Великий Гэтсби / The Great Gatsby - стр. 11

When he was gone I turned immediately to Jordan.

“Who is he?” I demanded. “Do you know?”

“He's just a man named Gatsby.”

“Where is he from, I mean? And what does he do?”

“Well, he told me once he was an Oxford man. However, I don't believe it.”

“Why not?”

“I don't know,” she insisted, “I just don't think he went there”.

Something in her tone reminded me of the other girl's “I think he killed a man.”

“Anyhow he gives large parties,” said Jordan, changing the subject. “And I like large parties. They're so intimate. At small parties there isn't any privacy.”

There was the boom of a bass drum, and the voice of the orchestra leader was heard.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried. “At the request of Mr. Gatsby we are going to play for you Mr. Vladimir Tostoff's latest work which attracted so much attention at Carnegie Hall[3] last May. If you read the papers you know there was a big sensation – 'Jazz History of the World.'”

Gatsby was standing alone on the marble steps and looking from one group to another. I could see nothing sinister about him. Maybe he was not drinking at all.

“I beg your pardon.”

Gatsby's servant was standing beside us.

“Miss Baker?” he inquired. “I beg your pardon but Mr. Gatsby would like to speak to you alone.”

“With me?” she exclaimed in surprise.

“Yes, madame.”

She got up slowly, and followed the servant toward the house. I noticed that she wore her evening dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes.

I was alone and it was almost two o'clock. The large room was full of people. One of the girls in yellow was playing the piano and beside her stood a tall, red haired young lady. That lady was singing. She had drunk a quantity of champagne and she was not only singing, she was weeping too. Whenever there was a pause in the song she filled it with broken sobs. The tears coursed down her cheeks. Soon she sank into a chair and went off into a deep sleep.

“She had a fight with a man who says he's her husband,” explained a girl who was standing nearby.

I looked around. The hall was at present occupied by two men and their wives. The wives were talking to each other, “Whenever he sees I'm having a good time he wants to go home. We're always the first ones to leave.”

“So are we.”

“Well, we're almost the last tonight,” said one of the men. “The orchestra left half an hour ago.”

The door of the library opened and Jordan Baker and Gatsby came out together.

“I've just heard the most amazing story,” Jordan whispered to me. “How long were we in there?”

“Why – about an hour.”

“It was simply amazing,” she repeated. “But I swore I wouldn't tell it anybody.”

She yawned gracefully in my face. “Please come and see me… Phone book… Under the name of Mrs. Sigourney Howard… My aunt…”

I joined the last of Gatsby's guests who gathered around him. I wanted to apologize: I had not known him in the garden.

“Don't mention it, old sport,” he said. “And don't forget we're going up in the hydroplane tomorrow morning at nine o'clock.”

The servant behind his shoulder said:

“Philadelphia wants you on the phone, sir.”

“All right, in a minute. Tell them I'll be right there… good night.”

“Good night.”

“Good night.” He smiled. “Good night, old sport… Good night.”

As I walked down the steps I saw that the party was not over. In the ditch beside the road rested a new automobile which had left Gatsby's drive two minutes before. A dozen curious chauffeurs left their automobiles blocking the road and were watching the scene.