It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night--and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over.
Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles2 which turned expectantly into his drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away. Wondering if he were sick I went over to find out--an unfamiliar3 butler with a villainous face squinted4 at me suspiciously from the door.
"Is Mr. Gatsby sick?"
"Nope." After a pause he added "sir" in a dilatory5, grudging6 way.
"I hadn't seen him around, and I was rather worried. Tell him Mr. Carraway came over."
"Who?" he demanded rudely.
"Carraway."
"Carraway. All right, I'll tell him." Abruptly7 he slammed the door.
My Finn informed me that Gatsby had dismissed every servant in his house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen others, who never went into West Egg Village to be bribed9 by the tradesmen, but ordered moderate supplies over the telephone. The grocery boy reported that the kitchen looked like a pigsty10, and the general opinion in the village was that the new people weren't servants at all.
Next day Gatsby called me on the phone.
"Going away?" I inquired.
"No, old sport."
"I hear you fired all your servants."
"I wanted somebody who wouldn't gossip. Daisy comes over quite often--in the afternoons."
So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card house at the disapproval12 in her eyes.
"They're some people Wolfshiem wanted to do something for. They're all brothers and sisters. They used to run a small hotel."
"I see."
He was calling up at Daisy's request--would I come to lunch at her house tomorrow? Miss Baker13 would be there. Half an hour later Daisy herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was coming.
Something was up. And yet I couldn't believe that they would choose this occasion for a scene-especially for the rather harrowing scene that Gatsby had outlined in the garden.
The next day was broiling14, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only the hot whistles of the National Biscuit Company broke the simmering hush15 at noon. The straw seats of the car hovered16 on the edge of combustion17; the woman next to me perspired18 delicately for a while into her white shirtwaist, and then, as her newspaper dampened under her fingers, lapsed19 despairingly into deep heat with a desolate20 cry. Her pocket-book slapped to the floor.
I picked it up with a weary bend and handed it back to her, holding it at arm's length and by the extreme tip of the corners to indicate that I had no designs upon it--but every one near by, including the woman, suspected me just the same.
"Hot!" said the conductor to familiar faces. "Some weather! Hot! Hot! Hot!
Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it...?"
My commutation ticket came back to me with a dark stain from his hand.
That any one should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, whose head made damp the pajama pocket over his heart!
... Through the hall of the Buchanans' house blew a faint wind, carrying the sound of the telephone bell out to Gatsby and me as we waited at the door.
"The master's body!" roared the butler into the mouthpiece. "I'm sorry, madame, but we can't furnish it--it's far too hot to touch this noon!"
What he really said was: "Yes... yes... I'll see."
He set down the receiver and came toward us, glistening22 slightly, to take our stiff straw hats.
"Madame expects you in the salon23!" he cried, needlessly indicating the direction. In this heat every extra gesture was an affront24 to the common store of life.
The room, shadowed well with awnings25, was dark and cool. Daisy and Jordan lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols26, weighing down their own white dresses against the singing breeze of the fans.
"We can't move," they said together.
Jordan's fingers, powdered white over their tan, rested for a moment in mine.
"And Mr. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete?" I inquired.
Simultaneously27 I heard his voice, gruff, muffled28, husky, at the hall telephone.
Gatsby stood in the center of the crimson29 carpet and gazed around with fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting laugh; a tiny gust30 of powder rose from her bosom31 into the air.
"The rumor32 is," whispered Jordan, "that that's Tom's girl on the telephone."
We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance33.
"Very well, then, I won't sell you the car at all.... I'm under no obligations to you at all.... And as for your bothering me about it at lunch time I won't stand that at all!"
"Holding down the receiver," said Daisy cynically34.
"No, he's not," I assured her. "It's a bona fide deal. I happen to know about it."
Tom flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room.
"Mr. Gatsby!" He put out his broad, flat hand with well-concealed dislike. "I'm glad to see you, sir.... Nick...."
"Make us a cold drink," cried Daisy.
As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and pulled his face down kissing him on the mouth.
"You know I love you," she murmured.
"You forget there's a lady present," said Jordan.
Daisy looked around doubtfully.
"You kiss Nick too."
"What a low, vulgar girl!"
"I don't care!" cried Daisy and began to clog37 on the brick fireplace.
Then she remembered the heat and sat down guiltily on the couch just as a freshly laundered38 nurse leading a little girl came into the room.
"Bles-sed pre-cious," she crooned, holding out her arms. "Come to your own mother that loves you."
The child, relinquished39 by the nurse, rushed across the room and rooted shyly into her mother's dress.
"The Bles-sed pre-cious! Did mother get powder on your old yellowy hair? Stand up now, and say How-de-do."
Gatsby and I in turn leaned down and took the small reluctant hand.
Afterward40 he kept looking at the child with surprise. I don't think he had ever really believed in its existence before.
"I got dressed before luncheon41," said the child, turning eagerly to Daisy.
"That's because your mother wanted to show you off." Her face bent42 into the single wrinkle of the small white neck. "You dream, you. You absolute little dream."
"Yes," admitted the child calmly. "Aunt Jordan's got on a white dress too."
"How do you like mother's friends?" Daisy turned her around so that she faced Gatsby. "Do you think they're pretty?"
"Where's Daddy?"
"She doesn't look like her father," explained Daisy. "She looks like me.
She's got my hair and shape of the face."
Daisy sat back upon the couch. The nurse took a step forward and held out her hand.
"Come, Pammy."
"Goodbye, sweetheart!"
With a reluctant backward glance the well-disciplined child held to her nurse's hand and was pulled out the door, just as Tom came back, preceding four gin rickeys that clicked full of ice.
Gatsby took up his drink.
"They certainly look cool," he said, with visible tension.
We drank in long greedy swallows.
"I read somewhere that the sun's getting hotter every year," said Tom genially43. "It seems that pretty soon the earth's going to fall into the sun--or wait a minute--it's just the opposite--the sun's getting colder every year.
"Come outside," he suggested to Gatsby, "I'd like you to have a look at the place."
I went with them out to the veranda44. On the green Sound, stagnant45 in the heat, one small sail crawled slowly toward the fresher sea. Gatsby's eyes followed it momentarily; he raised his hand and pointed46 across the bay.
"I'm right across from you."
"So you are."
Our eyes lifted over the rosebeds and the hot lawn and the weedy refuse of the dog days along shore. Slowly the white wings of the boat moved against the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay the scalloped ocean and the abounding47 blessed isles48.
"There's sport for you," said Tom, nodding. "I'd like to be out there with him for about an hour."
We had luncheon in the dining-room, darkened, too, against the heat, and drank down nervous gayety with the cold ale.
"What'll we do with ourselves this afternoon," cried Daisy, "and the day after that, and the next thirty years?"
"Don't be morbid," Jordan said. "Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall."
"But it's so hot," insisted Daisy, on the verge49 of tears, "And everything's so confused. Let's all go to town!"
Her voice struggled on through the heat, beating against it, moulding its senselessness into forms.
"I've heard of making a garage out of a stable," Tom was saying to Gatsby, "but I'm the first man who ever made a stable out of a garage."
"Who wants to go to town?" demanded Daisy insistently50. Gatsby's eyes floated toward her. "Ah," she cried, "you look so cool."
Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in space.
With an effort she glanced down at the table.
"You always look so cool," she repeated.
She had told him that she loved him, and Tom Buchanan saw. He was astounded51. His mouth opened a little and he looked at Gatsby and then back at Daisy as if he had just recognized her as some one he knew a long time ago.
"You resemble the advertisement of the man," she went on innocently.
"You know the advertisement of the man----"
"All right," broke in Tom quickly, "I'm perfectly52 willing to go to town. Come on--we're all going to town."
He got up, his eyes still flashing between Gatsby and his wife.
No one moved.
"Come on!" His temper cracked a little. "What's the matter, anyhow?
If we're going to town let's start."
His hand, trembling with his effort at self control, bore to his lips the last of his glass of ale. Daisy's voice got us to our feet and out on to the blazing gravel53 drive.
"Are we just going to go?" she objected. "Like this? Aren't we going to let any one smoke a cigarette first?"
"Everybody smoked all through lunch."
"Oh, let's have fun," she begged him. "It's too hot to fuss."
He didn't answer.
"Have it your own way," she said. "Come on, Jordan."
They went upstairs to get ready while we three men stood there shuffling54 the hot pebbles55 with our feet. A silver curve of the moon hovered already in the western sky. Gatsby started to speak, changed his mind, but not before Tom wheeled and faced him expectantly.
"Have you got your stables here?" asked Gatsby with an effort.
"About a quarter of a mile down the road."
"Oh."
A pause.
"I don't see the idea of going to town," broke out Tom savagely56.
"Women get these notions in their heads----"
"Shall we take anything to drink?" called Daisy from an upper window.
"I'll get some whiskey," answered Tom. He went inside.
Gatsby turned to me rigidly57:
"I can't say anything in his house, old sport."
"She's got an indiscreet voice," I remarked. "It's full of----"
I hesitated.
"Her voice is full of money," he said suddenly.
That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money--that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle58 of it, the cymbals59' song of it.... High in a white palace the king's daughter, the golden girl....
Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a towel, followed by Daisy and Jordan wearing small tight hats of metallic60 cloth and carrying light capes61 over their arms.
"Shall we all go in my car?" suggested Gatsby. He felt the hot, green leather of the seat. "I ought to have left it in the shade."
"Is it standard shift?" demanded Tom.
"Yes."
"Well, you take my coupé and let me drive your car to town."
The suggestion was distasteful to Gatsby.
"I don't think there's much gas," he objected.
"Plenty of gas," said Tom boisterously62. He looked at the gauge63.
"And if it runs out I can stop at a drug store. You can buy anything at a drug store nowadays."
A pause followed this apparently64 pointless remark. Daisy looked at Tom frowning and an indefinable expression, at once definitely unfamiliar and vaguely65 recognizable, as if I had only heard it described in words, passed over Gatsby's face.
"Come on, Daisy," said Tom, pressing her with his hand toward Gatsby's car. "I'll take you in this circus wagon66."
He opened the door but she moved out from the circle of his arm.
"You take Nick and Jordan. We'll follow you in the coupé."
She walked close to Gatsby, touching67 his coat with her hand. Jordan and Tom and I got into the front seat of Gatsby's car, Tom pushed the unfamiliar gears tentatively and we shot off into the oppressive heat leaving them out of sight behind.
"Did you see that?" demanded Tom.
"See what?"
He looked at me keenly, realizing that Jordan and I must have known all along.
"You think I'm pretty dumb, don't you?" he suggested. "Perhaps I am, but I have a--almost a second sight, sometimes, that tells me what to do.
Maybe you don't believe that, but science----"
He paused. The immediate68 contingency69 overtook him, pulled him back from the edge of the theoretical abyss.
"I've made a small investigation70 of this fellow," he continued. "I could have gone deeper if I'd known----"
"Do you mean you've been to a medium?" inquired Jordan humorously.
"What?" Confused, he stared at us as we laughed. "A medium?"
"About Gatsby."
"About Gatsby! No, I haven71't. I said I'd been making a small investigation of his past."
"And you found he was an Oxford72 man," said Jordan helpfully.
"An Oxford man!" He was incredulous. "Like hell he is! He wears a pink suit."
"Nevertheless he's an Oxford man."
"Oxford, New Mexico," snorted Tom contemptuously, "or something like that."
"Listen, Tom. If you're such a snob73, why did you invite him to lunch?" demanded Jordan crossly.
"Daisy invited him; she knew him before we were married--God knows where!"
We were all irritable74 now with the fading ale and, aware of it, we drove for a while in silence. Then as Doctor T. J. Eckleburg's faded eyes came into sight down the road, I remembered Gatsby's caution about gasoline.
"We've got enough to get us to town," said Tom.
"But there's a garage right here," objected Jordan. "I don't want to get stalled in this baking heat."
Tom threw on both brakes impatiently and we slid to an abrupt8 dusty stop under Wilson's sign. After a moment the proprietor75 emerged from the interior of his establishment and gazed hollow-eyed at the car.
"Let's have some gas!" cried Tom roughly. "What do you think we stopped for--to admire the view?"
"I'm sick," said Wilson without moving. "I been sick all day."
"What's the matter?"
"I'm all run down."
"Well, shall I help myself?" Tom demanded. "You sounded well enough on the phone."
With an effort Wilson left the shade and support of the doorway76 and, breathing hard, unscrewed the cap of the tank. In the sunlight his face was green.
"I didn't mean to interrupt your lunch," he said. "But I need money pretty bad and I was wondering what you were going to do with your old car."
"How do you like this one?" inquired Tom. "I bought it last week."
"It's a nice yellow one," said Wilson, as he strained at the handle.
"Like to buy it?"
"Big chance," Wilson smiled faintly. "No, but I could make some money on the other."
