The Great Gatsby | Gradually Hardening Norwegian B2

The Great Gatsby | Gradually Hardening Norwegian B2

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I
Inmyyoungerandmore
sårbare
vulnerable
yearsmyfathergavemesomeadvicethatI’vebeenturningoverinmymindeversince.
“Wheneveryoufeellike
kritisere
criticizing
anyone,”hetoldme,“justrememberthatallthepeopleinthisworldhaven’thadtheadvantagesthatyou’vehad.”
Hedidn’tsayanymore,butwe’vealwaysbeen
uvanlig
unusually
communicativeinareservedway,andIunderstoodthathemeantagreatdealmorethanthat.
Inconsequence,I’minclinedtoreservealljudgements,a
vane
habit
thathasopenedupmanycuriousnaturestomeandalsomademethevictimofnotafew
veteran
veteran
bores.
Theabnormalmindisquickto
oppdage
detect
andattachitselftothisqualitywhenitappearsinanormalperson,andsoitcameaboutthatincollegeIwasunjustly
anklaget
accused
ofbeingapolitician,becauseIwasprivytothesecretgriefsofwild,unknownmen.
Mostoftheconfidenceswereunsought—frequentlyIhavefeignedsleep,preoccupation,ora
fiendtlig
hostile
levitywhenIrealizedbysomeunmistakablesignthatanintimate
åpenbaring
revelation
wasquiveringonthe
horisonten
horizon
;
fortheintimaterevelationsofyoungmen,oratleastthetermsinwhichtheyexpressthem,areusuallyplagiaristicandmarredbyobvioussuppressions.
Reservingjudgementsisamatterof
uendelig
infinite
hope.
IamstillalittleafraidofmissingsomethingifIforgetthat,asmyfathersnobbishlysuggested,andIsnobbishlyrepeat,asenseofthe
grunnleggende
fundamental
decenciesisparcelledoutunequallyatbirth.
And,after
skrytt
boasting
thiswayofmy
toleranse
tolerance
,Icometotheadmissionthatithasa
grense
limit
.
Conductmaybefoundedonthehardrockorthewetmarshes,butafteracertainpointIdon’tcarewhatit’sfoundedon.
WhenIcamebackfromtheEastlast
høst
autumn
IfeltthatIwantedtheworldtobeinuniformandatasortof
moralsk
moral
attentionforever;
Iwantednomoreriotousexcursionswithprivilegedglimpsesintothehumanheart.
OnlyGatsby,themanwhogiveshisnametothisbook,wasexemptfrommyreaction—Gatsby,who
representerte
represented
everythingforwhichIhaveanunaffected
forakt
scorn
.
Ifpersonalityisanunbrokenseriesofsuccessfulgestures,thentherewassomethinggorgeousabouthim,someheightened
følsomhet
sensitivity
tothepromisesoflife,asifhewererelatedtooneofthoseintricatemachinesthat
registrerer
register
earthquakestenthousandmilesaway.
Thisresponsivenesshadnothingtodowiththatflabbyimpressionabilitywhichis
verdig
dignified
underthenameofthe“creativetemperament”—itwasanextraordinarygiftforhope,aromanticreadinesssuchasIhaveneverfoundinanyotherpersonandwhichitisnotlikelyIshalleverfindagain.
No—Gatsbyturnedoutallrightattheend;
itiswhatpreyedonGatsby,what
stygt
foul
dustfloatedinthewakeofhisdreamsthat
midlertidig
temporarily
closedoutmyinterestintheabortivesorrowsandshort-windedelationsofmen.
Myfamilyhavebeen
fremtredende
prominent
,well-to-dopeopleinthisMiddleWesterncityforthreegenerations.
TheCarrawaysaresomethingofa
klan
clan
,andwehavea
tradisjon
tradition
thatwe’redescendedfromtheDukesofBuccleuch,butthe
faktiske
actual
founderofmylinewasmygrandfather’sbrother,whocamehereinfifty-one,senta
erstatning
substitute
totheCivilWar,andstartedthe
engros
wholesale
hardwarebusinessthatmyfathercarriesontoday.
