«Великий Гэтсби» и другие лучшие произведения Ф.С. Фицджеральда

Still later Michaelis had to ask the last stranger to wait there fifteen minutes longer, while he went back to his own place and made a pot of coffee. After that, he stayed there alone with Wilson until dawn.

About three o’clock the quality of Wilson’s incoherent muttering changed – he grew quieter and began to talk about the yellow car. He announced that he had a way of finding out whom the yellow car belonged to, and then he blurted out that a couple of months ago his wife had come from the city with her face bruised and her nose swollen.

But when he heard himself say this, he flinched and began to cry �Oh, my God!’ again in his groaning voice. Michaelis made a clumsy attempt to distract him.

�How long have you been married, George? Come on there, try and sit still a minute and answer my question. How long have you been married?’

�Twelve years.’

�Ever had any children? Come on, George, sit still – I asked you a question. Did you ever have any children?’

The hard brown beetles kept thudding against the dull light, and whenever Michaelis heard a car go tearing along the road outside it sounded to him like the car that hadn’t stopped a few hours before.

He didn’t like to go into the garage, because the work bench was stained where the body had been lying, so he moved uncomfortably around the office – he knew every object in it before morning – and from time to time sat down beside Wilson trying to keep him more quiet.

�Have you got a church you go to sometimes, George? Maybe even if you haven’t been there for a long time? Maybe I could call up the church and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see?’

�Don’t belong to any.

’

�You ought to have a church, George, for times like this. You must have gone to church once. Didn’t you get married in a church? Listen, George, listen to me. Didn’t you get married in a church?’

�That was a long time ago.’

The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking – for a moment he was silent.

Then the same half-knowing, half-bewildered look came back into his faded eyes.

�Look in the drawer there,’ he said, pointing at the desk.

�Which drawer?’

�That drawer – that one.’

Michaelis opened the drawer nearest his hand. There was nothing in it but a small, expensive dog-leash, made of leather and braided silver. It was apparently new.

�This?’ he inquired, holding it up.