了不起的盖茨比:有声导读·插图版:英汉对照
It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night—and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over.
Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away. Wondering if he were sick I went over to find out—an unfamiliar butler with a villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door.
“Is Mr. Gatsby sick?”
“Nope.” After a pause he added “sir” in a dilatory, grudging way.
“I hadn’t seen him around, and I was rather worried. Tell him Mr. Carraway came over.”
“Who?” he demanded rudely.
“Carraway.”
“Carraway. All right, I’ll tell him.” Abruptly he slammed the door.
My Finn informed me that Gatsby had dismissed every servant in his house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen others, who never went into West Egg Village to be bribed by the tradesmen, but ordered moderate supplies over the telephone. The grocery boy reported that the kitchen looked like a pigsty, and the general opinion in the village was that the new people weren’t servants at all.
人们对盖茨比的好奇心升到了极点，可是不知为何有个星期六的夜晚，他的别墅里一片漆黑——他的特里马尔秋[1]生涯犹如当初悄然发迹，如今悄然而止。
后来我才逐渐知道，不少汽车兴冲冲地转进他的车道，可是停留片刻就闷闷不乐地开走了。我寻思着他是否生了病，就走过去看看——一位面目可憎的陌生管家从门口疑心重重地斜眼看着我。
“盖茨比先生病了吗？”
“没有。”停顿一下之后，他又慢吞吞地、不情愿地加了个词，“先生。”
“我多日没见他，放心不下。告诉他凯拉威先生来过。”
“谁？”他粗暴地问道。
“凯拉威。”
“凯拉威。好的，我会转告他。”他砰的一下把门关上。
我的芬兰女佣告诉我，盖茨比一周前就解雇了所有仆人，取代他们的是另外六名伙计。他们从来不去西卵村接受那些商人的贿赂，只用电话订购少量的用品。据食品店送货的伙计说，厨房弄得像个猪圈，村里人都认为这些新雇的根本不是什么仆人。
Next day Gatsby called me on the phone.
“Going away?” I inquired.
“No, old sport.”
“I hear you fired all your servants.”
“I wanted somebody who wouldn’t gossip. Daisy comes over quite often—in the afternoons.”
So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card house at the disapproval in her eyes.
“They’re some people Wolfshiem wanted to do something for. They’re all brothers and sisters. They used to run a small hotel.”
“I see.”
He was calling up at Daisy’s request—would I come to lunch at her house tomorrow? Miss Baker would be there. Half an hour later Daisy herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was coming. Something was up. And yet I couldn’t believe that they would choose this occasion for a scene—especially for the rather harrowing scene that Gatsby had outlined in the garden.
The next day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only the hot whistles of the National Biscuit Company broke the simmering hush at noon. The straw seats of the car hovered on the edge of combustion; the woman next to me perspired delicately for a while into her white shirtwaist, and then, as her newspaper dampened under her fingers, lapsed despairingly into deep heat with a desolate cry. Her pocket-book slapped to the floor.
“Oh, my!” she gasped.
第二天，盖茨比给我打了电话。
“准备出远门？”我问道。
“没有，老兄。”
“我听说你解雇了所有的仆人。”
“我要的是不讲闲话的人，黛西常来……下午来。”
原来如此，是她眼光里流露出的反感让这整个大酒店像个纸牌屋一样塌了下来。
“他们都是些沃尔夫谢姆想帮点忙的人，都是兄弟姐妹。他们曾经经营过一家小旅馆。”
“我明白了。”
他是在黛西的要求下给我来电话的——问我明天能否到她家吃午饭？乔丹 ·贝克小姐也会去。半小时后，黛西本人来电，知道我会去她挺欣慰。一定有事。我难以相信他们居然会选择这一个场合来摊牌——尤其是像盖茨比早在花园里就已勾勒出的那种痛苦不堪的摊牌。
翌日，天气炎热，几乎是整个夏天最后、也肯定是最热的一天。当我乘的火车从隧道出来进入阳光时，只有全国饼干公司火辣辣的汽笛打破了中午闷热的宁静。车上的草椅垫热得快着火；我旁边的一位女士起先斯文地任凭汗水浸透她的白衬衫的腰围，等她的报纸在她手指间被汗水浸湿之后，她在酷暑中绝望地撑不住了，沮丧地叹了口气。她的手提包啪的一下摔在地上。
“哦，我的老天！”她气喘吁吁地说。
I picked it up with a weary bend and handed it back to her, holding it at arm’s length and by the extreme tip of the corners to indicate that I had no designs upon it—but every one near by, including the woman, suspected me just the same.
“Hot!” said the conductor to familiar faces. “Some weather! Hot! Hot! Hot! Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it... ?”
My commutation ticket came back to me with a dark stain from his hand. That any one should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, whose head made damp the pajama pocket over his heart!
... Through the hall of the Buchanans’ house blew a faint wind, carrying the sound of the telephone bell out to Gatsby and me as we waited at the door.
“The master’s body!” roared the butler into the mouthpiece.“I’m sorry, madame, but we can’t furnish it—it’s far too hot to touch this noon!”
What he really said was:“Yes... yes... I’ll see.”
He set down the receiver and came toward us, glistening slightly, to take our stiff straw hats.
“Madame expects you in the salon!” he cried, needlessly indicating the direction. In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the common store of life.
The room, shadowed well with awnings, was dark and cool. Daisy and Jordan lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols, weighing down their own white dresses against the singing breeze of the fans.
“We can’t move,” they said together.
Jordan’s fingers, powdered white over their tan, rested for a moment in mine.
我懒洋洋地弯腰捡起包，递给她，不仅手伸的老远，而且捏着包的一角尽头，已表明我没有其他不良动机——可是附近每个人，包括包的女主人，还是怀疑我。
“热！”查票员对面熟的乘客说，“什么天气！热！热！热！你觉得热透了吗？热吗？你觉得……？”
我的月季票还回来时上面带着他手指的深汗迹。在这样的酷热中还有谁在乎他亲的是谁的红唇，是谁的脑袋弄湿他睡衣上的胸口袋！
……盖茨比和我正在等开门，一阵微风从布坎南家的门廊吹过，传来了电话铃声。
“主人的车[2]！”管家声嘶力竭地对着话筒说。“对不起，夫人，可是我们没法把它备好——这正午实在是热得没法碰它！”
他实际上说的是：“是……是……我去看看。”
他放下话筒，朝我们走来，头上汗珠微微闪亮，接过我们的硬壳草帽。
“夫人在厅里等着你们！”他喊着，并且没必要地给我们指出客厅的方向。在这样的热浪里，每一个多余的手势都是对生命共存的不尊。
由于遮篷挡得严实，屋里比较暗，也比较凉快。黛西和乔丹躺在一张巨大的沙发上，如同两尊银像压着她们的白色衣裙，不让几只电扇发出的嗡嗡作响的风吹起来。
“我们俩没法动了。”她们异口同声说。
乔丹黝黑的手指上抹了层白脂粉，伸进我的手，搁了一会。
“And Mr. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete?” I inquired.
Simultaneously I heard his voice, gruff, muffled, husky, at the hall telephone.
Gatsby stood in the center of the crimson carpet and gazed around with fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting laugh; a tiny gust of powder rose from her bosom into the air.
“The rumor is,” whispered Jordan, “that that’s Tom’s girl on the telephone.”
We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoyance.“Very well, then, I won’t sell you the car at all... I’m under no obligations to you at all... And as for your bothering me about it at lunch time I won’t stand that at all!”
“Holding down the receiver,” said Daisy cynically.
“No, he’s not,” I assured her. “It’s a bona fide deal. I happen to know about it.”
Tom flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room.
“Mr. Gatsby!” He put out his broad, flat hand with well concealed dislike. “I’m glad to see you, sir... Nick...”
“Make us a cold drink,” cried Daisy.
As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and pulled his face down kissing him on the mouth.
“You know I love you,” she murmured.
“You forget there’s a lady present,” said Jordan.
Daisy looked around doubtfully.
“You kiss Nick too.”
“What a low, vulgar girl!”
“运动健将，汤姆斯 ·布坎南先生，在哪儿？”我问道。
几乎同时，我就听到从门廊电话机那边传来他的声音，粗暴、含糊、沙哑。
盖茨比站在深红色的地毯中央，着迷似的环顾四周。黛西望着他，笑了，笑得甜蜜、快乐；一小撮脂粉从她的胸口飞入空中。
“有谣言说，”乔丹轻声告诉我，“电话里说话的是汤姆的相好。”
大家都不出声。门廊里的嗓门因为发火而大为提高：“那么，算了，我索性不把车卖给你了……我没任何义务卖给你……至于你为这事在午餐时间来打扰我，我可不能容忍。”
“挂了听筒在说。”黛西讥讽地说。
“不，他没有挂，”我向她担保，“这笔交易确有其事，我碰巧知道一点。”
汤姆撞开门，他那粗壮的身躯一时间占满门口的空间，接着匆匆进了屋。
“盖茨比先生！”他伸出他那宽阔、平展的手，巧妙地掩饰了内心的厌恶，“先生，见到你我很高兴……尼克……”
“给我们来杯冷饮。”黛西喊道。
等他又离开了房间，黛西起身来到盖茨比跟前，拉下他的脸，在他嘴上亲吻了一口。
“你知道我爱你。”她轻声细语地说。
“你忘了，还有一位女士在座呐。”乔丹说。
黛西故意似信非信地四周看看。
“那你也亲亲尼克吧。”
“多下流、多庸俗的女人！”
“I don’t care!” cried Daisy and began to clog on the brick fireplace. Then she remembered the heat and sat down guiltily on the couch just as a freshly laundered nurse leading a little girl came into the room.
“Bles-sed pre-cious,” she crooned, holding out her arms. “Come to your own mother that loves you.”
The child, relinquished by the nurse, rushed across the room and rooted shyly into her mother’s dress.
“The Bles-sed pre-cious! Did mother get powder on your old yellowy hair? Stand up now, and say How-de-do.”
Gatsby and I in turn leaned down and took the small reluctant hand. Afterward he kept looking at the child with surprise. I don’t think he had ever really believed in its existence before.
“I got dressed before luncheon,” said the child, turning eagerly to Daisy.
“That’s because your mother wanted to show you off.” Her face bent into the single wrinkle of the small white neck. “You dream, you. You absolute little dream.”
“Yes,” admitted the child calmly. “Aunt Jordan’s got on a white dress too.”
“How do you like mother’s friends?” Daisy turned her around so that she faced Gatsby. “Do you think they’re pretty?”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“She doesn’t look like her father,” explained Daisy. “She looks like me. She’s got my hair and shape of the face.”
Daisy sat back upon the couch. The nurse took a step forward and held out her hand.
“Come, Pammy.”