Ineversawthisgreat-uncle,butI’msupposedtolooklikehim—withspecial
referanse
reference
totheratherhard-boiledpaintingthathangsinfather’soffice.
IgraduatedfromNewHavenin1915,justaquarterofacenturyaftermyfather,andalittlelaterI
deltok
participated
inthatdelayedTeutonicmigrationknownastheGreatWar.
Ienjoyedthecounter-raidso
grundig
thoroughly
thatIcameback
rastløs
restless
.
Insteadofbeingthewarm
sentrum
centre
oftheworld,theMiddleWestnowseemedliketheraggededgeoftheuniverse—soIdecidedtogoEastandlearnthebondbusiness.
EverybodyIknewwasinthebondbusiness,soIsupposeditcouldsupportonemoresingleman.
Allmyauntsandunclestalkeditoverasiftheywerechoosingaprepschoolforme,andfinallysaid,“Why—ye-es,”withverygrave,hesitantfaces.
Fatheragreedto
finansiere
finance
meforayear,andafter
ulike
various
delaysIcameEast,
permanent
permanently
,Ithought,inthespringoftwenty-two.
Thepracticalthingwastofindroomsinthecity,butitwasawarmseason,andIhadjustleftacountryofwidelawnsandfriendlytrees,sowhenayoungmanattheofficesuggestedthatwetakeahousetogetherinacommutingtown,itsoundedlikeagreatidea.
Hefoundthehouse,aweather-beaten
papp
cardboard
bungalowateightyamonth,butatthelastminutethefirmorderedhimtoWashington,andIwentouttothecountryalone.
Ihadadog—atleastIhadhimforafewdaysuntilheranaway—andanold
Dodge
Dodge
andaFinnishwoman,whomademybedandcookedbreakfastandmutteredFinnish
visdom
wisdom
toherselfovertheelectricstove.
Itwaslonelyforadayorsountilonemorningsomeman,morerecentlyarrivedthanI,stoppedmeontheroad.
“HowdoyougettoWestEggvillage?”
heaskedhelplessly.
Itoldhim.
AndasIwalkedonIwaslonelynolonger.
Iwasaguide,apathfinder,anoriginalsettler.
Hehadcasuallyconferredonmethefreedomofthe
nabolaget
neighbourhood
.
Andsowiththesunshineandthegreatburstsofleavesgrowingonthetrees,justasthingsgrowinfastmovies,Ihadthatfamiliarconvictionthatlifewasbeginningoveragainwiththesummer.
Therewassomuchtoread,foronething,andsomuchfinehealthtobepulleddownoutoftheyoungbreath-givingair.
Iboughta
dusin
dozen
volumesonbankingandcreditandinvestmentsecurities,andtheystoodonmyshelfinredandgoldlikenewmoneyfromthemint,promisingtounfoldtheshiningsecretsthatonlyMidasandMorganandMaecenasknew.
AndIhadthehighintentionofreadingmanyotherbooksbesides.
Iwasratherliteraryincollege—oneyearIwroteaseriesofverysolemnandobviouseditorialsfortheYaleNews—andnowIwasgoingtobringbackallsuchthingsintomylifeandbecomeagainthatmostlimitedofallspecialists,the“well-roundedman.”
Thisisn’tjustanepigram—lifeismuchmore
vellykket
successfully
lookedatfromasinglewindow,afterall.
ItwasamatterofchancethatIshouldhaverentedahouseinoneofthestrangestcommunitiesinNorthAmerica.
Itwasonthat
slanke
slender
riotousislandwhichextendsitselfdueeastofNewYork—andwherethereare,amongothernaturalcuriosities,twounusualformationsofland.
Twentymilesfromthecityapairof
enorme
enormous
eggs,identicalincontourandseparatedonlybya
høflighet
courtesy
bay,jutoutintothemostdomesticatedbodyofsaltwaterinthe
Vestlige
Western
hemisphere,thegreatwetbarnyardofLongIslandSound.
Theyarenotperfectovals—liketheeggintheColumbusstory,theyareboth
knust
crushed
flatatthecontactend—buttheirphysical
likhet
resemblance
mustbeasourceofperpetualwondertothegullsthatflyoverhead.
