said.‘H e ow ned som e drugstores, a lo t o f drugstores. H e built them up himself.’

T he ir car came up the drive at last.‘G ood night, N ick,’ said Daisy.I stayed late that night. Gatsby asked m e to wait until he was

free, and I w aited in the garden until the usual sw im m ing party had ru n up, cold bu t happy, from the dark beach, until the lights

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w ent ou t in the guest room s above. W h en he came dow n the steps at last, his eyes were tired.

‘She d idn’t like it,’ he said immediately.‘O f course she did.’‘She d idn’t like it,’ he insisted. ‘She d id n ’t have a good time.’H e was silent, and obviously anxious.‘I feel far away from her,’ he said. ‘It’s hard to make her

understand.’H e told m e then w hat he w anted. H e w anted her to go to

Tom and say: ‘I never loved you.’ T hen , after she was free, they w ould go back to Louisville and be m arried from her house - just as if it was five years ago.

‘A nd she doesn’t understand,’ he said. ‘She used to be able to understand. W e’d sit for h o u r s - ’

‘You shouldn’t ask too m uch o f her,’ I said. ‘You can’t repeat the past.’

‘C an ’t repeat the past?’ he cried unbelievingly. ‘W hy o f course you can!’

H e looked around h im wildly, as if the past were h iding here in the shadow o f his house, just ou t o f reach o f his hand.

i ’m going to fix everything ju st the way it was before,’ he said firmly. ‘She’ll see.’

H e talked a lo t about the past, and I realized that he w anted to get som ething back, some idea o f him self perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused and disordered since then, but i f he could only re tu rn to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find ou t w hat that th ing was . . .

O ne au tum n night, he said, five years before, they had been w alking dow n the street w hen the leaves were falling, and they came to a place w here there were no trees and the street was w hite w ith m oonlight. T hey stopped there and tu rn ed to each other.

His heart beat faster as Daisy’s w hite face came up to his own.

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H e knew that w hen he kissed this girl he would lose some o f his ow n power. H e w ould for ever tie his dreams dow n to a hum an person — his grand im agination w ould no longer be free to w ander through the universe. So he waited, listening for a m om ent longer to the music o f the stars. T hen he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she became like a flower for h im and the magic was complete.

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C h ap te r 7 A H o t A fte rn o o n

It was w hen interest in Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in Gatsby’s house failed to go on one Saturday night. T he cars w hich tu rn ed in to his drive, expecting a party, stayed for a m inute and then drove sadly away. W ondering if he were sick, I w ent over to find out.

T he door was opened by an unfam iliar butler w ith an ugly face, w ho gave m e a strange look.

‘Is M r Gatsby sick?’‘N o.’After a pause he added ,‘sir’.‘I hadn’t seen h im around, and I was rather w orried . Tell him

M r Carraway came over.’‘W ho?’ he dem anded rudely.‘Carraway.’‘Carraway. All right, I’ll tell h im .’ H e shut the door.M y Finnish w om an inform ed m e that Gatsby had dismissed

every servant in his house a w eek ago, and replaced them w ith five or six others w ho never w ent in to W est Egg village bu t ordered supplies over the telephone. T h e general op in ion in the village was that the new people w eren’t servants at all. N ex t day Gatsby called m e on the phone.

‘G oing away?’ I inquired.‘N o, old sport.’‘I hear you dismissed all your servants.’‘I w anted som ebody w ho w ou ldn ’t talk. Daisy com es over

quite often - in the afternoons. T hese are people that W olfshiem w anted to do som ething for. T h ey ’re all brothers and sisters.They used to run a small hotel.’

‘I see.’H e was calling up at Daisy’s request — w ould I com e to lunch

at her house tom orrow ? Miss Baker w ould be there. H a lf an hour

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later Daisy herself telephoned, and seem ed glad to find that 1 was com ing. Som ething was up.

T h e next day was boiling ho t, the hottest day o f the summer. Gatsby drove m e over to the B uchanans’ house.

T he sitting room was well shaded against the sun, and it was dark and cool. Daisy and Jordan lay on the big sofa.

‘W e can’t move,’ they said together.Jo rdan ’s fingers rested for a m o m en t in m ine.‘A nd M r Thom as Buchanan, the polo player?’ I inquired. T hen

I heard his voice in the hall, at the telephone.Gatsby stood in the centre o f the room and stared around.

Daisy w atched him and laughed her sweet, exciting laugh.‘T h a t m ust be T om ’s girl on the phone,’ said Jordan.W e were silent. T h e voice in the hall rose high w ith

annoyance: ‘Very well, then, I w o n ’t sell you the car at all . . . and d o n ’t trouble m e about it at lunchtim e!’

‘H e ’s no t really speaking in to the telephone,’ said Daisy.‘Yes, he is,’ I said, i t ’s a real deal. I happen to know about it.’Tom threw open the door and hu rried in to the room .‘M r Gatsby!’ H e pu t ou t his w ide, flat hand w ith w ell-hidden

dislike.‘I ’m glad to see you, sir . . . N ick . . . ’‘M ake us a cold drink,’ cried Daisy.As he left the room again, she got up and w ent over to Gatsby

and pulled his face towards her, kissing him on the m outh .‘You know I love you,’ she whispered.‘You forget there’s a lady present,’ said Jordan.At that m om en t a nurse came in to the room , leading a little

girl in a pretty w hite dress.‘M y little sw eetheart!’ cried Daisy. ‘C om e to your m other!’

T h e child rushed across the room to the sofa and hid her face in her m o th e r’s skirt.

‘O h , w hat a sweet thing! Stand up now and shake hands.’Gatsby and I leaned dow n and took the small hand. Afterwards

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he kept looking at the child w ith surprise. I d o n ’t th ink he had ever really believed in its existence before.

‘She doesn’t look like her father,’ said Daisy.‘She looks like me. She’s got my hair and shape o f the face.’ She bent her face dow n to the child’s n eck .‘You little dream, you!’

T h en she sat back on the sofa.‘G oodbye, my love!’‘C om e, Pammy.’ T he nurse took the child’s hand and pulled

her ou t o f the room .Tom came back w ith ou r icy drinks. W e drank thirstily.‘C om e outside,’ he suggested to Gatsby, ‘I’d like you to have a

look at the place.’I w ent w ith them ou t to the p o rch .T h e Sound was green and

still in the heat. Gatsby poin ted across the bay.‘I’m righ t across from you.’‘So you are.’We had lunch in the dining room , darkened too against the

heat.‘W h at’ll we do w ith ourselves this afternoon?’ cried Daisy

‘A nd the day after that, and the next th irty years?’‘D o n ’t worry,’ said Jordan. ‘Life starts all over again w hen it

turns cool in the fall.’‘B ut it’s so hot,’ insisted Daisy, almost in tears,‘and everything’s

so confused. L et’s all go to tow n!’Tom was talking to Gatsby about his horses.‘W h o wants to go to tow n?’ dem anded Daisy. Gatsby’s eyes

floated towards h e r .‘Ah,’ she c ried ,‘you look so cool.’T h e ir eyes m et, and they stared at each other, alone in space.