“我不在乎！”黛西叫道，开始在壁炉前的砖上跳起踢踏舞来。然后，她想起了这炎热的天气，略显羞意地在沙发上坐下，恰巧一个身穿新洗衣服的保姆领着一个小女孩走进屋来。
“心……肝，宝……贝，”她轻柔地说，伸出她双臂，“快到爱你的妈妈这儿来。”
保姆一松手，小孩就从房间那头奔过来，羞答答地扑入母亲的衣裙里。
“心—肝，宝—贝！妈妈把脂粉弄到你黄黄的头发上了吗？站起来，说：你好。”
盖茨比和我轮流弯下身来，握了握她不太情愿伸出来的小手。过后，他依然惊奇地看着女孩。我想，在此之前他或许从未相信过这孩子的存在。
“午饭前我就穿好衣服了。”孩子说，脸急切地转向黛西。
“那是因为你妈想在客人面前显摆显摆你。”她低头把脸俯在孩子那娇小洁白的脖子里唯一的皱纹上。“你这个梦想之孩，不折不扣的梦想之孩[3]。”
“是啊，”女孩不慌不忙地答道，“乔丹阿姨也穿着白衣裳。”
“你喜欢妈妈的朋友吗？”黛西把她转过来，面对盖茨比，“你觉得他们长得帅吗？”
“爸爸在哪儿？”
“她不像她爸爸，”黛西解释说，“她像我。她的头发和脸型都像我。”
黛西又坐回到沙发上。保姆跨前一步，伸出手来。
“来吧，潘米。”
“Goodbye, sweetheart!”
With a reluctant backward glance the well-disciplined child held to her nurse’s hand and was pulled out the door, just as Tom came back, preceding four gin rickeys that clicked full of ice.
Gatsby took up his drink.
“They certainly look cool,” he said, with visible tension.
We drank in long greedy swallows.
“I read somewhere that the sun’s getting hotter every year,” said Tom genially. “It seems that pretty soon the earth’s going to fall into the sun—or wait a minute—it’s just the opposite—the sun’s getting colder every year.
“Come outside,” he suggested to Gatsby, “I’d like you to have a look at the place.”
I went with them out to the veranda. On the green Sound, stagnant in the heat, one small sail crawled slowly toward the fresher sea. Gatsby’s eyes followed it momentarily; he raised his hand and pointed across the bay.
“I’m right across from you.”
“So you are.”
Our eyes lifted over the rosebeds and the hot lawn and the weedy refuse of the dog days along shore. Slowly the white wings of the boat moved against the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay the scalloped ocean and the abounding blessed isles.
“There’s sport for you,” said Tom, nodding. “I’d like to be out there with him for about an hour.”
We had luncheon in the dining-room, darkened, too, against the heat, and drank down nervous gayety with the cold ale.
“What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon,” cried Daisy, “and the day after that, and the next thirty years?”
“再见，小可爱！”
懂规矩的女孩不乐意地回头看了一下，握住保姆的手，被带出了门外。正好汤姆回来，身后跟着四杯金立克鸡尾酒，装满咔嚓作响的冰块。
盖茨比端起一杯。
“他们看上去就很冰冷。”他说，神情有点紧张。
我们大口地、贪婪地喝着杯中的酒。
“我在某个地方看到一篇文章，说太阳一年比一年热，”汤姆和颜悦色地说，“看来要不了多久这地球就会掉到太阳里去喽——或许等一下——正好相反——太阳一年比一年冷。”
“出去一下，”他向盖茨比建议，“我想让你看看我这地方。”
我跟他们一起走到屋外的游廊上。绿色的海湾上，海水在酷热里纹丝不动，一艘小帆船慢吞吞地朝着空气新鲜点的大海蠕动着。盖茨比的眼光短暂地尾随着小船，他举手指着海湾对面。
“我家就在你的正对面。”
“你就在对面啊。”
我们扫视了玫瑰花园、滚烫的草坪和岸边大热天晒枯的杂草丛。那艘小船的白帆沿着蔚蓝、清新的天际缓缓向前推进。前方就是荡漾着干贝形水波的海洋和星罗棋布的宝岛。
“那运动适合你玩，”汤姆说着，点点头，“我真想过去和他玩上个把小时。”
我们在餐厅用了午餐，厅里为降低温度遮得挺阴暗，大家把不安的欢乐和冰凉的啤酒一同喝了下去。
“午后我们该做什么？”黛西大声问“，还有明天，还有今后三十年？”
“Don’t be morbid,” Jordan said. “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”
“But it’s so hot,” insisted Daisy, on the verge of tears, “And everything’s so confused. Let’s all go to town!”
Her voice struggled on through the heat, beating against it, moulding its senselessness into forms.
“I’ve heard of making a garage out of a stable,” Tom was saying to Gatsby, “but I’m the first man who ever made a stable out of a garage.”
“Who wants to go to town?” demanded Daisy insistently. Gatsby’s eyes floated toward her. “Ah,” she cried, “you look so cool.”
Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in space. With an effort she glanced down at the table.
“You always look so cool,” she repeated.
She had told him that she loved him, and Tom Buchanan saw. He was astounded. His mouth opened a little and he looked at Gatsby and then back at Daisy as if he had just recognized her as some one he knew a long time ago.
“You resemble the advertisement of the man,” she went on innocently. “You know the advertisement of the man—”
“All right,” broke in Tom quickly, “I’m perfectly willing to go to town. Come on—we’re all going to town.”
He got up, his eyes still flashing between Gatsby and his wife. No one moved.
“Come on!” His temper cracked a little. “What’s the matter, anyhow? If we’re going to town let’s start.”
“别这么病态，”乔丹说，“一旦秋高气爽，生活又会从头再来。”
“可是真热死了，”黛西不示弱地说，眼泪差点掉下来，“一切都乱套了。我们一起进城去。”
她的声音在热浪中挣扎不停，与其针锋相对，将其无知无觉的状态变得有知有型。
“我听说过把马厩改造成车库，”汤姆告诉盖茨比，“但我是第一个确实把马厩改成车库的人。”
“谁愿意进城去？”黛西强行问道。盖茨比的眼睛慢悠悠地朝她滑溜过去。“啊，”她喊道，“你看上去真淡定。”
他俩的目光相遇了，还一起注视着对方，独处他俩的空间，漠视周围的一切。她费了点劲才把视线转向餐桌。
“你总是这么淡定。”她重复了一遍。
她已经告诉他她爱他，汤姆 ·布坎南看出来了。他大吃一惊，微微张开嘴，先看看盖茨比，再望望黛西，好像他刚刚认出她是个他早就相识的人。
“你就像广告里那个人，”她继续若无其事地说，“你知道广告里那个人……”
“好吧，”汤姆急忙插进话来，“我十分乐意进城去。走吧……大家都去。”
他站起身，眼睛还在盖茨比和黛西之间晃来晃去。没人在动。
“走啊！”他有点发火，“到底怎么回事？要进城，就动起来。”
His hand, trembling with his effort at self control, bore to his lips the last of his glass of ale. Daisy’s voice got us to our feet and out on to the blazing gravel drive.
“Are we just going to go?” she objected. “Like this? Aren’t we going to let any one smoke a cigarette first?”
“Everybody smoked all through lunch.”
“Oh, let’s have fun,” she begged him. “It’s too hot to fuss.”
He didn’t answer.
“Have it your own way,” she said. “Come on, Jordan.”
They went upstairs to get ready while we three men stood there shuffling the hot pebbles with our feet. A silver curve of the moon hovered already in the western sky. Gatsby started to speak, changed his mind, but not before Tom wheeled and faced him expectantly.
“Have you got your stables here?” asked Gatsby with an effort.
“About a quarter of a mile down the road.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“I don’t see the idea of going to town,” broke out Tom savagely.“Women get these notions in their heads—”
“Shall we take anything to drink?” called Daisy from an upper window.
“I’ll get some whiskey,” answered Tom. He went inside.
Gatsby turned to me rigidly:
“I can’t say anything in his house, old sport.”
“She’s got an indiscreet voice,” I remarked. “It’s full of—” I hesitated.
“Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly.
That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money— that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it... High in a white palace the king’s daughter, the golden girl...
他的手因为竭力自控情绪在发抖，把杯里剩下的啤酒端到嘴边。黛西发了声，催我们起身，走出来，上了火辣辣的石子车道。
“我们这就走吗？”她表示异议，“就这样走？不让人先抽支烟？”
“午餐时大家都一刻不停地抽过。”
“哦，我们好好玩吧，”她央求他，“天这么热，别闹了。”
他没搭话。
“随你便吧，”她说，“来呀，乔丹。”
他们上楼做准备，我们三位男士站在那儿，用脚把烫呼呼的小石子踢来踢去。弯弯的明月已经高挂在西天。盖茨比话到嘴边又改了主意，但是汤姆这时已经转身对着他，等他开口。
“你马厩在这边吗？”盖茨比不得已蹦出一个问题。
“沿路下去大约四分之一英里就是。”
“哦。”
安静了片刻。
“我真不知道为什么进城？”汤姆野蛮地吼道，“女人就喜欢心血来潮……”
“我们带点什么喝的东西吗？”黛西从楼上一个窗口叫道。
“我去拿点威士忌。”汤姆答道。他走进屋里。
盖茨比一本正经地转向我：
“在他家里我什么都不能说，老兄。”
“她说话不太谨慎，”我说，“她的声音充满了……”我迟疑了一下。
“她的声音充满了金钱。”他忽然接过我的话茬。
说对了，此前我一直没弄明白。她的声音确实充满了金钱——这正是她声音里取之不尽的魅力，此起彼伏，叮当作响，铙钹配乐的歌声……高耸的白色宫殿里国王的千金，金色女郎……”
Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a towel, followed by Daisy and Jordan wearing small tight hats of metallic cloth and carrying light capes over their arms.
“Shall we all go in my car?” suggested Gatsby. He felt the hot, green leather of the seat. “I ought to have left it in the shade.”
“Is it standard shift?” demanded Tom.
“Yes.”
“Well, you take my coupé and let me drive your car to town.”
The suggestion was distasteful to Gatsby.
“I don’t think there’s much gas,” he objected.
“Plenty of gas,” said Tom boisterously. He looked at the gauge.“And if it runs out I can stop at a drug store. You can buy anything at a drug store nowadays.”
A pause followed this apparently pointless remark. Daisy looked at Tom frowning and an indefinable expression, at once definitely unfamiliar and vaguely recognizable, as if I had only heard it described in words, passed over Gatsby’s face.
“Come on, Daisy,” said Tom, pressing her with his hand toward Gatsby’s car. “I’ll take you in this circus wagon.”
He opened the door but she moved out from the circle of his arm.
“You take Nick and Jordan. We’ll follow you in the coupé.”
She walked close to Gatsby, touching his coat with her hand. Jordan and Tom and I got into the front seat of Gatsby’s car. Tom pushed the unfamiliar gears tentatively and we shot off into the oppressive heat leaving them out of sight behind.
汤姆走出屋子，用毛巾裹着一只一夸脱容量的酒瓶。黛西和乔丹跟在他身后，都带着又小又紧的金属网丝帽子，胳膊上披着薄薄的纱巾。
“大家坐我车去好吗？”盖茨比建议。他摸了摸滚烫的绿色皮坐垫。“我应该把车停在树荫下。”
“你车是普通排档吗？”汤姆问。
“是的。”
“那这样，你开我的跑车，让我开你的车进城。”
这一建议令盖茨比反感。
“我看汽油不多了。”他不赞同。
“汽油多着呢。”汤姆大声嚷着。他看了看油表。“真要是用完了，我就在一家药房停一停。如今啊，你可以在药房买到任何东西。”
听了这句显然是莫名其妙的话，大家都没作声。黛西皱着眉头望着汤姆，盖茨比的脸上掠过一种难以言喻的表情，使我感到既相当陌生又似曾见过，好像以前仅仅听人用言语描述过。
“走吧，黛西，”汤姆边说边用手把她推向盖茨比的车，“我带你坐这辆马戏团的旅行车。”
他打开车门，可是她却从汤姆的臂膀围成的圈子走了出来。
“你带上尼克和乔丹。我们开跑车在你后面跟着。”
她走近盖茨比，用手摸着他的上衣。乔丹、汤姆和我坐进盖茨比车的前排，汤姆试着扳扳不太熟悉的排挡，接着我们就冲入沉闷的热浪，把他们无影无踪地甩在后面。
“Did you see that?” demanded Tom.
