August 24, 2024 • 29 mins
Nick arranges Gatsby and Daisy’s reunion. Gatsby, initially nervous, impresses Daisy with his wealth, showing her his lavish mansion. The two reconnect emotionally, and Gatsby believes their love can be rekindled. This chapter underscores Gatsby’s idealistic dream and his attempt to recreate the past. Summary by Dream AudioBooks
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Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter five of The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
When I came home to West Egg that night, I
was afraid for a moment that my house was on fire.
Two o'clock and the whole corner of the peninsula was
blazing with light which fell unreal on the shrubbery and
made thin, elongating glints upon the roadside wires. Turning a corner,
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I saw that it was Gatsby's house, lit from tower
to cellar. At first I thought it was another party,
a wild rout that had resolved itself into hide and
go seek or sardines in the box, with all the
house thrown open to the game. But there wasn't a sound,
only wind in the trees, which blew the wires and
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made the lights go off and on again, as if
the house had winked into the darkness. As my taxi
groaned away, I saw Gatsby walking toward me across his lawn.
Your place looks like the World's fair, I said, does it.
He turned his eyes toward it absently. I have been
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glancing into some of the rooms. Let's go to Coney Island,
Old Sport in my car. It's too late, well, suppose
we take a plunge in the swimming pool. I haven't
made use of it all summer. I've got to go
to bed, all right, he waited, looking at me with
suppressed eagerness. I talked with miss Baker, I said, after
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a moment, I'm going to call up Daisy tomorrow and
invite her over here to tea. Oh that's all right,
he said, carelessly. I don't want to put you to
any trouble. What day would suit you? What day would
suit you? He corrected me quickly. I don't want to
put you to any trouble. You see, how about the
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day after tomorrow? He considered for a moment, then with reluctance,
I want to get the grass cut, he said. We
both looked at the grass. There was a sharp line
where my ragged lawn ended and the darker, well kept
expanse of his began. I suspected that he meant my grass.
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There's another little thing, he said, uncertainly and hesitated. Would
you rather put it off for a few days? I asked, Oh,
it isn't about that at least. He fumbled with a
series of beginnings. Why, I thought, Why look here, old Sport,
you don't make much money? Do you not very much?
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This seemed to reassure him, and he continued more confidently.
I thought, if you didn't, if you'll pardon my You see,
I carry on a little business on the side, a
sort of side line, you understand, And I thought that
if you don't make very much, you're selling bonds, aren't you?
Old sport trying to well? This would interest you. It
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wouldn't take up much of your time, and you might
pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to
be a rather confidential sort of thing. I realize now
that under different circumstances that conversation might have been one
of the crises of my life. But because the offer
was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered,
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I had no choice except to cut him off. There.
I've got my hands full, I said, I'm much obliged,
but I couldn't take on any more work. You wouldn't
have to do any business with volsheim. Evidently he thought
I was shying away from the connection mentioned at lunch,
but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a
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moment longer, hoping I'd begin a conversation, but I was
too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillingly home.
The evening had made me light headed and happy. I
think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered
my front door. So I didn't know whether or not
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Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours
he glanced into rooms while his house blazed gaudily on.
I called up Daisy from the office next morning and
invited her to come to tea. Don't bring Tom, I
warned her, what don't bring Tom? Who is Tom? She
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asked innocently. The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At
eleven o'clock, a man in a raincoat dragging a lawnmower
tapped at my front door and said that mister Gatsby
had sent him over to cut my grass. This reminded
me that I had forgotten to tell my Finn to
come back, so I drove into West Egg Village to
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search for her among sort uggy, whitewashed alleys, and to
buy some cups and lemons and flowers. The flowers were unnecessary,
for at two o'clock a green house arrived from Gatsby's
with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later, the
front door opened nervously, and Gatsby, in a white flannel suit,
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silver shirt, and gold colored tie, hurried in. He was pale,
and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes.
Is everything all right, he asked immediately. The grass looks fine,
if that's what you mean. What grass? He inquired blankly, Oh,
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the grass in the yard. He looked out the window
at it, but judging from his expression, I don't 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 tea?
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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 they're fine, and he added hollowly,
old Sport. The rain cooled about half past three to
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a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew.
Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay's Economics,
starting at the finished 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
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in an uncertain voice that he was going home. Why
is 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
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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
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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.