"What do you want money for, all of a sudden?"
"I've been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go west."
"Your wife does!" exclaimed Tom, startled.
"She's been talking about it for ten years." He rested for a moment against the pump, shading his eyes. "And now she's going whether she wants to or not. I'm going to get her away."
The coupé flashed by us with a flurry of dust and the flash of a waving hand.
"What do I owe you?" demanded Tom harshly.
"I just got wised up to something funny the last two days," remarked Wilson. "That's why I want to get away. That's why I been bothering you about the car."
"What do I owe you?"
"Dollar twenty."
The relentless77 beating heat was beginning to confuse me and I had a bad moment there before I realized that so far his suspicions hadn't alighted on Tom. He had discovered that Myrtle had some sort of life apart from him in another world and the shock had made him physically78 sick. I stared at him and then at Tom, who had made a parallel discovery less than an hour before--and it occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well. Wilson was so sick that he looked guilty, unforgivably guilty--as if he had just got some poor girl with child.
"I'll let you have that car," said Tom. "I'll send it over tomorrow afternoon."
That locality was always vaguely disquieting79, even in the broad glare of afternoon, and now I turned my head as though I had been warned of something behind. Over the ashheaps the giant eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg kept their vigil but I perceived, after a moment, that other eyes were regarding us with peculiar80 intensity81 from less than twenty feet away.
In one of the windows over the garage the curtains had been moved aside a little and Myrtle Wilson was peering down at the car. So engrossed82 was she that she had no consciousness of being observed and one emotion after another crept into her face like objects into a slowly developing picture. Her expression was curiously83 familiar--it was an expression I had often seen on women's faces but on Myrtle Wilson's face it seemed purposeless and inexplicable84 until I realized that her eyes, wide with jealous terror, were fixed85 not on Tom, but on Jordan Baker, whom she took to be his wife.
There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind, and as we drove away Tom was feeling the hot whips of panic. His wife and his mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviolate86, were slipping precipitately87 from his control. Instinct made him step on the accelerator with the double purpose of overtaking Daisy and leaving Wilson behind, and we sped along toward Astoria at fifty miles an hour, until, among the spidery girders of the elevated, we came in sight of the easygoing blue coupé.
"Those big movies around Fiftieth Street are cool," suggested Jordan.
"I love New York on summer afternoons when every one's away. There's something very sensuous88 about it--overripe, as if all sorts of funny fruits were going to fall into your hands."
The word "sensuous" had the effect of further disquieting Tom but before he could invent a protest the coupé came to a stop and Daisy signalled us to draw up alongside.
"Where are we going?" she cried.
"How about the movies?"
"It's so hot," she complained. "You go. We'll ride around and meet you after." With an effort her wit rose faintly, "We'll meet you on some corner. I'll be the man smoking two cigarettes."
"We can't argue about it here," Tom said impatiently as a truck gave out a cursing whistle behind us. "You follow me to the south side of Central Park, in front of the Plaza89."
Several times he turned his head and looked back for their car, and if the traffic delayed them he slowed up until they came into sight. I think he was afraid they would dart90 down a side street and out of his life forever.
But they didn't. And we all took the less explicable step of engaging the parlor91 of a suite92 in the Plaza Hotel.
The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herding94 us into that room eludes95 me, though I have a sharp physical memory that, in the course of it, my underwear kept climbing like a damp snake around my legs and intermittent96 beads97 of sweat raced cool across my back. The notion originated with Daisy's suggestion that we hire five bathrooms and take cold baths, and then assumed more tangible98 form as "a place to have a mint julep." Each of us said over and over that it was a "crazy idea"--we all talked at once to a baffled clerk and thought, or pretended to think, that we were being very funny....
The room was large and stifling99, and, though it was already four o'clock, opening the windows admitted only a gust of hot shrubbery from the Park. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, fixing her hair.
"It's a swell100 suite," whispered Jordan respectfully and every one laughed.
"Open another window," commanded Daisy, without turning around.
"There aren't any more."
"Well, we'd better telephone for an axe----"
"The thing to do is to forget about the heat," said Tom impatiently.
"You make it ten times worse by crabbing101 about it."
He unrolled the bottle of whiskey from the towel and put it on the table.
"Why not let her alone, old sport?" remarked Gatsby. "You're the one that wanted to come to town."
There was a moment of silence. The telephone book slipped from its nail and splashed to the floor, whereupon Jordan whispered "Excuse me"--but this time no one laughed.
"I'll pick it up," I offered.
"I've got it." Gatsby examined the parted string, muttered "Hum!" in an interested way, and tossed the book on a chair.
"That's a great expression of yours, isn't it?" said Tom sharply.
"What is?"
"All this 'old sport' business. Where'd you pick that up?"
"Now see here, Tom," said Daisy, turning around from the mirror, "if you're going to make personal remarks I won't stay here a minute. Call up and order some ice for the mint julep."
As Tom took up the receiver the compressed heat exploded into sound and we were listening to the portentous102 chords of Mendelssohn's Wedding March from the ballroom103 below.
"Imagine marrying anybody in this heat!" cried Jordan dismally104.
"Still--I was married in the middle of June," Daisy remembered, "Louisville in June! Somebody fainted. Who was it fainted, Tom?"
"Biloxi," he answered shortly.
"A man named Biloxi. 'Blocks' Biloxi, and he made boxes--that's a fact--and he was from Biloxi, Tennessee."
"They carried him into my house," appended Jordan, "because we lived just two doors from the church. And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy told him he had to get out. The day after he left Daddy died." After a moment she added as if she might have sounded irreverent, "There wasn't any connection."
"I used to know a Bill Biloxi from Memphis," I remarked.
"That was his cousin. I knew his whole family history before he left.
He gave me an aluminum105 putter that I use today."
The music had died down as the ceremony began and now a long cheer floated in at the window, followed by intermittent cries of "Yea--ea--ea!" and finally by a burst of jazz as the dancing began.
"We're getting old," said Daisy. "If we were young we'd rise and dance."
"Remember Biloxi," Jordan warned her. "Where'd you know him, Tom?"
"Biloxi?" He concentrated with an effort. "I didn't know him. He was a friend of Daisy's."
"He was not," she denied. "I'd never seen him before. He came down in the private car."
"Well, he said he knew you. He said he was raised in Louisville.
Asa Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room for him."
Jordan smiled.
"He was probably bumming106 his way home. He told me he was president of your class at Yale."
Tom and I looked at each other blankly.
"BilOxi?"
"First place, we didn't have any president----"
Gatsby's foot beat a short, restless tattoo107 and Tom eyed him suddenly.
"By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you're an Oxford man."
"Not exactly."
"Oh, yes, I understand you went to Oxford."
"Yes--I went there."
A pause. Then Tom's voice, incredulous and insulting:
"You must have gone there about the time Biloxi went to New Haven."
Another pause. A waiter knocked and came in with crushed mint and ice but the silence was unbroken by his "Thank you" and the soft closing of the door. This tremendous detail was to be cleared up at last.
"I told you I went there," said Gatsby.
"I heard you, but I'd like to know when."
"It was in nineteen-nineteen, I only stayed five months. That's why I can't really call myself an Oxford man."
Tom glanced around to see if we mirrored his unbelief. But we were all looking at Gatsby.
"It was an opportunity they gave to some of the officers after the Armistice," he continued. "We could go to any of the universities in England or France."
I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. I had one of those renewals108 of complete faith in him that I'd experienced before.
Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table.
"Open the whiskey, Tom," she ordered. "And I'll make you a mint julep.
Then you won't seem so stupid to yourself.... Look at the mint!"
"Wait a minute," snapped Tom, "I want to ask Mr. Gatsby one more question."
"Go on," Gatsby said politely.
"What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?"
They were out in the open at last and Gatsby was content.
"He isn't causing a row." Daisy looked desperately109 from one to the other. "You're causing a row. Please have a little self control."
"Self control!" repeated Tom incredulously. "I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife.
Well, if that's the idea you can count me out.... Nowadays people begin by sneering110 at family life and family institutions and next they'll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white."
Flushed with his impassioned gibberish he saw himself standing111 alone on the last barrier of civilization.
"We're all white here," murmured Jordan.
"I know I'm not very popular. I don't give big parties. I suppose you've got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends--in the modern world."
Angry as I was, as we all were, I was tempted112 to laugh whenever he opened his mouth. The transition from libertine113 to prig was so complete.
"I've got something to tell YOU, old sport,----" began Gatsby. But Daisy guessed at his intention.
"Please don't!" she interrupted helplessly. "Please let's all go home.
Why don't we all go home?"
"That's a good idea." I got up. "Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink."
"I want to know what Mr. Gatsby has to tell me."
"Your wife doesn't love you," said Gatsby. "She's never loved you.
She loves me."
"You must be crazy!" exclaimed Tom automatically.
Gatsby sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement.
"She never loved you, do you hear?" he cried. "She only married you because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved any one except me!"
At this point Jordan and I tried to go but Tom and Gatsby insisted with competitive firmness that we remain--as though neither of them had anything to conceal35 and it would be a privilege to partake vicariously of their emotions.
"Sit down Daisy." Tom's voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal114 note. "What's been going on? I want to hear all about it."
"I told you what's been going on," said Gatsby. "Going on for five years--and you didn't know."
Tom turned to Daisy sharply.
"You've been seeing this fellow for five years?"
"Not seeing," said Gatsby. "No, we couldn't meet. But both of us loved each other all that time, old sport, and you didn't know. I used to laugh sometimes--"but there was no laughter in his eyes, "to think that you didn't know."
"Oh--that's all." Tom tapped his thick fingers together like a clergyman and leaned back in his chair.
"You're crazy!" he exploded. "I can't speak about what happened five years ago, because I didn't know Daisy then--and I'll be damned if I see how you got within a mile of her unless you brought the groceries to the back door. But all the rest of that's a God Damned lie. Daisy loved me when she married me and she loves me now."
"No," said Gatsby, shaking his head.
"She does, though. The trouble is that sometimes she gets foolish ideas in her head and doesn't know what she's doing." He nodded sagely115. "And what's more, I love Daisy too. Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in my heart I love her all the time."
"You're revolting," said Daisy. She turned to me, and her voice, dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn: "Do you know why we left Chicago? I'm surprised that they didn't treat you to the story of that little spree."
Gatsby walked over and stood beside her.
"Daisy, that's all over now," he said earnestly. "It doesn't matter any more. Just tell him the truth--that you never loved him--and it's all wiped out forever."
She looked at him blindly. "Why,--how could I love him--possibly?"
"You never loved him."
She hesitated. Her eyes fell on Jordan and me with a sort of appeal, as though she realized at last what she was doing--and as though she had never, all along, intended doing anything at all. But it was done now.
It was too late.
"I never loved him," she said, with perceptible reluctance116.
"Not at Kapiolani?" demanded Tom suddenly.
"No."
From the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating117 chords were drifting up on hot waves of air.
"Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your shoes dry?" There was a husky tenderness in his tone. "... Daisy?"
"Please don't." Her voice was cold, but the rancour was gone from it.
She looked at Gatsby. "There, Jay," she said--but her hand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet.
"Oh, you want too much!" she cried to Gatsby. "I love you now--isn't that enough? I can't help what's past." She began to sob119 helplessly.
"I did love him once--but I loved you too."
Gatsby's eyes opened and closed.
"You loved me TOO?" he repeated.
"Even that's a lie," said Tom savagely. "She didn't know you were alive.
Why,--there're things between Daisy and me that you'll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget."
The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.
"I want to speak to Daisy alone," he insisted. "She's all excited now----"
"Even alone I can't say I never loved Tom," she admitted in a pitiful voice. "It wouldn't be true."
"Of course it wouldn't," agreed Tom.
She turned to her husband.
"As if it mattered to you," she said.
"Of course it matters. I'm going to take better care of you from now on."
"You don't understand," said Gatsby, with a touch of panic. "You're not going to take care of her any more."
"I'm not?" Tom opened his eyes wide and laughed. He could afford to control himself now. "Why's that?"
"Daisy's leaving you."
"Nonsense."
"I am, though," she said with a visible effort.
"She's not leaving me!" Tom's words suddenly leaned down over Gatsby.
"Certainly not for a common swindler who'd have to steal the ring he put on her finger."
"I won't stand this!" cried Daisy. "Oh, please let's get out."
"Who are you, anyhow?" broke out Tom. "You're one of that bunch that hangs around with Meyer Wolfshiem--that much I happen to know. I've made a little investigation into your affairs--and I'll carry it further tomorrow."
"You can suit yourself about that, old sport." said Gatsby steadily120.
"I found out what your 'drug stores' were." He turned to us and spoke121 rapidly. "He and this Wolfshiem bought up a lot of side-street drug stores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the counter. That's one of his little stunts122. I picked him for a bootlegger the first time I saw him and I wasn't far wrong."