“See what?”
He looked at me keenly, realizing that Jordan and I must have known all along.
“You think I’m pretty dumb, don’t you?” he suggested. “Perhaps I am, but I have a—almost a second sight, sometimes, that tells me what to do. Maybe you don’t believe that, but science—”
He paused. The immediate contingency overtook him, pulled him back from the edge of the theoretical abyss.
“I’ve made a small investigation of this fellow,” he continued. “I could have gone deeper if I’d known—”
“Do you mean you’ve been to a medium?” inquired Jordan humorously.
“What?” Confused, he stared at us as we laughed. “A medium?”
“About Gatsby.”
“About Gatsby! No, I haven’t. I said I’d been making a small investigation of his past.”
“And you found he was an Oxford man,” said Jordan helpfully.
“An Oxford man!” He was incredulous. “Like hell he is! He wears a pink suit.”
“Nevertheless he’s an Oxford man.”
“Oxford, New Mexico,” snorted Tom contemptuously, “or something like that.”
“Listen, Tom. If you’re such a snob, why did you invite him to lunch?” demanded Jordan crossly.
“Daisy invited him; she knew him before we were married—God knows where!”
“你们觉察到了吗？”汤姆问道。
“觉察到什么？”
他认真地看着我，心想我和乔丹肯定早已知道了一切。
“你们以为我挺傻，是吗？”他说，“也许，我是傻，但是我有一种——有时候等于是种第二视觉，告诉我该怎么办。你们可能不信这一套，可是科学……”
他稍停了一会儿。当前的意识左右了他，把他从理论深渊的边缘拉了回来。
“我对这家伙做了点小小的调查，”他继续说，“我本该查得再深点，如果我知道……”
“你是说你找占卦的？”乔丹幽默地问道。
“什么？”汤姆稀里糊涂，看着我们在笑，“占卦？”
“去问盖茨比的事。”
“去问盖茨比的事！不，我可没有去。我说了我已调查了一下他的过去。”
“结果你发现他是牛津大学毕业的。”乔丹说，仿佛想帮他一把。
“牛津毕业的！”他根本不信，“他要是的就见鬼喽！他穿着一套粉红色西装。”
“不管怎样，他还真是个牛津人。”
“是新墨西哥州的牛津吧，”汤姆轻蔑地哼了一声，“或什么类似的地方。”
“听我说，汤姆。如果你这么势利，那你为什么还请他来吃午饭？”乔丹故意为难地追问道。
“黛西请的；她在我们结婚之前就认识他了——鬼知道在什么地方！”
We were all irritable now with the fading ale and, aware of it, we drove for a while in silence. Then as Doctor T. J. Eckleburg’s faded eyes came into sight down the road, I remembered Gatsby’s caution about gasoline.
“We’ve got enough to get us to town,” said Tom.
“But there’s a garage right here,” objected Jordan. “I don’t want to get stalled in this baking heat.”
Tom threw on both brakes impatiently and we slid to an abrupt dusty stop under Wilson’s sign. After a moment the proprietor emerged from the interior of his establishment and gazed hollow-eyed at the car.
“Let’s have some gas!” cried Tom roughly. “What do you think we stopped for—to admire the view?”
“I’m sick,” said Wilson without moving. “I been sick all day.”
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m all run down.”
“Well, shall I help myself?” Tom demanded. “You sounded well enough on the phone.”
With an effort Wilson left the shade and support of the doorway and, breathing hard, unscrewed the cap of the tank. In the sunlight his face was green.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch,” he said. “But I need money pretty bad and I was wondering what you were going to do with your old car.”
“How do you like this one?” inquired Tom. “I bought it last week.”
“It’s a nice yellow one,” said Wilson, as he strained at the handle.
由于啤酒的酒兴消退得差不多了，大家都有点烦躁，各自也心知肚明，因此开了一路车都没吭声。不一会儿，特 ·杰 ·艾克尔布格医生暗淡的眼睛出现在路前方的时候，我突然想起盖茨比关于汽油不足的警告。
“我们有足够的汽油开到城里。”汤姆说。
“可是这里就有个加油站，”乔丹反驳道，“我可不想在这蒸笼似的热浪里抛锚。”
汤姆不耐烦地用上两个刹车，把车滑行到威尔逊的招牌下面戛然停下，卷起一股灰尘。过了一会儿，车行主人从店内冒出身来，两眼惺忪地看着我们的车。
“给我们加点油！”汤姆粗鲁地吆喝了一声，“你以为我们停这儿干吗……欣赏风景？”
“我病了，”威尔逊说，一动没动，“病了一天啦。”
“怎么了？”
“我快累趴下了。”
“那么，我自己来加油吗？”汤姆问，“你在电话里听上去还挺好嘛。”
威尔逊费力地走出阴凉和门道支撑的地方，气喘吁吁，拧开油箱盖子。他的脸在阳光下有点发青。
“我不是故意想在午餐期间打扰你，”他说。“可我急需钱用，想知道你准备如何处置你的旧车。”
“你喜欢这辆车吗？”汤姆问，“我上个星期刚买的。”
“这黄色车不错，”威尔逊边说边使劲地按着油泵。
“Like to buy it?”
“Big chance,” Wilson smiled faintly. “No, but I could make some money on the other.”
“What do you want money for, all of a sudden?”
“I’ve been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go west.”
“Your wife does!” exclaimed Tom, startled.
“She’s been talking about it for ten years.” He rested for a moment against the pump, shading his eyes. “And now she’s going whether she wants to or not. I’m going to get her away.”
The coupé flashed by us with a flurry of dust and the flash of a waving hand.
“What do I owe you?” demanded Tom harshly.
“I just got wised up to something funny the last two days,” remarked Wilson. “That’s why I want to get away. That’s why I been bothering you about the car.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Dollar twenty.”
The relentless beating heat was beginning to confuse me and I had a bad moment there before I realized that so far his suspicions hadn’t alighted on Tom. He had discovered that Myrtle had some sort of life apart from him in another world and the shock had made him physically sick. I stared at him and then at Tom, who had made a parallel discovery less than an hour before—and it occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the difference between the sick and the well. Wilson was so sick that he looked guilty, unforgivably guilty—as if he had just got some poor girl with child.
“想买吗？”
“哪能呢，”威尔逊淡然一笑，“不想，但我在另辆车上能赚点钱。”
“你要钱干吗，这么突然？”
“我在此地待得太久了，想离开。我老婆和我想去西部。”
“你老婆想去。”汤姆大吃一惊地叫道。
“她都说了快十年了。”他靠在加油机上歇了片刻，手搭在眼睛上遮着阳光，“现在她是一定会去了，不管她想不想去。我会让她离开这里。”
小跑车从我们旁边飞驰而过，只看见车后卷起的一股灰尘和一只挥舞的手。
“我该付多少钱？”汤姆恶狠狠地问道。
“我这两天刚发现一件蹊跷的事情，”威尔逊说，“这就是我要离开这里的原因，这就是我为什么为了那辆车来打搅你的原因。”
“该付多少钱？”
“一块两毛钱。”
热浪不降反升，愈来愈无情，折腾得我晕头转向，有一阵觉得相当不适。过了一会儿我才意识到威尔逊的疑心还没落到汤姆头上。他已发现茉特尔瞒着他在另一个世界里有她自己的生活，震惊之余就开始疾病缠身。我瞧瞧他，再看看汤姆，他自己也不过是在一个小时不到之前刚有了同样的发现——由此我领悟到，人们在智力和种族上的差异远远没有患病和健康之间的差异那么深远。威尔逊病得真不轻，以至于他看上去像犯了罪，犯了不可饶恕之罪，仿佛他刚把一个可怜姑娘的肚子搞大了。
“I’ll let you have that car,” said Tom. “I’ll send it over tomorrow afternoon.”
That locality was always vaguely disquieting, even in the broad glare of afternoon, and now I turned my head as though I had been warned of something behind. Over the ashheaps the giant eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg kept their vigil but I perceived, after a moment, that other eyes were regarding us with peculiar intensity from less than twenty feet away.
In one of the windows over the garage the curtains had been moved aside a little and Myrtle Wilson was peering down at the car. So engrossed was she that she had no consciousness of being observed and one emotion after another crept into her face like objects into a slowly developing picture. Her expression was curiously familiar—it was an expression I had often seen on women’s faces but on Myrtle Wilson’s face it seemed purposeless and inexplicable until I realized that her eyes, wide with jealous terror, were fixed not on Tom, but on Jordan Baker, whom she took to be his wife.
There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind, and as we drove away Tom was feeling the hot whips of panic. His wife and his mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviolate, were slipping precipitately from his control. Instinct made him step on the accelerator with the double purpose of overtaking Daisy and leaving Wilson behind, and we sped along toward Astoria at fifty miles an hour, until, among the spidery girders of the elevated, we came in sight of the easygoing blue coupé.
“Those big movies around Fiftieth Street are cool,” suggested Jordan. “I love New York on summer afternoons when every one’s away. There’s something very sensuous about it-overripe, as if all sorts of funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.”
“我会把那辆车卖给你，”汤姆说，“明天下午我就送来。”
途径那个地方，即使是在光天化日的下午，总会莫名其妙地令人不安。我转回头去，好像被人提醒要提防背后什么情况。灰堆上面，特 ·杰 ·艾克尔布格医生巨大的眼睛依然在那儿锲而不舍地守望着，但是我过一会儿发觉不到二十英尺之外另有一双眼睛在异常紧张地望着我们。
车行上面有扇窗里，窗帘已往一边挪开了一点缝隙，茉特尔 ·威尔逊正在朝下窥探着我们的车。她看得太入神，因而完全没意识到自己也在被人观察，表情一个接一个地显现在她的脸上，犹如物体一件件缓缓显现在尚在冲洗的照片上。说来也怪，她的表情司空见惯——我常在其他女人脸上看到相似的表情，但是在茉特 尔 ·威尔逊的脸上，这表情似乎漫无目的、令人费解，直到我意识到她两只充满妒火、惶恐的眼睛盯的不是汤姆，而是乔丹 ·贝克；她以为乔丹是汤姆的妻子。
世上没任何迷惑能与头脑简单人士的迷惑相提并论。我们的车驶离车行之后，汤姆吓得心急火燎。一小时之前，他还家有娇妻，外藏相好，双双稳妥，不可侵犯，可现在仓促之中就将跳出他的掌控。出于本能，他猛踩油门，以达到追上黛西和甩下威尔逊的双重目的。我们以每小时五十英里的车速朝阿斯托利亚急驶，直到我们在高架电车蜘蛛网似的钢架之间看见那辆悠闲前行的蓝色跑车。
“五十几街那边大电影院里凉快极了，”乔丹建议道，“我喜欢夏天午后的纽约，因为大家都走了。有一种情感浓烈的东西——熟透了，仿佛各式各样有趣的果实都会掉入你的掌中。”
The word “sensuous” had the effect of further disquieting Tom but before he could invent a protest the coupé came to a stop and Daisy signalled us to draw up alongside.
