Chapter 5 chapter Five

When I got back to West Egg that night, I suspected for a moment that my house was on fire.It was two o'clock in the middle of the night, and the whole corner of the peninsula was brightly illuminated. The light shone on the bushes as if it were fake, and it shone on the roadside electric wires, showing thin long strips of light.When I turned the corner, I saw that it was Gatsby's house, brightly lit from tower to cellar. At first I thought it was just another party, a carnival extravaganza, and the whole villa was left open for games of hide-and-seek or "sardines in a can."But there was no sound at all.There was only the sound of the wind in the trees, the wind blowing the wires and the lights flickering as if the house were blinking into the night.As the taxi hummed away, I saw Gatsby walking across his lawn toward me.

"Your house looks like a World's Fair," I said. "Really?" He turned his eyes away absently. "I just opened a few rooms to look around. Let's go to Coney Island, man. Take my car." ① Coney Island (Coney), a resort in New York. "It is too late." "Well, how about a dip in the pool? I haven't done it all summer." "I have to go to bed." "Ok." He waited, watching me anxiously. "I've spoken to Miss Baker," I said after a moment's delay, "and I'll call up Daisy to-morrow and ask her to come here for tea."

"Oh, well," he said casually, "I don't want to trouble you." "What day is right for you?" "What day is right for you?" He corrected me right away. "I don't want to trouble you, you understand." He thought about it for a while.Then, reluctantly, he said, "I'm going to have someone level the grass." We both looked down at the grass—there was a clear dividing line between my matted grass and his large, neatly mowed, dark green lawn.I guess he meant my grass. "There's one other little thing," he said vaguely, then hesitated for a moment.

"Do you wish to delay for a few days?" I asked. "Oh, that's okay. At least..." he started awkwardly a few times in a row, "well, I guess...well, I said, man, you don't make much money, do you?" "not too much." This seemed to reassure him, and he went on with more confidence. "I reckon you don't make a lot of money, if you don't blame me--you know, I've got a side business, a side hustle, you know. I figured that since you don't make a lot of money--you're selling bonds, aren't you? , man?" "Learn to do it."

"That might interest you, then. It doesn't take a lot of time and you can make a decent amount of money. Happens to be a fairly confidential affair." I realize now that, had the circumstances been different, that conversation could have been a turning point in my life, but because the suggestion was so explicit and inappropriate, and it was clearly intended as a reward for my favor, I would not He had no choice but to interrupt him on the spot. "I've got a lot of work to do," I said, "and I'm very grateful, but I can't possibly take on more work."

"You don't need to have anything to do with Wolfshiem." Apparently he thought I hated the "relationship" mentioned at lunch, but I told him he was mistaken.He waited a while longer, hoping I would find something to talk about, but my heart was not here at all, and I didn't answer, so he had to reluctantly go home. The night made me feel light and happy.I presumably fell asleep as soon as I walked in my front door, so I don't know if Gatsby actually went to Coney Island, or if he spent a few more hours "just looking around the room" while his house continued to dazzle The earth shines brightly.I called Daisy from the office the next morning and asked her to come over for tea.

"Don't bring Tom." I warned her. "what?" "Don't bring Tom." "Who's Tom?" she asked playfully. It rained heavily on the day we agreed.At eleven o'clock in the morning a man in a raincoat pulling a mower knocked on my door and said Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to mow my grass.It reminded me that I forgot to tell my Finnish maid to come back, so I drove up to West Egg and looked for her in the wet, whitewashed alleys, and bought some teacups, Lemons and flowers. The flowers were superfluous, for at two o'clock in the afternoon a whole house of fresh flowers was sent from Gatsby's house, together with numerous flower-arranging vessels.An hour later, the door was opened tremblingly, and Gatsby hurried in in a white flannel suit, silver shirt, and gold tie.His face was pale and his eye circles were dark, it could be seen that he hadn't slept well all night.

"Is everything ready?" he asked as soon as he entered the door. "Grass looks beautiful, if that's what you mean." "What grass?" he asked blankly. "Oh, the grass in your yard." He looked out the window, but from the look on his face, I don't think he saw anything. "Looks fine," he said vaguely. "There's a paper that says they think the rain will stop around four o'clock. The New York Journal, I guess. Have you got everything you need for tea?" I took him into the pantry, and he looked at the Finnish woman with distaste.Together we scrutinized twelve lemon cakes from a confectionary.

