第13天 ! 见面前的准备

Chapter5

WhenI came home to West Egg that night I was afraid for a moment that my house wason fire. Two o'clock and the whole corner of the peninsula was blazing withlight which fell unreal on the shrubbery and made thin elongating glints uponthe roadside wires. Turning a corner I saw that it was Gatsby's house, lit fromtower to cellar.

Atfirst I thought it was another party, a wild rout that had resolved itself into"hide-and-go-seek" or "sardines-in-the-box" with all thehouse thrown open to the game. But there wasn't a sound. Only wind in the treeswhich blew the wires and made the lights go off and on again as if the househad winked into the darkness. As my taxi groaned away I saw Gatsby walkingtoward me across his lawn.

"Yourplace looks like the world's fair," I said.

"Doesit?" He turned his eyes toward it absently. "I have been glancinginto some of the rooms. Let's go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car."

"It'stoo late."

"Well,suppose we take a plunge in the swimming pool? I haven't made use of it allsummer."

"I'vegot to go to bed."

"Allright."

Hewaited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness.

"Italked with Miss Baker," I said after a moment. "I'm going to call upDaisy tomorrow and invite her over here to tea."

"Oh,that's all right," he said carelessly. "I don't want to put you toany trouble."

"Whatday would suit you?"

"Whatday would suit YOU?" he corrected me quickly. "I don't want to putyou to any trouble, you see."

"Howabout the day after tomorrow?" He considered for a moment. Then, withreluctance:

"Iwant to get the grass cut," he said.

Weboth looked at the grass--there was a sharp line where my ragged lawn ended andthe darker, well-kept expanse of his began. I suspected that he meant my grass.

"There'sanother little thing," he said uncertainly, and hesitated.

"Wouldyou rather put it off for a few days?" I asked.

"Oh,it isn't about that. At least----" He fumbled with a series of beginnings."Why, I thought--why, look here, old sport, you don't make much money, doyou?"

"Notvery much."

Thisseemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently.

"Ithought you didn't, if you'll pardon my--you see, I carry on a little businesson the side, a sort of sideline, you understand. And I thought that if youdon't make very much--You're selling bonds, aren't you, old sport?"

"Tryingto."

"Well,this would interest you. It wouldn't take up much of your time and you mightpick up a nice bit of money. It happens to be a rather confidential sort ofthing."

Irealize now that under different circumstances that conversation might havebeen one of the crises of my life. But, because the offer was obviously andtactlessly for a service to be rendered, I had no choice except to cut him offthere.

"I'vegot my hands full," I said. "I'm much obliged but I couldn't take onany more work."

"Youwouldn't have to do any business with Wolfshiem." Evidently he thoughtthat I was shying away from the "gonnegtion" mentioned at lunch, butI assured him he was wrong. He waited a moment longer, hoping I'd begin aconversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillinglyhome.

Theevening had made me light-headed and happy; I think I walked into a deep sleepas I entered my front door. So I didn't know whether or not Gatsby went to ConeyIsland or for how many hours he "glanced into rooms" while his houseblazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the office next morning and invitedher to come to tea.

"Don'tbring Tom," I warned her.

"What?"

"Don'tbring Tom."

"Whois 'Tom'?" she asked innocently.

Theday agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o'clock a man in a raincoatdragging a lawn-mower tapped at my front door and said that Mr. Gatsby had senthim over to cut my grass. This reminded me that I had forgotten to tell my Finnto come back so I drove into West Egg Village to search for her among soggywhite-washed alleys and to buy some cups and lemons and flowers.

Theflowers were unnecessary, for at two o'clock a greenhouse arrived fromGatsby's, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the frontdoor opened nervously, and Gatsby in a white flannel suit, silver shirt andgold-colored tie hurried in. He was pale and there were dark signs ofsleeplessness beneath his eyes.

"Iseverything all right?" he asked immediately.

"Thegrass looks fine, if that's what you mean."

"Whatgrass?" he inquired blankly. "Oh, the grass in the yard." Helooked out the window at it, but judging from his expression I don't believe hesaw a thing.

"Looksvery good," he remarked vaguely. "One of the papers said they thoughtthe rain would stop about four. I think it was 'The Journal.' Have you goteverything you need in the shape of--of tea?"

Itook him into the pantry where he looked a little reproachfully at the Finn.Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the delicatessen shop.

"Willthey do?" I asked.

"Ofcourse, of course! They're fine!" and he added hollowly, "...oldsport."

Therain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist through which occasional thindrops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay's"Economics," starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchenfloor and peering toward the bleared windows from time to time as if a seriesof invisible but alarming happenings were taking place outside. Finally he gotup and informed me in an uncertain voice that he was going home.

"Why'sthat?"

"Nobody'scoming to tea. It's too late!" He looked at his watch as if there was somepressing demand on his time elsewhere. "I can't wait all day."

"Don'tbe silly; it's just two minutes to four."

Hesat down, miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultaneously there was thesound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped up and, a little harrowedmyself, I went out into the yard.

Underthe dripping bare lilac trees a large open car was coming up the drive. Itstopped. Daisy's face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat,looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.

"Isthis absolutely where you live, my dearest one?"

Theexhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I had to followthe sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear alone before any wordscame through. A damp streak of hair lay like a dash of blue paint across hercheek and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took it to help her fromthe car.

"Areyou in love with me," she said low in my ear. "Or why did I have tocome alone?"

"That'sthe secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend anhour."

"Comeback in an hour, Ferdie." Then in a grave murmur, "His name isFerdie."

"Doesthe gasoline affect his nose?"

"Idon't think so," she said innocently. "Why?"

Wewent in. To my overwhelming surprise the living room was deserted.

"Well,that's funny!" I exclaimed.

"What'sfunny?"

She turnedher head as there was a light, dignified knocking at the front door. I went outand opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights inhis coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into myeyes.

With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall,turned sharply as if he were on a wire and disappeared into the living room. Itwasn't a bit funny.