I
InmyyoungerandmorevulnerableyearsmyfathergavemesomeadvicethatI’vebeenturningoverinmymindeversince.
“Wheneveryoufeellikecriticizinganyone,”hetoldme,“justrememberthatallthepeopleinthisworldhaven’thadtheadvantagesthatyou’vehad.”
Hedidn’tsayanymore,butwe’vealwaysbeenunusuallycommunicativeinareservedway,andIunderstoodthathemeantagreatdealmorethanthat.
Inconsequence,I’minclinedtoreservealljudgements,ahabitthathasopenedupmanycuriousnaturestomeandalsomademethevictimofnotafewveteranbores.
Theabnormalmindisquicktodetectandattachitselftothisqualitywhenitappearsinanormalperson,andsoitcameaboutthatin
college
collegeIwasunjustlyaccusedofbeingapolitician,becauseIwasprivytothetajne
secretgriefsofwild,unknownmen.Mostoftheconfidenceswereunsought—frequentlyIhavefeignedsleep,preoccupation,orahostilelevitywhenIrealizedbysomeunmistakablesignthatanintimaterevelationwasquiveringonthehorizon;
fortheintimaterevelationsofyoungmen,oratleastthetermsinwhichtheyexpressthem,are
zazwyczaj
usuallyplagiaristicandmarredbyobvioussuppressions.Reservingjudgementsisamatterofinfinitehope.
IamstillalittleafraidofmissingsomethingifIforgetthat,asmyfathersnobbishlysuggested,andIsnobbishlyrepeat,a
poczucie
senseofthefundamentaldecenciesisparcelledoutunequallyatbirth.And,afterboastingthiswayofmytolerance,Icometotheadmissionthatithasalimit.
Conductmaybefoundedonthehardrockorthewetmarshes,butafteracertainpointIdon’tcarewhatit’sfoundedon.
WhenIcamebackfromtheEastlastautumnIfeltthatIwantedtheworldtobeinuniformandatasortofmoral
uwagę
attentionforever;Iwantednomoreriotousexcursionswithprivilegedglimpsesintothehumanheart.
OnlyGatsby,themanwhogiveshisnametothisbook,wasexemptfrommyreaction—Gatsby,whorepresentedeverythingforwhichIhaveanunaffectedscorn.
Ifpersonalityisanunbrokenseriesofsuccessfulgestures,thentherewassomethinggorgeousabouthim,someheightenedsensitivitytothepromisesoflife,asifhewererelatedtooneofthoseintricatemachinesthatregisterearthquakesten
tysięcy
thousandmilesaway.Thisresponsivenesshadnothingtodowiththatflabbyimpressionabilitywhichisdignifiedunderthenameofthe“creativetemperament”—itwasanextraordinary
dar
giftforhope,aromanticreadinesssuchasIhaveneverfoundinanyotherpersonandwhichitisnotlikelyIshalleverfindagain.No—Gatsbyturnedoutallrightattheend;
itiswhatpreyedonGatsby,whatfouldustfloatedinthewakeofhisdreamsthattemporarilyclosedoutmyinterestintheabortivesorrowsandshort-windedelationsofmen.
Myfamilyhavebeenprominent,well-to-dopeopleinthisMiddleWesterncityforthreegenerations.
TheCarrawaysaresomethingofaclan,andwehaveatraditionthatwe’redescendedfromtheDukesofBuccleuch,buttheactualfounderofmylinewasmygrandfather’sbrother,whocamehereinfifty-one,sentasubstitutetotheCivilWar,andstartedthewholesalehardwarebusinessthatmyfather
prowadzi
carriesontoday.Ineversawthisgreat-uncle,butI’msupposedtolooklikehim—withspecialreferencetothe
raczej
ratherhard-boiledpaintingthathangsinfather’soffice.IgraduatedfromNewHavenin1915,justaquarterofacenturyaftermyfather,andalittlelaterIparticipatedinthatdelayedTeutonicmigrationknownastheGreatWar.
Ienjoyedthecounter-raidsothoroughlythatIcamebackrestless.
Zamiast
Insteadofbeingthewarmcentreoftheworld,theMiddleZachód
Westnowseemedliketheraggededgeoftheuniverse—soIdecidedtogoWschód
Eastandlearnthebondbusiness.EverybodyIknewwasinthebondbusiness,soI
przypuszczałem
supposeditcouldsupportonemoresingleman.Allmyauntsandunclestalkeditoverasiftheywerechoosingaprepschoolforme,and
końcu
finallysaid,“Why—ye-es,”withverygrave,hesitantfaces.Fatheragreedtofinancemeforayear,andaftervariousdelaysIcame
Wschód
East,permanently,Ithought,inthespringoftwenty-two.Thepracticalthingwastofindroomsinthecity,butitwasawarmseason,andIhadjustleftacountryofwidelawnsandfriendlytrees,sowhenayoungmanattheofficesuggestedthatwetakeahousetogetherinacommutingtown,itsoundedlikeagreatidea.
