菲茨杰拉德丨了不起的盖茨比丨选段丨他和她的缘起 3

On the last afternoon before he went abroad he sat with Daisy in his arms for a long, silent time. It was a cold fall day with fire in the room and her cheeks flushed. Now and then she moved and he changed his arm a little and once he kissed her dark shining hair. The afternoon had made them tranquil for a while as if to give them a deep memory for the long parting the next day promised. They had never been closer in their month of love nor communicated more profoundly one with another than when she brushed silent lips against his coat’s shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep.

He did extraordinarily well in the war. He was a captain before he went to the front and following the Argonne battles he got his majority and the command of the divisional machine guns. After the Armistice he tried frantically to get home but some complication or misunderstanding sent him to Oxford instead. He was worried now—there was a quality of nervous despair in Daisy’s letters. She didn’t see why he couldn’t come. She was feeling the pressure of the world outside and she wanted to see him and feel his presence beside her and be reassured that she was doing the right thing after all.

For Daisy was young and her artificial world was redolent of orchids and pleasant, cheerful snobbery and orchestras which set the rhythm of the year, summing up the sadness and suggestiveness of life in new tunes. All night the saxophones wailed the hopeless comment of the ‘Beale Street Blues’ while a hundred pairs of golden and silver slippers shuffled the shining dust. At the grey tea hour there were always rooms that throbbed incessantly with this low sweet fever, while fresh faces drifted here and there like rose petals blown by the sad horns around the floor.

Through this twilight universe Daisy began to move again with the season; suddenly she was again keeping half a dozen dates a day with half a dozen men and drowsing asleep at dawn with the beads and chiffon of an evening dress tangled among dying orchids on the floor beside her bed. And all the time something within her was crying for a decision. She wanted her life shaped now, immediately— and the decision must be made by some force—of love, of money, of unquestionable practicality—that was close at hand.

That force took shape in the middle of spring with the arrival of Tom Buchanan. There was a wholesome bulkiness about his person and his position and Daisy was flattered. Doubtless there was a certain struggle and a certain relief. The letter reached Gatsby while he was still at Oxford.

在他动身到海外之前的最后一个下午，他搂着黛西默默地坐了很长的时间。那是一个寒冷的秋日，屋子里生了火，她的两颊烘得通红。她不时移动一下，他也微微挪动一下胳臂，有一次他还吻吻她那乌黑光亮的头发。下午已经使他们平静了一会，仿佛为了在他们记忆中留下一个深刻的印象，为第二天即将开始的长远的分离做好准备。她用无言的嘴唇拂过他上衣的肩头，或者他温柔地碰一碰她的指尖，仿佛她是在睡梦之中，他俩在这一月的相爱中从来没有像这样亲密过，也从来没有像这样深刻地互通衷曲。他在战争中一帆风顺。还没上前线他就当到上尉，阿贡战役之后他就晋升少校，当上了师机枪连的连长。停战以后他急得发疯地要求回国，但是由于混乱或者误会，他却被送到了牛津。他现在烦恼了——因为黛西的信里流露出紧张的绝望情绪。她不明白他为什么不能回来。她开始感觉到外界的压力，因此她需要见他，需要感到有他在她身边，需要他安慰她，说她所做的事完全正确。毕竟黛西还年轻，并且她那人为的世界充满了兰花、愉快的势利风尚和乐队——是那些乐队定当年的节奏，用新的曲调总结人生的哀愁和温情。萨克斯管通宵呜咽着《比尔街爵士乐》绝望的哀吟，同时一百双金银舞鞋扬起闪亮的灰尘。每天晚茶时分，总有一些房间由于这种低而甜的狂热而不停地震颤，同时鲜亮的面庞飘来飘去，好像是被哀怨的喇叭吹落在舞池里的玫瑰花瓣。在这个朦胧的宇宙里，黛西随着社交忙季又开始活跃了；忽然间她又重新每天和五六个男人订五六次约会，到破晓才困顿不堪地入睡，夜礼服的珠子和薄绸同凋零的兰花缠在一起，丢在她床边的地板上。在这整个期间她内心深处渴望作出一个决定。她现在就要解决自己的终身大事，刻不容缓——而且这个决定必须由一股近在眼前的力量来作出——爱情啦、金钱啦、实实在在的东西。那股力量在春天过了一半的时候，随着汤姆·布坎农的到来而出现了。他的身材和身价都很有分量，因此黛西也觉得很光彩。毫无疑问，有过一番思想斗争，后来也如释重负。盖茨比收到信时还在牛津。