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Before any words came through. A damp streak of hair
lay like a dash of 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
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secret of castle Rackrant. Tell your chauffeur to go far
away and spend an hour. Come back in an hour, Ferdy, then,
in a grave murmur, his name is Ferdy. Does the
gasoline affect his nose? I don't think so, she said, innocently.
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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,
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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 wasn't a bit funny.
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Aware of the loud beating of my own heart, I
pulled the door to against the increasing rain. For half
a minute, there wasn't a sound. Then from the living
room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part
of a laugh, followed by Daisy's voice on a clear
artificial note. I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.
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A pause. It endured horribly. I had nothing to do
in the hall, so I went into the room. Gatsby,
his hand 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
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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.
We've met before, muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me,
and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily,
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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. I'm sorry
about the clock, he said, My own face had now
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assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn't muster up a
single commonplace out of the thousand in my head. It's
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 haven't met for many years,
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said Daisy, her voice as matter of fact as it
could ever be. Five years next November. The automatic quality
of Gatsby's answer set us all back at least another minute.
I had them both on their feet with a desperate
suggestion that they helped me make tea in the kitchen.
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When the demonaic fin 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,
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as calmness wasn't an end in itself, I made an
excuse at the first possible moment and got to my feet.
Where are you going, demanded gaspy, in immediate alarm. I'll
be back. I've got to speak to you about something
before you go. He followed me wildly into the kitchen,
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closed the door, and whispered, oh God, in a miserable way.
What's the matter. This is a terrible mistake, he said,
shaking his head from side to side, A terrible, terrible mistake.
You're just embarrassed, that's all. And luckily, I added, Daisy's
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embarrassed too. She's embarrassed, he repeated, incredulously, just as much
as you are. Don't talk so loud. You're acting like
a little boy, I broke out, impatiently. Not only that,
but you're rude Daisy sitting in there all alone. He
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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 masked leaves made
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a fabric against the rain. Once more, it was pouring,
and my irregular lawn, well shaved by Gatsby's gardener, abounded
in small muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing
to look at from under the tree except Gatsby's enormous house.
So I stared at it like Kant at his church steeple,
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for half an hour. A brewer had built it early
in the period Craze, a decade before, and there was
a story that he'd agreed to pay five years taxes
on all the neighboring 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
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went into an immediate decline. His children sold his house
with the black wreath still on the door. Americans, while
occasionally willing to be serfs, have always been obstinate about
being peasantry. After half an hour, the sun shone again,
and the grocer's automobile rounded Gatsby's drive with the raw
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material for his servant's dinner. I felt sure he wouldn't
eat a spoonful a maid began opening the upper windows
of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and leaning from
a large central bay, spat meditatively into the garden. It
was time I went back, while the rain continued. It
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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 don't believe they heard a sound.
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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. Daisy's 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,
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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 hadn't
seen me for years. I thought for a moment he
was going to shake cans. It's stopped raining, has it?
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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 it's stopped raining. I'm glad, Jane, her throat
full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.
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I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,
he said, I'd like to show her around. You're 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
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the lawn. My house looks well, doesn't 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, over every arched door and square tower. It
took me just three years to earn the money that
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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,
that's my affair, before he realized that it wasn't the
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appropriate reply. Oh, I've been in several things, he corrected himself.
I was in the drug business, and then I was
in the oil business. But I'm not in either one now.
He looked at me with more attention. Do you mean
you've been thinking over what I proposed the other night?
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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,
do you like it? I love it, but I don't
see how you live there all alone. I keep it
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always full of interesting people night and day, people who
do interesting things, celebrated people. Instead of taking the short
cut along the sound, we went down the road and
entered by the big postern with enchanting murmurs. Daisy admired
this aspect, or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky.
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Admired the gardens, the sparkling odor of jonquills, and the
frothy odor of hawthorn and plum blossoms, and the pale
gold odor of kiss me at the gate. It was
strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir
of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear
no sound but bird voices in the trees and inside.