"What about it?" said Gatsby politely. "I guess your friend Walter Chase wasn't too proud to come in on it."
"And you left him in the lurch123, didn't you? You let him go to jail for a month over in New Jersey124. God! You ought to hear Walter on the subject of YOU."
"He came to us dead broke. He was very glad to pick up some money, old sport."
"Don't you call me 'old sport'!" cried Tom. Gatsby said nothing.
"Walter could have you up on the betting laws too, but Wolfshiem scared him into shutting his mouth."
That unfamiliar yet recognizable look was back again in Gatsby's face.
"That drug store business was just small change," continued Tom slowly, "but you've got something on now that Walter's afraid to tell me about."
I glanced at Daisy who was staring terrified between Gatsby and her husband and at Jordan who had begun to balance an invisible but absorbing object on the tip of her chin. Then I turned back to Gatsby--and was startled at his expression. He looked--and this is said in all contempt for the babbled125 slander126 of his garden--as if he had "killed a man." For a moment the set of his face could be described in just that fantastic way.
It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy, denying everything, defending his name against accusations127 that had not been made. But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.
The voice begged again to go.
"PLEASE, Tom! I can't stand this any more."
Her frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever courage she had had, were definitely gone.
"You two start on home, Daisy," said Tom. "In Mr. Gatsby's car."
She looked at Tom, alarmed now, but he insisted with magnanimous scorn.
"Go on. He won't annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous128 little flirtation129 is over."
They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made accidental, isolated130, like ghosts even from our pity.
After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whiskey in the towel.
"Want any of this stuff? Jordan?... Nick?"
I didn't answer.
"Nick?" He asked again.
"What?"
"Want any?"
"No... I just remembered that today's my birthday."
I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous menacing road of a new decade.
It was seven o'clock when we got into the coupé with him and started for Long Island. Tom talked incessantly131, exulting132 and laughing, but his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamor on the sidewalk or the tumult93 of the elevated overhead. Human sympathy has its limits and we were content to let all their tragic133 arguments fade with the city lights behind. Thirty--the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan11 face fell lazily against my coat's shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring134 pressure of her hand.
So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight135.
The young Greek, Michaelis, who ran the coffee joint136 beside the ashheaps was the principal witness at the inquest. He had slept through the heat until after five, when he strolled over to the garage and found George Wilson sick in his office--really sick, pale as his own pale hair and shaking all over. Michaelis advised him to go to bed but Wilson refused, saying that he'd miss a lot of business if he did.
While his neighbor was trying to persuade him a violent racket broke out overhead.
"I've got my wife locked in up there," explained Wilson calmly.
"She's going to stay there till the day after tomorrow and then we're going to move away."
Michaelis was astonished; they had been neighbors for four years and Wilson had never seemed faintly capable of such a statement. Generally he was one of these worn-out men: when he wasn't working he sat on a chair in the doorway and stared at the people and the cars that passed along the road. When any one spoke to him he invariably laughed in an agreeable, colorless way. He was his wife's man and not his own.
So naturally Michaelis tried to find out what had happened, but Wilson wouldn't say a word--instead he began to throw curious, suspicious glances at his visitor and ask him what he'd been doing at certain times on certain days. Just as the latter was getting uneasy some workmen came past the door bound for his restaurant and Michaelis took the opportunity to get away, intending to come back later. But he didn't.
He supposed he forgot to, that's all. When he came outside again a little after seven he was reminded of the conversation because he heard Mrs. Wilson's voice, loud and scolding, downstairs in the garage.
"Beat me!" he heard her cry. "Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward!"
A moment later she rushed out into the dusk, waving her hands and shouting; before he could move from his door the business was over.
The "death car" as the newspapers called it, didn't stop; it came out of the gathering137 darkness, wavered tragically138 for a moment and then disappeared around the next bend. Michaelis wasn't even sure of its color--he told the first policeman that it was light green. The other car, the one going toward New York, came to rest a hundred yards beyond, and its driver hurried back to where Myrtle Wilson, her life violently extinguished, knelt in the road and mingled139 her thick, dark blood with the dust.
Michaelis and this man reached her first but when they had torn open her shirtwaist still damp with perspiration140, they saw that her left breast was swinging loose like a flap and there was no need to listen for the heart beneath. The mouth was wide open and ripped at the corners as though she had choked a little in giving up the tremendous vitality141 she had stored so long.
We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still some distance away.
"Wreck142!" said Tom. "That's good. Wilson'll have a little business at last."
He slowed down, but still without any intention of stopping until, as we came nearer, the hushed intent faces of the people at the garage door made him automatically put on the brakes.
"We'll take a look," he said doubtfully, "just a look."
I became aware now of a hollow, wailing143 sound which issued incessantly from the garage, a sound which as we got out of the coupé and walked toward the door resolved itself into the words "Oh, my God!" uttered over and over in a gasping144 moan.
"There's some bad trouble here," said Tom excitedly.
He reached up on tiptoes and peered over a circle of heads into the garage which was lit only by a yellow light in a swinging wire basket overhead. Then he made a harsh sound in his throat and with a violent thrusting movement of his powerful arms pushed his way through.
The circle closed up again with a running murmur36 of expostulation; it was a minute before I could see anything at all. Then new arrivals disarranged the line and Jordan and I were pushed suddenly inside.
Myrtle Wilson's body wrapped in a blanket and then in another blanket as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night lay on a work table by the wall and Tom, with his back to us, was bending over it, motionless. Next to him stood a motorcycle policeman taking down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I couldn't find the source of the high, groaning145 words that echoed clamorously through the bare garage--then I saw Wilson standing on the raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth146 and holding to the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low voice and attempting from time to time to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Wilson neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly from the swinging light to the laden147 table by the wall and then jerk back to the light again and he gave out incessantly his high horrible call.
"O, my Ga-od! O, my Ga-od! Oh, Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od!"
Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk and after staring around the garage with glazed148 eyes addressed a mumbled149 incoherent remark to the policeman.
"M-a-v--" the policeman was saying, "--o----"
"No,--r--" corrected the man, "M-a-v-r-o----"
"Listen to me!" muttered Tom fiercely.
"r--" said the policeman, "o----"
"g----"
"g--" He looked up as Tom's broad hand fell sharply on his shoulder.
"What you want, fella?"
"What happened--that's what I want to know!"
"Auto1 hit her. Ins'antly killed."
"Instantly killed," repeated Tom, staring.
"She ran out ina road. Son-of-a-bitch didn't even stopus car."
"There was two cars," said Michaelis, "one comin', one goin', see?"
"Going where?" asked the policeman keenly.
"One goin' each way. Well, she--" His hand rose toward the blankets but stopped half way and fell to his side, "--she ran out there an' the one comin' from N'York knock right into her goin' thirty or forty miles an hour."
"What's the name of this place here?" demanded the officer.
"Hasn't got any name."
A pale, well-dressed Negro stepped near.
"It was a yellow car," he said, "big yellow car. New."
"See the accident?" asked the policeman.
"No, but the car passed me down the road, going faster'n forty. Going fifty, sixty."
"Come here and let's have your name. Look out now. I want to get his name."
Some words of this conversation must have reached Wilson swaying in the office door, for suddenly a new theme found voice among his gasping cries.
"You don't have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind of car it was!"
Watching Tom I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten150 under his coat. He walked quickly over to Wilson and standing in front of him seized him firmly by the upper arms.
"You've got to pull yourself together," he said with soothing151 gruffness.
Wilson's eyes fell upon Tom; he started up on his tiptoes and then would have collapsed152 to his knees had not Tom held him upright.
"Listen," said Tom, shaking him a little. "I just got here a minute ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupé we've been talking about.
That yellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn't mine, do you hear? I haven't seen it all afternoon."
Only the Negro and I were near enough to hear what he said but the policeman caught something in the tone and looked over with truculent153 eyes.
"What's all that?" he demanded.
"I'm a friend of his." Tom turned his head but kept his hands firm on Wilson's body. "He says he knows the car that did it.... It was a yellow car."
Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Tom.
"And what color's your car?"
"It's a blue car, a coupé."
"We've come straight from New York," I said.
Some one who had been driving a little behind us confirmed this and the policeman turned away.
"Now, if you'll let me have that name again correct----"
Picking up Wilson like a doll Tom carried him into the office, set him down in a chair and came back.
"If somebody'll come here and sit with him!" he snapped authoritatively155. He watched while the two men standing closest glanced at each other and went unwillingly156 into the room. Then Tom shut the door on them and came down the single step, his eyes avoiding the table. As he passed close to me he whispered "Let's get out."
Self consciously, with his authoritative154 arms breaking the way, we pushed through the still gathering crowd, passing a hurried doctor, case in hand, who had been sent for in wild hope half an hour ago.
Tom drove slowly until we were beyond the bend--then his foot came down hard and the coupé raced along through the night. In a little while I heard a low husky sob and saw that the tears were overflowing157 down his face.
"The God Damn coward!" he whimpered. "He didn't even stop his car."
The Buchanans' house floated suddenly toward us through the dark rustling158 trees. Tom stopped beside the porch and looked up at the second floor where two windows bloomed with light among the vines.
"Daisy's home," he said. As we got out of the car he glanced at me and frowned slightly.
"I ought to have dropped you in West Egg, Nick. There's nothing we can do tonight."
A change had come over him and he spoke gravely, and with decision.
As we walked across the moonlight gravel to the porch he disposed of the situation in a few brisk phrases.
"I'll telephone for a taxi to take you home, and while you're waiting you and Jordan better go in the kitchen and have them get you some supper--if you want any." He opened the door. "Come in."
"No thanks. But I'd be glad if you'd order me the taxi. I'll wait outside."
Jordan put her hand on my arm.
"Won't you come in, Nick?"
"No thanks."
I was feeling a little sick and I wanted to be alone. But Jordan lingered for a moment more.
"It's only half past nine," she said.
I'd be damned if I'd go in; I'd had enough of all of them for one day and suddenly that included Jordan too. She must have seen something of this in my expression for she turned abruptly away and ran up the porch steps into the house. I sat down for a few minutes with my head in my hands, until I heard the phone taken up inside and the butler's voice calling a taxi. Then I walked slowly down the drive away from the house intending to wait by the gate.
I hadn't gone twenty yards when I heard my name and Gatsby stepped from between two bushes into the path. I must have felt pretty weird159 by that time because I could think of nothing except the luminosity of his pink suit under the moon.
"What are you doing?" I inquired.
"Just standing here, old sport."
Somehow, that seemed a despicable occupation. For all I knew he was going to rob the house in a moment; I wouldn't have been surprised to see sinister160 faces, the faces of "Wolfshiem's people," behind him in the dark shrubbery.
"Did you see any trouble on the road?" he asked after a minute.
"Yes."
He hesitated.
"Was she killed?"
"Yes."
"I thought so; I told Daisy I thought so. It's better that the shock should all come at once. She stood it pretty well."
He spoke as if Daisy's reaction was the only thing that mattered.
"I got to West Egg by a side road," he went on, "and left the car in my garage. I don't think anybody saw us but of course I can't be sure."
I disliked him so much by this time that I didn't find it necessary to tell him he was wrong.
"Who was the woman?" he inquired.
"Her name was Wilson. Her husband owns the garage. How the devil did it happen?"
"Well, I tried to swing the wheel----" He broke off, and suddenly I guessed at the truth.
"Was Daisy driving?"
"Yes," he said after a moment, "but of course I'll say I was. You see, when we left New York she was very nervous and she thought it would steady her to drive--and this woman rushed out at us just as we were passing a car coming the other way. It all happened in a minute but it seemed to me that she wanted to speak to us, thought we were somebody she knew. Well, first Daisy turned away from the woman toward the other car, and then she lost her nerve and turned back. The second my hand reached the wheel I felt the shock--it must have killed her instantly."
"It ripped her open----"
"Don't tell me, old sport." He winced161. "Anyhow--Daisy stepped on it.
I tried to make her stop, but she couldn't so I pulled on the emergency brake. Then she fell over into my lap and I drove on.
"She'll be all right tomorrow," he said presently. "I'm just going to wait here and see if he tries to bother her about that unpleasantness this afternoon. She's locked herself into her room and if he tries any brutality162 she's going to turn the light out and on again."
"He won't touch her," I said. "He's not thinking about her."
"I don't trust him, old sport."
"How long are you going to wait?"
"All night if necessary. Anyhow till they all go to bed."
A new point of view occurred to me. Suppose Tom found out that Daisy had been driving. He might think he saw a connection in it--he might think anything. I looked at the house: there were two or three bright windows downstairs and the pink glow from Daisy's room on the second floor.
"You wait here," I said. "I'll see if there's any sign of a commotion163."
