Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
Великий Гэтсби / The Great Gatsby (на русском и английском языках)
© ООО «Издательство АСТ», 2022
Francis Scott Fitzgerald
The Great Gatsby
Chapter 1
In my younger years my father gave me some advice. Whenever you feel like criticizing any one, he told me, just remember that all the people in this world havent had the advantages that youve had.
He didnt say any more but I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. A habit to reserve all judgments has opened up many curious natures to me. In college I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men.
When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform. I wanted no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction-Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn.
There was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. It was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person.
My family has been prominent, well-to-do people for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that were descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfathers brother who came here in fifty-one and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on today. I never saw this great-uncle but I look like him-I saw a painting that hangs in fathers office.
I graduated from New Haven[1] in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in the Great War. Then I decided to go East and learn the bond business. Father agreed to finance me for a year and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.
The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a cardboard bungalow at eighty a month. I had an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast, and muttered Finnish words to herself over the electric stove.
One morning some man stopped me on the road.
How do you get to West Egg village? he asked helplessly.
I told him. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. The life was beginning over again with the summer.
There was so much to read. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold.
I lived at West Egg. I rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York. My house was between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. The one on my right was Gatsbys mansion.
Across the bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin. Her husbands name was Tom. Id known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.
Toms family was enormously wealthy-even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach. Why they came East I dont know. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didnt believe it. They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there, wherever people played polo and were rich together.
And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing on the front porch.
Tom had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner.
He could not hide the enormous power of his body. It was a body capable of enormous leverage-a cruel body.
His voice was a gruff husky tenor. Now, dont think my opinion on these matters is final, he seemed to say, just because Im stronger and more of a man than you are. We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he wanted me to like him.
We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.
Ive got a nice place here, he said. He turned me around, politely and abruptly. Well go inside.
We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space. The windows were ajar and gleaming. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were lying. They were both in white. I stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall.
Tom Buchanan shut the rear windows and the caught wind died out about the room. The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was completely motionless and with her chin raised a little.
The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise. She leaned slightly forward-then she laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.
Im p-paralyzed with happiness.
She laughed again, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face.
She murmured that the surname of the other girl was Baker. Miss Bakers lips fluttered, she nodded at me and then quickly tipped her head back again.
I looked back at my cousin who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passionate mouth.
I told her how I had visited in Chicago some friends and how a dozen people had sent her their love.
Do they miss me? she cried.
The whole town is desolate. All the automobiles are painted black and theres a persistent wail all night.
How gorgeous! Lets go back, Tom. Tomorrow! Then she added irrelevantly: You must see the baby.
Id like to.
Shes asleep. Shes two years old. Havent you ever seen her?
Never.
Well, you must see her. Shes
Tom Buchanan rested his hand on my shoulder.
What do you do, Nick?
Im a bond man.
Who with?
I told him.
Never heard of them, he remarked decisively.
This annoyed me.
You will, I answered shortly. You will if you stay in the East.
Oh, Ill stay in the East, dont you worry, he said, glancing at Daisy and then back at me.
At this point Miss Baker said Absolutely! It was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. It surprised her as much as it did me. She yawned and with a series of rapid, deft movements stood up into the room.
You see, Daisy told Miss Baker. Ive been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.
I looked at Miss Baker, I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender girl, with an erect carriage. Her grey sun-strained eyes looked back at me. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.
You live in West Egg, she remarked contemptuously. I know somebody there.
I dont know a single-
You must know Gatsby.
Gatsby? demanded Daisy. What Gatsby?
Before I could reply that he was my neighbour dinner was announced. Tom Buchanan took me from the room. We went out.
The two young women preceded us toward the sunset where four candles flickered on the table.
Why candles? objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. In two weeks itll be the longest day in the year.
She looked at us all radiantly.
Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.
Lets plan something, yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table.
All right, said Daisy. Whatll we plan? She turned to me helplessly. What do people plan?
Before I could answer Daisy showed her little finger.
Look! she complained. I hurt it.
We all looked-the finger was black and blue.
You did it, Tom, she said. I know you didnt mean to but you DID do it. Why did I marry such a man!
She and Miss Baker accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained.
I feel uncivilized with you, Daisy, I said.
Civilizations going to pieces, said Tom violently. If we dont look out the white race will be submerged. Its all scientific stuff; its been proved.
Tom is becoming a wise man, said Daisy with an expression of sadness. He reads clever books with long words in them. What was that word
Well, these books are all scientific, insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. We, the dominant race, must watch out or these other races will have control of things.
If you lived in California- began Miss Baker but Tom interrupted her.