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As we wandered through Marie antoinette music rooms and restoration salons,
I felt that there were guests concealed behind every couch
and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we
had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of the
Merton College Library, I could have sworn I heard the
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owl eyed man break into ghostly laughter. We went upstairs,
through period bedrooms swathed in rows and lavender silk and
vivid with new flowers, through dressing rooms and pool rooms,
and bathrooms with sunken baths, intruding into one chamber where
a disheveled man in pajamas was doing liver exercises on
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the floor. It was mister Clipspringer, the boarder. I had
seen him wandering hungrily about the beach that morning. Finally
we came to Gatsby's own apartment, a bedroom and a bath,
and an atom's steady, where we sat down and drank
a glass of some chartruse he took from a cupboard
in the wall. He hadn't once ceased looking at Daisy,
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and I think he revalued everything in his house according
to the measure of response it drew from her well
loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he stared around at his possessions
in a dazed way, as though in her actual and
astounding presence none of it was any longer real. Once
he nearly toppled down a flight of stairs, his bedroom
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was the simplest room of all, except where the dresser
was garnished with a toilet set of pure, dull gold.
Daisy took the brush with delight and smoothed her hair,
whereupon Gatsby sat down and shaded his eyes and began
to laugh. It's the funniest thing old sport, he said, hilariously.
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I can't when I try to. He had passed visibly
through two states and was entering upon a third. After
his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy, he was consumed with
wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea,
so long dreamed it right through to the end weighted,
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with his teeth set so to speak, at an inconceivable
pitch of intensity. Now in the reaction he was running
down like an overwhound clock, recovering himself in a minute.
He opened for us two hulking patent cabinets which held
his massed suits and dressing gowns and ties, and his
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shirts piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high. I've
got a man in England who buys me clothes. He
sends over a selection of things at the beginning of
each season, spring and fall. He took out a pile
of shirts and began throwing them one by one before us,
shirts of sheer linen and thin silk and fine flannel,
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which lost their folds as they fell, and covered the
table in many colored disarray. While we admired, he brought more,
and the soft, rich heap mounted higher, shirts with stripes
and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple green and
lavender and faint orange, and monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly,
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with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the
shirts and began to cry stormily. They're such beautiful shirts.
She sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. It
makes me sad, because I've never seen such such beautiful
shirts before. After the house, we were to see the
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grounds and the swimming pool, and the hydroplane, and the
midsummer flowers. But outside Gatsby's window it began to rain again.
So we stood in a row looking at the corrugated
surface of the sound. If it wasn't for the mist,
we could see your home across the bay, said Gatsby.
You always have a green light that burns all night
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at the end of your dock. Daisy put her arm
through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what he
had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that
the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever.
Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy,
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it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her.
It had seemed as close as a star to the moon.
Now it was again a green light on a dock.
His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one. I
began to walk about the room, examining various indefinite objects
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in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly
man in yachting costume attracted me. Hung on the wall
over his desk. Who's this that that's mister Dan Cody
old Sport. The name sounded faintly familiar. He's dead now.
He used to be my best friend years ago. There
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was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume,
on the bureau, Gatsby with his head thrown back, defiantly,
taken apparently when he was about eighteen. I adore it,
exclaimed Daisy, the pompadour. You never told me you had
a pompadour or a yacht. Look at this, said Gatsby quickly.
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Here's a lot of clippings about you. They stood side
by side examining it. I was going to ask to
see the rubies when the phone rang and Gatsby took
up the receiver. Yes, well, I can't talk now. I
can't talk now, old Sport, I said, a small town.
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He must know what a small town is. Well, he's
no use to us if Detroit is his idea of
a small town. He rang off. Come here, quick, cried
Daisy at the window. The rain was still falling, but
the darkness had parted in the west, and there was
a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.
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Look at that, she whispered. And then after a moment,
I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds
and put you in it and push you around. I
tried to go then, but they wouldn't hear of it.
Perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone. I
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know what we'll do, said Gatsby. We'll have Clipspringer play
the piano. He went out of the room calling ewing,
and returned in a few minutes, accompanied by an embarrassed,
slightly worn young man with shell rimmed glasses and scanty
blonde hair. He was now decently clothed in a sport
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shirt open at the neck, sneakers, and duck trousers of
a nebulous hue. Did we interrupt your exercises, inquired Daisy politely.
I was asleep, cried mister Clipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment.