I walked back along the border of the lawn, traversed the gravel softly and tiptoed up the veranda steps. The drawing-room curtains were open, and I saw that the room was empty. Crossing the porch where we had dined that June night three months before I came to a small rectangle of light which I guessed was the pantry window. The blind was drawn164 but I found a rift118 at the sill.
Daisy and Tom were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table with a plate of cold fried chicken between them and two bottles of ale. He was talking intently across the table at her and in his earnestness his hand had fallen upon and covered her own. Once in a while she looked up at him and nodded in agreement.
They weren't happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the ale--and yet they weren't unhappy either. There was an unmistakable air of natural intimacy165 about the picture and anybody would have said that they were conspiring166 together.
As I tiptoed from the porch I heard my taxi feeling its way along the dark road toward the house. Gatsby was waiting where I had left him in the drive.
"Is it all quiet up there?" he asked anxiously.
"Yes, it's all quiet." I hesitated. "You'd better come home and get some sleep."
He shook his head.
"I want to wait here till Daisy goes to bed. Good night, old sport."
He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his scrutiny167 of the house, as though my presence marred168 the sacredness of the vigil. So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight--watching over nothing.
正在人们对盖茨比的好奇心达到顶点的时候，有一个星期六晚上他别墅里的灯都没有亮——于是，他作为特里马尔乔的生涯，当初莫名其妙地开始，现在又莫名其妙地结束了，我逐渐发觉那些乘兴而来的一辆辆汽车，稍停片刻之后又扫兴地开走了。我疑心他是否病了，于是走过去看看——一个面目狰狞的陌生仆人从门口满腹狐疑地斜着眼看我。
“盖茨比先生病了吗？”
“没有。”停了一会他才慢吞吞地、勉勉强强地加了一声“先生”。
“我好久没看见他了，很不放心。告诉他卡罗威先生来过。”
“谁？”他粗鲁地问。
“卡罗威。”
“卡罗威。好啦，我告诉他。”
他粗鲁地砰的一声关上了大门。
我的芬兰女佣人告诉我，盖茨比早在一个星期前就辞退了家里的每一个仆人，另外雇用了五六个人，这些人从来不到西卵镇上去受那些仟店的贿赂，而是打电话订购数量不多的生活用品。据食品店送货的伙计报道，厨房看上去像个猪圈，而镇上一般的看法是，这些新人压根儿不是什么仆人。
第二天盖茨比打电话给我。
“准备出门吗？”我问。
“没有，老兄。”
“我听说你把所有的仆人都辞了。”
“我需要的是不爱讲闲话的人。黛西经常来——总是在下千。”
原来如此，由于她看了不赞成，这座大酒店就像纸牌搭的房子一样整个坍掉了。
“他们是沃尔夫山姆要给帮点儿忙的人。他们都是兄弟姐妹。他们开过一家小旅馆。”
“我明白了。”
他是应黛西的请求打电话来的——我明天是否可以到她家吃午饭？贝克小姐会去的。半小时之后，黛西亲自打电话来，似乎因为知道我答应去而感到宽慰。一定出了什么事。然而我却不能相信他们竞然会选这样一个场合来大闹一场——尤其是盖茨比早先在花园里所提出的那种令人难堪的场面。
第二天天气酷热，夏日几乎要终结，然而这也无疑是夏天中最热的一天。当我乘的火车从地道里钻出来驶进阳光里时，只有全国饼干公司热辣辣的汽笛打破了中午闷热的静寂。客车里的草椅垫热得简直要着火了。坐在我旁边的一个妇女起先很斯文地让汗水渗透衬衣，后来，她的报纸在她手指下面也变潮了时，她长叹一声，在酷热中颓然地往后一倒。她的钱包啪的一声掉到了地下。
“哎哟！”她吃惊地喊道。
我懒洋洋地弯下腰把它捡了起来，递还给了她，手伸得远远的，捏着钱包的一个角，表示我并无染指的意图——可是附近的每一个人，包括那女人，照样怀疑我。
“热！”查票员对面熟的乘客说，“够呛的天气！热……热……热……你觉得够热的吗？热吗？你觉得……”
我的月季票递还给我时上面留下了他手上的黑汗渍。在这种酷热的天气还有谁去管他亲吻的是谁的朱唇，管他是谁的脑袋偎湿了他胸前的睡衣口袋！
……盖茨比和我在门口等开门的时候，一阵微风吹过布坎农的住宅的门廊，带来电话铃的声音。
“主人的尸体？”男管家大声向话筒里嚷道，“对不起，太太，可是我们不能提供——今天中午太热了，没法碰！”
实际上他讲的是：“是……是……我去瞧瞧。”
他放下了话筒，朝我们走过来，头上冒着汗珠，接过我们的硬壳草帽。
“夫人在客厅里等您哩！”他喊道，一面不必要地指着方向。在这酷热的大气，每一个多余的手势都是滥用生活的公有财富。
这间屋子外面有这篷挡着，又阴暗又凉快。黛西和乔丹躺在一张巨大的长沙发上，好像两座银像压住自己的白色衣裙，不让电扇的呼呼响的风吹动。
“我们动不了了。”她们俩同声说。
乔丹的手指，黝黑色上面搽了一层白粉，在我手指里搁了一会。
“体育家托马斯·布坎农先生呢？”我问。
就在同时我听见了他的声音，粗犷、低沉、沙哑，正在用门廓的电话与什么人通着话。
盖茨比站在绯红的地毯中央，用着了迷的目光向四周张望。黛西看着他，发出了她那甜蜜、动人的笑声。微微的一阵粉从她胸口升入空中。
“有谣言说，”乔丹悄悄地说，“那边是汤姆的情人在打电话。”
我们都不说话。门廊里的声音气恼地提高了：“那好吧，我根本不把车子卖给你了……我根本不欠你什么情……至于你在午饭时候来打扰我，我根本不答应！”
“挂上话筒在讲。”黛西冷嘲热讽地说。
“不，他不是。”我向她解释道，“这是一笔确有其事的交易。我碰巧知道这件事。”
汤姆猛然推开了门，他粗壮的身躯片刻间堵住了门口，然后急匆匆走进了屋子。
“盖茨比先生！”他伸出了他那宽大、扁平的手，很成功地掩饰住了对他的厌恶，“我很高兴见到您，先生……尼克……”
“给我们来一杯冷饮吧！”黛西大声说。
他又离开屋子以后，她站起身来，走到盖茨比面前，把他的脸拉了下来，吻他的嘴。
“你知道我爱你。”她喃喃地说。
“你忘了还有一位女客在座。”乔丹说。
黛西故意装傻回过头看看。
“你也跟尼克接吻吧。”
“多低级、多下流的女孩子！”
“我不在乎！”黛西大声说，同时在砖砌的壁炉前面跳起舞来。后来她想起了酷热的天气，又不好意思地在沙发上坐了下来，正在这时一个穿着新洗的衣服的保姆搀着一个小女孩走进屋子来。
“心——肝，宝——贝，”她嗲声嗲气地说，一面伸出她的胳臂，“到疼你的亲娘这里来。”
保姆一撒手，小孩就从屋子那边跑过来，羞答答地一头埋进她母亲的衣裙里。
“心——肝，宝——贝啊！妈妈把粉弄到你黄黄的头发上了吗？站起身来，说声——您好。”
盖茨比和我先后弯下腰来，握一握她不情愿地伸出的小手。然后他惊奇地盯着孩子看。我想他以前从来没有真正相信过有这个孩子存在。
“我在午饭前就打扮好了。”孩子说，急切地把脸转向黛西。
“那是因为你妈要显摆你。”她低下头来把脸伏在雪白的小脖子上唯一的皱纹里，‘你啊，你这个宝贝。你这个独一无二的小宝贝。”
“是啊，”小孩平静地答应，“乔丹阿姨也穿了一件白衣裳。”
“你喜欢妈妈的朋友吗？”黛西把她转过来，让她面对着盖茨比，“你觉得他们漂亮吗？”
“爸爸在哪儿？”
“她长得不像她父亲，”黛西解释说，“她长得像我。她的头发和脸形都像我。”
黛西朝后靠在沙发上。保姆走上前一步，伸出了手。
“来吧，帕咪。”
“再见，乖乖！”
很懂规矩的小孩依依不舍地回头看了一眼，抓着保姆的手，就被拉到门外去，正好汤姆回来，后面跟着四杯杜松子利克酒，里面装满了冰块喀嚓作响。
盖茨比端过一杯酒来。
“这酒绝对凉。”他说，看得出来他有点紧张。
我们迫不及待地大口大口地把酒喝下去。
“我在什么地方看到过，说太阳一年比一年热，”汤姆很和气地说，“好像地球不久就会掉进太阳里去——等一等——恰恰相反——太阳一年比一年冷。”
“到外面来吧，”他向盖茨比提议说，“我想请你看看我这个地方。”
我跟他们一起到外面游廊上去。在绿色的海湾上，海水在酷热中停滞不动，一条小帆船慢慢向比较新鲜的海水移动。盖茨比的眼光片刻间追随着这条船。他举起了手，指着海湾的对面。
“我就在你正对面。”
“可不是嘛。”
我们的眼睛掠过玫瑰花圃，掠过炎热的草坪，掠过海岸边那些大热天的乱草堆。那只小船的白翼在蔚蓝清凉的天际的背景上慢慢地移动。再往前是水波荡漾的海洋和星罗棋布的宝岛。
“那是多么好的运动，”汤姆点着头说，“我真想出去和他在那边玩上个把钟头。”
我们在餐厅里吃的午饭，里面也遮得很阴凉，大家把紧张的欢笑和凉啤酒一起喝下肚去。
“我们今天下午做什么好呢？”黛西大声说，“还有明天，还有今后三十年？”
“不要这样病态，”乔丹说，“秋天一到，天高气爽，生活就又重新开始了。”
“可是天真热得要命，”黛西固执地说，差点要哭出来了，“一切又都混乱不堪。咱们都进城去吧！”
她的声音继续在热浪中挣扎，向它冲击着，把无知觉的热气塑成一些形状。
“我听说过把马房改做汽车间，”汤姆在对盖茨比说，“但是我是第一个把汽车间变成马房的人。”
“谁愿意进城去？”黛西执拗地问道。盖茨比的眼睛慢慢朝她看过去。“啊，”她喊道，‘你看上去真帅。”
他们的眼光相遇了，他们彼此目不转睛地看着对方，超然物外。她好不容易才把视线转回到餐桌上。
“你看上去总是那么帅。”她重复说。
她已经告诉他她爱他，汤姆·布坎农也看出来了。他大为震惊。他的嘴微微张开，他看看盖茨比，又看看黛西，仿佛他刚刚认出她是他很久以前就认识的一个人。
“你很像广告里那个人，”她恬然地继续说，“你知道广告里那个人……”
“好吧，”汤姆赶紧打断了她的话，“我非常乐意进城去。走吧——我们大家都进城去。”
他站了起来，他的眼睛还是在盖茨比和他妻子之间间来闪去。谁都没动。
“走啊！”他有点冒火了，“到底怎么回事？咱们要进城，那就走吧。”
他把杯中剩下的啤酒举到了唇边，他的手由于他尽力控制自己而在发抖。黛西的声音促使我们站了起来，走到外面炽热的石子汽车道上。
“我们马上就走吗？”她不以为然地说，“就像这样？难道我们不让人家先抽支烟吗？”
“吃饭的时候大家从头到尾都在抽烟。”
“哦，咱们高高兴兴地玩吧，”她央求他，“天太热了，别闹吧。”
他没有回答。
“随你的便吧，”她说，“来吧，乔丹。”
她们上楼去做好准备，我们三个男的就站在那儿用我们的脚把滚烫的小石子踢来踢去。一弯银月已经悬在西天。盖茨比刚开口说话，又改变了主意，想闭上嘴巴，但汤姆也转过身来面对着他等他说。
“你的马房是在这里吗？”盖茨比勉强地问道。
“沿这条路下去大约四分之一英里。”
“哦”
停了一会。
“我真不明白进城去干什么，”汤姆怒气冲冲地说，“女人总是心血来潮……”
“我们带点儿什么东西喝吗？”黛西从楼上窗口喊道。
“我去拿点威士忌。”汤姆答道。他走进屋子里去。
盖茨比硬邦邦地转向我说：
“我在他家里不能说什么，老兄。”
“她的声音很不谨慎，”我说，“它充满了……”我犹疑了一下。
“她的声音充满了金钱。”他忽然说。
正是这样。我以前从来没有领悟过。它是充满了金钱——这正是她声音里抑扬起伏的无穷无尽的魅力的源泉，金钱了当的声音，铙钹齐鸣的歌声……高高的在一座白色的宫殿里，国王的女儿，黄金女郎……
汤姆从屋子里出来，一面把一瓶一夸脱酒用毛巾包起来，后面跟着黛西和乔丹，两人都戴着亮晶晶的硬布做的又小又紧的帽子，手臂上搭着薄纱披肩。
“人家都坐我的车去好吗？”盖茨比提议。他摸了摸滚烫的绿皮坐垫。“我应当把它停在树阴里的。”
“这车用的是普通排挡吗？”汤姆问。
“是的。”
“好吧，你开我的小轿车，让我开你的车进城。”
这个建议不合盖茨比的口胃。
“恐怕汽油不多了。”他表示不同意。
“汽油多得很。”汤姆闹嚷嚷地说。他看了看油表。“如果用光了，我可以找一个药房停下来。这年头药房里你什么东西都买得到。”
这句似乎没有什么意义的话说完之后，大家沉默了一会。黛西皱着眉头瞧瞧汤姆，同时盖茨比脸上掠过一种难以形容的表情，既十分陌生又似曾相识，仿佛我以前只是听人用言语描述过似的。
“走吧，黛西，”汤姆说，一面用手把她朝盖茨比的车子推过去，“我带你坐这辆马戏团的花车。”
他打开车门，但她从他手臂的圈子里走了出去。
“你带尼克和乔丹去。我们开小轿车跟在你后面。”
她紧挨着盖茨比走，用手摸着他的上衣。乔丹、汤姆和我坐进盖茨比车子的前座，汤姆试着扳动不熟悉的排档，接着我们就冲进了闷热，把他们甩在后面看不见的地方。
“你们看到那个没有？”汤姆问。
“看到什么？”
他敏锐地看着我，明白了我和乔丹一定一直就知道。
“你们以为我很傻，是不是？”他说，“也许我是傻，但是有时候我有一种——几乎是一种第二视觉，它告诉我该怎么办。也许你们不相信这个，但是科学……”
他停了一下。当务之急追上了他，把他从理论深渊的边缘拉了回来。
“我已经对这个家伙做了一番小小的调查，”他继续说，“我大可以调查得更深人一些，要是我知道……”
“你是说你找过一个巫婆吗？”乔丹幽默地问。
“什么？”他摸不着头脑，瞪眼看着我们哈哈笑，“巫婆？”
“去问盖茨比的事。”
“问盖茨比的事！不，我没有。我刚才说我已经对他的来历做过一番小小的调查。”
“结果你发现他是牛津大学毕业生。”乔丹帮忙地说。
“牛津大学毕业生！”他完全不相信，“他要是才他妈的怪哩！他穿一套粉红色衣服。”
“不过他还是牛津毕业生。”
“新墨西哥州的牛津镇，”汤姆嗤之以鼻地说，“或者类似的地方。”
“我说，汤姆，你既然这样瞧不起人，那么为什么请他吃午饭呢？”乔丹气恼地质问道。
“黛西请他的。她是在我们结婚以前认识他的——天晓得在什么地方！”
啤酒的酒性已过，我们现在都感到烦躁，又因为意识到这一点，我们就一声不响地开了一会车子。然后当T·J·埃克尔堡大夫暗淡的眼睛在大路的前方出现时，我想起了盖茨比提出的关于汽油不够的警告。
“我们有足够的汽油开到城里。”汤姆说。
“可是这里就有一家车行，”乔丹提出了反对，“我可不要在这种大热天抛锚。”
汤姆不耐烦地把两个刹车都踩了，车子扬起一阵尘土突然在威尔逊的招牌下面停了下来。过了一会老板从车行的里面走了出来，两眼呆呆地盯着看我们的车子。
“给我们加点汽油！”汤姆粗声大气地叫道，“你以为我们停下来干什么——欣赏风景吗？”
“我病了，”威尔逊站着不动说道，“病了一整天啦。”
“怎么啦？”
“我身体都垮了。”
“那么我要自己动手吗？”汤姆问，“你刚才在电话里听上去还挺好的嘛。”
威尔逊很吃力地从门口阴凉的地方走出来，喘着大气把汽油箱的盖子拧了下来。在太阳里他的脸色发青。
“我并不是有意在午饭时打扰你，”他说，“可是我急需用钱，因此我想知道你那辆旧车打算怎么办。”
“你喜欢这一辆吗？”汤姆问，“我上星期才买的。”
“好漂亮的黄车。”威尔逊说，一面费劲地打着油。
“想买吗？”
“没门儿，”威尔逊淡淡地一笑，“不想这个，可是我可以在那部车上赚点钱。”
“你要钱干什么，有什么突然的需要？”
“我在这儿待得太久了。我想离开这里。我老婆和我想搬到西部去。”
“你老婆想去。”汤姆吃惊地叫道。
“她说要去，说了有十年了。”他靠在加油机上休息了一会，用手搭在眼睛上遮住阳光，“现在她真的要去了，不管她想不想去。我要让她离开这里。”
小轿车从我们身边疾驰而过，扬起了一阵尘土，车上有人挥了挥手。
“我该付你多少钱？”汤姆粗鲁地问道。
“就在这两天我才发现了一点蹊跷的事情，”威尔逊说，“这就是我为什么要离开这里的原因。这就是我为什么为那辆车子打扰你的原因。”
“我该付你多少钱？”
“一块两角。”
酷烈的热浪已经开始搞得我头昏眼花，因此我有一会儿感到很不舒服，然后才意识到，到那时为止他的疑心还没落到汤姆身上。他发现了茉特尔背着他在另外一个世界里有她自己的生活，而这个震动使他的身体患病了。我盯着他看看，又盯着汤姆看看，他在不到半小时以前也有了同样的发现——因此我想到人们在智力或种族方面的任何差异都远不如病人和健康的人二者之间的差异那么深刻。威尔逊病得那么厉害，因此看上去好像犯了罪，犯了不可饶恕的罪——仿佛他刚刚把一个可怜的姑娘的肚子搞大了。
“我把那辆车子卖给你吧，”汤姆说，“我明天下午给你送来。”
那一带地方一向隐隐约约使人感到心神不安，甚至在下午耀眼的阳光里也一样，因此现在我掉过头去，仿佛有人要我提防背后有什么东西。在灰堆上方，T·J·埃克尔堡大夫的巨眼在守望着，但是过了一会我觉察另外一双眼睛正在从不到二十英尺以外聚精会神地注视着我们。
在车行上面一扇窗户面前，窗帘向旁边拉开了一点，茉特尔·威尔逊正在向下窥视着这辆车子。她那样全神贯注，因此她毫不觉察有人在注意她，一种接一种的感情在她脸上流露出来，好像物体出现在一张慢慢显影的照片上。她的表情熟悉得有点蹊跷——这是我时常在女人脸上看到的表情，可是在茉特尔·威尔逊的脸上，这种表情似乎毫无意义而且难以理解，直到我明白她那两只充满妒火、睁得大大的眼睛并不是盯在汤姆身上，而是盯在乔丹·贝克身上，原来她以为乔丹是他的妻子。
一个简单的头脑陷入慌乱时是非同小可的，等到我们车子开走的时候，汤姆感到惊慌失措，心里像油煎一样。他的妻子和情妇，直到一小时前还是安安稳稳、不可侵犯的，现在却猛不防正从他的控制下溜走。本能促使他猛踩油门，以达到赶上黛西和把威尔逊抛在脑后的双重目的，于是我们以每小时五十英里的速度向阿斯托里亚飞驰而去。直到在高架铁路蜘蛛网似的钢架中间，我们才看见那辆逍遥自在的蓝色小轿车。
“五十号街附近那些大电影院很凉快，”乔丹提议说，“我爱夏天下午的纽约，人都跑光了。有一种非常内感的滋味——熟透了，仿佛各种奇异的果实都会落到你手里。”
“肉感”这两个字使汤姆感到更加惶惶不安，但他还没来得及找话来表示反对，小轿车已经停了下来，黛西打着手势叫我们开上去并排停下。
“我们上哪儿去？”她喊道。
“去看电影怎样？”
“太热了，”她抱怨道，“你们去吧。我们去兜兜风，过会儿再和你们碰头。”她又勉强讲了两句俏皮话。“我们约好在另一个路口和你们碰头。我就是那个抽着两支香烟的男人。”
“我们不能待在这里争论，”汤姆不耐烦地说，这时我们后面有一辆卡车的司机在拼命按喇叭，“你们跟我开到中央公园南边广场饭店前面。”
有好几次他掉过头去向后看，找他们的车子，如果路上的交通把他们耽误了，他就放慢速度，直到他们重新出现。我想他生怕他们会钻进一条小街，从此永远从他生活里消失。