“Where are we going?” she cried.
“How about the movies?”
“It’s so hot,” she complained. “You go. We’ll ride around and meet you after.” With an effort her wit rose faintly, “We’ll meet you on some corner. I’ll be the man smoking two cigarettes.”
“We can’t argue about it here,” Tom said impatiently as a truck gave out a cursing whistle behind us. “You follow me to the south side of Central Park, in front of the Plaza.”
Several times he turned his head and looked back for their car, and if the traffic delayed them he slowed up until they came into sight. I think he was afraid they would dart down a side street and out of his life forever.
But they didn’t. And we all took the less explicable step of engaging the parlor of a suite in the Plaza Hotel.
The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herding us into that room eludes me, though I have a sharp physical memory that, in the course of it, my underwear kept climbing like a damp snake around my legs and intermittent beads of sweat raced cool across my back. The notion originated with Daisy’s suggestion that we hire five bathrooms and take cold baths, and then assumed more tangible form as “a place to have a mint julep.” Each of us said over and over that it was a “crazy idea”—we all talked at once to a baffled clerk and thought, or pretended to think, that we were being very funny...
“情感”一词产生了让汤姆更加心神不宁的效果，可是没等他想好怎么反驳，跑车已经停下，黛西示意让我们开上去并排停下。
“我们去哪儿？”她喊道。
“去看电影好吗？”
“太热了，”她抱怨道，“你们去，我们就兜兜风，过后再碰头。”脑子一转，她的俏皮劲好像又来了，“我们会在路口与你们汇合。到时我就是那个抽两支香烟的男人。”
“我们不能为此在这争论，”汤姆不耐烦地说，后面一名卡车司机已经按响了咒骂性的喇叭，“你们随我开到中央公园的南边广场饭店的前面。”
他几次回头看看他们的车，如果路上交通把他们落下了，他就减速，等他们进入视线。我想他深怕他们会飞速钻进一条小街，从他的生活里永远消失。
不过，他们没有。大家采取的是一个更加难以理解的步骤，即租用广场饭店一间套间的客厅。
等大家都被圈进客厅之后，那场持久并气势汹汹的争论才算结束，然而我弄不明白究竟为啥争论。我记忆犹新的是，争论过程中，我的内衣一个劲地像条湿淋淋的蛇顺腿往上爬，一阵阵的冷汗贴背而下。这主意出自黛西，她建议我们租用五个浴室，洗个冷水澡；然后她的建议衍生为一个更明确的主张，“租个地方喝杯冰凉的薄荷酒。”每个人都反复地说这是个“怪主意”——大家同时开腔，七嘴八舌地跟一个困惑的服务员说，还认为，或者假装认为，我们这样挺滑稽。
The room was large and stifling, and, though it was already four o’clock, opening the windows admitted only a gust of hot shrubbery from the Park. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, fixing her hair.
“It’s a swell suite,” whispered Jordan respectfully and every one laughed.
“Open another window,” commanded Daisy, without turning around.
“There aren’t any more.”
“Well, we’d better telephone for an axe—”
“The thing to do is to forget about the heat,” said Tom impatiently. “You make it ten times worse by crabbing about it.”
He unrolled the bottle of whiskey from the towel and put it on the table.
“Why not let her alone, old sport?” remarked Gatsby. “You’re the one that wanted to come to town.”
There was a moment of silence. The telephone book slipped from its nail and splashed to the floor, whereupon Jordan whispered“Excuse me”—but this time no one laughed.
“I’ll pick it up,” I offered.
“I’ve got it.” Gatsby examined the parted string, muttered“Hum!” in an interested way, and tossed the book on a chair.
“That’s a great expression of yours, isn’t it?” said Tom sharply.
“What is?”
“All this ‘old sport’ business. Where’d you pick that up?”
“Now see here, Tom,” said Daisy, turning around from the mirror, “if you’re going to make personal remarks I won’t stay here a minute. Call up and order some ice for the mint julep.”
房间宽大，可是闷热。虽然已是午后四点，窗户一开就从公园里的灌木丛刮来一股热风。黛西走到镜子跟前，背朝我们站着，梳理她的头发。
“这套间很高档。”乔丹恭敬地低声说，大家都笑了起来。
“再开一扇窗。”黛西命令道，没回头。
“没窗可开了。”
“呃，那我们得打电话要把斧子来……”
“该做的是把热忘掉，”汤姆又不耐烦地说，“你唠叨反而热得十倍的难受。”
他把毛巾卷散开，拿出威士忌酒瓶放在桌上。
“何不放她一马，老兄？”盖茨比说，“是你要到城里来的。”
接着，一阵沉默。墙上的电话簿从钉子上脱落，砰的一声摔在地板上。乔丹立即轻声说，“对不起”——这次没人笑。
“我来捡。”我自告奋勇地说。
“我捡了。”盖茨比查看了断开的绳子，像对它有兴趣似的发了一声“哼”，把它扔在一把椅子上。
“那是你得意的口头禅，是吗？”汤姆尖锐地说。
“哪一句？”
“就是你开口闭口挂在嘴边的‘老兄’。你从哪儿捡来的？”
“嗨，听着，汤姆，”黛西说着便从镜子前转回身来，“你如果开始说人身攻击的话，我一刻都不会在这待着。拨电话，要点冰调薄荷酒。”
As Tom took up the receiver the compressed heat exploded into sound and we were listening to the portentous chords of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March from the ballroom below.
“Imagine marrying anybody in this heat!” cried Jordan dismally.
“Still—I was married in the middle of June,” Daisy remembered,“Louisville in June! Somebody fainted. Who was it fainted, Tom?”
“Biloxi,” he answered shortly.
“A man named Biloxi. ‘Blocks’ Biloxi, and he made boxes—that’s a fact—and he was from Biloxi, Tennessee.”
“They carried him into my house,” appended Jordan, “because we lived just two doors from the church. And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy told him he had to get out. The day after he left Daddy died.” After a moment she added as if she might have sounded irreverent, “There wasn’t any connection.”
“I used to know a Bill Biloxi from Memphis,” I remarked.
“That was his cousin. I knew his whole family history before he left. He gave me an aluminum putter that I use today.”
The music had died down as the ceremony began and now a long cheer floated in at the window, followed by intermittent cries of“Yea—ea—ea!” and finally by a burst of jazz as the dancing began.
“We’re getting old,” said Daisy. “If we were young we’d rise and dance.”
“Remember Biloxi,” Jordan warned her. “Where’d you know him, Tom?”
“Biloxi?” He concentrated with an effort. “I didn’t know him. He was a friend of Daisy’s.”
汤姆拿起电话，紧紧压缩着的热气爆发出声音来，我们听到楼下舞厅里传来门德尔松的《婚礼进行曲》令人震撼的和弦声。
“想象一下在这大热天和人结婚！”乔丹郁郁不乐地说。
“还是有的——我就是六月中旬结的婚，”黛西回忆道，“六月的路易维尔！有人晕倒了。晕倒的是谁，汤姆？”
“毕洛克希。”他扼要地答道。
“一个名叫毕洛克希的人。外号是‘方块’毕洛克希，他是做盒子的——那是真的——他是密西西比州毕洛克希人。”
“他们把他抬进我家，”乔丹补充说，“因为我家离教堂只有两户人家的距离。他一住就是三周，直到我爸让他走人。他走后第二天，我爸就去世了。”过了一会儿她怕自己听上去有点语无伦次，又加了一句话，“这两件事毫不相干。”
“我曾经认识一个来自孟菲斯的比尔 ·毕洛克希。”我说。
“那是他的表哥。他走之前，我就知道他家的全部历史。他送我一根高尔夫球的铝推杆，我现在还用呢。”
音乐声停了，婚礼仪式开始，从窗户飘来一阵长长的欢呼，接着是有间隙的“好啊……好……好！”的叫声，最后爆出爵士乐声，开始跳舞。
“我们老喽，”黛西说，“如果我们还年轻，我们就会翩翩起舞的。”
“别忘了毕洛克希，”乔丹警告她，“你在哪认识他的，汤姆？”
“毕洛克希？”他用心想了想，“我不认识他。他是黛西的朋友。”
“He was not,” she denied. “I’d never seen him before. He came down in the private car.”
“Well, he said he knew you. He said he was raised in Louisville. Asa Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room for him.”
Jordan smiled.
“He was probably bumming his way home. He told me he was president of your class at Yale.”
Tom and I looked at each other blankly.
“Bil Oxi?”
“First place, we didn’t have any president—”
Gatsby’s foot beat a short, restless tattoo and Tom eyed him suddenly.
“By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you’re an Oxford man.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh, yes, I understand you went to Oxford.”
“Yes—I went there.”
A pause. Then Tom’s voice, incredulous and insulting:
“You must have gone there about the time Biloxi went to New Haven.”
Another pause. A waiter knocked and came in with crushed mint and ice but the silence was unbroken by his “Thank you” and the soft closing of the door. This tremendous detail was to be cleared up at last.
“I told you I went there,” said Gatsby.
“I heard you, but I’d like to know when.”
“It was in nineteen-nineteen, I only stayed five months. That’s why I can’t really call myself an Oxford man.”
“他可不是，”她否认道，“在那之前，我从未见过他。他是坐私家车来的。”
“嗯，他说他认识你。他还说他是在路易维尔长大的。爱莎 ·伯德在最后一刻把他带来，问我们是否有位置让他也来。”
乔丹在微笑。
“他大概是在设法沿途搭车回家。他告诉我，他是你在耶鲁那一届的班长。”
汤姆和我对视了一下，茫然不解。
“毕洛克希？”
“首先，我们没什么班长……”
盖茨比一只脚短促不停地敲着地板，汤姆突然瞧了他一眼。
“对了，盖茨比先生，我听说你是牛津毕业的。”
“不全对。”
“呃，我听说你去牛津上过学。”
“对……我去过。”
停顿片刻，汤姆又开了口，声音里充满了怀疑和侮辱的意味。
“你一定是在毕洛克希去纽黑文的时候去牛津的吧。”
又是一刻的停顿。一名侍者敲门送进来碾碎的薄荷叶和冰块，但是他那句“谢谢”和轻轻的关门声仍旧没能打破沉默。这个至关重要的细节终于要揭晓了。
“我跟你说了，我去过牛津。”盖茨比说。
“我听见了，我只是想知道是什么时候。”
“是一九一九年。我只在那儿待了五个月。这就是为什么我不能自称是牛津毕业的原因。”
Tom glanced around to see if we mirrored his unbelief. But we were all looking at Gatsby.
“It was an opportunity they gave to some of the officers after the Armistice,” he continued. “We could go to any of the universities in England or France.”
I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. I had one of those renewals of complete faith in him that I’d experienced before.
Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table.
“Open the whiskey, Tom,” she ordered. “And I’ll make you a mint julep. Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself... Look at the mint!”
“Wait a minute,” snapped Tom, “I want to ask Mr. Gatsby one more question.”