W ith an effort she looked dow n at the table.‘You always look so cool,’ she repeated. It was a way o f saying

that she loved h im , and Tom B uchanan saw. H e was astonished. His m o u th opened a little, and he looked at Gatsby, and then back at Daisy.

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‘You look like the m an in that advertisem ent,’ she w ent on. ‘You know the advertisem ent o f the m an—’

‘All right,’ in te rrup ted Tom quickly, i ’m perfectly happy to go to tow n. C om e on — w e’re all going to tow n.’

H e got up, his eyes still flashing betw een Gatsby and his wife. N o one moved.

‘C om e on!’ his tem per was ris in g .‘W h at’s the m atter? If w e’re going to tow n, le t’s start.’

‘Are we ju st going to go?’ Daisy o b jec ted .‘Like this? A ren’t we going to let anyone sm oke a cigarette first?’

‘Everybody sm oked all th rough lunch.’‘Have it your ow n way,’ she said .‘C om e on, Jordan.’T hey w ent upstairs to get ready w hile we three m en w ent ou t

on to the h o t drive.‘Shall we take anything to drink?’ called Daisy from an upper

w indow.i ’ll get some whisky,’ answered Tom. H e w ent inside.Gatsby tu rn ed to me.‘I can’t say anything in his house, old sport.’‘She’s got a voice w hich gives away her feelings,’ I remarked.

‘It’s full o f—’ I paused.‘H er voice is full o f money,’ he said suddenly.T hat was it. It was the voice o f a rich girl - that was its magic. Tom came ou t o f the house w rapping a bottle in a cloth,

followed by Daisy and Jordan.‘Shall we all go in m y car?’ suggested Gatsby.‘N o, you take m ine,’ said T o m ,‘and let m e drive yours.’Gatsby did no t like this idea.‘I d o n ’t th ink there’s m uch gas,’ he objected.‘If it runs ou t I can stop at a drugstore,’ said Tom. ‘You can buy

anything at a drugstore these days.’ H e looked at Gatsby in a m eaningful way.

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A very strange expression passed over Gatsby’s face.‘C om e on, Daisy,’ said Tom, pulling her towards Gatsby’s car.

H e opened the door, bu t she m oved away.‘You take N ick and Jordan,’ she said .‘W e’ll follow in your car.’ She walked close to Gatsby, touch ing his coat. Jordan and Tom

and I got in to the front seat o f Gatsby’s car, and we drove o ff into the heat.

‘D id you see that?’ dem anded Tom.‘See w hat?’H e looked at m e sharply, realizing that Jordan and I m ust have

know n all the tim e about Daisy and Gatsby.‘I’ve found ou t some things about this m an,’ said Tom. ‘I’ve

m ade an inquiry into his past.’‘A nd you found he was an O xford m an,’ said Jordan.‘A n O xford man! Never! H e wears a p ink suit.’‘W hy did you invite h im to lunch, then, if you feel like that

about him ?’ dem anded Jordan.‘Daisy invited him; she knew h im before we were m arried —

G od knows w here!’We drove for a w hile in bad-tem pered silence. T h en as

D o c to r T . J . E ckleburg s eyes cam e in to sight dow n the road, I rem em bered Gatsby’s w arning about the gas.

‘W e’ve got enough to get us to tow n,’ said Tom.‘But there’s a garage righ t here,’ objected Jordan.W ith an im patient sound Tom stopped the car under W ilsons

sign. After a m om en t the ow ner came ou t from inside and stared miserably at the car.

‘Let’s have som e gas!’ cried Tom roughly .‘W hat do you th ink we stopped for — to adm ire the view ?’

‘I ’m sick,’ said W ilson, no t m oving. ‘Been sick all day.’‘Well, shall I help m yself?’Tom d em an d ed .‘You sounded well

enough on the phone.’

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W ith an effort W ilson left the support o f the doorw ay and began to w ork the pum p. In the sun his face was green.

‘I d idn ’t m ean to in te rru p t your lunch,’ he said. ‘B ut I need m oney pretty bad, and I was w ondering w hat you were going to do w ith your old car.’

‘H o w do you like this one?’ asked Tom. ‘I ju st bough t it.’ i t ’s a nice yellow one,’ said W ilson. ‘B ut I could make some

m oney on the other.’‘W hat do you w ant m oney for, all o f a sudden?’‘I’ve been here too long. I w ant to get away M y wife and I

w ant to go West.’‘Your wife does?’ cried Tom.‘She’s been talking about it for ten years. A nd now she’s going

w h eth er she wants to or not. I ju st found ou t som ething funny is going on, and I’m going to get her away. T h a t’s w hy I’ve been asking you about the car.’

‘W hat do I owe you?’ dem anded Tom sharply.‘O n e dollar twenty.’I realized that so far he d idn’t suspect Tom. H e had discovered

that M yrtle had som e sort o f life apart from h im in another w orld, and the shock had m ade h im ill.

‘I’ll let you have that car,’ said T o m .‘Tom orrow.’O ver the piles o f ash, the enorm ous eyes o f D octo r T .J .

E ckleburg were w atching, bu t w hen I tu rned round I realized that o th er eyes were also looking at us. In one o f the w indow s over the garage the curtains had been pulled to one side, and M yrtle W ilson was staring dow n at the car. H er eyes, w ide w ith jealous terror, w ere fixed no t on Tom, bu t on Jordan Baker, w hom she though t was his wife.

♦

Tom drove on towards N ew York at high speed.T he confusion in his simple m ind was obvious. A n h o u r earlier he had been sure o f

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his wife and his lover - and now they w ere bo th slipping rapidly ou t o f his control. W e caught up Gatsby and Daisy, and argued about how we were going to spend the ho t afternoon. Jordan w anted to go to a cinema; Daisy suggested that we hire five bathroom s and take cold baths. In the end, for no very good reason, we decided to hire a sitting room in the Plaza H otel. We all said it was a crazy idea bu t at least it was a place w here we could drink som ething cool.

T he room was large and airless, and opening the w indow s only let in som e ho t air from the Park. Daisy w ent to the m irror to fix her hair.

