The flowers were unnecessary, for at two oclock a greenhouse arrived from Gatsbys, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby, in a white flannel suit, silver shirt, and gold-coloured tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes.
Is everything all right? he asked immediately.
Is everything all right? he asked immediately.
The grass looks fine, if thats what you mean.
What grass? he inquired blankly. Oh, the grass in the yard. He looked out the window at it, but, judging from his expression, I dont believe he saw a thing.
Looks very good, he remarked vaguely. One of the papers said they thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was The Journal. Have you got everything you need in the shape of of tea?
I took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproachfully at the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the delicatessen shop.
Will they do? I asked.
Of course, of course! Theyre fine! and he added hollowly, old sport.
The rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clays[73] Economics, starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen floor, and peering toward the bleared windows from time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an uncertain voice that he was going home.
Whys that?
Nobodys coming to tea. Its too late! He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. I cant wait all day.
Dont be silly; its just two minutes to four.
He sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultaneously there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped up, and, a little harrowed myself, I went out into the yard.
Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive. It stopped. Daisys face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.
Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I had to follow the sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear alone, before any words came through. A damp streak of hair lay like a dash of a blue paint across her cheek, and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car.
Are you in love with me, she said low in my ear, or why did I have to come alone?
Thats the secret of Castle Rackrent[74]. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.
Come back in an hour, Ferdie. Then in a grave murmur: His name is Ferdie.
Does the gasoline affect his nose?
I dont think so, she said innocently. Why?
We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.
Well, thats funny, I exclaimed.
Whats funny?
She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking at the front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes.
With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disappeared into the living-room. It wasnt a bit funny. Aware of the loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.
For half a minute there wasnt a sound. Then from the living-room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, followed by Daisys voice on a clear artificial note:
I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.
A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room.
Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, on the edge of a stiff chair.
Weve met before, muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand.
Im sorry about the clock, he said.
My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldnt muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.
Its an old clock, I told them idiotically.
I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.
We havent met for many years, said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.
Five years next November.
The automatic quality of Gatsbys answer set us all back at least another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate suggestion that they help me make tea in the kitchen when the demoniac Finn brought it in on a tray.
Amid the welcome confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical decency established itself. Gatsby got himself into a shadow and, while Daisy and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However, as calmness wasnt an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my feet.
Where are you going? demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm.
Ill be back.
Ive got to speak to you about something before you go.
He followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and whispered: Oh, God! in a miserable way.
Whats the matter?
This is a terrible mistake, he said, shaking his head from side to side, a terrible, terrible mistake.
Youre just embarrassed, thats all, and luckily I added: Daisys embarrassed too.
Shes embarrassed? he repeated incredulously.
Just as much as you are.
Dont talk so loud.
Youre acting like a little boy, I broke out impatiently. Not only that, but youre rude. Daisys sitting in there all alone.
He raised his hand to stop my words, looked at me with unforgettable reproach, and, opening the door cautiously, went back into the other room.
I walked out the back way just as Gatsby had when he had made his nervous circuit of the house half an hour before and ran for a huge black knotted tree, whose massed leaves made a fabric against the rain. Once more it was pouring, and my irregular lawn, well-shaved by Gatsbys gardener, abounded in small muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsbys enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant[75] at his church steeple, for half an hour. A brewer had built it early in the period craze, a decade before, and there was a story that hed agreed to pay five years taxes on all the neighbouring cottages if the owners would have their roofs thatched with straw. Perhaps their refusal took the heart out of his plan to Found a Family he went into an immediate decline. His children sold his house with the black wreath still on the door. Americans, while willing, even eager, to be serfs, have always been obstinate about being peasantry.
After half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocers automobile rounded Gatsbys drive with the raw material for his servants dinner I felt sure he wouldnt eat a spoonful. A maid began opening the upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, leaning from the large central bay, spat meditatively into the garden. It was time I went back. While the rain continued it had seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling a little now and then with gusts of emotion. But in the new silence I felt that silence had fallen within the house too.
I went in after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of pushing over the stove but I dont believe they heard a sound. They were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every vestige of embarrassment was gone. Daisys face was smeared with tears, and when I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief before a mirror. But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding. He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.
Oh, hello, old sport, he said, as if he hadnt seen me for years. I thought for a moment he was going to shake hands.
Its stopped raining.
Has it? When he realized what I was talking about, that there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to Daisy. What do you think of that? Its stopped raining.
Im glad, Jay. Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.
I want you and Daisy to come over to my house, he said, Id like to show her around.
Youre sure you want me to come?
Absolutely, old sport.
Daisy went upstairs to wash her face too late I thought with humiliation of my towels while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.
My house looks well, doesnt it? he demanded. See how the whole front of it catches the light.
I agreed that it was splendid.
Yes. His eyes went over it, every arched door and square tower. It took me just three years to earn the money that bought it.
I thought you inherited your money.
I did, old sport, he said automatically, but I lost most of it in the big panic the panic of the war.
I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered: Thats my affair, before he realized that it wasnt an appropriate reply.
Oh, Ive been in several things, he corrected himself. I was in the drug business and then I was in the oil business. But Im not in either one now. He looked at me with more attention. Do you mean youve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?
Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight.
That huge place there? she cried pointing.