"Is this okay?" I asked. "Of course, of course! Very good!" Then he added blankly, "Dude!" At around 3:30, the rain gradually stopped and turned into a wet mist, with a few drops of rain floating in the mist from time to time like dewdrops.Gatsby was absently flipping through a copy of Clay's Economics, startling whenever the Finnish maid's footsteps shook the kitchen floor, and looking now and then at the dimly lit window.It was as if a series of unseen but terrifying events were happening outside.Finally he stood up and told me in a hesitant voice that he was going home.

"why?" "There's no one for tea. It's getting late!" He looked at his watch, as if he had urgent business to attend to elsewhere. "I can't wait all day." "Don't be silly, it was just two minutes to four." He sat down in distress, as if I had pushed him, when there was the sound of a car turning into my alley.We both jumped up, and then I ran out into the yard in a little panic myself. Under the dripping, flowerless lilac trees, a large convertible drove up the drive.The car stopped.Daisy's face was tilted to one side under a triangular lavender hat, looking at me beaming and delighted.

"Do you really live here, my dearest?" Her melodious voice is intoxicating to listen to in the rain.I had to listen to the rising and falling voice first, and it took me a while to catch the words she said.A damp strand of hair stuck to her cheek like a brush of blue paint.When I helped her get out of the car, I saw that her hands were also wet with crystal drops of water. "Are you in love with me," she whispered in my ear, "otherwise why did I have to come alone?" "That's the secret of Lakeland Castle. Tell your driver to go away and come back in an hour." ①"Rackland Castle" is a horror and mystery novel written by Edgeworth, an old British female novelist. "Come back in an hour, Foddy." Then she whispered matter-of-factly, "His name is Freddy." "Does the gasoline smell affect his nose?" "I don't think it matters," she said innocently. "Why?" We go inside.To my great surprise the living room was empty. "Hey, that's funny," I said out loud. "What's funny?" At this moment, there was a gentle knock on the door, and she turned her head to look.I went outside to open the door.Gatsby's face was ashen, his hand was like a heavy thing in his coat pocket, and he stood with his feet in a puddle of water, staring into my eyes with a terrified expression. He strode past me into the porch, his hands still in his coat pockets, turned abruptly as if on a lead string, disappeared into the living room.It's not funny at all.I realized that my heart was beating too.It was raining heavily outside, so I reached out and closed the door. For half a minute there was no sound at all.Then I heard a choked murmur and a little laughter from the living room, followed by Daisy's loud, artificial voice: "I'm so glad to see you again." There was a silence.The hours are horribly long.I had nothing to do on the porch, so I went inside. Gatsby, hands still in his pockets, was reclining on the mantelpiece, trying to look at ease, even listlessness.His head was thrown back until it touched the face of a long-destroyed grand clock.From this position his deranged-looking eyes looked down on Daisy, who sat gracefully and terrified on the edge of a stiff chair. "We've met before," Gatsby murmured.He glanced at me, his lips parted in a smile that didn't come out.Luckily the clock was wobbly at this moment from the pressure of his head, and he turned hastily, grasped it with trembling fingers, and put it back in its place.Then he sat down, straight, with his elbows on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand. "Sorry for knocking the clock," he said. My own face was flushed as if from the tropical sun.Although I have thousands of polite words in my mind, I can't say a single one. "It's a very old clock," I told them dumbfounded. I think we all believed for a moment that the clock had been smashed to pieces on the floor. "We haven't seen each other for years," said Daisy, her voice as flat as possible. "A full five years until November." Gatsby's blurted answer stunned us all for at least another minute.Immediately, I suggested that they help me into the kitchen to prepare the tea, and they both stood up immediately, as the devilish Finnish maid brought the tea in on a tray. The hustle and bustle of passing teacups and cakes was popular, creating a tangible decency in the hustle and bustle.Gatsby ducked aside, looking earnestly between the two of us with his tense, pained eyes while I talked to Daisy.However, since peace is not an end in itself, I found an excuse at every opportunity and got up to go. "Where are you going?" asked Gatsby, panicked at once. "I'll be right back." "Before you go, I have something to tell you." He frantically followed me into the kitchen, closed the door, and