‘O pen another w indow !’ she said, w ith o u t tu rn ing round. ‘T here aren’t any m ore w indow s.’‘Well, w e’d better telephone for a h am m er—’‘Forget about the heat,’ said Tom im patiently .‘You m ake it ten

times worse by com plaining about it.’‘W hy no t let her alone, old sport?’ rem arked Gatsby.T here was a m o m en t o f silence.‘T h a t’s a great expression o f yours,’ said Tom sharply.‘W hat is?’‘All this “ old spo rt” business. W h ere ’d you get it from ?’‘N o w see here, Tom,’ said Daisy, ‘if y o u ’re going to make

personal remarks I w o n ’t stay here a m inute. Call up and order some ice for the drinks.’

Tom took up the telephone and gave the order. T hen , for some reason, he and I started talking about our college days. Suddenly, Tom tu rn ed to Gatsby.

‘By the way, M r Gatsby, I hear yo u ’re an O xford m an.’‘N o t exactly.’‘O h , yes, I understand you w ent to O xford.’‘Yes - I w ent there.’A pause.T hen Tom ’s voice, scornful and unbelieving:‘I w onder

w hen that could have been.’

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A nother pause. A w aiter came in w ith crushed ice, and closed the door softly. We all looked at Gatsby. This im portan t detail was to be cleared up at last.

‘I to ld you I w ent there,’ he said.‘I heard you, bu t I’d like to know w hen.’‘It was in 1919. I only stayed five m onths — th a t’s w hy I can’t

really call m yself an O xford m an. It was an opportun ity they gave to som e o f the officers after the war.’

I w anted to shout w ith joy. M y be lie f in him returned .Daisy sm iled .‘O pen the whisky,Tom . I’ll pou r you a drink.’ ‘Wait a m inute. I w ant to ask M r Gatsby one m ore question.’ ‘G o on,’ Gatsby said politely.‘W h a t k in d o f tro u b le are you try in g to cause in m y

house?’T hey w ere ou t in the open at last.‘H e isn’t causing trouble,’ said Daisy. ‘You’re causing trouble,

Tom. Please have a little control.’‘C ontrol! I suppose these days y o u ’re expected to sit back and

let M r N o b o d y from N ow here make love to your wife!’i ’ve got som ething to tell you,’ said Gatsby.‘Your wife doesn’t

love you. She’s never loved you. She loves me.’‘You m ust be crazy!’ cried Tom.Gatsby ju m p ed up. ‘She only m arried you because I was poor

and she was tired o f w aiting for me. It was a terrib le mistake, but in her heart she never loved anyone but m e!’

‘Daisy!’ said T o m .‘W h a t’s been going on?’‘I told you,’ said Gatsby.‘G oing on for five years.’Tom tu rned to Daisy sharply.‘Y ou’ve been seeing this person for five years?’‘N o t seeing,’ said Gatsby.‘N o, w e cou ldn’t m eet. B ut bo th o f us

loved each o ther all that time.’‘T h a t’s a lie!’ Tom burst out. ‘Daisy loved m e w hen she

m arried m e and she loves m e now. A nd I love Daisy too. O nce in

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a w hile I go o ff on a little adventure, bu t I always com e back, and in my heart I love her all the time.’

‘You’re disgusting,’ said Daisy. She tu rn ed to me. ‘D o you know w hy we left Chicago? You d id n ’t hear the story o f that “little adventure” ?’

‘Daisy, that doesn’t m atter now,’ said Gatsby. ‘Just tell him the tru th — that you never loved him .’

She looked at h im blindly.‘W hy - how could I love him ?’ ‘You never loved him .’She paused .‘1 never loved him ,’ she said slowly.‘N o t on o u r w edding trip?’ dem anded Tom. ‘N o t that day I

carried you dow n the hill to keep your shoes dry?’ T here was a gentleness in his voice . . . ‘Daisy?’

‘Please d o n ’t.’ H er hand was shaking as she tried to light a cigarette. Suddenly, she threw the cigarette and the burn ing m atch on the floor.

‘O h , you w ant too m uch!’ she cried to Gatsby.‘I love you now - isn’t that enough? I can’t help w h at’s past. I did love h im once - bu t I loved you too.’

‘Even tha t’s a lie,’ said Tom. ‘She never though t o f you .’T h e words seem ed to bite into Gatsby.

‘I w ant to speak to Daisy alone,’ he said.‘Even alone I can’t say 1 never loved Tom.’ H er voice was

shaking. ‘It w ou ldn ’t be true.’‘O f course it w ou ldn ’t,’ said T o m .‘A nd from now on I’m going

to take care o f you, Daisy.’‘You d o n ’t understand,’ said Gatsby. ‘You’re no t going to take

care o f her any m ore.’‘I’m not?’ Tom opened his eyes w ide and laughed. H e could

afford to contro l him self now .‘W h y ’s that?’‘Daisy’s leaving you.’‘Nonsense.’‘I am, though,’ she said w ith an effort.

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Tom ignored her. ‘She’s no t leaving me! C ertain ly no t for som eone as dishonest as you! W ho are you? You hang around w ith M eyer W olfshiem — I’ve been looking in to your affairs.’

‘I w o n ’t stand this!’ cried Daisy.‘O h , le t’s get ou t!’‘I found ou t w hat your drugstores were.’ H e tu rn ed to us. ‘H e

and this W olfshiem bough t up a lo t o f side-street drugstores here and in Chicago, and used them to sell alcohol. M y friend W alter told me. B ut now they’re concerned w ith som ething bigger - W alter’s afraid to tell m e about it.’

I looked at Gatsby, and the expression on his face frightened me. It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy. B ut w ith every w ord she was draw ing further and fu rther in to herself, so he gave up. W hatever courage she had had was definitely gone. She begged again to go.

‘Please Tom! I can’t stand this any more.’‘You tw o go hom e, Daisy,’ said Tom. ‘In M r Gatsby’s car. Go

on. H e w o n ’t annoy you now — he realizes it’s over.’T hey w ent, w ith o u t a w ord. After a m om en t Tom got up and

began w rapping the unopened bottle o f whisky in the cloth. ‘W ant any o f this? Jordan? N ick?’I d id n ’t answer.‘N ick?’‘W hat?’‘W ant any?’‘N o . . . I just rem em bered that today’s my birthday.’I was thirty.It was seven o ’clock w h en we got in to the car w ith h im and

set o ff for Long Island.T h irty — the promise o f loneliness in front o f me. A th inn ing

list o f unm arried friends, th inn ing hair. But there was Jordan beside me, w ho was w iser than Daisy. As we drove, her pale face fell lazily against my shoulder.

So w e drove on through the falling darkness towards death.