Hefoundthehouse,aweather-beatencardboardbungalowateightya
miesiąc
month,butatthelastminutethefirmorderedhimtoWashington,andIwentouttothecountryalone.Ihadadog—atleastIhadhimforafewdaysuntilheranaway—andanoldDodgeandaFinnishwoman,whomademybedand
gotowała
cookedbreakfastandmutteredFinnishwisdomtoherselfovertheelectricstove.Itwaslonelyforadayorsountilonemorningsomeman,morerecentlyarrivedthanI,stoppedmeonthe
drodze
road.“Howdoyougetto
West
WestEggvillage?”heaskedhelplessly.
Itoldhim.
AndasIwalkedonIwaslonelynolonger.
Iwasaguide,apathfinder,anoriginalsettler.
Hehadcasuallyconferredonmethefreedomoftheneighbourhood.
Andsowiththesunshineandthegreatburstsofleavesgrowingonthetrees,justasthings
rosną
growinfastmovies,Ihadthatfamiliarconvictionthatlifewasbeginningoveragainwiththelatem
summer.Therewassomuchtoread,foronething,andsomuchfinehealthtobepulleddownoutoftheyoungbreath-givingair.
Iboughtadozenvolumesonbankingandcreditandinvestmentsecurities,andtheystoodonmyshelfinredandgoldlikenewmoneyfromthemint,promisingtounfoldtheshiningsecretsthatonlyMidasandMorganandMaecenasknew.
AndIhadthehighintentionofreadingmanyotherbooksbesides.
Iwas
raczej
ratherliteraryincollege—oneyearIwroteaseriesofverysolemnandobviouseditorialsfortheYaleNews—andnowIwasgoingtobringbackallsuchthingsintomylifeandbecomeagainthatmostlimitedofallspecialists,the“well-roundedman.”Thisisn’tjustanepigram—lifeismuchmoresuccessfullylookedatfroma
jednego
singlewindow,afterall.ItwasamatterofchancethatIshouldhaverentedahouseinoneofthestrangestcommunitiesin
Północnej
NorthAmerica.Itwasonthatslenderriotous
wyspie
islandwhichextendsitselfduewschód
eastofNewYork—andwherethereare,amongothernaturalcuriosities,twounusualformationsofland.Twentymilesfromthecityapairofenormouseggs,identicalincontourandseparatedonlybyacourtesybay,jutoutintothemostdomesticatedbodyofsaltwaterintheWesternhemisphere,thegreatwetbarnyardofLongIslandSound.
Theyarenotperfectovals—liketheeggintheColumbusstory,theyarebothcrushedflatatthecontactend—buttheirphysicalresemblancemustbeasourceofperpetualwondertothegullsthat
latają
flyoverhead.Tothewinglessamoreinterestingphenomenonistheirdissimilarityineveryparticularexceptshapeand
wielkości
size.IlivedatWestEgg,the—well,the
mniej
lessfashionableofthetwo,thoughthisisamostsuperficialtagtoexpressthebizarreandnotalittlesinistercontrastbetweenthem.Myhousewasattheverytipoftheegg,onlyfiftyyardsfromtheSound,andsqueezedbetweentwohugeplacesthatrentedfortwelveorfifteen
tysięcy
thousandaseason.Theoneonmyrightwasacolossalaffairbyanystandard—itwasafactualimitationofsomeHôteldeVilleinNormandy,withatowerononeside,spankingnewunderathinbeardofrawivy,andamarbleswimmingpool,andmorethanfortyacresoflawnandgarden.
ItwasGatsby’smansion.
Or,
raczej
rather,asIdidn’tknowMr.Gatsby,itwasamansioninhabitedbyagentlemanofthatname.Myownhousewasaneyesore,butitwasasmalleyesore,andithadbeenoverlooked,soIhadaviewofthewater,apartialviewofmyneighbour’slawn,andtheconsolingproximityofmillionaires—allforeightydollarsamonth.
AcrossthecourtesybaythewhitepalacesoffashionableEastEggglitteredalongthewater,andthe
historia
historyofthesummerreallybeginsonthewieczorem
eveningIdroveovertheretohavedinnerwiththeTomBuchanans.Daisywasmysecondcousinonceremoved,andI’dknownTomincollege.