“Go on,” Gatsby said politely.
“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?”
They were out in the open at last and Gatsby was content.
“He isn’t causing a row.” Daisy looked desperately from one to the other. “You’re causing a row. Please have a little self control.”
“Self control!” repeated Tom incredulously. “I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife. Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out... Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions and next they’ll throw everything overboard and have intermarriage between black and white.”
Flushed with his impassioned gibberish he saw himself standing alone on the last barrier of civilization.
“We’re all white here,” murmured Jordan.
汤姆看了大家一眼，想看看我们是否也是狐疑满面，但是大家都在看着盖茨比。
“停战后，他们给了部分军官一次机会，”他继续说，“我们可以去任何英国或法国大学求学。”
我忍不住想起身拍拍他的后背。我再次重拾之前对他的完全信任。
黛西站起来，微笑着，走到桌前。
“把威士忌瓶打开，汤姆，”她命令道，“我来给你弄杯薄荷酒。喝了你就不会觉得自己如此愚蠢了……瞧这薄荷叶！”
“且慢，”汤姆凶狠地打断，“我再问盖茨比先生一个问题。”
“问吧。”盖茨比礼貌地说。
“你究竟想在我家里制造什么样的纠纷？”
他俩总算公开交锋了，这倒正中盖茨比的下怀。
“他没制造纠纷，”黛西从一个看到另一个，急坏了，“你在制造纠纷。请你稍许自制一点。”
“自制！”汤姆诧异地重复着，“我看现在最时兴的就是无动于衷地让不知从哪儿冒出来的无名家伙跟你老婆做爱。唉，如果这算时髦，你可以把我除外……如今人们对家庭生活和家庭体制不屑一顾，再下去就会抛弃一切规矩，连黑人和白人都能通婚了。”
他的脸因为自己慷慨激昂的胡言乱语而涨得通红，他以为自己是文明壁垒的最后一名卫道士。
“我们这儿全是白人。”乔丹喃喃地说。
“I know I’m not very popular. I don’t give big parties. I suppose you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends—in the modern world.”
Angry as I was, as we all were, I was tempted to laugh whenever he opened his mouth. The transition from libertine to prig was so complete.
“I’ve got something to tell YOU, old sport,—” began Gatsby. But Daisy guessed at his intention.
“Please don’t!” she interrupted helplessly. “Please let’s all go home. Why don’t we all go home?”
“That’s a good idea.” I got up. “Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink.”
“I want to know what Mr. Gatsby has to tell me.”
“Your wife doesn’t love you,” said Gatsby. “She’s never loved you. She loves me.”
“You must be crazy!” exclaimed Tom automatically.
Gatsby sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement.
“She never loved you, do you hear?” he cried. “She only married you because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved any one except me!”
At this point Jordan and I tried to go but Tom and Gatsby insisted with competitive firmness that we remain—as though neither of them had anything to conceal and it would be a privilege to partake vicariously of their emotions.
“Sit down Daisy.” Tom’s voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal note. “What’s been going on? I want to hear all about it.”
“I told you what’s been going on,” said Gatsby. “Going on for five years-and you didn’t know.”
“我知道自己人缘不佳。我不举行大型聚会。我猜想你非得把家变成猪圈才能结交几个朋友——在这个摩登世界里。”
我怒不可遏，和大伙一样，不过每当他开口说话，我忍不住想笑。他从放荡浪子到虚伪君子的转变彻底完成。
“我有话得告诉你，老兄……”盖茨比开始说，但是黛西猜准了他的意图。
“请别说！”她无能为力地打断了他，“我们都回家吧。为什么都不回家呢？”
“这主意挺好，”我站起身来，“走吧，汤姆。没人想喝酒。”
“我想知道盖茨比先生要告诉我什么。”
“你夫人不爱你，”盖茨比说，“她从未爱过你。她爱我。”
“你肯定发疯了！”汤姆脱口叫道。
盖茨比跳起身来，情绪激昂。
“她从未爱过你，听见了吗？”他喊道，“她嫁给你只不过因为我当时穷，等我等不及了。那是一个极大的错误，但是她心里除我之外没爱过别人！”
这时乔丹和我想脱身而去，可是汤姆和盖茨比互不相让地非要我们留下——好像他俩都没什么不可告人的勾当，同时分享他们的情感也是一种殊荣。
“坐下，黛西，”汤姆试图用父亲的口吻说话，但显然没成功，“究竟是怎么一回事？我要听听整个经过。”
“我告诉过你了，”盖茨比说，“五年了……而你一无所知。”
Tom turned to Daisy sharply.
“You’ve been seeing this fellow for five years?”
“Not seeing,” said Gatsby. “No, we couldn’t meet. But both of us loved each other all that time, old sport, and you didn’t know. I used to laugh sometimes—” but there was no laughter in his eyes, “to think that you didn’t know.”
“Oh—that’s all.” Tom tapped his thick fingers together like a clergyman and leaned back in his chair.
“You’re crazy!” he exploded. “I can’t speak about what happened five years ago, because I didn’t know Daisy then—and I’ll be damned if I see how you got within a mile of her unless you brought the groceries to the back door. But all the rest of that’s a God Damned lie. Daisy loved me when she married me and she loves me now.”
“No,” said Gatsby, shaking his head.
“She does, though. The trouble is that sometimes she gets foolish ideas in her head and doesn’t know what she’s doing.” He nodded sagely. “And what’s more, I love Daisy too. Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I always come back, and in my heart I love her all the time.”
“You’re revolting,” said Daisy. She turned to me, and her voice, dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn:“Do you know why we left Chicago? I’m surprised that they didn’t treat you to the story of that little spree.”
Gatsby walked over and stood beside her.
“Daisy, that’s all over now,” he said earnestly. “It doesn’t matter any more. Just tell him the truth—that you never loved him—and
汤姆猛然转向黛西。
“你五年来一直在私会这家伙？”
“不是私会，”盖茨比说，“不，我们没法见。可是我俩一直彼此相爱，老兄，而你只是蒙在鼓里。我曾经偶然会笑——”他的眼神里毫无笑意，“笑你还蒙在鼓里。”
“哦，就这些。”汤姆像个牧师一样把他粗粗的手指合在一起轻敲着，仰靠在他的椅子里。
“你疯了！”他暴跳如雷地吼道，“我无法评断五年前发生的事，因为我那时还不认识黛西——我搞不懂你怎么会和她沾上边，除非是你送食品杂货到她家后门。除此之外，你说的都是他妈的扯淡。黛西与我结婚时爱我，现在仍然爱着我。”
“不对。”盖茨比摇着头说。
“可是，她还是爱我的。唯一的问题是她有时会胡思乱想，不知自己在干什么。”他像贤明绅士似的点点头，“另外，我也爱黛西。偶尔我会胡闹一阵，干些丢脸的事，但我总是回来。在我心里，我始终爱着她。”
“你真让人恶心，”黛西说。他转向我，嗓音低了一个音阶，让整个屋子充满了令人振奋的轻蔑：“你知道我们为什么离开芝加哥吗？我好惊奇，他们没跟你分享那次小胡闹的故事。”
盖茨比走过来站在她身旁。
“黛西，这一切都过去了，”他恳切地说，“无关紧要了。跟他说真话——你从未爱过他——这一切就销声匿迹了。”it’s all wiped out forever.”
She looked at him blindly. “Why,—how could I love him—possibly?”
“You never loved him.”
She hesitated. Her eyes fell on Jordan and me with a sort of appeal, as though she realized at last what she was doing—and as though she had never, all along, intended doing anything at all. But it was done now. It was too late.
“I never loved him,” she said, with perceptible reluctance.
“Not at Kapiolani?” demanded Tom suddenly.
“No.”
From the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating chords were drifting up on hot waves of air.
“Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your shoes dry?” There was a husky tenderness in his tone.“...Daisy?”
“Please don’t.” Her voice was cold, but the rancour was gone from it. She looked at Gatsby. “There, Jay,” she said—but her hand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet.
“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now—isn’t that enough? I can’t help what’s past.” She began to sob helplessly. “I did love him once—but I loved you too.”
Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed.
“You loved me TOO?” he repeated.
“Even that’s a lie,” said Tom savagely. “She didn’t know you were alive. Why,—there’re things between Daisy and me that you’ll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget.”
她茫然不解地看着他。“真是的……我怎么会爱他……可能吗？”
“你从未爱过他。”
她犹豫不决。她那乞求似的眼光落在乔丹和我身上，仿佛终于明白了她在干什么，也仿佛她从来没打算干点什么。然而，现在事已做了。太晚了。
“我从未爱过他。”她说，语气明显有点勉强。
“在卡皮欧拉尼时也没爱过？”汤姆忽然发问。
“没有。”
楼下舞厅里模糊而沉闷的和弦随着空气中的热流缓缓上升。
“就连那天为了不让你的鞋弄湿我把你从‘饮料钵’抱下来也没爱过我吗？”他的嗓音沙哑，带着一丝柔情。“黛西！”
“请别再说了。”她的声音冷峻，但是已无敌意。她看着盖茨比。“唉，杰伊，”她说……但她在点烟的手抖个不停。突然间，她把香烟和燃着的火柴扔到地毯上。
“唉，你的要求太过分了！”她朝着盖茨比叫道。“我现在还爱你——这还不够吗？往事如烟而过，我无法挽回。”她无奈地哭泣起来，“我一度爱过他……但我也爱过你。”
盖茨比的眼睛睁开后又闭上。
“你也爱过我？”他重复道。
“甚至这句话都是瞎话，”汤姆粗野地说。“她都不知道你是否还活着。嗨，黛西和我之间好多事你永远都不会知道，我俩也永远不会忘却。”
The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.
“I want to speak to Daisy alone,” he insisted. “She’s all excited now—”
“Even alone I can’t say I never loved Tom,” she admitted in a pitiful voice. “It wouldn’t be true.”
“Of course it wouldn’t,” agreed Tom.
She turned to her husband.
“As if it mattered to you,” she said.
“Of course it matters. I’m going to take better care of you from now on.”
“You don’t understand,” said Gatsby, with a touch of panic.“You’re not going to take care of her any more.”
“I’m not?” Tom opened his eyes wide and laughed. He could afford to control himself now. “Why’s that?”
“Daisy’s leaving you.”
“Nonsense.”
“I am, though,” she said with a visible effort.
“She’s not leaving me!” Tom’s words suddenly leaned down over Gatsby. “Certainly not for a common swindler who’d have to steal the ring he put on her finger.”
“I won’t stand this!” cried Daisy. “Oh, please let’s get out.”
“Who are you, anyhow?” broke out Tom. “You’re one of that bunch that hangs around with Meyer Wolfshiem—that much I happen to know. I’ve made a little investigation into your affairs—and I’ll carry it further tomorrow.”
“You can suit yourself about that, old sport.” said Gatsby steadily.
“I found out what your ‘drug stores’ were.” He turned to us and spoke rapidly. “He and this Wolfshiem bought up a lot of side-street drug stores here and in Chicago and sold grain alcohol over the counter. That’s one of his little stunts. I picked him for a bootlegger the first time I saw him and I wasn’t far wrong.”