Tothewinglessamoreinteresting
fenomen
phenomenon
istheirdissimilarityineveryparticularexceptshapeandsize.
IlivedatWestEgg,the—well,theless
fasjonable
fashionable
ofthetwo,thoughthisisamost
overfladisk
superficial
tagtoexpressthebizarreandnotalittle
uhyggelig
sinister
contrastbetweenthem.
Myhousewasattheverytipoftheegg,onlyfiftyyardsfromtheSound,and
presset
squeezed
betweentwohugeplacesthatrentedfortwelveorfifteenthousandaseason.
Theoneonmyrightwasacolossalaffairbyanystandard—itwasafactual
imitasjon
imitation
ofsomeHôteldeVilleinNormandy,withatowerononeside,spankingnewunderathin
skjegg
beard
ofrawivy,anda
marmor
marble
swimmingpool,andmorethanfortyacresoflawnandgarden.
ItwasGatsby’smansion.
Or,rather,asIdidn’tknowMr.Gatsby,itwasamansioninhabitedbyagentlemanofthatname.
Myownhousewasaneyesore,butitwasasmalleyesore,andithadbeen
oversett
overlooked
,soIhadaviewofthewater,a
delvis
partial
viewofmyneighbour’slawn,andtheconsoling
nærhet
proximity
ofmillionaires—allforeightydollarsamonth.
Acrossthe
høflighet
courtesy
baythewhitepalacesof
moderne
fashionable
EastEggglitteredalongthewater,andthehistoryofthesummerreallybeginsontheeveningIdroveovertheretohavedinnerwiththeTomBuchanans.
Daisy
Daisy
wasmysecondcousinonceremoved,andI’dknownTomincollege.
AndjustafterthewarIspenttwodayswiththeminChicago.
Herhusband,among
ulike
various
physicalaccomplishments,hadbeenoneofthemostpowerfulendsthateverplayedfootballatNewHaven—anationalfigureinaway,oneofthosemenwhoreachsuchan
akutt
acute
limitedexcellenceattwenty-onethateverythingafterwardsavoursofanticlimax.
Hisfamilywereenormouslywealthy—evenincollegehisfreedomwithmoneywasamatterforreproach—butnowhe’dleftChicagoandcomeEastinafashionthatrathertookyourbreathaway:
for
eksempel
instance
,he’dbroughtdowna
streng
string
ofpoloponiesfromLakeForest.
Itwashardtorealizethatamaninmyowngenerationwas
rik
wealthy
enoughtodothat.
WhytheycameEastIdon’tknow.
TheyhadspentayearinFrancefornoparticularreason,andthen
drevet
drifted
hereandthereunrestfullywhereverpeopleplayedpoloandwererichtogether.
Thiswasa
permanent
permanent
move,saidDaisyoverthetelephone,butIdidn’tbelieveit—IhadnosightintoDaisy’sheart,butIfeltthatTomwoulddriftonforeverseeking,alittlewistfully,forthe
dramatiske
dramatic
turbulenceofsomeirrecoverablefootballgame.
Andsoithappenedthatonawarm
vindfull
windy
eveningIdroveovertoEastEggtoseetwooldfriendswhomI
knapt
scarcely
knewatall.
Theirhousewasevenmore
utførlig
elaborate
thanIexpected,a
munter
cheerful
red-and-whiteGeorgianColonialmansion,overlookingthe
bukten
bay
.
Thelawnstartedatthebeachandrantowardsthefrontdoorforaquarterofamile,jumpingoversundialsand
murstein
brick
walksandburninggardens—finallywhenitreachedthehousedriftingupthesideinbrightvinesasthoughfromthe
momentum
momentum
ofitsrun.
ThefrontwasbrokenbyalineofFrenchwindows,glowingnowwith
reflektert
reflected
goldandwideopentothewarmwindyafternoon,andTomBuchananinridingclotheswasstandingwithhislegsapartonthefrontporch.
HehadchangedsincehisNewHavenyears.
Nowhewasa
robust
sturdy
straw-hairedmanofthirty,witharatherhardmouthandasupercilious
måte
manner
.