可是他们并没有。而我们大家都采取了这个更难理解的步骤——在广场饭店租用了一间套房的客厅。
那场长时间的、吵吵嚷嚷的争论，以把我们都赶进那间屋子而告终、我现在也弄不清是怎么回事了，虽然我清清楚楚记得，在这个过程中，我的内衣像一条湿漉漉的蛇一样顺着我的腿往上爬，同时一阵阵冷汗珠横流侠背。这个主意起源于黛西的建议，她要我们租五间浴室去洗冷水澡，后来才采取了“喝杯凉薄荷酒的地方”这个更明确的形式。我们每一个人都翻来覆去地说这是个“馊主意”——我们大家同时开口跟一个为难的旅馆办事员讲话，自认为或者假装认为，我们这样很滑稽……
那间房子很大但是很闷，虽然已经是四点了，但打开窗户只不过能感受到从公园里的灌木丛刮来一股热风。黛西走到镜子前面，背朝我们站着，理她的头发。
“这个套间真高级。”乔丹肃然起敬地低声说，引得大家都笑了起来。
“再打开一扇窗户。”黛西命令道，连头也不回。
“没有窗户可开了。”
“那么我们顶好打电话要把斧头……”
“正确的办法是忘掉热，”汤姆不耐烦地说，“像你这样唠唠叨叨只会热得十倍的难受。”
他打开毛巾拿出那瓶威士忌来放在桌上
“何必找她的碴呢，老兄？”盖茨比说，“是你自己要进城来的。”
沉默了一会。电话簿从钉子上滑开，啪的一声掉到地上，于是乔丹低声说：“对不起。”但是这一次没人笑了。
“我去捡起来。”我抢着说。
“我捡到了。”盖茨比仔细看看断开的绳子，表示感兴趣地“哼”了一声，然后把电话簿往椅子上一扔。
“那是你得意的口头掸，是不是？”汤姆尖锐地说。
“什么是？”
“张口闭口都是‘老兄’。你是从哪里学来的？”
“你听着，汤姆，”黛西说，一面从镜子前面掉转身来，“如果你打算进行人身攻击，我就一分钟都不待。打个电话要点冰来做薄荷酒。”
汤姆一拿起话筒，那憋得紧紧的热气突然爆发出声音，这时我们听到门德尔松的《婚礼进行曲》惊心动魄的和弦从底下舞厅里传上来。
“这么热竟然还有人结婚！”乔丹很难受地喊道。
“尽管如此——我就是在六月中旬结婚的，”黛西回忆道，“六月的路易斯维尔！有一个人昏倒了。昏倒的是谁，汤姆？”
“毕洛克西。”他简慢地答道。
“一个姓‘毕洛克西’的人。‘木头人’毕洛克西，他是做盒子的——这是事实——他又是田纳西州毕洛克西①市的人。”
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①木头人、盒子在原文里都和毕洛克西谐音。
“他们把他抬进我家里，”乔丹补充说，“因为我们住的地方和教堂隔着两家的距离。他一住就住了三个星期，直到爸爸叫他走路。他走后第二天爸爸就死了。”过了一会她又加了一句话说，“两件事井没有什么联系。”
“我从前也认识一个孟菲斯①人叫比尔·毕洛克西。”我说。
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①孟菲斯（Memphis），田纳西州的城市。
“那是他堂兄弟。他走以前我对他的整个家史都一清二楚了。他送了我一根打高尔夫球的轻击棒，我到今天还在用。”
婚礼一开始音乐就停了，此刻从窗口又飘进来一阵很长的欢呼声，接着又是一阵阵“好啊——好——啊”的叫喊，最后响起爵士乐的声音，跳舞开始了。
“我们都衰老了，”黛西说，“如果我们还年轻的话，我们就会站起来跳舞的。”
“别忘了毕洛克西。”乔丹警告她，“你是在哪儿认识他的，汤姆？”
“毕洛克西？”他聚精会神想了一会，“我不认识他。他是黛西的朋友。”
“他才不是哩，”她否认道，“我在那以前从来没见过他。他是坐你的专车来的。”
“对啦，他说他认识你。他说他是在路易斯维尔长大的。阿莎·伯德在最后一分钟把他带来，问我们是否有地方让他坐。”
乔丹笑了一笑。“他多半是不花钱搭车回家。他告诉我他在耶鲁是你们的班长。”
汤姆和我彼此茫然地对看。
“毕洛克西？”
“首先，我们压根儿没有班长……”
盖茨比的脚不耐烦地连敲了几声，引起汤姆突然瞧了他一眼。
“说起来，盖茨比先生，我听说你是牛津校友。”
“不完全是那样。”
“哦，是的，我听说你上过牛津。”
“是的，我上过那儿。”
停顿了一会。然后是汤姆的声音，带有怀疑和侮辱的口吻：
“你一定是在毕洛克西上纽黑文的时候去牛津的吧。”
又停顿了一会。一个茶房敲门，端着敲碎了的薄荷叶和冰走进来，但是他的一声“谢谢您”和轻轻的关门声也没打破沉默。这个关系重大的细节终于要澄清了。
“我跟你说过了我上过那儿。”盖茨比说。
“我听见了，可是我想知道在什么时候。”
“是一九一九年，我只待了五个月。这就是为什么我不能自称是牛津校友的原因。”
汤姆瞥了大家一眼，看看我们脸上是否也反映出他的怀疑。但是我们都在看着盖茨比。
“那是停战以后他们为一些军官提供的机会，”他继续说下去，“我们可以上任何英国或者法国的大学。”
我真想站起来拍拍他的肩膀。我又一次感到对他完全信任，这是我以前体验过的。
黛西站了起来，微微一笑，走到桌子前面。
“打开威士忌，汤姆，”她命令道，“我给你做一杯薄荷酒。然后你就个会觉得自己那么蠢了……你看这些薄荷叶子！”
“等一会，”汤姆厉声道，“我还要问盖茨比先生一个问题。”
“请问吧。”盖茨比很有礼貌地说。
“你到底想在我家里制造什么样的纠纷？”
他们终于把话挑明了，盖茨比倒也满意。
“他没制造纠纷，”黛西惊惶地看看这一个又看看那一个，“你在制造纠纷。请你自制一点儿。”
“自制！”汤姆不能置信地重复道，“我猜想最时髦的事情大概是装聋作哑，让不知从哪儿冒出来的阿猫阿狗跟你老婆凋情。哼，如果那样才算时髦，你可以把我除外……这年头人们开始对家庭生活和家庭制度嗤之以鼻，再下一步他们就该抛弃一切，搞黑人和白人通婚了。”
他满口胡言乱语，脸涨得通红，俨然自以为单独一个人站在文明最后的壁垒上。
“我们这里大家都是白人嘛。”乔丹咕哝着说。
“我知道我不得人心。我不举行大型宴会。大概你非得把自己的家搞成猪圈才能交朋友——在这个现代世界上。”
尽管我和大家一样感到很气愤，每次他一张口我就忍不住想笑。一个酒徒色鬼竟然摇身一变就成了道学先生。
“我也有话要对你说，老兄……”盖茨比开始说。但是黛西猜到了他的意图。
“请你不要说！”她无可奈何地打断了他的话，“咱们都回家吧。咱们都回家不好吗？”
“这是个好主意。”我站了起来，“走吧，汤姆。没有人要喝酒。”
“我想知道盖茨比光生有什么话要告诉我。”
“你妻子不爱你，”盖茨比说，“她从来没有爱过你。她爱我。”
“你一定是疯了！”汤姆脱口而出道。
盖茨比猛地跳了起来，激动异常。
“她从来没有爱过你，你听见了吗？”他喊道，“她跟你结了婚，只不过是因为我穷，她等我等得不耐烦了。那是一个大错，但是她心里除了我从来没有爱过任何人！”
这时乔丹和我都想走，但是汤姆和盖茨比争先恐后地阻拦，硬要我们留下，仿佛两人都没有什么不可告人的事，仿佛以共鸣的方式分享他们的感情也是一种特殊的荣幸。
“坐下，黛西，”汤姆竭力装出父辈的口吻，可是并不成功，“这是怎么一回事？我要听听整个经过。”
“我已经告诉过你是怎么一回事了，”盖茨比说，“已经五年了——而你却不知道，”
汤姆霍地转向黛西。
“你五年来一直和这家伙见面？”
“没有见面。”盖茨比说，“不，我们见不了面。可是我们俩在那整个期间彼此相爱，老兄，而你却不知道。我以前有时发笑，”但是他眼中并无笑意，“想到你并不知道。”
“哦——原来不过如此。”汤姆像牧师一样把他的粗指头合拢在一起轻轻地敲敲，然后往椅子上一靠。
“你发疯了！”他破口大骂，“五年前发生的事我没法说，因为当时我还不认识黛西——可是我真他妈的想不通你怎么能沾到她的边，除非你是把食品杂货送到她家后门口的。至于你其余的话都是他妈的胡扯。黛西跟我结婚时她是爱我的，现在她还是爱我。”
“不对。”盖茨比摇摇头说。
“可是她确实爱我。问题是她有时胡思乱想，于一些她自己也莫名其妙的事。”他明智地点点头，“不但如此，我也爱黛西；偶尔我也荒唐一阵，干点蠢事，不过我总是回头，而且我心把始终是爱她的。”
“你真叫人恶心。”黛西说。她转身向着我，她的声音降低了一个音阶，使整个屋子充满了难堪的轻蔑。“你知道我们为什么离开芝加哥吗？我真奇怪人家没给你讲过那次小胡闹的故事。”
盖茨比走过来站在她身边。
“黛西，那一切都过去了，”他认真地说，“现在没什么关系了。就跟他说真话——你从来没爱过他——一切山就永远勾销了。”
她茫然地看着他。“是啊——我怎么会爱他——怎么可能呢？”
“你从来没有爱过他。”
她犹疑不定一她的眼光哀诉似地落在乔丹和我的身上，仿佛她终于认识到她正在于什么——仿佛她一直并没打算干任何事，但是现在事情已经干了，为时太晚了。
“我从来没爱过他。”她说，但看得出很勉强。
“在凯皮奥兰尼时也没爱过吗？”汤姆突然质问道。
“没有。”
从下面的舞厅里，低沉而闷人的乐声随着一阵阵热气飘了上来。
“那大我把你从‘甜酒钵’①上抱下来，不让你鞋子沾湿，你也不爱我吗？”他沙哑的声音流露着柔情，“黛西？”
--------
①甜酒钵，游艇的名字。
“请别说了。”她的声音是冷淡的，但是怨尤已从中消失。她看看盖茨比。“你瞧，杰。”她说，可是她要点支烟时手却在发抖。突然她把香烟和点着的火柴都扔到地毯上。
“啊，你的要求太过分了！”她对盖茨比喊道，“我现在爱你——难道这还不够吗？过去的事我没法挽回。”她无可奈何地抽抽噎噎哭了起来。“我一度受过他——但是我也爱过你。”
盖茨比的眼睛张开来又闭上。
“你也爱过我？”他重复道。
“连这个都是瞎话，”汤姆恶狠狠地说，“她根本不知道你还活着。要知道，黛西和我之间有许多事你永远也不会知道，我俩永远也不会忘记。”
他的话刺痛了盖茨比的心。
“我要跟黛西单独谈谈，”他执意说，“她现在太激动了……”
“单独谈我也不能说我从来没爱过汤姆，”她用伤心的声调吐露道，“那么说不会是真话。”
“当然不会是真话。”汤姆附和道。
她转身对着她丈夫。
“就好像你还在乎似的。”她说。
“当然在乎。从今以后我要更好地照顾你。”
“你还不明白，”盖茨比说，有点慌张了，“你没有机会再照顾她了。”
“我没有机会了？”汤姆睁大了眼睛，放声大笑。他现在大可以控制自己了。“什么道理呢？”
“黛西要离开你了。”
“胡说八道。”
“不过我确实要离开你。”她显然很费劲地说。
“她不会离开我的！”汤姆突然对盖茨比破口大骂，“反正决不会为了一个鸟骗子离开我，一个给她套在手指上的戒指也得去偷来的鸟骗子。”
“这么说我可不答应！”黛西喊道，“啊呀，咱们走吧。”
“你到底是什么人？”汤姆嚷了起来，“你是迈耶·沃尔夫山姆的那帮狐群狗党里的货色，这一点我碰巧知道，我对你的事儿做了一番小小的调查——明天我还要进一步调查。”
“那你尽可以自便，老兄。”盖茨比镇定地说。
“我打听了出来你那些‘药房’是什么名堂。”他转过身来对着我们很快地说，“他和这个姓沃尔夫山姆的家伙在本地和芝加哥买下了许多小街上的药房，私自把酒精卖给人家喝。那就是他变的许多小戏法中的一个。我头一趟看见他就猜出他是个私酒贩子，我猜的还差不离哩。”
“那又该怎么样呢？”盖茨比很有礼貌地说，“你的朋友瓦尔特·蔡斯和我们合伙并不觉得丢人嘛。”
“你们还把他坑了，是不是？你们让他在新泽西州坐了一个月监牢。天啊！你应当听听瓦尔特议论你的那些话。”
“他找上我们的时候是个穷光蛋。他很高兴赚几个钱，老兄。”
“你别叫我‘老兄’！”汤姆喊道。盖茨比没搭腔，“瓦尔特本来还可以告你违犯赌博法的，但是沃尔夫山姆吓得他闭上了嘴。”
那种不熟悉可是认得出的表情又在盖茨比的脸上出现了。
“那个开药房的事儿不过是小意思，”汤姆慢慢地接着说，“但是你们现在又在搞什么花样，瓦尔特不敢告诉我。”
我看了黛西一眼，她吓得目瞪口呆地看看盖茨比，又看看她丈夫，再看看乔丹——她已经开始在下巴上面让一件看不见可是引人入胜的东西保持平衡，然后我又回过头去看盖茨比——看到他的表情，我大吃一惊。他看上去活像刚“杀了个人”似的——我说这话可与他花园里的那些流言蜚语毫不相干。可是一刹那间他脸上的表情恰恰可以用那种荒唐的方式来形容。
这种表情过去以后、他激动地对黛西说开了，矢口否认一切，又为了没有人提出的罪名替自己辩护。但是他说得越多，她就越显得疏远，结果他只好不说了，唯有那死去的梦随着下午的消逝在继续奋斗，拼命想接触那不再摸得着的东西，朝着屋子那边那个失去的声音痛苦地但并不绝望地挣扎着。
那个声音又央求要走。
“求求你，汤姆！我再也受不了啦。”
她惊惶的眼睛显示出来，不管她曾经有过什么意图，有过什么勇气，现在肯定都烟消云散了。
“你们两人动身回家，黛西，”汤姆说，“坐盖茨比先生的车子。”
她看着汤姆，大为惊恐，但他故作宽大以示侮蔑，定要她去。
“走吧。他不会麻烦你的。我想他明白他那狂妄的小小的调情已经完了。”
他们俩走掉了，一句话也没说，一转眼就消失了，变得无足轻重，孤零零的，像一对鬼影，甚至和我们的怜悯都隔绝了。
过了一会汤姆站了起来，开始用毛巾把那瓶没打开的威士忌包起来。
“来点儿这玩意吗？乔丹？尼克？”
我没搭腔。
“尼克？”他又问了一声。
“什么？”
“来点儿吗？”
“不要……我刚才记起来今天是我的生日。”
我三十岁了。在我面前展现出一条新的十年的凶多吉少、咄咄逼人的道路。
等到我们跟他坐上小轿车动身回长岛时，已经是七点钟了。汤姆一路上话说个不停，得意洋洋，哈哈大笑，但他的声音对乔丹和我就好像人行道上嘈杂的人声和头顶上高架铁路轰隆隆的车声一样遥远、人类的同情心是有限度的，因此我们也乐于让他们那些可悲的争论和身后的城市灯火一道逐渐消失。三十岁——展望十年的孤寂，可交往的单身汉逐渐稀少，热烈的感‘清逐渐稀薄，头发逐渐稀疏。但我身边有乔丹，和黛西大不一样，她少年老成，不会把早已忘怀的梦一年又一年还藏在心里。我们驶过黝黑的铁桥时她苍白的脸懒懒地靠在我上衣的肩上，她紧紧握住我的手，驱散了三十岁生日的巨大冲击。
于是我们在稍微凉快一点的暮色中向死亡驶去。
那个年轻的希腊人米切里斯，在灰堆旁边开小咖啡馆的，是验尸时主要的见证人。那个大热大他一觉睡到五点以后才起来，溜到车行去，发觉乔治·威尔逊在他的办公室里病了——真的病了，面色和他本人苍白的头发一样苍白，浑身都在发抖。米切里斯劝他上床去睡觉，但威尔逊不肯，说那样就要错过不少生意。这位邻居正在劝服他的时候，楼上忽然大吵大闹起来。
“我把我老婆锁在上面，”威尔逊平静地解释说，“她要在那儿一直待到后人，然后我们就搬走。”
米切里斯大吃一惊。他们做了四年邻居，威尔逊从来不像是一个能说出这种话来的人。通常他总是一个筋疲力尽的人：不干活的时候，他就坐在门口一把椅子上，呆呆地望着路上过往的人和车辆。不管谁跟他说话一他总是和和气气、无精打采地笑笑。他听他老婆支使，自己没有一点主张。
因此，米切里斯很自然地想了解发生了什么事，但威尔逊一个字也不肯说——相反地，他却用古怪的、怀疑的目光端详起这位客人来，并且盘问他某些日子某些时间在干什么。正在米切里斯逐渐感到不自在的时候，有几个工人从门口经过，朝他的餐馆走去，他就乘机脱身，打算过一会再回来。但是他并没有再来。他想他大概忘了，并没别的原因。L点过一点他再到外面来，才想起了这番谈话，因为他听见威尔逊太太在破口大骂，就在楼下车行里。
“你打我！”他听见她嚷嚷，“让你推，让你打吧，你这个肮脏没种的鸟东西！”
过了一会她就冲出门来向黄昏中奔去，一面挥手一面叫喊——他还没来得及离开自己的门口，事情就已经发生了。
那辆“凶车”——这是报纸上的提法——停都没停车于从苍茫暮色中出现，出事后悲惨地犹疑了片刻，然后在前面一转弯就不见了。马弗罗·米切里斯连车子的颜色都说不准——他告诉第一个警察说是浅绿色。另一辆车，开往纽约的那一辆，开到一百码以外停了下来，开车的赶快跑回出事地点，茉特尔·威尔逊在那里跪在公路当中，死于非命，她那发黑的浓血和尘上混合在一起。
米切里斯和这个人最先赶到她身旁，但等他们把她汗湿的衬衣撕开时，他们看见她左边的乳房已经松松地耷拉着，因此也不用再去听那下面的心脏了。她的嘴大张着，嘴角撕破了一点，仿佛她在放出储存了一辈子的无比旺盛的精力的时候噎了一下。
我们离那儿还有一段距离就看见三四辆汽车和一大群人。
“撞车！”汤姆道，“那很好。威尔逊终于有一点生意了。”
他把车子放慢下来，但并没打算停，直至到我们开得近一点，车行门口那群人屏息敛容的而孔才使他不由自主地把车刹住。
“我们去看一眼，”他犹疑不定地说，“看一眼就走。”
我这时听见一阵阵空洞哀号的声音从车行里传出来，我们下了小轿车走向车行门口时，才听出其中翻来覆去、上气不接下气地喊出的“我的上帝啊”几个字。
“这儿出了什么大乱子了。”汤姆激动地说。
他跟着脚从一圈人头上向车行里望去，车行天花板上点着一盏挂在铁丝罩用的发黄光的电灯。他喉咙里哼了一声，接着他用两只有力气的手臂猛然向前一推就挤进了人群。
那一圈人又合拢来，同时传出一阵咕咕哝哝的劝告声。有一两分钟我什么也看不见。后来新到的人又打乱了圈子，忽然间乔丹和我被挤到里面去了。
茉特尔·威尔逊的尸体裹在一条毯子里，外面又包了一条毯子，仿佛在这炎热的夜晚她还怕冷似的。尸体放在墙边一张工作台上，汤姆背对着我们正低头在看，一动也不动。在他旁边站着一名摩托车警察，他正在把人名字往小本子上抄，一面流汗一面写了又涂改。起初我找不到那些在空空的车行里回荡的高昂的呻吟声的来源——然后我才看见威尔逊站在他办公室高高的门槛上，身体前后摆动着，双手抓着门框。有一个人在低声跟他说话，不时想把一只手放在他肩上，但威尔逊既听不到也看不见。他的目光从那盏摇晃的电灯慢慢地下移到墙边那张停着尸体的桌子上，然后又突然转回到那盏灯上，同时他不停地发出他那高亢的、可怕的呼号：
“哎哟，我的上……帝啊！哎哟，我的上……帝啊！哎哟，上……帝啊！哎哟，我的上……帝啊！”
过了一会汤姆猛地一甩，抬起头来，用呆滞的目光扫视了车行，然后对警察含糊不清地说了一句话。
“M—y－v”警察在说，“—o—”
“不对，r—”那人更正说，“M—a—v—r—o—”
“你听我说！”汤姆凶狠地低声说。
“r－”警察说，o——
“g——”
“g——”汤姆的大手猛一下落在他肩膀上时，他抬起头来，“你要啥，伙计？”
“是怎么回事？我要知道的就是这个。”
“汽车撞了她，当场撞死。”
“当场撞死。”汤姆重复道，两眼发直。
“她跑到了路中间。狗娘养的连车子都没停。”
“当时有两辆车子，”米切里斯说，“一来，一去，明白吗？”
“去哪儿？”警察机警地问。
“一辆车去一个方向。喏，她，”他的手朝着毯子举起来，但半路上就打住，又放回到身边，“她跑到外面路上，纽约来的那辆车迎面撞上了她，车子时速有三四十英里。”
“这地方叫什么名字？”警察问道。
“没有名字。”
一个面色灰白、穿得很体面的黑人走上前来。
“那是一辆黄色的车子，”他说，“大型的黄色汽车，新的。”
“看到事故发生了吗？”警察问。
“没有，但是那辆车子在路上从我旁边开过，速度不止四十英里，有五六十英里。”
“过来，让我们把你名字记下来。让开点。我要记下他的名字。”
这段对话一定有几个字传到了在办公室门日摇晃的威尔逊耳朵里，因为忽然间一个新的题目出现在他的哀号中：
“你不用告诉我那是一辆什么样的车！我知道那是辆什么样的车！”
我注视着汤姆，看见他肩膀后面那团肌肉在上衣下面紧张起来。他急忙朝威尔逊走过去，然后站在他面前，一把抓住他的上臂。
“你一定得镇定下来。”他说，粗犷的声音中带着安慰。
威尔逊的眼光落到了汤姆身上。他先是一惊，踮起了脚尖，然后差点跪倒在地上，要不是汤姆扶住他的话。
“你听我说，”汤姆说，一面轻轻地摇摇他，“我刚才到这里，从纽约来的。我是把我们谈过的那辆小轿车给你送来的。今天下午我开的那辆车子不是我的——你听见了吗？后来我整个下午都没看到它。”
只有那个黑人和我靠得近，可以听到他讲的话，但那个警察也听出他声调里有问题，于是用严厉的目光向这边看。
“你说什么？”他质问。
“我是他的朋友。”汤姆回过头来，但两手还紧紧抓住威尔逊的身体，“他说他认识肇事的车子……是一辆黄色的车子。”
一点模糊的冲动促使警察疑心地看看汤姆。
“那么你的车是什么颜色呢？”
“是一辆蓝色的车子，一辆小轿车。”
“我们是刚从纽约来的。”我说。
有一个一直在我们后面不远开车的人证实了这一点，于是警察就掉过头去了。
“好吧，请你让我再把那名字正确地……”
汤姆把威尔逊像玩偶一样提起来，提到办公室里去，放在一把椅子上，然后自己又回来。