That is, I'd been asleep. Then I got up. Clipspringer
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plays the piano, said Gatsby, cutting him off. Don't you ewing,
old sport. I don't play well, I don't I hardly
play at all. I'm all out of preck. We'll go downstairs,
interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The gray windows disappeared
as the house glowed full of light. In the music room,
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Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. He
lit Daisy's cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down
with her on a couch far across the room, where
there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced
in from the hall. When Clipspringer had played The Love Nest,
he turned around on the bench and searched unhappily for
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Gatsby in the gloom. I'm all out of practice, you see,
I told you I couldn't play. I'm all out of prack.
Don't talk so much, old Sport, commanded Gatsby. Play in
the morning. In the evening, ain't we got fun? Outside?
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The wind was loud, and there was a faint flow
of thunder along the sound. All the lights were going
on in West egg now the electric trains men carrying
were plunging home through the rain from New York. It
was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement
was generating on the air. One thing sure and nothing sure,
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or the rich get richer and the poor get children
in the meantime in between time. As I went over
to say good bye, I saw that the expression of
bewilderment had come back into Gatsby's face, as though a
faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality
of his present happiness. Almost five years there must have
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been moments, even that afternoon, when Daisy tumbled short of
his dreams, not through her own fault, but because of
the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her,
beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a
creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it
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out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No
amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man
will store up in his ghostly heart. As I watched him,
he adjusted himself a little visibly. His hand took hold
of hers, and as she said something low in his ear,
he turned toward her with a rush of em I
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think that voice held him most with its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
because it couldn't be over dreamed. That voice was a
deathless song. They had forgotten me. But Daisy glanced up
and held out her hand. Gatsby didn't know me now
at all. I looked once more at them, and they
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looked back at me, remotely possessed by intense life. Then
I went out of the room and down the marble
steps into the rain, leaving them there together. End of
Chapter five.
Chapter five of The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald.
When I came home to West Egg that night, I
was afraid for a moment that my house was on fire.
Two o'clock and the whole corner of the peninsula was
blazing with light which fell unreal on the shrubbery and
made thin, elongating glints upon the roadside wires. Turning a corner,
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I saw that it was Gatsby's house, lit from tower
to cellar. At first I thought it was another party,
a wild rout that had resolved itself into hide and
go seek or sardines in the box, with all the
house thrown open to the game. But there wasn't a sound,
only wind in the trees, which blew the wires and
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made the lights go off and on again, as if
the house had winked into the darkness. As my taxi
groaned away, I saw Gatsby walking toward me across his lawn.
Your place looks like the World's fair, I said, does it.
He turned his eyes toward it absently. I have been
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glancing into some of the rooms. Let's go to Coney Island,
Old Sport in my car. It's too late, well, suppose
we take a plunge in the swimming pool. I haven't
made use of it all summer. I've got to go
to bed, all right, he waited, looking at me with
suppressed eagerness. I talked with miss Baker, I said, after
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a moment, I'm going to call up Daisy tomorrow and
invite her over here to tea. Oh that's all right,
he said, carelessly. I don't want to put you to
any trouble. What day would suit you? What day would
suit you? He corrected me quickly. I don't want to
put you to any trouble. You see, how about the
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day after tomorrow? He considered for a moment, then with reluctance,
I want to get the grass cut, he said. We
both looked at the grass. There was a sharp line
where my ragged lawn ended and the darker, well kept
expanse of his began. I suspected that he meant my grass.
(02:21):
There's another little thing, he said, uncertainly and hesitated. Would
you rather put it off for a few days? I asked, Oh,
it isn't about that at least. He fumbled with a
series of beginnings. Why, I thought, Why look here, old Sport,
you don't make much money? Do you not very much?
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This seemed to reassure him, and he continued more confidently.
I thought, if you didn't, if you'll pardon my You see,
I carry on a little business on the side, a
sort of side line, you understand, And I thought that
if you don't make very much, you're selling bonds, aren't you?
Old sport trying to well? This would interest you. It
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wouldn't take up much of your time, and you might
pick up a nice bit of money. It happens to
be a rather confidential sort of thing. I realize now
that under different circumstances that conversation might have been one
of the crises of my life. But because the offer
was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered,
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I had no choice except to cut him off. There.
I've got my hands full, I said, I'm much obliged,
but I couldn't take on any more work. You wouldn't
have to do any business with volsheim. Evidently he thought
I was shying away from the connection mentioned at lunch,
but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a
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moment longer, hoping I'd begin a conversation, but I was
too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillingly home.