Twoshiningarroganteyeshadestablisheddominanceoverhisfaceandgavehimtheappearanceofalwaysleaningaggressivelyforward.
Noteventheeffeminateswankofhisridingclothescouldhidethe
enorme
enormous
powerofthatbody—heseemedtofillthoseglisteningbootsuntilhe
anstrengt
strained
thetoplacing,andyoucouldseeagreatpackof
muskler
muscle
shiftingwhenhisshouldermovedunderhisthincoat.
Itwasabodycapableof
enorm
enormous
leverage—acruelbody.
Hisspeakingvoice,agruffhuskytenor,addedtotheimpressionoffractiousnesshe
formidlet
conveyed
.
Therewasatouchofpaternal
forakt
contempt
init,eventowardpeopleheliked—andthereweremenatNewHavenwhohadhatedhisguts.
“Now,don’tthinkmyopiniononthesemattersisfinal,”heseemedtosay,“justbecauseI’mstrongerandmoreofamanthanyouare.”
Wewereinthesameseniorsociety,andwhilewewerenever
intime
intimate
Ialwayshadthe
inntrykk
impression
thatheapprovedofmeandwantedmetolikehimwithsomeharsh,defiantwistfulnessofhisown.
Wetalkedforafewminutesonthe
solfylte
sunny
porch.
“I’vegotaniceplacehere,”hesaid,hiseyesflashingaboutrestlessly.
Turningmearoundbyonearm,hemoveda
bred
broad
flathandalongthefront
vista
vista
,includinginitssweepasunkenItaliangarden,ahalf
hektar
acre
ofdeep,pungentroses,andasnub-nosedmotorboatthatbumpedthe
tidevannet
tide
offshore.
“ItbelongedtoDemaine,theoilman.”
Heturnedmearoundagain,
høflig
politely
andabruptly.
“We’llgoinside.”
Wewalkedthroughahighhallwayintoabrightrosy-colouredspace,fragilelyboundintothehousebyFrenchwindowsateitherend.
Thewindowswereajarandgleamingwhiteagainstthefreshgrassoutsidethatseemedtogrowalittlewayintothehouse.
Abreezeblewthroughtheroom,blewcurtainsinatoneendandouttheotherlikepaleflags,
vrir
twisting
themuptowardthefrostedwedding-cakeofthe
taket
ceiling
,andthenrippledoverthewine-coloured
teppe
rug
,makingashadowonitaswinddoesonthesea.
Theonlycompletelystationaryobjectintheroomwasan
enorm
enormous
couchonwhichtwoyoungwomenwerebuoyedupasthoughuponan
forankret
anchored
balloon.
Theywerebothinwhite,andtheirdresseswereripplingandflutteringasiftheyhadjustbeenblownbackinafterashortflightaroundthehouse.
Imusthavestoodforafewmomentslisteningtothe
pisk
whip
andsnapofthecurtainsandthe
stønn
groan
ofapictureonthewall.
ThentherewasaboomasTomBuchananshuttherearwindowsandthecaughtwinddiedoutabouttheroom,andthecurtainsandtherugsandthetwoyoungwomenballoonedslowlytothefloor.
Theyoungerofthetwowasastrangertome.
Shewas
utvidet
extended
fulllengthatherendofthedivan,completelymotionless,andwithher
haken
chin
raisedalittle,asifshewerebalancingsomethingonitwhichwasquitelikelytofall.
Ifshesawmeoutofthecornerofhereyesshegaveno
antydning
hint
ofit—indeed,Iwasalmostsurprisedintomurmuringan
unnskyldning
apology
forhavingdisturbedherbycomingin.
Theothergirl,
Daisy
Daisy
,madeanattempttorise—sheleaned
litt
slightly
forwardwithaconscientiousexpression—thenshelaughed,an
absurd
absurd
,charminglittlelaugh,andIlaughedtooandcameforwardintotheroom.
“I’mp-paralysedwithhappiness.”
Shelaughedagain,asifshesaidsomethingvery
vittig
witty
,andheldmyhandforamoment,lookingupintomyface,promisingthattherewasnooneintheworldshesomuchwantedtosee.