This idea is that we-I, you, and you-weve produced all the things that go to make civilization-oh, science and art and all that. Do you see?
There was something pathetic in his words. Suddenly the telephone rang and Tom left.
Daisy leaned toward me.
I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a-of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesnt he? She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation: An absolute rose?
This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. Then she threw her napkin on the table and excused herself and went into the house.
Miss Baker and I exchanged a short glance devoid of meaning.
This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor, I said.
Dont talk. I want to hear what happens.
Is something happening? I inquired innocently.
Dont you know? said Miss Baker, honestly surprised. I thought everybody knew.
I dont.
Toms got some woman in New York, said Miss Baker.
Got some woman? I repeated.
Miss Baker nodded.
She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner-time. Dont you think?
Tom and Daisy were back at the table.
Daisy sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me and said: I looked outdoors for a minute and its very romantic outdoors. Theres a bird on the lawn, I think, a nightingale. Hes singing so sweetly! Its romantic, isnt it, Tom?
Very romantic, he said, and then to me: After dinner I want to show you my horses.
The telephone rang inside, and Daisy shook her head decisively. The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker went into the library, while I followed Daisy around the house. Then we sat down side by side on a bench.
Daisy took her face in her hands.
We dont know each other very well, Nick, said Daisy. Even if we are cousins. You didnt come to my wedding.
I wasnt back from the war.
Thats true. She hesitated. Well, Ive had a very bad time, and Im pretty cynical about everything.
I waited but she didnt say any more, and after a moment I decided to talk about her daughter.
I suppose she talks, and-eats, and everything.
Oh, yes. She looked at me absently. Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?
Very much.
Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. All right, I said, Im glad its a girl. And I hope shell be a fool-thats the best thing for a girl in this world, a beautiful little fool.
You see I think everythings terrible anyhow, she went on. Everybody thinks so-the most advanced people. And I KNOW. Ive been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.
Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light. Tom and Miss Baker sat on the long couch and she read aloud to him from the newspaper.
When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lifted hand.
To be continued, she said, tossing the magazine on the table. She stood up.
Ten oclock, she remarked. Time for this good girl to go to bed.
Jordans going to play at Westchester tomorrow, explained Daisy.
Oh-youre Jordan Baker!
I knew now why her face was familiar-it had looked out at me from many pictures of the sporting life.
Good night, she said softly. Wake me at eight, wont you?
But you wont get up.
I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you.
Of course you will, confirmed Daisy. In fact I think Ill arrange a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and Ill make it. You know-push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing
Good night, called Miss Baker from the stairs. I havent heard anything.
Shes a nice girl, said Tom after a moment. And her family
Her family! cried Daisy. Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Nick will look after her, wont you, Nick? Shes going to spend lots of week-ends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her.
Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence.
Is she from New York? I asked quickly.
From Louisville. Shes a friend from my girlhood.
Did you talk much to Nick on the veranda? demanded Tom suddenly.
Did I? She looked at me. I cant remember, but I think we talked about something. Yes, Im sure we did.
Dont believe everything you hear, Nick, he advised me.
I said that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side. As I started my motor Daisy called Wait! I forgot to ask you something, and its important. We heard you were going to marry?
Thats right, corroborated Tom kindly. We heard that you were engaged.
Its nonsense. Im too poor.
But we heard it, insisted Daisy. We heard it from three people so it must be true.
Of course I knew what they were talking about, but I wasnt engaged. Indeed, I had an old friend, but I had no intention to marry.
When I reached my house, I sat for a while in the yard. I turned my head and I saw that I was not alone-fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbors mansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the stars. It was Mr. Gatsby himself.
I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that could be the beginning of our conversation. But I didnt call to him: when I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone in the darkness.
Chapter 2
One day I met Tom Buchanans mistress. Yes, Tom Buchanan had a mistress. He visited popular restaurants with her and, leaving her at a table, wandered about, chatting with whomsoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her, I had no desire to meet her-but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one afternoon and when we stopped he jumped to his feet and forced me from the car.
Were getting off! he insisted. I want you to meet my girl.
He definitely decided to have my company. He thought that on Sunday afternoon I had nothing better to do. I followed him over a low white-washed railroad fence. I saw a garage-Repairs. GEORGE B. WILSON. Cars Bought and Sold-and I followed Tom inside.
The interior was bare; the only automobile visible was the dust-covered Ford which stood in a dim corner. The proprietor himself appeared in the door of an office, wiping his hands on a piece of waste. He was a blonde, spiritless, faintly handsome man.
Hello, Wilson, old man, said Tom, slapping him on the shoulder. Hows business?