The evening had made me light headed and happy. I
think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered
my front door. So I didn't know whether or not
(04:14):
Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours
he glanced into rooms while his house blazed gaudily on.
I called up Daisy from the office next morning and
invited her to come to tea. Don't bring Tom, I
warned her, what don't bring Tom? Who is Tom? She
(04:38):
asked innocently. The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At
eleven o'clock, a man in a raincoat dragging a lawnmower
tapped at my front door and said that mister Gatsby
had sent him over to cut my grass. This reminded
me that I had forgotten to tell my Finn to
come back, so I drove into West Egg Village to
(04:58):
search for her among sort uggy, whitewashed alleys, and to
buy some cups and lemons and flowers. The flowers were unnecessary,
for at two o'clock a green house arrived from Gatsby's
with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later, the
front door opened nervously, and Gatsby, in a white flannel suit,
(05:20):
silver shirt, and gold colored tie, hurried in. He was pale,
and there were dark signs of sleeplessness beneath his eyes.
Is everything all right, he asked immediately. The grass looks fine,
if that's what you mean. What grass? He inquired blankly, Oh,
(05:42):
the grass in the yard. He looked out the window
at it, but judging from his expression, I don't 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 tea?
(06:04):
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 they're fine, and he added hollowly,
old Sport. The rain cooled about half past three to
(06:27):
a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew.
Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay's Economics,
starting at the finished 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
(06:51):
in an uncertain voice that he was going home. Why
is 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
(07:14):
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
(07:39):
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.
(08:00):
Before any words came through. A damp streak of hair
lay like a dash of 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
(08:22):
secret of castle Rackrant. Tell your chauffeur to go far
away and spend an hour. Come back in an hour, Ferdy, then,
in a grave murmur, his name is Ferdy. Does the
gasoline affect his nose? I don't think so, she said, innocently.
(08:43):
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,
(09:05):
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 wasn't a bit funny.
(09:29):
Aware of the loud beating of my own heart, I
pulled the door to against the increasing rain. For half
a minute, there wasn't a sound. Then from the living
room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part
of a laugh, followed by Daisy's voice on a clear
artificial note. I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.
(09:53):
A pause. It endured horribly. I had nothing to do
in the hall, so I went into the room. Gatsby,
his hand 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
(10:15):
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.
We've met before, muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced momentarily at me,
and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily,
(10:38):
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. I'm sorry
about the clock, he said, My own face had now
(11:00):
assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn't muster up a
single commonplace out of the thousand in my head. It's
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 haven't met for many years,
(11:21):
said Daisy, her voice as matter of fact as it
could ever be. Five years next November. The automatic quality
of Gatsby's answer set us all back at least another minute.
I had them both on their feet with a desperate
suggestion that they helped me make tea in the kitchen.
(11:42):
When the demonaic fin 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,
(12:04):
as calmness wasn't an end in itself, I made an
excuse at the first possible moment and got to my feet.
Where are you going, demanded gaspy, in immediate alarm. I'll
be back. I've got to speak to you about something
before you go. He followed me wildly into the kitchen,
(12:25):
closed the door, and whispered, oh God, in a miserable way.
What's the matter. This is a terrible mistake, he said,
shaking his head from side to side, A terrible, terrible mistake.
You're just embarrassed, that's all. And luckily, I added, Daisy's
(12:46):
embarrassed too. She's embarrassed, he repeated, incredulously, just as much
as you are. Don't talk so loud. You're acting like
a little boy, I broke out, impatiently. Not only that,
but you're rude Daisy sitting in there all alone. He
(13:07):
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 masked leaves made
(13:29):
a fabric against the rain. Once more, it was pouring,
and my irregular lawn, well shaved by Gatsby's gardener, abounded
in small muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing
to look at from under the tree except Gatsby's enormous house.