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C h ap te r 8 A cc id en t

T he m ain witness to the accident was the young Greek, M ichaelis, w ho ran the cafe beside the ash piles. H e to ld his story later, at the inquiry.

Som e tim e after five he had w andered over to the garage and found G eorge W ilson sick in his office — really sick, pale as his own pale hair and shaking all over. M ichaelis advised h im to go to bed, bu t he refused.T hen they heard a v iolent noise upstairs.

i ’ve got my wife locked in up there,’ explained W ilson. ‘She’s going to stay there until the day after tom orrow , and then w e’re going to m ove away.’

Michaelis was astonished; they had been neighbours for four years, and W ilson did no t seem the kind o f m an w ho had the strength to do such a thing. So naturally M ichaelis tried to find out w hat had happened. B ut W ilson w ou ldn ’t say a w ord - instead he began to question his visitor as if he suspected him , asking him w hat h e ’d been doing at certain times on certain days. M ichaelis w ent back to his cafe.

W hen he came ou t again around seven he heard M rs W ilson’s voice, loud and angry, in the garage. A m om ent later she rushed ou t in to the road, waving her hands and shouting.

T h e ‘death car’, as the newspapers called it, d idn’t stop; it came ou t o f the grow ing darkness, slowed dow n for a m om ent, and then disappeared around the nex t bend. T he o ther car, the one going to N ew York, stopped a hundred yards further on, and its driver h u rried back to w here M yrtle W ilson lay in the road, her thick, dark b lood m ixing w ith the dust.

♦

We saw the cars and the crowds w hen we were still some distance from the garage. ‘A crash!’ said Tom. ‘W e’ll take a look.’ H e stopped the car, and we got out. W e saw the serious faces o f

59

the people at the garage door, and we could hear a strange groaning sound com ing from inside.

‘T h e re ’s some bad trouble here,’ said Tom excitedly.H e looked over a circle o f heads into the garage. T h en he made

a rough sound in his throat and w ith a violent m ovem ent pushed his way through. Jordan and I followed w hen we were able to.

M yrtle W ilson’s body lay on a w ork table by the wall, and Tom was bend ing over it. N ex t to him stood a policem an, taking dow n names in a little book. T h e groaning sound was com ing from W ilson, w ho was standing in the doorw ay o f his office, rocking backwards and forwards and m aking his high, terrible call: ‘O h , m y God! O h , my God! O h , m y G od!’

Tom tu rn ed to the policem an.‘W hat happened? T h a t’s w hat I w ant to know.’‘C ar hit her. Killed immediately. She ran ou t in to the road.

D river d id n ’t even stop his car.’‘It was a yellow car,’ said a m an. ‘Big, yellow car.’W ilson seem ed to hear this. ‘You d o n ’t have to tell m e w hat

k ind o f car it was. I know w hat kind o f car it was!’Tom walked over to W ilson and pu t his hands on his arms.

‘Listen. I ju st got here, from N ew York. I was bring ing you my car. T hat yellow car I was driv ing this afternoon w asn’t m ine — do you hear?’ H e picked up W ilson, carried him in to the office and set h im dow n in a chair.

‘Let’s get out,’ he w hispered to me, and we pushed o u r way th rough the crow d and out to the car.

As the car raced th rough the night, I heard a low sound and saw that the tears were flowing dow n T om ’s face.

‘H e d id n ’t even stop his car,’ he said.

♦

Suddenly we were outside the B uchanans’ house.‘Daisy’s here,’ said Tom , looking up at tw o lighted w indows.

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T h en he tu rn ed to me. ‘I ough t to have dropped you in West Egg, N ick. I’ll telephone for a taxi to take you hom e. You and Jordan can go in to the k itchen and the servants will get you some supper - if you w ant any.’

‘N o, thanks. B u t I’d be glad if you ’d order the taxi.’Jordan pu t her hand on my arm . ‘W on’t you com e in, Nick?

I t’s only half past nine.’‘N o, thanks.’ I was feeling a little sick and I w anted to be alone.

I’d had enough o f all o f them for one day, and suddenly that included Jordan too. She m ust have seen som ething o f this in my expression, for she tu rned sharply away and ran up the steps. I began w alking dow n the drive.

A m om ent later I heard my nam e, and Gatsby stepped from betw een two bushes.

‘W hat are you doing?’ I inquired.‘Just standing here, old sport.’ After a m inute he asked, ‘D id

you see any trouble on the road?’‘Yes.’H e paused .‘Was she killed?’‘Yes.’‘I though t so; I told Daisy I though t so. It’s better that the

shock should all com e at once. She took it quite well.’ H e spoke as if the effect o f the accident on Daisy was the only th ing that m attered.

‘I got to W est Egg by a side road,’ he w ent o n ,‘and left the car in my garage. I d o n ’t th ink anybody saw us.’

I felt so angry w ith him , I d id n ’t tell him he was w rong.‘W h o was the w om an?’ he inquired.‘H er nam e was W ilson. H er husband owns the garage. H ow

ever did it happen?’‘Well, I tried to tu rn the w h e e l- ’ H e stopped, and suddenly I

guessed at the tru th .‘Was Daisy driving?’

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‘Yes,’ he said after a m om ent. ‘B ut o f course I ’ll say I was. You see, w h en we left N ew York she was very upset, and she though t it w ould help her to drive. This w om an rushed ou t at us just as we were passing a car com ing the o th er way. It seem ed to m e that she w anted to speak to us - that she though t we w ere som ebody she knew. Well, first Daisy tu rn ed away from the w om an towards the o ther car, then she was afraid and tu rned back. I felt the shock as we hit her. I tried to make Daisy stop, bu t she cou ldn’t.

‘She’ll be all righ t tom orrow ,’ he w ent on. ‘I’m ju st going to w ait here in case Tom tries to h u rt her.’

‘H e w o n ’t touch her. H e ’s no t th ink ing about her. H ow long are you going to wait?’

‘All night, if necessary. Well, until they go to bed.’I looked at the house; there were tw o o r three lighted

w indow s downstairs. ‘You wait here,’ I said. ‘I’ll see if there’s any sign o f trouble.’

I walked silently over the lawn to the k itchen w indow.Daisy and Tom were sitting opposite each o ther at the k itchen

table, w ith a plate o f cold chicken betw een them , and tw o bottles o f beer. Tom was talking, and from tim e to tim e Daisy m oved her head in agreem ent. T hey w eren’t happy, and they hadn’t touched the food and d rink — and yet they w eren’t unhappy either. T hey looked as if they were planning som ething together.

