Текст книги "Великий Гэтсби / The Great Gatsby"

Chapter 8

I couldn't sleep all night. Toward dawn I heard a taxi and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress – I felt that I had something to tell Gatsby, something to warn him about.

Crossing his lawn I saw that his front door was still open and he was leaning against a table in the hall.

“Nothing happened,” he said wanly. “I waited, and about four o'clock she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned out the light.”

His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when we were looking for cigarettes. There was dust everywhere and the rooms were musty. Finally we sat smoking out into the darkness.

“You ought to go away,” I said. “It's pretty certain they'll trace your car.”

“Go away NOW, old sport?”

“Go to Atlantic City for a week, or up to Montreal.”

He wouldn't consider it. He couldn't possibly leave Daisy until he knew what she was going to do. It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth with Dan Cody. He wanted to talk about Daisy.

She was his first love. He went to her house, at first with other officers from Camp Taylor, then alone. He was amazed – he had never been in such a beautiful house before. But Daisy lived there – it was as casual a thing to her as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a mystery about it. It excited him too that many men had already loved Daisy – it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all about the house.

He knew that he was at present a poor young man without a past. He knew that Daisy was extraordinary but he didn't realize just how extraordinary a girl could be. She vanished into her rich house, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby – nothing. When they met again two days later, he kissed her curious and lovely mouth.

“She was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot because I knew different things from her.” On the last afternoon before he went abroad he sat with Daisy in his arms. Once he kissed her dark shining hair. He touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep.

He did extraordinarily well in the war. He was a captain before he went to the front and soon he became a major.

Daisy was young and her artificial world was full of orchids and pleasant, cheerful snobbery and orchestras. She wanted to live now, immediately, and she needed some force – of love, of money, of glory.

That force was Tom Buchanan. He was rich good-looking. Doubtless there was a certain struggle and a certain relief. Gatsby received her letter while he was at Oxford.

* * *

“I can't describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport. I don't think she ever loved him. You must remember, old sport, she was very excited this afternoon. He told her those things about me, he frightened her. He called me a swindler. And the result was she hardly knew what she was saying.”

He sat down gloomily.

“Of course she loved him, just for a minute, when they were first married – and loved me more even then, do you see?”

He came back from France when Tom and Daisy were still on their wedding trip, and made a journey to Louisville. He stayed there a week, walking the streets where their footsteps had clicked together.

It was nine o'clock when we finished breakfast and went out on the porch. The gardener, the last one of Gatsby's former servants, came to the foot of the steps.

“I'm going to drain the pool today, Mr. Gatsby. There's always trouble with the pipes.”

“Don't do it today,” Gatsby answered. He turned to me.

“You know, old sport, I've never used that pool all summer?”

I looked at my watch and stood up.

“Twelve minutes to my train.”

I didn't want to go to the city. I didn't want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another.

“I'll call you up,” I said finally.

“Do, old sport.”

“I'll call you about noon.”

We walked slowly down the steps.

“I suppose Daisy'll call too.” He looked at me anxiously.

“I suppose so.”

“Well – goodbye.”

We shook hands. I remembered something and turned around.

“They're a rotten crowd,” I shouted across the lawn. “You're worth the whole damn bunch put together.”

I was glad I said that. It was the only compliment I ever gave him. He nodded politely.

I thanked him for his hospitality. We were always thanking him for that – I and the others.

“Goodbye,” I called. “I enjoyed breakfast, Gatsby.”

* * *

In the office I fell asleep in my arm-chair. Just before noon the phone woke me. It was Jordan Baker; she often called me up at this hour. Her voice seemed harsh and dry.

“I've left Daisy's house,” she said. “I'm going down to Southampton this afternoon.”

Her next remark made me angry.

“You weren't so nice to me last night.”

“How could I be nice then?”

Silence for a moment. Then:

“However – I want to see you.”

“I want to see you too.”

“Suppose I don't go to Southampton, and come into town this afternoon?”

“No – I don't think this afternoon.”

“Very well.”

“It's impossible this afternoon. Various —”

We talked like that for a while and then stopped. I don't know which of us hung up first but I know I didn't care.

I called Gatsby's house a few minutes later, but the line was busy. Then I leaned back in my chair and tried to think. It was just noon.

* * *

George Wilson rocked himself back and forth on the couch. For a while the door of the office was open and everyone who came into the garage glanced through it. Finally someone said it was a shame and closed the door. Michaelis and several other men were with him – first four or five men, later two or three men.

About three o'clock Wilson began to talk about the yellow car. He said that he would find out whom the yellow car belonged to.

Michaelis attempted to distract him.

“How long have you been married, George? Come on, answer my question. How long have you been married?”

“Twelve years.”

“Any children? Come on, George, I asked you a question. Did you ever have any children?”

Wilson didn't answer.