AndjustafterthewarI
spędziłem
spenttwodayswiththeminChicago.Herhusband,amongvariousphysicalaccomplishments,hadbeenoneofthemostpowerfulendsthateverplayedfootballatNewHaven—anational
postać
figureinaway,oneofthosemenwhoreachsuchanacutelimitedexcellenceattwenty-onethateverythingafterwardsavoursofanticlimax.Hisfamilywereenormouslywealthy—evenincollegehisfreedomwithmoneywasamatterforreproach—butnowhe’dleftChicagoandcome
Wschód
Eastinafashionthatraczej
rathertookyourbreathaway:forinstance,he’dbroughtdownastringofpoloponiesfromLakeForest.
Itwashardto
uświadomić sobie
realizethatamaninmyowngenerationwaswealthyenoughtodothat.Whytheycame
Wschód
EastIdon’tknow.Theyhad
spędzili
spentayearinFrancefornoparticularreason,andthendriftedhereandthereunrestfullywhereverpeopleplayedpoloandwerebogaci
richtogether.Thiswasapermanentmove,saidDaisyoverthetelephone,butIdidn’tbelieveit—IhadnosightintoDaisy’sheart,butIfeltthatTomwoulddriftonforeverseeking,alittlewistfully,forthedramaticturbulenceofsomeirrecoverablefootballgame.
AndsoithappenedthatonawarmwindyeveningIdroveovertoEastEggtoseetwooldfriendswhomIscarcelyknewatall.
TheirhousewasevenmoreelaboratethanI
spodziewałem
expected,acheerfulred-and-whiteGeorgianColonialmansion,overlookingthebay.Thelawnstartedatthe
plaży
beachandrantowardsthefrontdoorforaquarterofamile,jumpingoversundialsandbrickwalksandburninggardens—finallywhenitdotarł
reachedthehousedriftingupthesideinbrightvinesasthoughfromthemomentumofitsrun.ThefrontwasbrokenbyalineofFrenchwindows,glowingnowwithreflected
złota
goldandwideopentotheciepłe
warmwindyafternoon,andTomBuchananinridingclotheswasstandingwithhislegsapartonthefrontporch.HehadchangedsincehisNewHavenyears.
Nowhewasasturdystraw-hairedmanofthirty,witha
raczej
ratherhardmouthandasuperciliousmanner.Twoshiningarroganteyeshadestablisheddominanceoverhisfaceandgavehimtheappearanceofalwaysleaningaggressively
przodu
forward.Noteventheeffeminateswankofhisridingclothescould
ukryć
hidetheenormouspowerofthatbody—hewydawał
seemedtofillthoseglisteningbootsuntilhestrainedthetoplacing,andyoucouldseeagreatpackofmuscleshiftingwhenhisshouldermovedunderhisthincoat.Itwasabodycapableofenormousleverage—acruelbody.
Hisspeaking
głos
voice,agruffhuskytenor,addedtotheimpressionoffractiousnessheconveyed.Therewasatouchofpaternalcontemptinit,eventowardpeopleheliked—andthereweremenatNewHavenwhohadhatedhisguts.
“Now,don’tthinkmyopiniononthesemattersisfinal,”he
wydawał
seemedtosay,“justbecauseI’mstrongerandmoreofamanthanyouare.”Wewereinthesameseniorsociety,andwhilewewereneverintimateIalwayshadtheimpressionthatheapprovedofmeandwantedmetolikehimwithsomeharsh,defiantwistfulnessofhisown.
Wetalkedforafewminutesonthesunnyporch.
“I’vegotaniceplacehere,”hesaid,hiseyesflashingaboutrestlessly.
Turningmearoundbyonearm,hemovedabroadflathandalongthefrontvista,includinginitssweepasunkenItaliangarden,ahalfacreofdeep,pungentroses,andasnub-nosedmotorboatthatbumpedthetideoffshore.
“ItbelongedtoDemaine,theoilman.”
Heturnedmearoundagain,politelyandabruptly.
“We’llgoinside.”
Wewalkedthroughahighhallwayintoabrightrosy-coloured
przestrzeni
space,fragilelyboundintothehousebyFrenchwindowsateitherend.Thewindowswereajarandgleamingwhiteagainstthefreshgrassoutsidethat
wydawała
seemedtogrowalittlewayintothehouse.Abreeze
dmuchał
blewthroughtheroom,blewcurtainsinatoneendandouttheotherlikepaleflags,twistingthemuptowardthefrostedwedding-cakeoftheceiling,andthenrippledoverthewine-colouredrug,makingashadowonitaswiatr
winddoesonthesea.Theonly
całkowicie
completelystationaryobjectintheroomwasanenormouscouchonwhichtwoyoungwomenwerebuoyedupasthoughuponananchoredballoon.Theywerebothinwhite,andtheirdresseswereripplingandflutteringasiftheyhadjustbeenblownbackinafterashortflightaroundthehouse.
