Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and
in front of wayside garages, where new red gas-pumps sat
out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West
Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an
abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off,
leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in the trees
and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth
blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered
across the moonlight and turning my head to watch
it I saw that I was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had
emerged from the shadow of my neighbor’s mansion and
was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the
silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements
and the secure position 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.
I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him
at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I
didn’t call to him for he gave a sudden intimation that he
was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward
the dark water in a curious way, and far as I was from him I
could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced
seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green
light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of
a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.
in front of wayside garages, where new red gas-pumps sat
out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West
Egg I ran the car under its shed and sat for a while on an
abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off,
leaving a loud bright night with wings beating in the trees
and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth
blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered
across the moonlight and turning my head to watch
it I saw that I was not alone—fifty feet away a figure had
emerged from the shadow of my neighbor’s mansion and
was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the
silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements
and the secure position 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.
I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him
at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I
didn’t call to him for he gave a sudden intimation that he
was content to be alone—he stretched out his arms toward
the dark water in a curious way, and far as I was from him I
could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced
seaward—and distinguished nothing except a single green
light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of
a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.
The bottle of whiskey—a second one—was now in constant
demand by all present, excepting Catherine who ‘felt
just as good on nothing at all.’ Tom rang for the janitor
and sent him for some celebrated sandwiches, which were
a complete supper in themselves. I wanted to get out and
walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight but
each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild strident
argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into
my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows
must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the
casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too,
looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously
enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible
variety of life.
Myrtle pulled her chair close to mine, and suddenly her
warm breath poured over me the story of her first meeting
with Tom.
‘It was on the two little seats facing each other that are
always the last ones left on the train. I was going up to New
York to see my sister and spend the night. He had on a dress
suit and patent leather shoes and I couldn’t keep my eyes him but every time he looked at me I had to pretend to looking at the advertisement over his head. When we came
into the station he was next to me and his white shirt-front
pressed against my arm—and so I told him I’d have to call
a policeman, but he knew I lied. I was so excited that when
I got into a taxi with him I didn’t hardly know I wasn’t getting
into a subway train. All I kept thinking about, over and
over, was ‘You can’t live forever, you can’t live forever.’ ‘
demand by all present, excepting Catherine who ‘felt
just as good on nothing at all.’ Tom rang for the janitor
and sent him for some celebrated sandwiches, which were
a complete supper in themselves. I wanted to get out and
walk eastward toward the park through the soft twilight but
each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild strident
argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into
my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows
must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the
casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too,
looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously
enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible
variety of life.
Myrtle pulled her chair close to mine, and suddenly her
warm breath poured over me the story of her first meeting
with Tom.
‘It was on the two little seats facing each other that are
always the last ones left on the train. I was going up to New
York to see my sister and spend the night. He had on a dress
suit and patent leather shoes and I couldn’t keep my eyes him but every time he looked at me I had to pretend to looking at the advertisement over his head. When we came
into the station he was next to me and his white shirt-front
pressed against my arm—and so I told him I’d have to call
a policeman, but he knew I lied. I was so excited that when
I got into a taxi with him I didn’t hardly know I wasn’t getting
into a subway train. All I kept thinking about, over and
over, was ‘You can’t live forever, you can’t live forever.’ ‘