As I w ent back to Gatsby, I heard m y taxi arriving.‘It’s all quiet up there. C om e hom e and get som e sleep.’‘N o, I w ant to wait here until Daisy goes to bed. G ood night,

old sport.’ H e tu rn ed to look eagerly at the house.So I walked away and left h im standing there in the m oonlight

— w atching over nothing.

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C h ap te r 9 M u rd er

I hardly slept all n ight. A round four I heard a taxi go up Gatsby s drive, and im m ediately I ju m p ed ou t o f bed and began to dress. I felt 1 had som ething to tell him , som ething to w arn h im about, and m orn ing w ould be too late.

Crossing his lawn, I saw that his front door was still open. H e was in the hall, leaning heavily on a table.

‘N o th in g happened,’ he said. ‘I w aited, and at last she came to the w indow and stood there for a m inu te and then tu rned ou t the light.’

H e w anted a cigarette, and we began hun ting through the great room s for the cigarette box. T h a t n ight his house seem ed to m e m ore enorm ous than ever - and strangely dusty, as if no one was living there. T here were only tw o old cigarettes left in the box. We threw open the sitting-room w indow s and sat sm oking ou t in to the darkness.

‘You o u g h t to go away,’ I said. ‘T h e y ’re sure to find y o u r car.’

‘G o away now, old sport?’H e w ou ldn ’t consider it. H e cou ldn ’t possibly leave Daisy until

he knew w hat she was going to do. H e was hanging on to some last hope that she m ight leave Tom, and I cou ldn ’t bear to tell h im there was no longer any hope.

It was this n igh t that he told m e the strange story o f his youth w ith D an C o d y H e to ld m e because ‘Jay Gatsby’ had broken up like glass against T om ’s hardness, and d id n ’t exist any m ore - the long game was over.

H e w anted to talk about Daisy. She was the first ‘n ice’ girl he had ever know n. H e found her excitingly desirable. H e w ent to her house, at first w ith o ther officers from the arm y camp, then alone. It astonished him — he had never been in such a beautiful

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house before. A nd because Daisy lived there, it had a feeling o f m ystery about it.

B ut he knew that he was in D aisy’s house by accident. She knew no th ing about him . H e had let her believe that he was from the same sort o f background as herself - that he was fully able to take care o f her. H e d id n ’t tell her that he had no com fortable family standing behind him . H e m ight have a golden future as Jay Gatsby, bu t at present he was a penniless young m an w ith o u t a past. His soldier’s un iform protected him , bu t w hen he lost that, he w ould be a nobody. So he m ade the m ost o f his time. H e took w hat he could get — and in the end he took Daisy, one quiet O cto b er night.

H e had in tended, probably, to take w hat he could and go - bu t now he found that he could no t pull him self away from Daisy. H e knew that Daisy was extraordinary, bu t he d idn ’t realize just how extraordinary a ‘n ice’ girl could be. She disappeared that n ight in to her rich house, in to her rich , full life, leaving Gatsby — nothing. H e felt m arried to her, that was all.

♦

‘I can’t tell you how surprised I was to find ou t I loved her, old sport. 1 even hoped for a w hile that she w ould th row m e over, bu t she d id n ’t, because she was in love w ith m e too. She though t 1 knew a lot because I knew different things from her. Well, there I was, going in quite the w rong direction to succeed in m y plans for m y life. I was getting deeper in love every m inute, and all o f a sudden I d idn’t care about my plans. W hat was the use o f doing great things if I could have a be tter tim e telling her w hat I was going to do?’

O n the last afternoon before he w ent abroad, he sat silently w ith Daisy in his arms for a long time. It was a cold fall day, w ith a fire in the room . N o w and then she m oved and he changed the

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position o f his arm a little, and once he kissed her dark, shining hair. T he afternoon had m ade them calm, as if to give them a deep m em ory for the long separation that was to come. T hey had never been closer in their m onth o f love.

♦

H e did surprisingly well in the war. H e was made a captain even before he w en t to fight in France, and following the A rgonne battles he was pu t in com m and o f his unit. After the w ar was over he tried hard to get hom e, bu t for som e reason he was sent to O xford instead. H e was w orried now by Daisy’s letters. She d idn’t see w hy he cou ldn’t come. She w anted to see h im and feel him beside her, to be sure that she was doing the righ t thing.

For Daisy was young, and she was feeling the pressure o f the w orld around her, w here her friends danced all night. She began to move again w ith the season; suddenly she was accepting lots o f invitations from lots o f different m en. A nd all the tim e som ething inside her was crying for a decision. She w anted her life shaped now, im m ediately — and the decision m ust be m ade by some force that was close at hand.

T hat force took shape in the m iddle o f spring w ith the arrival o f Tom B uchanan .T here was a solidness about his person and his position, and Daisy decided to pu t her future in his hands. T he letter announcing her engagem ent reached Gatsby w hile he was still at O xford.

♦

It was getting light now on Long Island and we w ent around opening the rest o f the w indow s downstairs.

‘I d o n ’t th ink she ever loved him .’ Gatsby tu rned around from a window. ‘She was very excited this afternoon - she hardly knew w hat she was saying.’

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H e sat dow n w ith a look o f hopelessness.‘O f course, she m ight have loved h im for just a m inute, w hen

they were first m arried — and loved m e m ore even then , do you see?’

H e had com e back from France w hen Tom and Daisy were still on the ir w edding trip, and m ade a miserable jo u rn ey to Louisville on the last o f his arm y pay. H e stayed there a week, w alking the streets w here they had walked together. W h en he left on the bus, he was penniless.

It was nine o ’clock w hen we finished breakfast and w ent ou t on the porch. T he n ight had m ade a sharp difference to the weather, and there was a touch o f au tum n in the air. T he gardener, the last one o f Gatsby’s form er servants, came to the foot o f the steps.

‘I’m going to em pty the pool today, M r Gatsby. Leaves’ll start falling soon, and there’ll be trouble w ith the pipes.’

‘D o n ’t do it today,’ Gatsby said. H e tu rn ed to me. ‘You know, old sport, I ’ve never used that pool all summer.’

I looked at my w atch and stood up.‘Twelve m inutes to my train.’I d idn’t w ant to go to the city. I d idn ’t feel like w ork, b u t it was

m ore than that — I d idn’t w ant to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get m yself away.

‘I’ll call you up,’ I said finally. ‘A bout twelve.’‘D o, old sport.’We walked slowly dow n the steps.‘I suppose Daisy’ll call too.’ H e looked at m e anxiously.‘I suppose so.’‘Well, goodbye.’We shook hands and I set off. Just before I reached my garden

I rem em bered som ething and tu rned around.‘T h ey ’re no good, any o f them !’ I shouted across the lawn, and

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I m eant Tom and Daisy, and all Gatsbys fashionable ‘friends’. ‘Y ou’re w orth the w hole lo t o f them !’