这几句话好像直接咬了盖茨比几口。
“我想跟黛西单独谈谈，”他坚定地要求，“她现在过于激动……”
“即使单独谈，我也不能说我从未爱过汤姆，”她可怜地坦承道，“那样就不是说真话。”
“那当然不是真话。”汤姆应声附和。
她转向她的丈夫。
“听上去你好像挺在乎这句话。”她说。
“当然在乎。从今往后，我会更好地照顾你。”
“你还不明白，”盖茨比说，神情颇为紧张，“你没机会再照顾她了。”
“我没机会？”汤姆睁大眼睛，大笑一声。他现在自控不成问题了。“为什么？”
“黛西将离开你。”
“胡说八道。”
“但是，是真的。”她鼓足勇气说。
“她不会离开我！”汤姆突然对盖茨比大声呵斥，“她绝不会为了一个连给她手上戴的戒指都要去偷的普通骗子而离开我的。”
“这真让我受不了！”黛西叫道，“哦，我们出去吧。”
“你究竟是谁？”汤姆发火了，“你是跟着迈尔 ·沃尔夫谢姆的那帮狐朋狗友之一……我碰巧知道这点。我还把你的事调查了一番……我明天会继续调查。”
“那就请你自便，老兄。”盖茨比稳稳当当地说。
“我发现了你的‘药房’到底是怎么回事。”他转过来对我们匆匆地说。“他和他的沃尔夫谢姆在这和芝加哥买了许多偏僻街上的药房，神不知鬼不觉地卖酒。那只是他的小把戏之一。初次见面时我就猜出他是个私酒贩子，看来我的猜测没啥大偏差。”
“What about it?” said Gatsby politely. “I guess your friend Walter Chase wasn’t too proud to come in on it.”
“And you left him in the lurch, didn’t you? You let him go to jail for a month over in New Jersey. God! You ought to hear Walter on the subject of YOU.”
“He came to us dead broke. He was very glad to pick up some money, old sport.”
“Don’t you call me ‘old sport’!” cried Tom. Gatsby said nothing. “Walter could have you up on the betting laws too, but Wolfshiem scared him into shutting his mouth.”
That unfamiliar yet recognizable look was back again in Gatsby’s face.
“That drug store business was just small change,” continued Tom slowly, “but you’ve got something on now that Walter’s afraid to tell me about.”
I glanced at Daisy who was staring terrified between Gatsby and her husband and at Jordan who had begun to balance an invisible but absorbing object on the tip of her chin. Then I turned back to Gatsby—and was startled at his expression. He looked—and this is said in all contempt for the babbled slander of his garden—as if he had “killed a man”. For a moment the set of his face could be described in just that fantastic way.
It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy, denying everything, defending his name against accusations that had not been made. But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespairingly, toward that lost voice across the room.
“猜对了又怎么样？”盖茨比有理有节地说，“我想你的朋友，沃尔特 ·切斯，跟我们协作没觉得丢人啊。”
“你们丢弃了他，是不是？结果害得他在新泽西州蹲了一个月的监狱。天哪！你得听听沃尔特诅咒你的话。”
“他刚来找我们时，身无分文。发了点财后他挺高兴，老兄。”
“别叫我‘老兄’！”汤姆叫道。盖茨比一言不发。“沃尔特本来可以告你非法赌博一事，只是沃尔夫谢姆把他吓得闭上了嘴。”
那个不熟但认得出的表情又重现在盖茨比的脸上。
“药房的事只不过是雕虫小技，”汤姆慢慢地继续说，“但是你们现在又搞上了新花样，沃尔特不敢告诉我。”
我瞧了黛西一眼，见她失魂落魄地轮流注视着盖茨比、她丈夫和乔丹，这会儿乔丹已开始仰着头，力求让一件看不见但吸引人的东西在她下巴上保持平衡。接着，我回头望着盖茨比——他的表情令我吃惊。他看上去像刚“杀了个人”——我这话是出于彻底蔑视他家花园里的流言蜚语而说的。在那一瞬间，他的表情的确可以用那种奇异怪诞的说法来描绘。
这表情退隐之后，他开始激动地对黛西畅所欲言了，否认一切，甚至还为没人提起的罪责进行辩护。然而，他说得越多，黛西显得越疏远，因此他放弃了。下午的时光渐形渐远，只有那死梦还在奋斗着，试图触碰那不再摸得着的东西，朝着在屋子那边失去的声音郁郁寡欢地、尚未绝望地挣扎着。
The voice begged again to go.
“PLEASE, Tom! I can’t stand this any more.”
Her frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever courage she had had, were definitely gone.
“You two start on home, Daisy,” said Tom. “In Mr. Gatsby’s car.”
She looked at Tom, alarmed now, but he insisted with magnanimous scorn.
“Go on. He won’t annoy you. I think he realizes that his presumptuous little flirtation is over.”
They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made accidental, isolated, like ghosts even from our pity.
After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the unopened bottle of whiskey in the towel.
“Want any of this stuff ? Jordan?... Nick?”
I didn’t answer.
“Nick?” He asked again.
“What?”
“Want any?”
“No... I just remembered that today’s my birthday.”
I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous menacing road of a new decade.
It was seven o’clock when we got into the coupé with him and started for Long Island. Tom talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamor on the sidewalk or the tumult of the elevated overhead. Human sympathy has its limits and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind. Thirty-the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of enthusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.
那声音再次央求离开此地。
“求你啦，汤姆！我再也受不了。”
她那惊慌失措的眼神表明，不论她之前有过什么意图、多少勇气，现在肯定已经消失殆尽。
“你们俩先回家，黛西，”汤姆说，“坐盖茨比先生的车。”
她看看汤姆，惊恐万状，但是他带着一副坦荡的轻蔑姿态，坚持让他们先走。
“走吧。他不会烦你的。我想他已意识到他那放肆的调情小把戏已经结束了。”
他们走了，一言没发，瞬间消失，显得纯属意外，孤苦伶仃，像一对鬼影，甚至和我们的怜悯都隔绝了。
过了一会儿，汤姆站起来，把还没开过的威士忌酒瓶包进毛巾里。
“来点这个？乔丹？……尼克？”
我没回答。
“尼克？”他又问了一声。
“什么？”
“来一点？”
“不……我刚记起来今天是我生日。”
我年满三十了。我的面前展现了一条新的十年之路，神秘不祥，险恶环生。
我们跟他坐进跑车动身返回长岛时已是七点钟了。汤姆一路滔滔不绝，可谓眉飞色舞，笑声不停。可是对乔丹和我来说，他的声音就像人行道上奇怪的喧嚣或者头顶高架车道上的隆隆车声一样的疏远。人类的同情心是有限的，所以我们乐意让他们一切可悲的争论与身后的城市灯光一起渐渐远去。三十岁--一定又是十年孤独，能结交的单身汉逐渐减少，一腔热情逐渐淡薄，头发逐渐稀疏。不过，我身旁就是乔丹。与黛西不同，乔丹太聪敏老成，不会把早已忘却的梦想一岁又一岁地深藏于心。当我们经过黑黑的大桥时，她苍白无色的脸蛋懒洋洋地靠在我上衣的肩上，来自她手上的压力令人欣慰，顿时就把我源于三十而立的诚惶诚恐扫除得一干二净。
So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.
The young Greek, Michaelis, who ran the coffee joint beside the ashheaps was the principal witness at the inquest. He had slept through the heat until after five, when he strolled over to the garage and found George Wilson sick in his office—really sick, pale as his own pale hair and shaking all over. Michaelis advised him to go to bed but Wilson refused, saying that he’d miss a lot of business if he did. While his neighbor was trying to persuade him a violent racket broke out overhead.
“I’ve got my wife locked in up there,” explained Wilson calmly.“She’s going to stay there till the day after tomorrow and then we’re going to move away.”
Michaelis was astonished; they had been neighbors for four years and Wilson had never seemed faintly capable of such a statement. Generally he was one of these worn-out men: when he wasn’t working he sat on a chair in the doorway and stared at the people and the cars that passed along the road. When any one spoke to him he invariably laughed in an agreeable, colorless way. He was his wife’s man and not his own.
就这样，我们乘着渐渐凉快的暮色朝着死亡驶去。
年轻的希腊人，穆凯利斯，在灰堆旁边开着一家小咖啡馆，他是审讯时的主要证人。他那天顶着热气一觉睡到五点多，溜达到车行，发现威尔逊在他办公室里病了——真病了，脸色与他的白头发一样苍白，还浑身颤抖。穆凯利斯建议他上床休息，可是威尔逊不听，说如果他去休息就会丢失不少生意。这位邻居还在劝他，楼上却爆发出一阵大吵大闹。
“我把我老婆锁在楼上了，”威尔逊若无其事地解释说，“她将在那儿待到后天，然后我们就搬离此地。”
穆凯利斯大吃一惊；他们已做了四年邻居，威尔逊从来不像是能说出这句话的人。他平常就是一个整天筋疲力尽的人：不干活时，他就坐在门口的椅子上，望着路上过往的行人和车辆。有人跟他说话，他总是和气地、平淡地笑笑。他是围着老婆转的人，自己毫无主张。
So naturally Michaelis tried to find out what had happened, but Wilson wouldn’t say a word—instead he began to throw curious, suspicious glances at his visitor and ask him what he’d been doing at certain times on certain days. Just as the latter was getting uneasy some workmen came past the door bound for his restaurant and Michaelis took the opportunity to get away, intending to come back later. But he didn’t. He supposed he forgot to, that’s all. When he came outside again a little after seven he was reminded of the conversation because he heard Mrs. Wilson’s voice, loud and scolding, downstairs in the garage.
“Beat me!” he heard her cry. “Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward!”
A moment later she rushed out into the dusk, waving her hands and shouting; before he could move from his door the business was over.
The ‘death car’ as the newspapers called it, didn’t stop; it came out of the gathering darkness, wavered tragically for a moment and then disappeared around the next bend. Michaelis wasn’t even sure of its color—he told the first policeman that it was light green. The other car, the one going toward New York, came to rest a hundred yards beyond, and its driver hurried back to where Myrtle Wilson, her life violently extinguished, knelt in the road and mingled her thick, dark blood with the dust.
Michaelis and this man reached her first but when they had torn open her shirtwaist still damp with perspiration, they saw that her left breast was swinging loose like a flap and there was no need to listen for the heart beneath. The mouth was wide open and ripped at the corners as though she had choked a little in giving up the tremendous vitality she had stored so long.
很自然，穆凯利斯想搞清楚究竟发生了什么事，但是威尔逊一字不漏——相反，他开始好奇地、疑心地看着来访者，问他某天某段时间在干什么。正在穆凯利斯觉得不自在时，几个工人经过门口要去他的店，他乘机走开，打算等一会儿再来。可是他没再来。他想他把此事忘了，仅此而已。等他七点刚过再次出来，他才回忆起这番对话，因为他听到威尔逊太太在车行楼下大喊大骂。
“打我！”他听见她的叫声，“让你摔我，打我，你这个肮脏的小懦夫！”
过了一会，她冲出来在黄昏中奔着，边挥手边叫唤；没等他离开门口，就完事了。
报纸上所说的那辆“死亡之车”没停下。它从愈来愈深的暮色中出来，凄惨地迟疑了一刻，接着就在下一个转弯处消失了。穆凯利斯连该车的颜色都说不上来——他告诉第一个抵达现场的警察，是辆淡绿色的车。另有一辆开往纽约的车在一百码以外停下，司机跑回事故发生地，在那儿茉特尔 ·威尔逊的生命已被飞来横祸夺去。她还跪在路中央，黑黑的浓血已跟尘土混杂在一起。
穆凯利斯和跑回来的司机最先赶到她的身旁，可是他们一撕开她汗水淋淋的罩衫，就看见她左边的乳房像片什么东西一样松松地晃动着，因而没必要再寻听心脏跳动的声音。她的嘴大开着，嘴角被撕破，仿佛她在释放长久储存的旺盛生命力时稍微呛了一口。
We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still some distance away.