“Do you go to church, George? Maybe I could call up the church and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see?”

“I don't belong to any church.”

“That's not good, George. You must go to church. Didn't you get married in a church? Listen, George, listen to me. Didn't you get married in a church?”

“That was a long time ago. Look in the drawer there,” he said, pointing at the desk.

“Which drawer?”

“That drawer – that one.”

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

“This?” he inquired.

Wilson stared and nodded.

“I found it yesterday afternoon. She tried to tell me about it but I knew it was something strange.”

“You mean your wife bought it?”

“It was on her table.”

Michaelis didn't see anything odd in that and he gave Wilson a dozen reasons why his wife bought the dog leash. But Wilson began to say “Oh, my God!” again in a whisper.

“Then he killed her,” said Wilson.

“Who did?”

“I'll find out. He murdered her.”

“It was an accident, George.”

Wilson shook his head.

“I know,” he said definitely, “It was the man in that car. She ran out to speak to him and he wouldn't stop. Ah-h-h…”

“Maybe your friends…”

Wilson had no friends.

“I spoke to her,” muttered Wilson, after a long silence. “I told her she might fool me but she couldn't fool God. I said 'God knows what you've been doing, everything you've been doing. You may fool me but you can't fool God!' God sees everything.”

* * *

Michaelis went home to sleep; when he awoke four hours later and hurried back to the garage, Wilson was gone.

His movements – he was on foot all the time – were afterward traced. The police, on the strength of what he said to Michaelis, that he “would find out,” supposed that he spent that time going from garage to garage inquiring for a yellow car. By half past two he was in West Egg where he asked someone the way to Gatsby's house. So by that time he knew Gatsby's name.

* * *

At two o'clock Gatsby put on his bathing suit. Then he took a pneumatic mattress and went to the pool. The chauffeur asked him if he needed help, but he shook his head and in a moment disappeared among the trees.

The chauffeur heard the shots. Just that time I drove from the station directly to Gatsby's house. Four of us, the chauffeur, servant, gardener and I, hurried down to the pool. Gatsby was lying in the pool dead.

It was after we brought Gatsby's body toward the house that the gardener saw Wilson's body a little way off in the grass. The holocaust was complete.

Chapter 9

After two years I remember the rest of that day, and that night and the next day, only as an endless crowd of police and photographers and newspaper men in and out of Gatsby's house. Little boys soon discovered that they could enter through my yard and there were always a few of them near the pool.

Someone, perhaps a detective, used the expression “mad man” as he saw Wilson's body that afternoon, and this became the key for the newspaper reports next morning. Most of those reports were a nightmare – grotesque, circumstantial, eager and untrue.

Michaelis told about Wilson's suspicions of his wife, but Catherine didn't say a word. She cried into her handkerchief.

I called up Daisy half an hour after we found Gatsby, called her instinctively and without hesitation. But she and Tom had gone away early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them.

“Left no address?”

“No.”

“Did they say when they'd be back?”

“No.”

“Any idea where they are? How I could reach them?”

“I don't know. I can't say.”

I wanted to get somebody for him. I wanted to go into the room where he lay and reassure him: “I'll get somebody for you, Gatsby. Don't worry. Just trust me and I'll get somebody for you.”

Meyer Wolfsheim's name wasn't in the phone book. The servant gave me his office address on Broadway and I called him, but no one answered the phone.

Next morning I sent the servant to New York with a letter to Wolfsheim which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next train. I was sure he'd start when he saw the newspapers – but Mr. Wolfsheim did not arrive, no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men.

When the servant brought back Wolfsheim's answer I began to read it immediately.

“Dear Mr. Carraway. This is one of the most terrible shocks of my life to me I hardly can believe it that it is true at all. Such a mad act that man did! I cannot arrive because I have some very important business at the moment. If there is anything I can do a little later let me know in a letter.

Yours truly,

Meyer Wolfsheim

P. S. Let me know about the funeral etc, I do not know his family at all.”

When the phone rang that afternoon I thought this was Daisy at last. But I heard a strange man's voice.

“This is Slagle speaking.”

“Yes?” The name was unfamiliar.

“Young Parke's in trouble,” he said rapidly. “They picked him up when he handed the bonds over the counter. They got a letter from New York just five minutes before. What do you think about that, hey? You never can…”

“Hello!” I interrupted. “Look here – this isn't Mr. Gatsby. Mr. Gatsby's dead.”

There was a long silence on the other end of the wire… then the connection was broken.

* * *

On the third day a telegram signed Henry C. Gatz arrived from a town in Minnesota. It said only that the sender was leaving immediately. It was Gatsby's father, an old man very helpless and dismayed.

“I saw it in the Chicago newspaper,” he said. “It was in the Chicago newspaper. I started right away.”

“I didn't know how to reach you.”

His eyes, seeing nothing, moved ceaselessly about the room.