“来个人到这儿陪他坐着。”他用发号施令的口吻说。他张望着，这时站得最近的两个人彼此望望，勉勉强强地走进那间屋子。然后汤姆在他们身后关上了门，跨下那一级台阶，他的眼睛躲开那张桌子。他经过我身边时低声道：“咱们走吧。”
他不自在地用那双权威性的胳臂开路，我们从仍然在聚集的人群中推出去，遇到一位匆匆而来的医生，手里拎着皮包，还是半个钟头以前抱着一线希望去请的。
汤姆开得很慢，直到拐过那个弯之后他的脚才使劲踩下去，于是小轿车就在黑夜里飞驰而去。过了一会我听见低低的一声呜咽，接着看到他泪流满面。
“没种的狗东西！”他呜咽着说，“他连车子都没停。”
布坎农家的房子忽然在黑黝黝、瑟瑟作响的树木中间浮现在我们面前。汤姆在门廊旁边停下，抬头望望二楼，那里有两扇窗户在蔓藤中间给灯光照得亮堂堂的。
“黛西到家了。”他说，我们下车时，他看了我一眼，又微微皱皱眉头。
“我应当在西卵让你下车的，尼克。今晚我们没有什么事可做了。”
他身上起了变化，他说话很严肃，而已很果断。当我们穿过满地月光的石子道走向门廊时，他三言两语很利索地处理了眼前的情况。
“我去打个电话叫一辆出租汽车送你回家。你等车的时候，你和乔丹最好到厨房去，让他们给你们做点晚饭——要是你们想吃的话。”他推开了大门，“进来吧。”
“不啦，谢谢。可是要麻烦你替我叫出租汽车、我在外面等。”
乔丹把她的手放在我胳臂上。
“你进来不好吗，尼克？”
“不啦，谢谢。”
我心里觉得有点不好受，我想一个人单独待着，但乔丹还流连了一下。
“现在才九点半。”她说。
说什么我也不肯进去了。他们几个人我这一天全都看够了，忽然间那也包括乔丹在内。她一定在我的表情中多少看出了一点苗头，因为她猛地掉转身，跑上门廊的台阶走进屋子里去了。我两手抱着头坐了几分钟，直到我听见屋子里有人打电话，又听见男管家的声音在叫出租汽车。随后我就沿着汽车道慢慢从房子面前走开，准备到大门口去等。
我还没走上二十码就听见有人叫我的名宇，跟着盖茨比从两个灌木丛中间出来走到小路上。我当时一定已经神志恍惚了，因为我脑子里什么都想不到，除了他那套粉红色衣服在月光下闪闪发光。
“你在干什么？”我问道。
“就在这儿站着，老兄。”
不知为什么，这好像是一种可耻的行径。说不定他准备马上就去抢劫这个人家哩。我也不会感到奇怪的，如果我看到许多邪恶的面孔，“沃尔夫山姆的人”的面孔，躲在他后面黑黝黝的灌木丛中。
“你在路上看见出什么事了吗？”他过了一会问道。
“看见的。”
他迟疑了一下。
“她撞死了吗？”
“死了。”
“我当时就料到了。我告诉了黛西我想是撞死了。一下子大惊一场，倒还好些。她表现得挺坚强。”
他这样说，仿佛黛西的反应是唯一要紧的事情。
“我从一条小路开回西卵去，”他接着说，“把车子停在我的车房里。我想没有人看到过我们，但我当然不能肯定。”
到这时我已经十分厌恶他，因此我觉得没有必要告诉他他想错了。
“那个女人是谁？”他问道。
“她姓威尔逊。她丈夫是那个车行的老板。这事到底怎么会发生的？”
“呃，我想把驾驶盘扳过来的……”他突然打住，我也忽然猜到了真相。
“是黛西在开车吗？”
“是的，”他过了一会才说，“但是当然我要说是我在开。是这样的。我们离开纽约的时候，她神经非常紧张，她以为开车子可以使她镇定下来——后来这个女人向我们冲了出来。正好我们迎面来了一辆车子和我们相错。前后不到一分钟的事，但我觉得她想跟我们说话，以为我们是她认识的人。呃，黛西先是把车子从那个女人那边转向那辆车子，接着她惊慌失措又转了回去。我的手一碰到驾驶盘我就感到了震动——她一定是当场撞死的。”
“把她撞开了花……”
“别跟我说这个，老兄。”他间缩了一下，“总而言之，黛西拼命踩油门。我要她停下来，但她停不了，我只得拉上了紧急刹车。这时她晕倒在我膝盖上，我就接过来向前开。”
“明天她就会好的，”他过了一会又说，“我只是在这儿等等，看他会个会因为今天下午那场争执找她麻烦。她把自己锁在自己屋子里了，假如他有什么野蛮的举动，她就会把灯关掉然后再打开。”
“他不会碰她的，”我说，“他现在想的不是她。”
“我不信任他，老兄。”
“你准备等多久！”
“整整一夜，如果有必要的话。至少，等到他们都去睡觉。”
我忽然有了一个新的看法。假定汤姆知道了开车的是黛西，他或许会认为事出有因——他或许什么都会疑心。我看看那座房子。楼下有两三扇亮堂堂的窗户，还有二楼黛西屋子里映出的粉红色亮光。
“你在这儿等着，”我说，“我去看看有没有吵闹的迹象。”
我沿着草坪的边缘走了回去，轻轻跨过石子车道，然后踮起脚尖走上游廊的台阶。客厅的窗帘是拉开的，因此我看到屋子里是空的。我穿过我们三个月以前那个六月的晚上吃过晚餐的阳台，来到一小片长方形的灯光前面，我猜那是食品间的窗户。遮帘拉了下来，但我在窗台上找到了一个缝隙。
黛西和汤姆面对面坐在厨房的桌子两边，两人中间放着一盘冷的炸鸡，还有两瓶啤酒。他正在隔着桌子聚精会神地跟她说话，说得那么热切，他用手盖住了她的手。她不时抬起头来看看他，并且点头表示同意。
他们并不是快乐的，两人都没动鸡和啤酒——然而他们也不是不快乐的。这幅图画清清楚楚有一种很自然的亲密气氛，任何人也都会说他们俩在一同阴谋策划。
当我踮着脚尖走下阳台时，我听见我的出租汽车慢慢地沿着黑暗的道路向房子开过来。盖茨比还在车道上我刚才和他分手的地方等着。
“那上面一切都安静吗？”他焦急地问。
“是的，一切都安静。”我犹疑了一下，“你最好也回家去睡觉吧。”
他摇了摇头。
“我要在这儿一直等到黛西上床睡觉。晚安，老兄。”
他把两手插在上衣口袋里，热切地掉转身去端详那座房子，仿佛我的在场有损于他神圣的守望。于是我走开了，留下他站在月光里——空守着。
收听单词发音 |
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auto
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| n.(=automobile)(口语)汽车 | |
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automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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squinted
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| 斜视( squint的过去式和过去分词 )； 眯着眼睛； 瞟； 从小孔或缝隙里看 | |
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dilatory
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| adj.迟缓的，不慌不忙的 | |
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grudging
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| adj.勉强的，吝啬的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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abrupt
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| adj.突然的，意外的；唐突的，鲁莽的 | |
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bribed
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| v.贿赂( bribe的过去式和过去分词 )；向（某人）行贿，贿赂 | |
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pigsty
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| n.猪圈，脏房间 | |
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wan
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| (wide area network)广域网 | |
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disapproval
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| n.反对，不赞成 | |
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baker
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| n.面包师 | |
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broiling
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| adj.酷热的，炽热的，似烧的v.（用火）烤（焙、炙等）( broil的现在分词 )；使卷入争吵；使混乱；被烤（或炙） | |
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hush
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| int.嘘，别出声；n.沉默，静寂；v.使安静 | |
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hovered
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| 鸟( hover的过去式和过去分词 )； 靠近（某事物）； （人）徘徊； 犹豫 | |
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combustion
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| n.燃烧；氧化；骚动 | |
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perspired
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| v.出汗，流汗( perspire的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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lapsed
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| adj.流失的，堕落的v.退步( lapse的过去式和过去分词 )；陷入；倒退；丧失 | |
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desolate
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| adj.荒凉的，荒芜的；孤独的，凄凉的；v.使荒芜，使孤寂 | |
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gasped
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| v.喘气( gasp的过去式和过去分词 )；喘息；倒抽气；很想要 | |
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glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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salon
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| n.[法]沙龙；客厅；营业性的高级服务室 | |
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affront
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| n./v.侮辱，触怒 | |
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awnings
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| 篷帐布 | |
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idols
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| 偶像( idol的名词复数 )； 受崇拜的人或物； 受到热爱和崇拜的人或物； 神像 | |
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simultaneously
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| adv.同时发生地，同时进行地 | |
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muffled
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| adj.（声音）被隔的；听不太清的；（衣服）裹严的；蒙住的v.压抑，捂住( muffle的过去式和过去分词 )；用厚厚的衣帽包着（自己） | |
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crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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gust
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| n.阵风，突然一阵（雨、烟等），（感情的）迸发 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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rumor
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| n.谣言，谣传，传说 | |
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annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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cynically
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| adv.爱嘲笑地，冷笑地 | |
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conceal
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| v.隐藏，隐瞒，隐蔽 | |
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murmur
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| n.低语，低声的怨言；v.低语，低声而言 | |
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clog
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| vt.塞满，阻塞；n.[常pl.]木屐 | |
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laundered
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| v.洗（衣服等），洗烫（衣服等）( launder的过去式和过去分词 )；洗（黑钱）（把非法收入改头换面，变为貌似合法的收入） | |
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relinquished
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| 交出，让给( relinquish的过去式和过去分词 )； 放弃 | |
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afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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bent
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| n.爱好，癖好；adj.弯的；决心的，一心的 | |
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genially
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| adv.亲切地，和蔼地；快活地 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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45
stagnant
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| adj.不流动的，停滞的，不景气的 | |
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46
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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47
abounding
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| adj.丰富的，大量的v.大量存在，充满，富于( abound的现在分词 ) | |