“Wreck!” said Tom. “That’s good. Wilson’ll have a little business at last.”
He slowed down, but still without any intention of stopping until, as we came nearer, the hushed intent faces of the people at the garage door made him automatically put on the brakes.
“We’ll take a look,” he said doubtfully, “ just a look.”
I became aware now of a hollow, wailing sound which issued incessantly from the garage, a sound which as we got out of the coupé and walked toward the door resolved itself into the words ‘Oh, my God!’ uttered over and over in a gasping moan.
“There’s some bad trouble here,” said Tom excitedly.
He reached up on tiptoes and peered over a circle of heads into the garage which was lit only by a yellow light in a swinging wire basket overhead. Then he made a harsh sound in his throat and with a violent thrusting movement of his powerful arms pushed his way through.
The circle closed up again with a running murmur of expostulation ; it was a minute before I could see anything at all. Then new arrivals disarranged the line and Jordan and I were pushed suddenly inside.
Myrtle Wilson’s body wrapped in a blanket and then in another blanket as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night lay on a work table by the wall and Tom, with his back to us, was bending over it, motionless. Next to him stood a motorcycle policeman taking down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I couldn’t find the source of the high, groaning words that echoed clamorously through the bare garage-then I saw Wilson standing on the raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth and holding to the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low voice and attempting from time to time to lay a hand on his shoulder, but Wilson neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly from the swinging light to the laden table by the wall and then jerk back to the light again and he gave out incessantly his high horrible call.
我们离出事地点还有段距离时就看见了三四辆车子和人群。
“撞车了！”汤姆说，“那好，威尔逊总算有点生意了。”
他减缓车速，但还是没准备停车，直到我们的车开近了，车行门口那些寂静、急切的面容才使他不知不觉地刹车停下。
“我们去看看，”他含糊其词地说，“就看一下。”
这时我听见一阵空洞哀号声不断地从车行传来。等我们下了跑车，走向门口时，那声音变成了“啊呀，我的上帝啊”几个字，在气喘吁吁的呻吟中不断地重复。
“这儿出了大麻烦了。”汤姆激动地说。
他踮起脚尖，从一圈人头上朝车行望去，里面只有一盏黄色的灯，装在头顶上摇来晃去的铁丝罩里。接着，他喉咙里狠狠地哼了一声，猛烈地用他粗壮的胳膊一推，挤进了人群。
围观的人群立即再次合拢，发出接连的低声谏言；起先几分钟我根本看不见什么。等新到的人打乱了圈子，乔丹和我忽然被推到了人群中间。
茉特尔 ·威尔逊的尸体被裹在毯子里，外面又包了一条，好像她在这炎热的晚上仍旧怕冷。尸体躺在墙边的工作台上，汤姆背对我们，低头看着她，纹丝不动。他旁边站着一名摩托车警察，在一本小簿子上记名字，汗流浃背，还在簿子里不断涂改。一开始，我没找到在空荡的车行里回响的大声呻吟的来源--后来我看见威尔逊站在他办公室加高的门槛上，前后摇晃，双手握紧着门框。有个人低声跟他说着话，不时试着将一只手搁在他的肩膀上，但是威尔逊既没听见也没看见。他的目光从那盏晃动不停的灯慢慢移到墙边停尸的工作台上，接着又甩回到黄灯上，同时不断地发出尖声、吓人的号叫：
“O, my Ga-od! O, my Ga-od! Oh, Ga-od! Oh, my Gaod!”
Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk and after staring around the garage with glazed eyes addressed a mumbled incoherent remark to the policeman.
“M-a-v—” the policeman was saying, “—o—”
“No,—r—” corrected the man, “M-a-v-r-o—”
“Listen to me!” muttered Tom fiercely.
“r—” said the policeman, “o—”
“g—”
“g—” He looked up as Tom’s broad hand fell sharply on his shoulder. “What you want, fella?”
“What happened—that’s what I want to know!”
“Auto hit her. Ins’antly killed.”
“Instantly killed,” repeated Tom, staring.
“She ran out ina road. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even stopus car.”
“There was two cars,” said Michaelis, “one comin’, one goin’, see?”
“哎哟，我的上……帝！哎哟，我的上……帝！哎哟，我的上……帝！哎哟，我的上……帝！”
这时候，汤姆蹭地一下甩起头来，用呆滞无神的眼睛环视了车行，对警察颠三倒四地说了一句。
“M- a—v……”警察边说边记下字母，“……o……”
“不对，是r……”那人纠正了一下，“M—a—v—r—o……”
“听我说！”汤姆恶狠狠地咕哝着。
“r……”警察仍在记着，“o……”
“g……”
“g……”警察见汤姆的大手重重地搭在他肩膀上，就抬头看着他，“你干什么，哥们？”
“出什么事了？……我就想知道一下。”
“车撞了她，当场送命。”
“当场送命。”汤姆重复道，目瞪口呆。
“她跑到路当中来。王八蛋车都没停。”
“有两辆车，”穆凯利斯说，“一辆来，一辆去，懂吗？”
“Going where?” asked the policeman keenly.
“One goin’ each way. Well, she—” His hand rose toward the blankets but stopped half way and fell to his side, “—she ran out there an’ the one comin’ from N’York knock right into her goin’ thirty or forty miles an hour.”
“What’s the name of this place here?” demanded the officer.
“Hasn’t got any name.”
A pale, well-dressed Negro stepped near.
“It was a yellow car,” he said, “big yellow car. New.”
“See the accident?” asked the policeman.
“No, but the car passed me down the road, going faster’n forty. Going fifty, sixty.”
“Come here and let’s have your name. Look out now. I want to get his name.”
Some words of this conversation must have reached Wilson swaying in the office door, for suddenly a new theme found voice among his gasping cries.
“You don’t have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind of car it was!”
Watching Tom I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten under his coat. He walked quickly over to Wilson and standing in front of him seized him firmly by the upper arms.
“You’ve got to pull yourself together,” he said with soothing gruffness.
Wilson’s eyes fell upon Tom; he started up on his tiptoes and then would have collapsed to his knees had not Tom held him upright.
“Listen,” said Tom, shaking him a little. “I just got here a minute ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupé we’ve been talking about. That yellow car I was driving this afternoon wasn’t mine, do you hear? I haven’t seen it all afternoon.”
“去哪儿？”警察敏锐地问道。
“各个方向一辆车。嗯，她呢，”他伸手指向那边的毯子，但伸到一半又放回身边，“她跑到路那边，从努……约[4]方向开来的车，时速在三十至四十英里，把她撞个正着。”
“此地叫什么？”警察质问。
“没地名。”
一位衣冠楚楚的淡肤色黑人凑上前来。
“那是一辆黄颜色汽车，”他说，“大型黄色车，崭新的。”
“目睹了事故发生了吗？”警察问。
“没有，但是那车在路上从我车旁经过，时速要高于四十英里，快达到五六十了。”
“过来，让我们记下你的名字。散开点，我要记下他的名字。”
这番对话中某些词语想必传到了仍在办公室门口摇晃的威尔逊耳朵里，因为他声嘶力竭的叫喊里瞬间就加了一个新题目：
“你不用告诉我那是辆什么样的车！我知道它是辆什么样的车！”
我注视着汤姆，只见他肩膀后面那块肌肉在他的上衣里紧缩起来。他急步朝威尔逊走去，站在他面前，紧紧抓住他的上臂。
“你得镇定下来。”他说，粗暴的声音夹带着安慰。
威尔逊的目光落在汤姆身上。他踮起脚尖，要不是汤姆扶直他，他就会趴下，跪倒在地上。
“听着，”汤姆说着，轻轻摇摇他，“我刚到这一会儿，从纽约来。我是送我们谈过的那辆跑车来的。我今天下午开的那辆黄颜色车不是我的……你听见了吗？我一下午都没见到它。”
Only the Negro and I were near enough to hear what he said but the policeman caught something in the tone and looked over with truculent eyes.
“What’s all that?” he demanded.
“I’m a friend of his.” Tom turned his head but kept his hands firm on Wilson’s body. “He says he knows the car that did it... It was a yellow car.”
Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Tom.
“And what color’s your car?”
“It’s a blue car, a coupé.”
“We’ve come straight from New York,” I said.
Some one who had been driving a little behind us confirmed this and the policeman turned away.
“Now, if you’ll let me have that name again correct—”
Picking up Wilson like a doll Tom carried him into the office, set him down in a chair and came back.
“If somebody’ll come here and sit with him!” he snapped authoritatively. He watched while the two men standing closest glanced at each other and went unwillingly into the room. Then Tom shut the door on them and came down the single step, his eyes avoiding the table. As he passed close to me he whispered ‘Let’s get out.’
Self consciously, with his authoritative arms breaking the way, we pushed through the still gathering crowd, passing a hurried doctor, case in hand, who had been sent for in wild hope half an hour ago.
只有那位黑人和我离得近，可以听见他说的话，可是那位警察觉得汤姆的声调有点蹊跷，气势汹汹地朝我们这看。
“都在说些什么？”他质问。
“我是他的朋友。”汤姆头转过来，但是双手还紧抓着威尔逊的身子，“他说他认识肇事的车子……是一辆黄颜色的车。”
出于某种隐隐约约的冲动，警察疑心地看看汤姆。
“那你的车是啥颜色？”
“蓝色车，一部跑车。”
“我们从纽约直接过来的。”我说。
有个在我们车后跟过一阵的人证实了这点，所以警察也就转过身去了。
“那好，你让我把名字再记准确了……”
汤姆把威尔逊像玩偶一样提起来，把他搬到办公室，放在一把椅子里之后，自己又回来。
“来个人陪他坐坐。”他命令似的大声嚷道。他看着面前的人，其中最靠近的两位男人对视了一下，不太情愿地走进屋子。然后，汤姆在他们身后关上门，走下那一级台阶，双眼避开那张桌子。经过我身边时，他低声说：“我们出去吧。”
我们都有点不自在，乘着汤姆用权威实足的胳膊在前开路，我们从还在拥挤的人群中推出一条道来，与一位手提医疗箱匆匆赶来的医生擦肩而过。他是半小时前有人抱着一丝希望去叫来的。
Tom drove slowly until we were beyond the bend—then his foot came down hard and the coupé raced along through the night. In a little while I heard a low husky sob and saw that the tears were overflowing down his face.
“The God Damn coward!” he whimpered. “He didn’t even stop his car.”
The Buchanans’ house floated suddenly toward us through the dark rustling trees. Tom stopped beside the porch and looked up at the second floor where two windows bloomed with light among the vines.
“Daisy’s home,” he said. As we got out of the car he glanced at me and frowned slightly.