Imusthavestoodforafewmomentslisteningtothewhipandsnapofthecurtainsandthegroanofapictureonthewall.
ThentherewasaboomasTomBuchananshuttherearwindowsandthecaught
wiatr
winddiedoutabouttheroom,andthecurtainsandtherugsandthetwoyoungwomenballoonedslowlytothefloor.Theyoungerofthetwowasastrangertome.
Shewasextendedfulllengthatherendofthedivan,
całkowicie
completelymotionless,andwithherchinraisedalittle,asifshewerebalancingsomethingonitwhichwasquitelikelytofall.Ifshesawmeoutofthecornerofhereyesshegavenohintofit—indeed,Iwasalmostsurprisedintomurmuringanapologyforhavingdisturbedherbycomingin.
Theothergirl,Daisy,madeanattempttorise—sheleanedslightly
przodu
forwardwithaconscientiousexpression—thenshelaughed,anabsurd,charminglittleśmiech
laugh,andIlaughedtooandcameprzodu
forwardintotheroom.“I’mp-paralysedwithhappiness.”
Shelaughedagain,asifshesaidsomethingverywitty,andheldmyhandforamoment,lookingupintomyface,promisingthattherewasnooneintheworldshesomuchwantedtosee.
Thatwasawayshehad.
ShehintedinamurmurthatthesurnameofthebalancinggirlwasBaker.
(I’vehearditsaidthatDaisy’smurmurwasonlytomakepeopleleantowardher;
anirrelevantcriticismthatmadeitno
mniej
lesscharming.)Atanyrate,MissBaker’slipsfluttered,shenoddedatmealmostimperceptibly,andthen
szybko
quicklytippedherheadbackagain—theobjectshewasbalancinghadobviouslytotteredalittleandgivenhersomethingofafright.Againasortofapologyarosetomylips.
Almostanyexhibitionofcompleteself-sufficiencydrawsastunnedtributefromme.
Ilookedbackatmycousin,whobegantoaskmequestionsinherlow,thrilling
głosem
voice.Itwasthekindof
głosu
voicethattheearfollowsupanddown,asifeachspeechisanarrangementofnotesthatwillneverbeplayedagain.Herfacewassadandlovelywithbrightthingsinit,brighteyesandabrightpassionate
usta
mouth,buttherewasanexcitementinhervoicethatmenwhohadcaredforherfounddifficulttoforget:asingingcompulsion,awhispered“Listen,”apromisethatshehaddonegay,excitingthingsjustawhilesinceandthatthereweregay,excitingthingshoveringinthenexthour.
ItoldherhowIhadstoppedoffinChicagoforadayonmyway
Wschód
East,andhowadozenpeoplehadsenttheirlovethroughme.“Dotheymissme?”
she
płakała
criedecstatically.“Thewholetownisdesolate.
Allthecarshavetheleftrearwheelpaintedblackasamourningwreath,andthere’sapersistentwailallnightalongthenorthshore.”
“Howgorgeous!
Let’sgoback,Tom.
Tomorrow!”
Thensheaddedirrelevantly:
“Yououghttoseethebaby.”
“I’dliketo.”
“She’s
śpi
asleep.She’sthreeyearsold.
Haven’tyoueverseenher?”
“Never.”
“Well,yououghttoseeher.
She’s—”.
TomBuchanan,whohadbeenhoveringrestlesslyabouttheroom,stoppedandrestedhishandonmyshoulder.
“Whatyoudoing,Nick?”
“I’mabondman.”
“Whowith?”
Itoldhim.
“Neverheardofthem,”heremarkeddecisively.
Thisannoyedme.
“Youwill,”Iansweredshortly.
“YouwillifyoustayintheEast.”
“Oh,I’llstayintheEast,don’tyouworry,”hesaid,glancingatDaisyandthenbackatme,asifhewerealertforsomethingmore.
“I’dbeaGoddamnedfooltolive
gdziekolwiek
anywhereelse.”AtthispointMissBakersaid:
“Absolutely!”
withsuchsuddennessthatIstarted—itwasthefirstwordshehadutteredsinceIcameintotheroom.