Thatwasawayshehad.
Shehintedinamurmurthatthesurnameofthebalancinggirlwas
Baker
Baker
.
(I’vehearditsaidthatDaisy’smurmurwasonlytomakepeoplelean
mot
toward
her;
anirrelevantcriticismthatmadeitnolesscharming.)
Atanyrate,MissBaker’slipsfluttered,she
nikket
nodded
atmealmostimperceptibly,andthenquicklytippedherheadbackagain—theobjectshewasbalancinghadobviouslytotteredalittleandgivenhersomethingofafright.
Againasortof
unnskyldning
apology
arosetomylips.
Almostany
utstilling
exhibition
ofcompleteself-sufficiencydrawsastunned
hyllest
tribute
fromme.
Ilookedbackatmycousin,whobegantoaskmequestionsinherlow,thrillingvoice.
Itwasthekindofvoicethattheearfollowsupanddown,asifeachspeechisan
ordning
arrangement
ofnotesthatwillneverbeplayedagain.
Herfacewassadandlovelywithbrightthingsinit,brighteyesandabright
lidenskapelig
passionate
mouth,buttherewasan
spenning
excitement
inhervoicethatmenwhohadcaredforherfounddifficulttoforget:
asingingcompulsion,a
hvisket
whispered
“Listen,”apromisethatshehaddonegay,excitingthingsjustawhilesinceandthatthereweregay,excitingthingshoveringinthenexthour.
ItoldherhowIhadstoppedoffinChicagoforadayonmywayEast,andhowa
dusin
dozen
peoplehadsenttheirlovethroughme.
“Dotheymissme?”
shecriedecstatically.
“Thewholetownis
øde
desolate
.
Allthecarshavetheleft
bakre
rear
wheelpaintedblackasamourning
krans
wreath
,andthere’sapersistentwailallnightalongthenorthshore.”
“Howgorgeous!
Let’sgoback,Tom.
Tomorrow!”
Thensheaddedirrelevantly:
“Yououghttoseethebaby.”
“I’dliketo.”
“She’sasleep.
She’sthreeyearsold.
Haven’tyoueverseenher?”
“Never.”
“Well,yououghttoseeher.
She’s—”.
TomBuchanan,whohadbeenhoveringrestlesslyabouttheroom,stoppedandrestedhishandonmyshoulder.
“Whatyoudoing,Nick?”
“I’mabondman.”
“Whowith?”
Itoldhim.
“Neverheardofthem,”heremarkeddecisively.
This
irriterte
annoyed
me.
“Youwill,”Iansweredshortly.
“YouwillifyoustayintheEast.”
“Oh,I’llstayintheEast,don’tyouworry,”hesaid,glancingat
Daisy
Daisy
andthenbackatme,asifhewerealertforsomethingmore.
“I’dbeaGoddamnedfooltoliveanywhereelse.”
AtthispointMiss
Baker
Baker
said:
“Absolutely!”
withsuchsuddennessthatIstarted—itwasthefirstwordshehadutteredsinceIcameintotheroom.
Evidentlyitsurprisedherasmuchasitdidme,forsheyawnedandwithaseriesof
raske
rapid
,deftmovementsstoodupintotheroom.
“I’mstiff,”she
klaget
complained
,“I’vebeenlyingonthat
sofaen
sofa
foraslongasIcanremember.”
“Don’tlookatme,”
Daisy
Daisy
retorted,“I’vebeentryingtogetyoutoNewYorkallafternoon.”
“No,thanks,”saidMiss
Baker
Baker
tothefourcocktailsjustinfromthe
pantry
pantry
.
“I’mabsolutelyintraining.”
Her
vert
host
lookedatherincredulously.
“Youare!”
Hetookdownhisdrinkasifitwereadropinthebottomofaglass.
“Howyouevergetanythingdoneisbeyondme.”
IlookedatMiss
Baker
Baker
,wonderingwhatitwasshe“gotdone.”
Ienjoyedlookingather.