So I stared at it like Kant at his church steeple,
(13:51):
for half an hour. A brewer had built it early
in the period Craze, a decade before, and there was
a story that he'd agreed to pay five years taxes
on all the neighboring 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
(14:13):
went into an immediate decline. His children sold his house
with the black wreath still on the door. Americans, while
occasionally willing to be serfs, have always been obstinate about
being peasantry. After half an hour, the sun shone again,
and the grocer's automobile rounded Gatsby's drive with the raw
(14:35):
material for his servant's dinner. I felt sure he wouldn't
eat a spoonful a maid began opening the upper windows
of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and leaning from
a large central bay, spat meditatively into the garden. It
was time I went back, while the rain continued. It
(14:57):
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 don't believe they heard a sound.
(15:19):
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. Daisy's 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,
(15:44):
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 hadn't
seen me for years. I thought for a moment he
was going to shake cans. It's stopped raining, has it?
(16:06):
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 it's stopped raining. I'm glad, Jane, her throat
full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.
(16:33):
I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,
he said, I'd like to show her around. You're 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
(16:53):
the lawn. My house looks well, doesn't 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, over every arched door and square tower. It
took me just three years to earn the money that
(17:14):
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,
that's my affair, before he realized that it wasn't the
(17:37):
appropriate reply. Oh, I've been in several things, he corrected himself.
I was in the drug business, and then I was
in the oil business. But I'm not in either one now.
He looked at me with more attention. Do you mean
you've been thinking over what I proposed the other night?
(17:58):
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,
do you like it? I love it, but I don't
see how you live there all alone. I keep it
(18:18):
always full of interesting people night and day, people who
do interesting things, celebrated people. Instead of taking the short
cut along the sound, we went down the road and
entered by the big postern with enchanting murmurs. Daisy admired
this aspect, or that of the feudal silhouette against the sky.
(18:41):
Admired the gardens, the sparkling odor of jonquills, and the
frothy odor of hawthorn and plum blossoms, and the pale
gold odor of kiss me at the gate. It was
strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir
of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear
no sound but bird voices in the trees and inside.
(19:03):
As we wandered through Marie antoinette music rooms and restoration salons,
I felt that there were guests concealed behind every couch
and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we
had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of the
Merton College Library, I could have sworn I heard the
(19:23):
owl eyed man break into ghostly laughter. We went upstairs,
through period bedrooms swathed in rows and lavender silk and
vivid with new flowers, through dressing rooms and pool rooms,
and bathrooms with sunken baths, intruding into one chamber where
a disheveled man in pajamas was doing liver exercises on
(19:46):
the floor. It was mister Clipspringer, the boarder. I had
seen him wandering hungrily about the beach that morning. Finally
we came to Gatsby's own apartment, a bedroom and a bath,
and an atom's steady, where we sat down and drank
a glass of some chartruse he took from a cupboard
in the wall. He hadn't once ceased looking at Daisy,
(20:09):
and I think he revalued everything in his house according
to the measure of response it drew from her well
loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he stared around at his possessions
in a dazed way, as though in her actual and
astounding presence none of it was any longer real. Once
he nearly toppled down a flight of stairs, his bedroom
(20:33):
was the simplest room of all, except where the dresser
was garnished with a toilet set of pure, dull gold.
Daisy took the brush with delight and smoothed her hair,
whereupon Gatsby sat down and shaded his eyes and began
to laugh. It's the funniest thing old sport, he said, hilariously.
(20:53):
I can't when I try to. He had passed visibly
through two states and was entering upon a third. After
his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy, he was consumed with
wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea,
so long dreamed it right through to the end weighted,
(21:15):
with his teeth set so to speak, at an inconceivable
pitch of intensity. Now in the reaction he was running
down like an overwhound clock, recovering himself in a minute.
He opened for us two hulking patent cabinets which held
his massed suits and dressing gowns and ties, and his
(21:38):
shirts piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high. I've
got a man in England who buys me clothes. He
sends over a selection of things at the beginning of
each season, spring and fall. He took out a pile
of shirts and began throwing them one by one before us,
shirts of sheer linen and thin silk and fine flannel,
(22:02):
which lost their folds as they fell, and covered the
table in many colored disarray. While we admired, he brought more,
and the soft, rich heap mounted higher, shirts with stripes
and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple green and
lavender and faint orange, and monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly,
(22:24):
with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the
shirts and began to cry stormily. They're such beautiful shirts.
She sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. It
makes me sad, because I've never seen such such beautiful
shirts before. After the house, we were to see the
(22:47):
grounds and the swimming pool, and the hydroplane, and the
midsummer flowers. But outside Gatsby's window it began to rain again.