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48
isles
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| 岛( isle的名词复数 ) | |
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49
verge
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| n.边，边缘；v.接近，濒临 | |
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50
insistently
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| ad.坚持地 | |
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51
astounded
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| v.使震惊(astound的过去式和过去分词)；愕然；愕；惊讶 | |
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52
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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53
gravel
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| n.砂跞；砂砾层；结石 | |
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54
shuffling
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| adj. 慢慢移动的, 滑移的 动词shuffle的现在分词形式 | |
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55
pebbles
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| [复数]鹅卵石； 沙砾； 卵石，小圆石( pebble的名词复数 ) | |
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56
savagely
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| adv. 野蛮地，残酷地 | |
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57
rigidly
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| adv.刻板地，僵化地 | |
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58
jingle
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| n.叮当声，韵律简单的诗句；v.使叮当作响，叮当响，押韵 | |
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59
cymbals
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| pl.铙钹 | |
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60
metallic
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| adj.金属的；金属制的；含金属的；产金属的；像金属的 | |
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61
capes
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| 碎谷； 斗篷( cape的名词复数 )； 披肩； 海角； 岬 | |
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62
boisterously
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| adv.喧闹地，吵闹地 | |
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63
gauge
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| v.精确计量；估计；n.标准度量；计量器 | |
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64
apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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65
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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66
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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67
touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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68
immediate
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| adj.立即的；直接的，最接近的；紧靠的 | |
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69
contingency
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| n.意外事件，可能性 | |
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70
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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71
haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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72
Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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73
snob
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| n.势利小人，自以为高雅、有学问的人 | |
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74
irritable
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| adj.急躁的；过敏的；易怒的 | |
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75
proprietor
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| n.所有人；业主；经营者 | |
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76
doorway
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| n.门口，(喻)入门；门路，途径 | |
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77
relentless
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| adj.残酷的，不留情的，无怜悯心的 | |
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78
physically
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| adj.物质上，体格上，身体上，按自然规律 | |
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79
disquieting
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| adj.令人不安的，令人不平静的v.使不安，使忧虑，使烦恼( disquiet的现在分词 ) | |
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80
peculiar
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| adj.古怪的，异常的；特殊的，特有的 | |
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81
intensity
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| n.强烈，剧烈；强度；烈度 | |
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82
engrossed
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| adj.全神贯注的 | |
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83
curiously
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| adv.有求知欲地；好问地；奇特地 | |
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84
inexplicable
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| adj.无法解释的，难理解的 | |
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85
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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86
inviolate
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| adj.未亵渎的，未受侵犯的 | |
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87
precipitately
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| adv.猛进地 | |
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88
sensuous
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| adj.激发美感的；感官的，感觉上的 | |
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89
plaza
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| n.广场，市场 | |
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90
dart
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| v.猛冲，投掷；n.飞镖，猛冲 | |
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91
parlor
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| n.店铺，营业室；会客室，客厅 | |
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92
suite
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| n.一套(家具)；套房；随从人员 | |
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93
tumult
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| n.喧哗；激动，混乱；吵闹 | |
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94
herding
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| 中畜群 | |
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95
eludes
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| v.（尤指机敏地）避开( elude的第三人称单数 )；逃避；躲避；使达不到 | |
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96
intermittent
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| adj.间歇的，断断续续的 | |
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97
beads
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| n.（空心）小珠子( bead的名词复数 )；水珠；珠子项链 | |
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98
tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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99
stifling
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| a.令人窒息的 | |
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100
swell
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| vi.膨胀，肿胀；增长，增强 | |
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101
crabbing
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| v.捕蟹( crab的现在分词 ) | |
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102
portentous
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| adj.不祥的，可怕的，装腔作势的 | |
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103
ballroom
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| n.舞厅 | |
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104
dismally
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| adv.阴暗地，沉闷地 | |
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105
aluminum
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| n.(aluminium)铝 | |
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106
bumming
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| 发哼（声），蜂鸣声 | |
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107
tattoo
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| n.纹身，(皮肤上的)刺花纹；vt.刺花纹于 | |
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108
renewals
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| 重建( renewal的名词复数 )； 更新； 重生； 合同的续订 | |
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109
desperately
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| adv.极度渴望地，绝望地，孤注一掷地 | |