Evidentlyitsurprisedherasmuchasitdidme,forsheyawnedandwithaseriesofrapid,deftmovementsstoodupintotheroom.
“I’mstiff,”shecomplained,“I’vebeenlyingonthatsofaforaslongasIcanremember.”
“Don’tlookatme,”Daisyretorted,“I’vebeentryingtogetyoutoNewYorkallafternoon.”
“No,thanks,”saidMissBakertothefourcocktailsjustinfromthepantry.
“I’mabsolutelyintraining.”
Herhostlookedatherincredulously.
“Youare!”
Hetookdownhisdrinkasifitwerea
kropla
dropinthebottomofaglass.“Howyouevergetanythingdoneisbeyondme.”
IlookedatMissBaker,wonderingwhatitwasshe“gotdone.”
Ienjoyedlookingather.
Shewasaslender,small-breastedgirl,withanerectcarriage,whichsheaccentuatedbythrowingherbodybackwardattheshoulderslikeayoungcadet.
Hergreysun-strainedeyeslookedbackatmewithpolitereciprocalcuriosityoutofawan,charming,discontentedface.
ItoccurredtomenowthatIhadseenher,ora
zdjęcie
pictureofher,somewherebefore.“Youlivein
West
WestEgg,”sheremarkedcontemptuously.“Iknowsomebodythere.”
“Idon’tknowasingle—”.
“YoumustknowGatsby.”
“Gatsby?”
demandedDaisy.
“WhatGatsby?”
BeforeIcouldreplythathewasmyneighbourdinnerwasannounced;
wedginghistensearmimperativelyundermine,TomBuchanancompelledmefromtheroomasthoughheweremovingacheckertoanothersquare.
Slenderly,languidly,theirhandssetlightlyontheirhips,thetwoyoungwomenprecededusoutontoarosy-colouredporch,opentowardthesunset,wherefourcandlesflickeredonthe
stole
tableinthediminishedwind.“Whycandles?”
objectedDaisy,frowning.
Shesnappedthemoutwithherfingers.
“Intwoweeksit’llbethelongestdayintheyear.”
Shelookedatusallradiantly.
“Doyoualwayswatchforthelongestdayoftheyearandthenmissit?
Ialwayswatchforthelongestdayintheyearandthenmissit.”
“Weoughttoplansomething,”yawnedMissBaker,sittingdownatthe
stole
tableasifsheweregettingintobed.“Allright,”saidDaisy.
“What’llweplan?”
Sheturnedtomehelplessly:
“Whatdopeopleplan?”
BeforeIcouldanswerhereyesfastenedwithanawedexpressiononherlittlefinger.
“Look!”
shecomplained;
“Ihurtit.”
Wealllooked—theknucklewasblackandblue.
“Youdidit,Tom,”shesaidaccusingly.
“Iknowyoudidn’tmeanto,butyoudiddoit.
That’swhatIgetformarryingabruteofaman,agreat,big,hulkingphysicalspecimenofa—”.
“Ihatethatword‘hulking,’ ”objectedTomcrossly,“eveninkidding.”
“Hulking,”insistedDaisy.
SometimessheandMissBakertalkedatonce,unobtrusivelyandwithabanteringinconsequencethatwasneverquitechatter,thatwasascoolastheirwhitedressesandtheirimpersonaleyesintheabsenceofalldesire.
Theywerehere,andthey
przyjęli
acceptedTomandme,makingonlyapolitepleasantefforttoentertainortobeentertained.Theyknewthatpresentlydinnerwouldbeoverandalittlelatertheeveningtoowouldbeoverandcasuallyputaway.
ItwassharplydifferentfromtheWest,whereaneveningwashurriedfromphasetophasetowardsitsclose,inacontinuallydisappointedanticipationorelseinsheernervousdreadofthemomentitself.
“Youmakemefeeluncivilized,Daisy,”Iconfessedonmysecondglassofcorkybut
raczej
ratherimpressiveclaret.“Can’tyoutalkaboutcropsorsomething?”
Imeantnothinginparticularbythisremark,butitwastakenupinanunexpectedway.
“Civilization’sgoingtopieces,”brokeoutTomviolently.
“I’vegottentobeaterriblepessimistaboutthings.
HaveyoureadTheRiseoftheColouredEmpiresbythismanGoddard?”
“Why,no,”Ianswered,
raczej
rathersurprisedbyhistone.“Well,it’safinebook,andeverybodyoughttoreadit.
Theideaisifwedon’tlookoutthewhite
rasa
racewillbe—willbeutterlysubmerged.It’sallscientificstuff;
it’sbeenproved.”