I’ve always been glad I said that. It was the only praise I ever gave him , because I disapproved o f h im from beginning to end. H e raised his hand politely, then his face broke in to that w onderful, understanding smile o f his, as if the tw o o f us were close together in a secret world.

‘Goodbye,’ I called .‘I enjoyed breakfast, Gatsby.’

♦

U p in the city, I tried for a w hile to w rite ou t a long list o f figures, then I fell asleep in my chair. A round midday the phone woke me. It was Jordan Baker, w ho often called m e up at this hour, because it was difficult for m e to call her. Usually her voice came over the line as som ething fresh and cool, bu t today it seem ed sharp and dry.

i ’m going dow n to Southam pton this afternoon.’ She paused. ‘You w eren’t so nice to m e last night.’

This m ade m e angry. ‘Last night, no th ing m attered.’Silence for a m om ent. T h e n :‘B ut — I w ant to see you.’‘I w ant to see you, too.’‘Suppose I d o n ’t go to Southam pton, and m eet you in tow n

instead?’‘N o, I d o n ’t th ink this afternoon.’‘Very well.’i t ’s impossible this afternoon. Various—’We talked like that for a while, and then suddenly we w eren’t

talking any longer. I d o n ’t know w hich o f us hung up, bu t I know I d idn’t care.

I called Gatsby’s house a few m inutes later, but the line was busy. I tried four times; finally the operator told m e the line was being kept open for a call from D etroit. Taking out my tim etable,

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I drew a small circle around the 3.50 train. It was ju st twelve o ’clock.

♦

N o w I w ant to go back a little and tell w hat happened at the garage after we left. T he story was told later at the inquiry by Michaelis, the ow ner o f the cafe.

All n igh t he had stayed w ith W ilson. U ntil long after m idnight the garage was full o f people. T hey left at last, and M ichaelis was alone w ith W ilson, w ho was still rocking backwards and forwards and groaning. A bout three o ’clock he grew quieter, and began to talk about his wife. H e said that a few m onths ago she had com e hom e from the city w ith her nose cut and bleeding.

‘I th o ugh t then there was som ething funny going on. And yesterday afternoon I found this.’ H e opened a drawer in the desk and pulled ou t an expensive dog collar.

‘I found this am ong her things. She tried to explain it, bu t I could see she was lying - I knew then she had some o ther m an. I took her to the window,’ — w ith an effort he got up and walked to the w indow and leaned w ith his face pressed against it — ‘and I said, “ G od knows w hat yo u ’ve been doing, everything y o u ’ve been doing. You may deceive me, bu t you can’t deceive G od — G od sees everything!” ’

Standing behind W ilson, M ichaelis saw w ith a shock that he was looking at the eyes o f D o c to r T. J. Eckleburg, pale and enorm ous in the early m o rn in g light.

‘T h a t’s an advertisem ent!’ M ichaelis told him .‘A nd then he killed her,’ said W ilson.‘W h o did?’‘T he m an in the yellow car - her lover. She ran ou t to speak to

him and he w ou ldn ’t stop. H e murdered her. Well, I’m going to find ou t w h o that yellow car belongs to.’

♦

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By six o ’clock W ilson seem ed quiet, and M ichaelis w ent hom e to sleep. W hen he awoke four hours later and hu rried back to the garage, W ilson was gone.

T he police w ere later able to follow his m ovem ents as far as G ad’s Hill. H e was on foot all the tim e, and various people had seen a m an on the road ‘acting sort o f crazy’. H e reached G ad’s Hill at about twelve o ’clock, and bough t a sandwich that he d idn’t eat. T h e n for tw o hours he disappeared from view. T he police supposed that he spent that tim e going from garage to garage, inquiring for a yellow car. B ut no garage m an w ho had seen him ever cam e forward. Perhaps he had an easier, surer way o f finding ou t w hat he w anted to know. By half past two he was in W est Egg, w here he asked som eone the way to Gatsby’s house. So by that tim e he knew Gatsby’s name.

♦

A t two o ’clock Gatsby put on his swim suit and told the butler that if anyone phoned he should b ring w ord to him at the pool. H e w ent to the garage for a w ater bed that had amused his guests during the sum m er, and the driver helped him to pum p it up. T h en he gave orders that the open car wasn’t to be taken ou t for any reason — and this was strange, because the front was damaged on the righ t side and needed repair.

Gatsby picked up the bed and started for the pool.N o telephone message arrived, from Daisy or anyone else. T he

butler w ent w ith o u t his sleep and w aited for it until four o ’clock — until long after there was anyone to give it to. I have an idea that Gatsby him self d id n ’t believe it w ould come, and perhaps he no longer cared.

T he driver heard the shots — afterwards he only said that he hadn’t though t anything m uch about them . N o one w ent near the pool until I arrived from the station and rushed anxiously up

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the front steps. T h en we h u rried dow n to the pool, the driver, butler, gardener and I.

T here were small waves on the water, and the w ater bed w ith its load was m oving dow n the pool. W e could see a red line spreading from it through the water.

It was as we were carrying Gatsby’s body towards the house that the gardener saw the body o f W ilson a little way o ff in the grass. T h e destruction was com plete.

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C h ap te r 10 Saying G oodbye

Two years later I rem em ber the rest o f that day, and that night and the next day, only as an endless stream o f police and photographers and new spaperm en in and ou t o f Gatsby’s front door. I said as little as possible myself. O n e policem an used the w ord crazy as he b en t over W ilson’s body that afternoon; and the new spaper reports the next day took up this idea.

Later, at the inquiry, M ichaelis’s story showed that W ilson had suspected his w ife o f having an affair w ith another m an. I though t then that the w hole story m ight com e ou t - bu t M yrtle’s sister C atherine, w ho m ight have said so m uch, d idn’t say a word. She swore that her sister had never seen Gatsby, that her sister had been com pletely happy w ith her husband, that her sister had been in no trouble at all. So the decision reached by the inquiry was that M yrtle W ilson had been accidentally killed by a stranger; and G eorge W ilson, driven crazy by grief, had followed the track o f this stranger, shot him and then shot himself. T he case was closed.

B ut all this part o f it d idn’t seem to matter. W hat m attered was that I found m yself on Gatsby’s side, and alone. From the m om en t I te lephoned news o f the m urder to West Egg village, every question and every inquiry about h im was addressed to me. A t first I was surprised and confused; then , as he lay in his house and d idn’t move or breathe or speak, h o u r after hour, it grew on m e that I was responsible, because no one else was interested.