“I ought to have dropped you in West Egg, Nick. There’s nothing we can do tonight.”
A change had come over him and he spoke gravely, and with decision. As we walked across the moonlight gravel to the porch he disposed of the situation in a few brisk phrases.
“I’ll telephone for a taxi to take you home, and while you’re waiting you and Jordan better go in the kitchen and have them get you some supper—if you want any.” He opened the door. “Come in.”
“No thanks. But I’d be glad if you’d order me the taxi. I’ll wait outside.”
Jordan put her hand on my arm.
“Won’t you come in, Nick?”
“No thanks.”
I was feeling a little sick and I wanted to be alone. But Jordan lingered for a moment more.
在拐过那道弯之前，汤姆把车开得很慢。过后，他就重踩油门，跑车在黑夜里飞跑起来。刚过一会儿，我就听到一声轻声的呜咽，只见他泪流满面。
“他妈的懦夫！”他呜咽着说，“他连车都没停。”
忽然间，布坎南家的房子透过黑黝黝、沙沙响的树木浮现在我们面前。汤姆把车停在门廊旁边，抬头看看二楼，有两扇窗户的灯光在蔓藤中闪闪发亮。
“黛西到家了。”他说。我们下车时，他扫了我一眼，微微皱了皱眉头。
“我该让你在西卵下车的， 尼克。今晚没事可干了。”
他如同变了一个人，说话严肃，富有主见。等我们走过洒满月光的石子路来到门廊时，他寥寥数语就摆平了这件事。
“我去打电话叫辆出租车送你回家，还有，等车的时候，你和乔丹最好去厨房让他们给你们做点晚饭——如果你们想吃的话。”他推开门，“进来吧。”
“不必了，谢谢。帮我叫辆出租车就行了，我在外面等。”
乔丹把手放在我胳膊上。
“你不进来吗，尼克？”
“不了，谢谢。”
我觉得有点难受，想独自待着，可是乔丹还是逗留了片刻。
“It’s only half past nine,” she said.
I’d be damned if I’d go in; I’d had enough of all of them for one day and suddenly that included Jordan too. She must have seen something of this in my expression for she turned abruptly away and ran up the porch steps into the house. I sat down for a few minutes with my head in my hands, until I heard the phone taken up inside and the butler’s voice calling a taxi. Then I walked slowly down the drive away from the house intending to wait by the gate.
I hadn’t gone twenty yards when I heard my name and Gatsby stepped from between two bushes into the path. I must have felt pretty weird by that time because I could think of nothing except the luminosity of his pink suit under the moon.
“What are you doing?” I inquired.
“Just standing here, old sport.”
Somehow, that seemed a despicable occupation. For all I knew he was going to rob the house in a moment; I wouldn’t have been surprised to see sinister faces, the faces of “Wolfshiem’s people”, behind him in the dark shrubbery.
“Did you see any trouble on the road?” he asked after a minute.
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“Was she killed?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so; I told Daisy I thought so. It’s better that the shock should all come at once. She stood it pretty well.”
He spoke as if Daisy’s reaction was the only thing that mattered.
“I got to West Egg by a side road,” he went on, “and left the car in my garage. I don’t think anybody saw us but of course I can’t be sure.”
“才九点半。”她说。
我要是再进去就真成混蛋了；在这一天的光景里，他们这帮人简直让我受够了。我突然意识到这其中也包括乔丹，她肯定在我说话的表情里看出一点我的情绪，否则她不会匆忙转身，跑上台阶，进了屋子。我坐了几分钟，双手捧着头，直到听见屋里有人拿起电话和管家叫出租车的声音。然后，我离开屋子，顺着车道慢悠悠地走到前面，想在大门那儿等车。
还没走出二十码开外，我听见有人叫我名字，紧接着盖茨比从两个灌木丛中一跃来到路上。我当时肯定有点神情恍惚，因为事后除了他那套在月光下发亮的粉红色西装，我什么都想不起来。
“你干什么？”我问他。
“就在这站站，老兄。”
不知何故，那简直就像一种可耻的行径。我还以为他一时片刻就会进屋抢劫去。如果在他身后黑压压的灌木丛中看到邪恶的面孔，那些“沃尔夫谢姆的人”的面孔，我大概都不会感到惊奇的。
“你在路上看见出事了吗？”他过了一会儿问道。
“看见了。”
他犹豫了片刻。
“她被撞死了吗？”
“死了。”
“我料到了。我跟黛西说了，我料定她被撞死了。受惊的事一起来反而好，她听后很坦然。”
他这话说起来好像黛西出事后的反应才是至关重要的。
“我是从一条小路开回西卵的，”他继续说，“把车停在我车库里。我想没人看见我们，但是我当然无法肯定。”
I disliked him so much by this time that I didn’t find it necessary to tell him he was wrong.
“Who was the woman?” he inquired.
“Her name was Wilson. Her husband owns the garage. How the devil did it happen?”
“Well, I tried to swing the wheel—” He broke off, and suddenly I guessed at the truth.
“Was Daisy driving?”
“Yes,” he said after a moment, “but of course I’ll say I was. You see, when we left New York she was very nervous and she thought it would steady her to drive—and this woman rushed out at us just as we were passing a car coming the other way. It all happened in a minute but it seemed to me that she wanted to speak to us, thought we were somebody she knew. Well, first Daisy turned away from the woman toward the other car, and then she lost her nerve and turned back. The second my hand reached the wheel I felt the shock—it must have killed her instantly.”
“It ripped her open—”
“Don’t tell me, old sport.” He winced. “Anyhow—Daisy stepped on it. I tried to make her stop, but she couldn’t so I pulled on the emergency brake. Then she fell over into my lap and I drove on.
“She’ll be all right tomorrow,” he said presently. “I’m just going to wait here and see if he tries to bother her about that unpleasantness this afternoon. She’s locked herself into her room and if he tries any brutality she’s going to turn the light out and on again.”
听到此话我已经对他极其厌恶，都觉得没必要再申明他错了。
“那女的是谁？”他问道。
“她叫威尔逊，丈夫是那车行老板。事故究竟怎么发生的？”
“呃，我试图把方向盘扳过来……”他急忙打住，而我一下子就猜到了事故的真相。
“是黛西在开车吗？”
“是的，”他等了片刻才答道，“当然，我会说是我开的车。是这么回事，我们离开纽约时，她非常紧张不安。她想开开车也许能稳定她的情绪……正在我们与对面方向驶来的一辆车交会时，这女人直朝着我们冲过来。一切都在不到一分钟之内发生了，可是我似乎觉得她想跟我们说句话，把我们当成了她认识的人。呃，黛西先是避开那女的，将车转向迎面过来的车，接着她吓坏了，又把车转了回去。我的手一搭上方向盘就感到了震动——肯定把她当场撞死了。”
“把她胸口撕开了……”
“别说了，老兄。”他痛苦地皱起眉头，“不管怎样……黛西踩上油门，我强行要她停车，可她停不住，我只好拉上紧急制动闸。此后，她就晕倒在我腿上，我接着开车。”
“她明天就会好的，”他接着说，“我就在这等一会，看看他是否会为了下午那场不快的争执为难她。她把自己锁在卧室里了，如果他跟她撒野，她就发出关灯、熄灯的信号。”
“He won’t touch her,” I said. “He’s not thinking about her.”
“I don’t trust him, old sport.”
“How long are you going to wait?”
“All night if necessary. Anyhow till they all go to bed.”
A new point of view occurred to me. Suppose Tom found out that Daisy had been driving. He might think he saw a connection in it—he might think anything. I looked at the house: there were two or three bright windows downstairs and the pink glow from Daisy’s room on the second floor.
“You wait here,” I said. “I’ll see if there’s any sign of a commotion.”
I walked back along the border of the lawn, traversed the gravel softly and tiptoed up the veranda steps. The drawing-room curtains were open, and I saw that the room was empty. Crossing the porch where we had dined that June night three months before I came to a small rectangle of light which I guessed was the pantry window. The blind was drawn but I found a rift at the sill.
Daisy and Tom were sitting opposite each other at the kitchen table with a plate of cold fried chicken between them and two bottles of ale. He was talking intently across the table at her and in his earnestness his hand had fallen upon and covered her own. Once in a while she looked up at him and nodded in agreement.
They weren’t happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the ale—and yet they weren’t unhappy either. There was an unmistakable air of natural intimacy about the picture and anybody would have said that they were conspiring together.
As I tiptoed from the porch I heard my taxi feeling its way along the dark road toward the house. Gatsby was waiting where I had left him in the drive.
“他不会碰她的，”我说，“他现在不是在想她。”
“我不信任他，老兄。”
“你要等多久？”
“通宵，如有必要。无论如何，等到他们都睡下。”
我突发奇想，假如汤姆知道是黛西开的车，他或许会认为事故的发生并非偶然——他或许还会有其他疑心。我看了看他们家房子，楼下有两三扇明亮的窗户，二楼黛西的房间露出粉红色的光线。
“你等在这儿，”我说，“我去看看有没有吵闹的动静。”
我沿着草坪边缘往回走，轻轻跨过石子车道，踮起脚尖上了游廊台阶。客厅的窗帘都开着，里面空无一人。穿过我们三个月前那个六月的夜晚曾共进晚餐的阳台，我来到一小片长方形的灯光跟前，我猜是食品间的窗户。遮帘已经拉下，但是我发现窗沿下有条缝隙。
黛西和汤姆对坐在厨房桌子的两边，中间放着一盘冷炸鸡和两瓶啤酒。他隔着桌子认认真真地跟她说话，热切的话语之间他的手落在她的手上，捂住她的手。她不时抬头望着他，点头表示赞同。
他们并不快乐，谁也没碰过炸鸡或啤酒——不过也不能说他们不高兴。这情景洋溢着一股毋庸置疑、自然平常的亲密气氛，任何人看到以后都会说他们正在一起出谋划策。
就在我踮着脚尖走下阳台时，我听见我的出租车慢吞吞地顺着阴暗的小道朝屋子开来。盖茨比还在与我分手的车道那儿等着。
“Is it all quiet up there?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes, it’s all quiet.” I hesitated. “You’d better come home and get some sleep.”
He shook his head.
“I want to wait here till Daisy goes to bed. Good night, old sport.”
He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his scrutiny of the house, as though my presence marred the sacredness of the vigil. So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight—watching over nothing.
“上面平安无事吗？”他急切地问道。
“是的，平安无事。”我迟疑片刻，“你最好回家睡上一觉。”
他摇摇头。
“我想在这儿等黛西睡下再走。晚安，老兄。”
他把手伸进上衣口袋里，眼巴巴地端详着那座房子，似乎我在场会有损他那守望的神圣性。因此，我走开了，留他站在月光下——空守着。
[1] 出自第一世纪古罗马作家皮特罗尼斯作品《讽刺篇》的人物，也是一位通过奋斗获得财富和权力的暴发户；作者曾用该人物的名字作为小说初稿的书名。
[2] 作者用词“body”通常指的是“身体”或“尸体”，但该词也有“车身”的意思，因此它带有双关之意。
[3] 作者指的是黛西的女儿，也暗指盖茨比一生的梦想因为她的存在而变得更为渺茫。
[4] 作者指的是纽约，特意突出希腊人说英语的口音。