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110
sneering
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| 嘲笑的，轻蔑的 | |
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111
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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112
tempted
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| v.怂恿（某人）干不正当的事；冒…的险（tempt的过去分词） | |
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113
libertine
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| n.淫荡者；adj.放荡的，自由思想的 | |
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114
paternal
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| adj.父亲的，像父亲的，父系的，父方的 | |
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115
sagely
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| adv. 贤能地，贤明地 | |
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116
reluctance
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| n.厌恶，讨厌，勉强，不情愿 | |
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117
suffocating
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| a.使人窒息的 | |
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118
rift
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| n.裂口，隙缝，切口；v.裂开，割开，渗入 | |
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119
sob
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| n.空间轨道的轰炸机；呜咽，哭泣 | |
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120
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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121
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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122
stunts
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| n.惊人的表演( stunt的名词复数 )；（广告中）引人注目的花招；愚蠢行为；危险举动v.阻碍…发育[生长]，抑制，妨碍( stunt的第三人称单数 ) | |
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123
lurch
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| n.突然向前或旁边倒；v.蹒跚而行 | |
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124
jersey
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| n.运动衫 | |
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125
babbled
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| v.喋喋不休( babble的过去式和过去分词 )；作潺潺声（如流水）；含糊不清地说话；泄漏秘密 | |
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126
slander
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| n./v.诽谤，污蔑 | |
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127
accusations
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| n.指责( accusation的名词复数 )；指控；控告；（被告发、控告的）罪名 | |
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128
presumptuous
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| adj.胆大妄为的，放肆的，冒昧的，冒失的 | |
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129
flirtation
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| n.调情，调戏，挑逗 | |
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130
isolated
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| adj.与世隔绝的 | |
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131
incessantly
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| ad.不停地 | |
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132
exulting
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| vi. 欢欣鼓舞，狂喜 | |
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133
tragic
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| adj.悲剧的，悲剧性的，悲惨的 | |
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134
reassuring
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| a.使人消除恐惧和疑虑的，使人放心的 | |
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135
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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136
joint
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| adj.联合的，共同的；n.关节，接合处；v.连接，贴合 | |
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137
gathering
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| n.集会，聚会，聚集 | |
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138
tragically
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| adv. 悲剧地，悲惨地 | |
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139
mingled
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| 混合，混入( mingle的过去式和过去分词 )； 混进，与…交往[联系] | |
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140
perspiration
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| n.汗水；出汗 | |
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141
vitality
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| n.活力，生命力，效力 | |
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142
wreck
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| n.失事，遇难；沉船；vt.(船等)失事，遇难 | |
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143
wailing
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的现在分词 )；沱 | |
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144
gasping
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| adj. 气喘的, 痉挛的 动词gasp的现在分词 | |
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145
groaning
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| adj. 呜咽的, 呻吟的 动词groan的现在分词形式 | |
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146
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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147
laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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148
glazed
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| adj.光滑的，像玻璃的；上过釉的；呆滞无神的v.装玻璃( glaze的过去式)；上釉于，上光；（目光）变得呆滞无神 | |
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149
mumbled
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| 含糊地说某事，叽咕，咕哝( mumble的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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150
tighten
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| v.(使)变紧；(使)绷紧 | |
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151
soothing
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| adj.慰藉的；使人宽心的；镇静的 | |
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152
collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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153
truculent
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| adj.野蛮的，粗野的 | |
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154
authoritative
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| adj.有权威的，可相信的；命令式的；官方的 | |
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155
authoritatively
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| 命令式地，有权威地，可信地 | |
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156
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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157
overflowing
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| n. 溢出物,溢流 adj. 充沛的，充满的 动词overflow的现在分词形式 | |
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158
rustling
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| n. 瑟瑟声，沙沙声 adj. 发沙沙声的 | |
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159
weird
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| adj.古怪的，离奇的；怪诞的，神秘而可怕的 | |
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160
sinister
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| adj.不吉利的，凶恶的，左边的 | |
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161
winced
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| 赶紧避开，畏缩( wince的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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162
brutality
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| n.野蛮的行为，残忍，野蛮 | |
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163
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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164
drawn
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| v.拖，拉，拔出；adj.憔悴的，紧张的 | |
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165
intimacy
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| n.熟悉，亲密，密切关系，亲昵的言行 | |
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166
conspiring
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| 密谋( conspire的现在分词 )； 搞阴谋； （事件等）巧合； 共同导致 | |
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167
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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168
marred
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| adj. 被损毁, 污损的 | |
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