whispered in pain, "Oh, my God!" "What's the matter?" "It's a big mistake," he said, shaking his head from side to side. "Big mistake." "You're just embarrassed, that's all." Fortunately I added, "Daisy is embarrassed, too." "She's embarrassed?" He repeated my words with disapproval. "As embarrassed as you are." "Don't be so loud." "You act like a child," I broke out impatiently. "Not only that, but you are very rude. Daisy is sitting in there all by herself." He raised his hand to keep me from speaking, gave me a look of unforgettable resentment, then opened the door timidly, and went back into the room. I went out the back door--the same place Gatsby had left half an hour earlier, when he had run nervously around the house--and ran towards a huge, dark, gnarled tree whose dense foliage A piece of tarpaulin to keep out the rain.Now it was raining heavily again, and my shapeless lawn, though neatly manicured by Gatsby's gardener, was now full of puddles and historic swamps.From under the trees there was nothing to look at but Gatsby's huge house, so I stared at it for half an hour as Kant stared at his church steeple.The house was built ten years ago by a brewer in the early days of the "antique mania," and rumor has it that he promised to pay taxes on all the neighboring cottages for five years if the homeowners would show up The roof is covered with thatch.Perhaps their refusal dealt a fatal blow to his plans to "build a family business"—he collapsed immediately.With the funeral wreath still hanging on the door, his children sold the house.Although Americans are willing and even eager to be serfs, they have always been resolutely unwilling to become country bumpkins. ① Kant (Immanul Kant, 1724-1804), a German philosopher. Half an hour later, the sun came out again, and the grocer's delivery van turned off Gatsby's driveway to bring in ingredients for his servant's supper--I'm sure he couldn't eat a morsel himself.A maid began opening the upstairs windows, appeared for a moment at each, and then, leaning out from the large central window, spat thoughtfully into the garden.It's time for me to go back.It had been raining incessantly just now, and it seemed to be the voice of the two of them whispering, rising now and then with outbursts of emotion, but in this new silence I felt that the house itself was still. I went in--making every possible noise in the kitchen first, and nearly knocking over the stove--but I don't believe they heard a thing.The two of them sat at opposite ends of the couch, looking at each other as if some question had been raised or unresolved, and all signs of embarrassment had vanished.Daisy, tear-stained, jumped up as soon as I came in, and wiped her face in a mirror with her handkerchief.But a bewildering change had taken place in Gatsby.He was simply radiant.Though there were no verbal gestures of joy, a new sense of happiness emanated from him and filled the small room. "Oh, hello, man," he said, as if he hadn't seen me in years.For a moment I thought he wanted to shake my hand. "The rain has stopped." "Really?" When he understood what I was talking about and felt the sun shining in the room, he smiled like a weather forecaster and a ecstatic patron saint of returning light, and relayed the news to Daisy, "It's interesting to see that the rain has stopped." "I'm glad, Jay." Her voice was mournful, but all she confided was her unexpected joy. "I want you to come to my house with Daisy," he said, "and I should like to show her around." "Do you really want me to come?" "Absolutely, man." Daisy went upstairs to wash her face - I was ashamed to think of my towel, but it was too late - and Gatsby and I waited on the lawn. "My house is nice, isn't it?" he asked. "Look at the sun shining all over its front." I agree that the house is stunningly beautiful. "Yes." He took a closer look with his eyes, and saw every arch and every square. "It only took me three years to earn the money to buy the house." "I thought you inherited your money." "Yes, man," he blurted out, "but I lost more than half of it during the Great Panic--the Great Panic the war caused." I guess he didn't quite know what he was talking about, because when I asked him what kind of business he was in, he replied, "That's my business." He didn't realize it was an appropriate answer until he had said it. "Oh, I've been in a couple of lines," he corrected. "I was in the medicine business, and then I was in the oil business. But now I'm out of both." He looked at me more attentively. "So you've thought about what I mentioned that night?" Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house, the two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleaming in the sunlight. "Is that the big house over there?" she asked loudly, pointing. "Do you like it?" "I love it so much, but I don't see how you can live there by yourself." "I keep it full of interesting people, people doing interesting things, people who are famous, day and night." Instead of taking the short cut along the coast, we went around to the main road and entered by the huge back door.Daiyou looked at the dark outline of the village's medieval castle in the sky, and praised her charmingly in whispers, admiring the garden as she walked, admiring the scent of kalanchoe, the frothy scent of hawthorn and plum blossoms, and Has a light golden scent of kisses farewell flower.When I walked up to the marble steps, I couldn't see people in bright fashions coming in and out of the gate, and I couldn't hear any sound except the birdsong in the trees, which was really strange. Once inside, we wandered through Marie Antoinette-like concert halls and Restoration-style living rooms, and I felt that there were guests hiding behind every sofa, every table, ordered to hold their breath until we Go by.As Gatsby closed the door of the Merton College Library, I could have sworn I heard the man with the owl-spectacles burst into a ghostly laugh. ①Marie Antoinette (Marie Antoinette, 1755-1793), the queen of the French King Louis XVI, was guillotined during the Great Revolution. ②British Gate After the failure of the first bourgeois revolution in the middle of the century, King Charles II of England restored it in 1660. ③ Merton College (Merton College), a college of Oxford University, is famous for its rich collection of books. We went upstairs, through antique bedrooms, covered in rose and lavender satins and filled with colorful flowers, through dressing rooms and billiard rooms, and inlaid underground baths. bathroom - broke into a bedroom where a scruffy guy in pajamas was doing push-ups on the floor.That's Mr. Clipspringer, "The Tenant."I'd seen him hungrily wandering the beach that morning.Finally we come to Gatsby's own apartment, consisting of a bedroom, a bathroom, and a small study.We sat down in the study and drank a glass of nettle wine which he had brought out of the cupboard. He could not stop looking at Daisy, so that I thought he was revaluing everything in the house according to the reaction in those eyes he loved.And sometimes he gazed dreamily about his own belongings, as if none of them were real in the presence of her, the startling reality.Once he nearly rolled down the stairs. His own bedroom was the most austere of all the rooms--only a dressing table was dotted with a pair of toilet utensils of solid gold.Daisy happily picked up the brush and brushed her hair, causing Gatsby to sit down and cover his eyes with his hands and laugh. "That's the funniest thing, man," he said, giggling, "I just can't...I want to..." It was evident that he had passed through two states of mind and was now entering a third.At first he was embarrassed, then he was ecstatic, and now he was overwhelmed by the overwhelming surprise of her presence.He has been thinking about this matter for many years, dreaming about it, and he is looking forward to it with clenched teeth, and his feelings are so strong that it is unbelievable.At the moment, with the reaction, he was exhausted like an overwound clock. After a while, refreshed, he opened for us two very fine oversized wardrobes, filled with his suits, dressing gowns and ties, and dozens of shirts piled up like bricks. "I have a guy who buys my clothes for me in the UK. Every year at the beginning of spring and autumn, he picks out something and sends it to me." He took out a pile of shirts, and began to throw them one by one before us, and the shirts of light linen, thick silk, and fine flannel were all shaken up, and the table was filled with all kinds of colors.While we admired, he continued to bring others, the pile of soft and precious shirts getting higher and higher--striped shirts, patterned shirts, checkered shirts, coral, apple green, lilac, pale orange , with his name monogrammed in dark blue.Suddenly, Daisy made an unnatural noise, buried her head in the pile of shirts, and Hao Tao burst into tears. "These shirts are so beautiful," she whimpered, her voice muffled in the thick pile, "and it hurts me because I've never seen such—such beautiful shirts." After seeing the house, we would have gone to see the grounds and pool, the seaplanes and the midsummer flowers--but it was raining again outside Gatsby's window, so the three of us stood in a row looking out over the rippling water. sea ​​surface. "If it wasn't for the fog, we could see your house across the bay," said Gatsby, "and there's always a green light at the end of your pier that stays green all night." Daisy put her arm out suddenly to take his, but he seemed lost in what he had just said.It may have occurred to him that the immense significance of that lamp was now lost forever.Compared with the great distance that separated him from Daisy, the lamp had seemed very close