Shewasa
slank
slender
,small-breastedgirl,withan
oppreist
erect
carriage,whichsheaccentuatedbythrowingherbodybackwardattheshoulderslikeayoung
kadett
cadet
.
Hergreysun-strainedeyeslookedbackatmewith
høflig
polite
reciprocalcuriosityoutofawan,charming,discontentedface.
ItoccurredtomenowthatIhadseenher,orapictureofher,somewherebefore.
“YouliveinWestEgg,”sheremarkedcontemptuously.
“Iknowsomebodythere.”
“Idon’tknowasingle—”.
“YoumustknowGatsby.”
“Gatsby?”
demanded
Daisy
Daisy
.
“WhatGatsby?”
BeforeIcould
svare
reply
thathewasmy
nabo
neighbour
dinnerwasannounced;
wedginghistensearmimperativelyundermine,TomBuchanancompelledmefromtheroomasthoughheweremovingacheckertoanothersquare.
Slenderly,languidly,theirhandsset
lett
lightly
ontheirhips,thetwoyoungwomenprecededusoutontoarosy-coloured
veranda
porch
,opentowardthesunset,wherefourcandlesflickeredonthetableinthediminishedwind.
“Whycandles?”
objected
Daisy
Daisy
,frowning.
Shesnappedthemoutwithherfingers.
“Intwoweeksit’llbethe
lengste
longest
dayintheyear.”
Shelookedatusallradiantly.
“Doyoualwayswatchforthe
lengste
longest
dayoftheyearandthenmissit?
Ialwayswatchforthe
lengste
longest
dayintheyearandthenmissit.”
“Weoughttoplansomething,”yawnedMiss
Baker
Baker
,sittingdownatthetableasifsheweregettingintobed.
“Allright,”said
Daisy
Daisy
.
“What’llweplan?”
Sheturnedtomehelplessly:
“Whatdopeopleplan?”
BeforeIcouldanswerhereyesfastenedwithanawed
uttrykk
expression
onherlittlefinger.
“Look!”
she
klaget
complained
;
“Ihurtit.”
Wealllooked—theknucklewasblackandblue.
“Youdidit,Tom,”shesaidaccusingly.
“Iknowyoudidn’tmeanto,butyoudiddoit.
That’swhatIgetformarryinga
brute
brute
ofaman,agreat,big,hulkingphysical
eksemplar
specimen
ofa—”.
“Ihatethatword‘hulking,’ ”objectedTomcrossly,“eveninkidding.”
“Hulking,”
insisterte
insisted
Daisy.
SometimessheandMiss
Baker
Baker
talkedatonce,unobtrusivelyandwithabanteringinconsequencethatwasneverquitechatter,thatwasascoolastheirwhitedressesandtheirimpersonaleyesinthe
fravær
absence
ofalldesire.
Theywerehere,andtheyacceptedTomandme,makingonlya
høflig
polite
pleasantefforttoentertainortobeentertained.
Theyknewthatpresentlydinnerwouldbeoverandalittlelatertheeveningtoowouldbeoverand
tilfeldig
casually
putaway.
Itwas
skarpt
sharply
differentfromtheWest,whereaneveningwashurriedfrom
fase
phase
tophasetowardsitsclose,ina
kontinuerlig
continually
disappointedanticipationorelsein
ren
sheer
nervousdreadofthemomentitself.
“Youmakemefeeluncivilized,Daisy,”Iconfessedonmysecondglassofcorkybutratherimpressiveclaret.
“Can’tyoutalkaboutcropsorsomething?”
Imeantnothinginparticularbythisremark,butitwastakenupinan
uventet
unexpected
way.
“Civilization’sgoingtopieces,”brokeoutTom
voldsomt
violently
.
“I’vegottentobeaterriblepessimistaboutthings.
HaveyoureadTheRiseoftheColouredEmpiresbythismanGoddard?”
“Why,no,”Ianswered,rathersurprisedbyhistone.
“Well,it’safinebook,andeverybodyoughttoreadit.
Theideaisifwedon’tlookoutthewhiteracewillbe—willbe
fullstendig
utterly
submerged.
It’sallscientificstuff;
it’sbeenproved.”