第3天 ! 平静之下的暗流涌动

For amoment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face;her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened--then the glow faded,each light deserting her with lingering regret like children leaving a pleasantstreet at dusk.

Thebutler came back and murmured something close to Tom's ear whereupon Tomfrowned, pushed back his chair and without a word went inside. As if hisabsence quickened something within her Daisy leaned forward again, her voiceglowing and singing.

"Ilove to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a--of a rose, an absoluterose. Doesn't he?" She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation.

"Anabsolute rose?"

Thiswas untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing but astirring warmth flowed from her as if her heart was trying to come out to youconcealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threwher napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.

MissBaker and I exchanged a short glance consciously devoid of meaning. I was aboutto speak when she sat up alertly and said "Sh!" in a warning voice. Asubdued impassioned murmur was audible in the room beyond and Miss Baker leanedforward, unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge ofcoherence, sank down, mounted excitedly, and then ceased altogether.

"ThisMr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor----" I said.

"Don'ttalk. I want to hear what happens."

"Issomething happening?" I inquired innocently.

"Youmean to say you don't know?" said Miss Baker, honestly surprised.

"Ithought everybody knew."

"Idon't."

"Why----"she said hesitantly, "Tom's got some woman in New York."

"Gotsome woman?" I repeated blankly.

MissBaker nodded.

"Shemight have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Don't youthink?"

Almostbefore I had grasped her meaning there was the flutter of a dress and thecrunch of leather boots and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.

"Itcouldn't be helped!" cried Daisy with tense gayety.

Shesat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and continued:"I looked outdoors for a minute and it's very romantic outdoors. There's abird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard orWhite Star Line. He's singing away----" her voice sang "----It'sromantic, isn't it, Tom?"

"Veryromantic," he said, and then miserably to me: "If it's light enoughafter dinner I want to take you down to the stables."

Thetelephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively atTom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Amongthe broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candlesbeing lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarelyat every one and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn't guess what Daisy and Tomwere thinking but I doubt if even Miss Baker who seemed to have mastered acertain hardy skepticism was able utterly to put this fifth guest's shrillmetallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might haveseemed intriguing--my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.

Thehorses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, withseveral feet of twilight between them strolled back into the library, as if toa vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while trying to look pleasantlyinterested and a little deaf I followed Daisy around a chain of connectingverandas to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on awicker settee.

Daisytook her face in her hands, as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes movedgradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessedher, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about herlittle girl.

"Wedon't know each other very well, Nick," she said suddenly.

"Evenif we are cousins. You didn't come to my wedding."

"Iwasn't back from the war."

"That'strue." She hesitated. "Well, I've had a very bad time, Nick, and I'mpretty cynical about everything."

Evidentlyshe had reason to be. I waited but she didn't say any more, and after a momentI returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.

"Isuppose she talks, and--eats, and everything."

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

"Verymuch."

"It'llshow you how I've gotten to feel about--things. Well, she was less than an hourold and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterlyabandoned feeling and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. Shetold me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. 'All right,' Isaid, 'I'm glad it's a girl. And I hope she'll be a fool--that's the best thinga girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool."

"Yousee I think everything's terrible anyhow," she went on in a convinced way."Everybody thinks so--the most advanced people. And I KNOW.

I'vebeen everywhere and seen everything and done everything."

Hereyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom's, and she laughedwith thrilling scorn. "Sophisticated--God, I'm sophisticated!"

Theinstant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my attention, my belief, I feltthe basic insincerity of what she had said.

Itmade me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort toexact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a momentshe looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face as if she hadasserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret society to which sheand Tom belonged.

Inside,the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end ofthe long couch and she read aloud to him from the "Saturday EveningPost"--the words, murmurous and uninflected, running together in asoothing tune. The lamp-light, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leafyellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutterof slender muscles in her arms.

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

"Tobe continued," she said, tossing the magazine on the table, "in ourvery next issue."

Herbody asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she stood up.

"Teno'clock," she remarked, apparently finding the time on the ceiling."Time for this good girl to go to bed."

"Jordan'sgoing to play in the tournament tomorrow," explained Daisy, "over atWestchester."

"Oh,--you'reJORdan Baker."

Iknew now why her face was familiar--its pleasing contemptuous expression hadlooked out at me from many rotogravure pictures of the sporting life atAsheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story of her too, acritical, unpleasant story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago.

"Goodnight," she said softly. "Wake me at eight, won't you."

"Ifyou'll get up."

"Iwill. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon."

"Ofcourse you will," confirmed Daisy. "In fact I think I'll arrange amarriage. Come over often, Nick, and I'll sort of--oh--fling you together. Youknow--lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in aboat, and all that sort of thing----"

"Goodnight," called Miss Baker from the stairs. "I haven't heard aword."

"She'sa nice girl," said Tom after a moment. "They oughtn't to let her runaround the country this way."

"Whooughtn't to?" inquired Daisy coldly.

"Herfamily."

"Herfamily is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides, Nick's going to lookafter her, aren't you, Nick? She's going to spend lots of week-ends out herethis summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her."

Daisyand Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence.

"Isshe from New York?" I asked quickly.

"FromLouisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our beautifulwhite----"

"Didyou give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the veranda?" demanded Tomsuddenly.

"DidI?" She looked at me. "I can't seem to remember, but I think wetalked about the Nordic race. Yes, I'm sure we did. It sort of crept up on usand first thing you know----"

"Don'tbelieve everything you hear, Nick," he advised me.

Isaid lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got upto go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerfulsquare of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called "Wait!

"Iforgot to ask you something, and it's important. We heard you were engaged to agirl out West."

"That'sright," corroborated Tom kindly. "We heard that you wereengaged."

"It'slibel. I'm too poor."

"Butwe heard it," insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in aflower-like way. "We heard it from three people so it must be true."

Ofcourse I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn't even vaguely engaged.The fact that gossip had published the banns was one of the reasons I had comeeast. You can't stop going with an old friend on account of rumors and on theother hand I had no intention of being rumored into marriage.

Theirinterest rather touched me and made them less remotely rich--nevertheless, Iwas confused and a little disgusted as I drove away. It seemed to me that thething for Daisy to do was to rush out of the house, child in arms--butapparently there were no such intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact thathe "had some woman in New York" was really less surprising than thathe had been depressed by a book.

Somethingwas making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physicalegotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart.

Alreadyit was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, wherenew red gas-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate atWest Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grassroller in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud bright night withwings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows ofthe earth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat waveredacross the moonlight and turning my head to watch it I saw that I was notalone--fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbor'smansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the silverpepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements and the secureposition of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby himself,come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens.

Idecided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that woulddo for an introduction. But I didn't call to him for he gave a sudden intimationthat he was content to be alone--he stretched out his arms toward the dark waterin a curious way, and far as I was from him I could have sworn he wastrembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward--and distinguished nothing except asingle green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of adock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone againin the unquiet darkness.