to her, almost touching her.It is as if a star is so close to the moon.Now it's another green light on the pier.His magical treasure has been reduced by one piece. I began to walk about the room at random, looking at various indistinct ornaments in the semi-darkness.A large photograph of an elderly man in a yachting suit caught my attention, hanging on the wall in front of his desk. "Who is this?" "That? That's Mr. Dan Cody, man." The name sounded familiar. "He's dead. He was my best friend many years ago." On the chest of drawers was a small photograph of Gatsby himself, also in yachting clothes--Gatsby with his head held up, looking nonchalant--apparently taken when he was about eighteen. "I love this picture so much," cried Daisy, "that straight-back hairstyle! You never told me you had it, or that you owned a yacht." "Look at this," said Gatsby quickly, "here are a lot of clippings—all about you." The two of them stood side by side looking at the clippings.I was about to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang and Gatsby picked up the receiver. "Yeah... oh, I can't talk right now... I can't talk right now, man... I'm talking about a small town... He must know what a small town is... Come on, he's no use to us if Detroit is what he is The small town in my heart..." He hung up the phone. "Come here, quick!" Daisy called from the window. It was still raining, but the dark clouds in the west had parted, and clouds of pink and gold rolled over the bay. "Look at that," she whispered, and then after a moment, "I'd love to pick one of those pink clouds and put you on it and push you around." I wanted to leave now, but they refused to say anything.Maybe they could stay together more comfortably with me around. "I know what we're up to," said Gatsby, "we'll let Clipspringer play the piano." He walked out of the house, called "Ewyn," and returned a few minutes later, bringing with him an embarrassed, slightly emaciated young man with tortoise-rimmed glasses and thin blond hair.He was a little more dressed now, wearing an open-necked sweatshirt, sneakers, and canvas pants of an indeterminate color. "Did we interrupt your gymnastics just now?" Daisy asked politely. "I was sleeping," blurted Mr. Clipspringer in embarrassment. "I mean, I was sleeping. Then I got up..." "Clipspringer can play the piano," interrupted Gatsby, "can't you, Ewin, old man?" "I don't play well. I can't...not play at all. I haven't practiced for a long time..." "Let's go downstairs," Gatsby interrupted.He flipped a switch.The whole house was brightened at once, and the gray windows were gone. In the concert hall, Gatsby turned on only one light by the piano.Trembling, he lit Daisy's cigarette with a match, and sat with her on a couch at the far end of the room, where there was no light except for a glimmer of light on the floor from the hallway. After Klipspringer had finished playing "Love's Comfort Zone," he turned on the bench and looked unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom. "I haven't played in ages, look. I tell you I can't play. I haven't played in ages..." "Don't talk so much, man," ordered Gatsby, "play it!" "Every morning, every night, have fun..." The wind was blowing outside, and there was a faint rumble of thunder over the bay.All the lights in West Egg were on at the moment.The electric train was full of passengers, speeding from New York in the rain.This is a time of profound personnel change, and there is excitement in the air. "One thing is true, The rich make money, the poor make children. At the same time, During this time……" As I went to take my leave, I saw that look of bewilderment return to Gatsby's face, as if he doubted a little about the nature of his present happiness.Almost five years!There must have been moments that afternoon when Daisy fell far short of his dreams--through no fault of her own, but because of the immense vitality of his reverie.His dreams transcended her, surpassed everything.He threw himself into the dream with a creative zeal, adding to it, embellishing it with every brilliant feather that floated by.No amount of passion or vigor can match what a man's dreary heart can muster. As I watched him, I could tell he was quietly adjusting himself to the reality in front of him.He reached out to grab her hand.She whispered something in his ear, and he turned to her emotionally.I think what fascinates others the most is her excited voice, because it is impossible to achieve no matter how much I dream - that voice is an eternal song. They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand.Gatsby doesn't know me at all now.I looked at them both again, and they looked at me as if they were far away, in a state of intense emotion.I then went out of the house and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving the two of them together. □ Copyright - Fitzgerald