I called up Daisy half an h o u r after we found him . B ut she and Tom had gone away early that afternoon.

‘Left no address?’‘N o.’‘Any idea w here they are? H ow could I reach them ?’‘I d o n ’t know. C an ’t say.’I w anted to get som ebody for him . I w anted to go in to the

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room w here he lay and prom ise him: ‘I’ll get som ebody for you, Gatsby D o n ’t worry. Just trust me.’

I tried to telephone M eyer W olfshiem, bu t he w asn’t in. T h en I w ent upstairs and looked quickly th rough the unlocked parts o f his desk — h e ’d never told m e definitely that his parents were dead. B u t there was no th in g - only the picture o f D an C ody staring coldly dow n from the wall.

N ex t m orn ing I sent the bu tler to N ew York w ith a letter to W olfshiem, asking h im to com e ou t on the next train. I was sure h e ’d com e, w hen he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure there’d be a message from Daisy B ut neither arrived .T he butler brought back a le tter from Wolfshiem. ‘This has been a terrible shock to me. B ut I cannot com e dow n now as 1 am tied up in som e very im portan t business and cannot get m ixed up in this thing.’

W h en the phone rang that afternoon and the operator said there was a call from Chicago, I th o u g h t this w ould be Daisy at last. B ut it was a m an’s voice on the phone.

‘This is Slagle speaking . . . ’‘Yes?’ I d idn’t know the name.‘Young Parke’s in trouble. T he police got him w hen he tried

to sell those stolen bonds — they’d ju st got a message from N ew York giving them the n u m b e rs -’

‘Look here!’ I in terrup ted . ‘This isn’t M r Gatsby. M r Gatsby s dead.’

T here was a long silence, followed by a cry o f fear, and the caller hun g up suddenly.

♦

I th ink it was on the th ird day that a message signed H enry C. Gatz arrived from a tow n in M innesota. It said only that the sender was com ing immediately.

H e came. It was Gatsby’s father, a grave old m an, in a tired, miserable state.

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‘I saw it in the C hicago newspaper,’ he said. ‘It was all in the newspaper. I started righ t away.’

‘I d idn’t know how to reach you.’His eyes m oved about the room , seeing nothing.‘It was a crazy m an,’ he said.‘H e m ust have been crazy.’‘W ouldn’t you like some coffee?’ I said.‘I do n ’t w ant anything. W here have they got Jim m y?’I took him in to the room w here his son lay, and left h im there.A fter a little w hile he cam e ou t, his m o u th open, and a few

tears on his face. H e had reached an age w here death no longer has the quality o f terrib le surprise; and w h en he looked around him now and saw the heigh t and beauty o f the hall and the great room s o pen ing o u t from it, his g r ie f began to be m ixed w ith pride. I helped h im to a bed ro o m upstairs, and to ld h im that all arrangem ents for the funeral had been pu t o ff until he came.

‘I d idn’t know w hat you ’d w ant, M r Gatsby—’‘Gatz is my name.’‘M r Gatz. I thou g h t you m ight w ant to take the body back

West.’H e shook his head. ‘Jim m y always liked it better dow n East.

H e rose up to his position here. W ere you a friend o f his?’‘We were close friends.’‘H e had a big future before him , you know. If h e ’d lived, he

w ould have been a great man. H e ’d have helped build up the country.’

‘T h a t’s true,’ I said, uncom fortably.H e lay dow n stiffly, and was im m ediately asleep.T hat n ight I had a call from Klipspringer, the young m an w ho

had been Gatsby’s house guest for so long. T hat w ould be another friend at Gatsby’s grave.

‘T he funeral’s tom orrow ,’ I said. ‘T hree o ’clock, here at the house. I wish y o u ’d tell anybody w h o ’d be interested.’ I d idn’t

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w ant to pu t it in the newspapers and draw a sightseeing crowd, so I ’d been calling up people m yself.They were hard to find. ‘O f course, y o u ’ll be there yourself.’

‘Well, I d o n ’t th ink I . . .W h a t I called up about was a pair o fshoes I left there. C ould you ask the bu tler to send them on? Yousee, they ’re tennis shoes, and I’m sort o f helpless w ith o u t them . M y address is—’

I d id n ’t hear his address, because I hung up in disgust.T he m orn ing o f the funeral I w ent up to N ew York to see

M eyer W olfshiem. H e drew m e in to his office, rem arking that it was a sad tim e for all o f us.

‘M y m em ory goes back to w hen I first m et him ,’ he said. ‘H e was look ing for a job . A young officer ju st ou t o f the arm y and covered over w ith decorations he got in the war. H e was so poo r he had to keep on w earing his un ifo rm because he cou ldn ’t buy som e ordinary clothes. H e h ad n ’t eaten anything for a few days. “ C om e and have lunch w ith me,” I said. H e ate m ore than four dollars’ w orth o f food in half an hour.’

‘D id you start h im in business?’ I inquired.‘Start him! I m ade him . I raised h im out o f nothing. I saw he

was a gentlem anly-looking young m an, and w hen he told m e he was at O xford I knew I could use him . H e did som e w ork for a friend o f m ine righ t away. We were like that,’ - he held up tw o fat fingers — ‘always together.’

‘N o w h e ’s dead,’ I said after a m om ent. ‘You w ere his closest friend, so y o u ’ll w ant to com e to his funeral this afternoon.’

‘I can’t do it - I can’t get m ixed up in it,’ he said.‘W h en a m an gets killed, I never get m ixed up in it.’

I w en t hom e to W est Egg, changed m y clothes and w ent next door. It was raining. I found M r Gatz walking up and dow n excitedly in the hall. His pride in his son and in his son’s possessions was continually increasing.

‘H ad you seen your son recently?’ I asked.

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‘H e came ou t to see m e tw o years ago, and bough t m e the house I live in now. H e was always very generous to me.’

A little before three the m inister from the church arrived, and I began to look ou t o f the w indow s for o th er cars. T he servants came in and w e all stood waiting in the hall. M r Gatz spoke anxiously o f the rain, and I asked the m inister to wait for half an hour. B ut it w asn’t any use. N obody came.

♦

After the funeral we drove to the graveyard. M r Gatz and the m inister and m e in one car, the servants and the postm an from West Egg in another. As we walked towards the grave, I heard a car stop and then the sound o f som eone walking after us. I looked around. It was the m an w ith the round glasses that I had found looking at Gatsby’s books in the library during that first party.

I’d never seen h im since then. I d o n ’t know how he knew about the funeral, o r even his name.