So we stood in a row looking at the corrugated
surface of the sound. If it wasn't for the mist,
we could see your home across the bay, said Gatsby.
You always have a green light that burns all night
(23:08):
at the end of your dock. Daisy put her arm
through his abruptly, but he seemed absorbed in what he
had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that
the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever.
Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy,
(23:29):
it had seemed very near to her, almost touching her.
It had seemed as close as a star to the moon.
Now it was again a green light on a dock.
His count of enchanted objects had diminished by one. I
began to walk about the room, examining various indefinite objects
(23:51):
in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly
man in yachting costume attracted me. Hung on the wall
over his desk. Who's this that that's mister Dan Cody
old Sport. The name sounded faintly familiar. He's dead now.
He used to be my best friend years ago. There
(24:15):
was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting costume,
on the bureau, Gatsby with his head thrown back, defiantly,
taken apparently when he was about eighteen. I adore it,
exclaimed Daisy, the pompadour. You never told me you had
a pompadour or a yacht. Look at this, said Gatsby quickly.
(24:38):
Here's a lot of clippings about you. They stood side
by side examining it. I was going to ask to
see the rubies when the phone rang and Gatsby took
up the receiver. Yes, well, I can't talk now. I
can't talk now, old Sport, I said, a small town.
(25:00):
He must know what a small town is. Well, he's
no use to us if Detroit is his idea of
a small town. He rang off. Come here, quick, cried
Daisy at the window. The rain was still falling, but
the darkness had parted in the west, and there was
a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.
(25:24):
Look at that, she whispered. And then after a moment,
I'd like to just get one of those pink clouds
and put you in it and push you around. I
tried to go then, but they wouldn't hear of it.
Perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone. I
(25:45):
know what we'll do, said Gatsby. We'll have Clipspringer play
the piano. He went out of the room calling ewing,
and returned in a few minutes, accompanied by an embarrassed,
slightly worn young man with shell rimmed glasses and scanty
blonde hair. He was now decently clothed in a sport
(26:06):
shirt open at the neck, sneakers, and duck trousers of
a nebulous hue. Did we interrupt your exercises, inquired Daisy politely.
I was asleep, cried mister Clipspringer, in a spasm of embarrassment.
That is, I'd been asleep. Then I got up. Clipspringer
(26:27):
plays the piano, said Gatsby, cutting him off. Don't you ewing,
old sport. I don't play well, I don't I hardly
play at all. I'm all out of preck. We'll go downstairs,
interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The gray windows disappeared
as the house glowed full of light. In the music room,
(26:49):
Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. He
lit Daisy's cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down
with her on a couch far across the room, where
there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced
in from the hall. When Clipspringer had played The Love Nest,
he turned around on the bench and searched unhappily for
(27:10):
Gatsby in the gloom. I'm all out of practice, you see,
I told you I couldn't play. I'm all out of prack.
Don't talk so much, old Sport, commanded Gatsby. Play in
the morning. In the evening, ain't we got fun? Outside?
(27:30):
The wind was loud, and there was a faint flow
of thunder along the sound. All the lights were going
on in West egg now the electric trains men carrying
were plunging home through the rain from New York. It
was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement
was generating on the air. One thing sure and nothing sure,
(27:55):
or the rich get richer and the poor get children
in the meantime in between time. As I went over
to say good bye, I saw that the expression of
bewilderment had come back into Gatsby's face, as though a
faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality
of his present happiness. Almost five years there must have
(28:18):
been moments, even that afternoon, when Daisy tumbled short of
his dreams, not through her own fault, but because of
the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her,
beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a
creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it
(28:38):
out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No
amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man
will store up in his ghostly heart. As I watched him,
he adjusted himself a little visibly. His hand took hold
of hers, and as she said something low in his ear,
he turned toward her with a rush of em I
(29:01):
think that voice held him most with its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
because it couldn't be over dreamed. That voice was a
deathless song. They had forgotten me. But Daisy glanced up
and held out her hand. Gatsby didn't know me now
at all. I looked once more at them, and they
(29:22):
looked back at me, remotely possessed by intense life. Then
I went out of the room and down the marble
steps into the rain, leaving them there together. End of
Chapter five.
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