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

Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay’s[72 - Clay – Henry Clay (1777–1852), American statesman noted for his system of economic stability and prosperity]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.

�Why’s that?’

�Nobody’s coming to tea.

It’s too late! He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time elsewhere. �I can’t wait all day.’

�Don’t be silly; it’s 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. Daisy’s 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?’

�That’s the secret of Castle Rackrent[73 - Castle Rackrent – a historical novel by Maria Edgeworth (1767–1849), Anglo-Irish writer]. 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 don’t think so,’ she said innocently.

�Why?’

We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room was deserted.

�Well, that’s funny,’ I exclaimed.

�What’s 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.