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Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles 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 unfamiliar butler with a villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door.
“Is Mr. Gatsby sick?”
“Nope.” After a pause he added “sir” in a dilatory, grudging 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.” Abruptly 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 bribed by the tradesmen, but ordered moderate supplies over the telephone. The grocery boy reported that the kitchen looked like a pigsty, 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.”
He was calling up at Daisy's request – would I come to lunch at her house tomorrow? Miss Baker would be there. Half an hour later Daisy herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was coming. I couldn't believe that they would choose this occasion for a scene[55 - would choose this occasion for a scene – собираются воспользоваться случаем, чтобы устроить сцену].
The next day I stood before the Buchanans' house.
“Madame expects you in the salon!” cried the servant.
Gatsby stood in the center of the crimson carpet and gazed around with fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting laugh.
We were silent. Tom opened the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room.
“Mr. Gatsby! 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. “I don't care!”
Daisy sat back upon the couch.
“It's so hot,” said Daisy. “Let's all go to town! Who wants to go to town?”
“Let's go! Come on, come on!” said Tom.
“I can't say anything in his house, old sport,” said Gatsby to me. “Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly.
That was it. I'd never understood before. It was full of money.
“Shall we all go in my car?” suggested Gatsby.
“Well, you take mine and let me drive your car to town,” offered Tom.
“I don't think there's much gas,” said Gatsby.
Daisy walked close to Gatsby, touching his coat with her hand. Jordan and Tom and I got into the front seat of Gatsby's car.
“You think I'm pretty dumb, don't you?” suggested Tom. “Perhaps I am, but I have a – almost a second sight, sometimes. I've made a small investigation of this fellow,” he continued. “I'd been making a small investigation of his past.”
“And you found he was an Oxford man,” said Jordan helpfully.
“An Oxford man!” He was incredulous. “Like hell he is![56 - Like hell he is! – Чёрта с два!]”
“Listen, Tom. Why did you invite him to lunch?” demanded Jordan.
“Daisy invited him; she knew him before we were married!”
The car began to make strange sounds. I remembered Gatsby's caution about gasoline.
“There's a garage right here,” objected Jordan.
Tom threw on both brakes impatiently and we came to a dusty stop under Wilson's sign.
“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've been sick all day.”
“Well, shall I help myself?” Tom demanded.
With an effort Wilson left the shade and unscrewed the cap of the tank. In the sunlight his face was green.
“I've been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go west.”
“Your wife does!” exclaimed Tom.
“She's been talking about it for ten years. I'm going to get her away. I learned something,” remarked Wilson. “That's why I want to get away.”
Tom was feeling the hot whips of panic. His wife and his mistress were slipping from his control.
“You follow me to the south side of Central Park, in front of the Plaza,” said he.
Several times he turned his head and looked back for their car. I think he was afraid they would dart down a side street and out of his life forever.
We all decided to take the suite in the Plaza Hotel.
The room was large and stifling. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, fixing her hair.
“It's a great suite,” whispered Jordan respectfully and every one laughed.
“Open another window,” commanded Daisy, without turning around.
“The thing to do is to forget about the heat,” said Tom impatiently. “You make it ten times worse by crabbing 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.
“Where'd you pick that up – this 'old sport'?”
“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.”
“By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you're an Oxford man.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh, yes. It was in nineteen-nineteen, I only stayed five months. That's why I can't really call myself an Oxford man.”
Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table.
“Open the whiskey, Tom,” she ordered. “Then you won't seem so stupid to yourself.”
“Wait a minute,” said Tom, “I want to said Mr. Gatsby some words.”
“Go on,” Gatsby said politely.
“I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere[57 - Mr. Nobody from Nowhere – мистер Невесть Кто, Невесть Откуда] make love to your wife!” “I know I'm not very popular. I don't give big parties.”
Angry as I was[58 - Angry as I was – как я ни был зол.], I was tempted to laugh whenever he opened his mouth.
“I've got something to tell YOU, old sport, – ” began Gatsby. But Daisy interrupted helplessly.
“Please don't! 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 conceal and it would be a privilege to partake vicariously of their emotions.
“Sit down, Daisy.” Tom's voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal note. “What's been going on? I want to hear all about it.”
“I told you what's 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[59 - You've been seeing this fellow – Ты встречалась с этим типом.] 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 sagely. “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 reluctance.
“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 sob 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.