‘I couldn’t get to the house,’ he said.‘N either could anybody else.’‘No! M y God! T hey used to go there by the hundreds!’T he

rain poured dow n his thick glasses, and he took them o ff to w atch Gatsby being lowered into the grave.

I tried to th ink about Gatsby then for a m om ent, bu t he was already too far away. I could only rem em ber, w ith o u t anger, that Daisy hadn’t sent a message or a flower.

♦

I see now that this has been a story o f the West after all - Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and Jordan and I, w ere all W esterners, and perhaps we possessed som e lack in com m on w hich m ade us som ehow uncom fortable w ith Eastern life.

After Gatsby s death the East was changed and spoilt for me. So in O ctober I decided to com e back hom e.

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T here was one th ing to be done before I left, because I w anted to leave things in order. I saw Jordan Baker, and talked over and around w hat had happened to us together, and w hat had happened afterwards to me. She lay quite still, listening, in a big chair.

She was dressed to play golf, and I though t she looked like a good fashion photograph. W h en I had finished she told m e that she was engaged to ano ther m an. I doubted that, though there w ere several m en w ho w ould have been eager to m arry her, bu t I pretended to be surprised.

‘B ut you did throw m e over,’ said Jordan. ‘You threw m e over on the telephone. 1 d o n ’t care a b it about you now, bu t it was a new experience, and I felt strange for a while.’

I got up to say goodbye. We shook hands.‘O h , and do you rem em ber,’ she ad d ed ,‘a conversation w e had

once about driving a car? You said a bad driver was only safe until he m et another bad driver. Well, I m et another bad driver, d id n ’t I? I m ade a w rong guess about you. I thou g h t you were rather an honest person.’

Angry, and half in love w ith her, and enorm ously sorry, I tu rned away.

♦

O n e afternoon late in O cto b er I saw Tom Buchanan. H e was walking ahead o f m e along Fifth Avenue. Suddenly he saw m e and walked back, holding ou t his hand.

‘W h a t’s the m atter, N ick? D o you refuse to shake hands?’‘Yes. You know w hat I th ink o f you. Tom,’ I inquired, ‘w hat

did you say to W ilson that afternoon?’H e stared at m e w ith o u t a w ord, and I knew I had guessed

righ t about those missing hours. I started to tu rn away, bu t he seized m y arm .

‘I told h im the tru th ,’ he said. ‘H e came to the doo r w hile we

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were getting ready to leave. I told the bu tler to say we w eren ’t in, bu t he tried to force his way upstairs. H e was crazy enough to kill m e if I hadn’t to ld him w h o ow ned the car. His hand was on a gun in his po ck e t—’ H e stopped suddenly.‘W hat if I did tell him? Gatsby deserved it. H e ran over M yrtle like y o u ’d run over a dog and never even stopped his car.’

T here was no th in g I could say. I cou ldn ’t tell him that it w asn’t Gatsby w ho had ru n over M yrtle, bu t Daisy.

‘A nd I had m y share o f suffering - look here, w hen I w ent to give up that flat and saw that dog food sitting there, I sat dow n and cried like a baby, it was te r r ib le - ’

I couldn’t forgive h im o r like him , bu t I saw that w hat he had done was, to him , com pletely right. It was all very careless and confused. T hey w ere careless people,Tom and Daisy - they broke up things and creatures, and left o ther people to deal w ith the confusion, w hile they re tu rned to the ir money, o r their carelessness, o r w hatever it was that kept them together.

I shook hands w ith him ; it seem ed silly no t to, for I felt suddenly as though I were talking to a child.

♦

Gatsby’s house was still em pty w hen I left - the grass on his lawn had grow n as long as m ine. I spent my Saturday nights in N ew York because those parties o f his were w ith m e so clearly that I could still hear the music and the laughter from his garden, and the cars going up and dow n his drive.

O n the last night, w ith all my things packed and my car sold, I w ent over and looked at that enorm ous house once more. O n the w hite steps som e boy had w ritten a dirty w ord, w hich stood ou t clearly in the m oonlight. I rubbed it ou t w ith my shoe. T hen I w andered dow n to the beach and sat on the sand.

M ost o f the b ig houses along the shore w ere closed now, and there were hardly any lights. As the m oon rose higher the houses

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began to m elt away until gradually I becam e conscious o f the old island here, w here the first D u tch sailors had landed — a fresh, green breast o f the new world. T h e green trees that had made way for Gatsby s house had w hispered once to those sailors on the shore; for a short magic m o m en t they m ust have paused, face to face for the last tim e in history w ith a new w orld, the greatest o f all hum an dreams.

A nd as I sat there th ink ing o f the old, unknow n world, I though t o f Gatsby’s w onder w hen he first picked ou t the green light at the end o f Daisy’s sea wall. H e had com e a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream m ust have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to seize it. H e did n o t know that it was already behind h im , som ew here back in that enorm ous darkness beyond the city, w here the dark fields o f the m idw est rolled on under the night.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the magic prom ise o f the future. H e d idn’t realize that as we reach forward towards the dream, it moves ever further away from us. We press on, like boats against the current, and all the tim e we are carried back in to the past.

WORD LIST

approve (v) to believe that someone or something is acceptable ash (n) the soft grey powder that is left after something has been

burnedastonished (adj) very surprised bay (n) a part of a coastline where the land curves in bond (n) a certificate from a government or company showing that you

have lent them money bootlegger (n) someone who makes and sells products illegally butler (n) the most important male servant in a big house champagne (n) a French wine that is often drunk on special occasions civilized (adj) with highly developed laws and social customs delicately (adv) carefully, so that no offence is given divorce (n) the legal ending of a marriagedrugstore (n) a shop in the US where you can buy medicines and

other goods and get drinks and snacks engaged (adj) having agreed to marry someonegolf (n) a game in which you try to hit a small white ball into holes in

the groundgroan (v) to make a long, deep sound, usually because you are in paininsist (v) to say something firmlylawn (n) an area of grass that is kept cut shortmiserable (adj) not at all good; unhappymuscle (n) one of the pieces of flesh that join your bones together and

make your body move polo (n) a game played on horses by two teams who hit a small ball

with long, wooden sticks porch (n) an entrance covered by a roof, built onto a house scandal (n) a situation or event that people think is immoral or

shockingscorn (n) an opinion that someone or something is stupid or worthless sideline (n) something that you do to earn money in addition to your

regular job

silk (n) soft, fine cloth made from a substance produced by a kind of small animal

standard (n) an idea of what is good or normal, used to compare things

tremble (v) to shake because you are worried, afraid or excited unfold (v) to show something gradually unit (n) a group of people who arc part o f a larger group whisky (n) a strong alcoholic drink made from grain