“It was a mad man,” he said. “He must be mad.”

“Wouldn't you like some coffee?” I offered.

“I don't want anything, Mr…”

“Carraway.”

“Well, I'm all right now. Where is Jimmy?”

I took him into the drawing-room, where his son lay, and left him there. Some little boys had come up on the steps and were looking into the hall; when I told them who had arrived they went away.

After a little while Mr. Gatz opened the door and came out.

“I didn't know, Mr. Gatsby…”

“Gatz is my name.”

“Mr. Gatz. I thought you would take the body West.”

He shook his head.

“Jimmy always liked East better. Were you a friend of my boy's?”

“We were close friends.”

“He had a big future before him, you know. He was only a young man but he had a lot of brain power here.”

He touched his head impressively and I nodded.

“That's true,” I said.

In the evening a frightened person called up and demanded to know who I was.

“This is Mr. Carraway,” I said.

“Oh, this is Klipspringer.”

“The funeral's tomorrow,” I said. “Three o'clock, here at the house. I wish you'd tell anybody who'd be interested.”

“Oh, I will,” he said hastily. “Of course I do.”

His tone made me suspicious.

“Of course you'll be there yourself, right?”

“Well, I'll certainly try. What I called up about is…”

“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “Will you come?”

“Well, the fact is that I'm staying with some people up here in Greenwich… In fact there will be a picnic or something tomorrow… Of course I'll do my best to arrive.”

I said “Huh!” and he went on nervously:

“What I called up about was a pair of shoes I left there. Could you please send them to me? You see, they're tennis shoes, and I'm helpless without them. My address is…”

I didn't hear the rest because I hung up the receiver.

After that one gentleman to whom I telephoned said that Gatsby had got what he deserved.

The morning of the funeral I went up to New York to see Meyer Wolfsheim. The door that I opened was marked “The Swastika Holding Company”. When I'd shouted “Hello” several times a lovely girl appeared.

“Nobody's in,” she said. “Mr. Wolfsheim's gone to Chicago.”

The first part of this was obviously untrue because someone had begun to whistle a song, inside.

“Please tell him that Mr. Carraway wants to see him.”

“I can't get him back from Chicago, can I?”

At this moment Wolfsheim's voice called “Stella!”

“Leave your name,” she said quickly. “I'll tell him when he gets back.”

“But I know he's there.”

“When I say he's in Chicago, he's in Chicago. Do you understand?”

I mentioned Gatsby.

“Oh-h!” She looked at me over again. “Will you just – what was your name?”

She vanished. In a moment Meyer Wolfsheim stood in the doorway. He drew me into his office, remarking that it was a sad time for all of us, and offered me a cigar.

“My memory goes back to when I first met him,” he said. “A young major just out of the army and covered over with medals he got in the war. He was very poor, first time I saw him was when he was asking for a job. He hadn't eaten anything for a couple of days. 'Come on, have some lunch with me,' I said. His lunch cost me more than four dollars.”

“Did you help him?” I inquired.

“Help him! I made him.”

“Oh.”

“I raised him up out of nothing. He did some work for a client of mine. We were very good friends, always together.”

“Now he's dead,” I said after a moment. “You were his closest friend, so I think you'll come to his funeral this afternoon.”

“I'd like to come.”

“Well, come then.”

He shook his head, his eyes filled with tears.

“I can't do it – I can't get mixed up in it,” he said.

“There's nothing to get mixed up in. It's all over now.”

“When a man gets killed I never like to get mixed up in it in any way. I keep out. When I was a young man it was different – if a friend of mine died, no matter how, I stuck with them to the end. You may think that's sentimental but I mean it – to the end.”

I saw that he decided not to come, so I stood up.

“Are you a university man?” he inquired suddenly.

For a moment I thought he was going to suggest a “connection” but he only nodded and shook my hand.

“Let us show our friendship when the friends are alive and not after they are dead,” he suggested. When I left his office the sky was dark. After changing my clothes I went next door and found Mr. Gatz walking up and down in the hall. His pride in his son was continually increasing and now he had something to show me.

“Jimmy sent me this picture.” He took out his wallet with trembling fingers. “Look there.”

It was a photograph of the house.

“Look there! Jimmy sent it to me. I think it's a very pretty picture.”

“Yes, indeed. Had you seen him lately?”

“He come out to see me two years ago and bought me the house I live in now. He knew he had a big future in front of him. And ever since he made a success he was very generous with me.”

A little before three the priest arrived. The time passed and the servants came in and stood waiting in the hall. The priest glanced several times at his watch so I took him aside and asked him to wait for half an hour. But it wasn't any use. Nobody came.

* * *

About five o'clock our procession of three cars reached the cemetery. When we were passing through the gate I saw another car. It was the man with glasses whom I had found in the library three months before.

That was all. Daisy hadn't sent a message or a flower. “Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on.”

Nobody came to Gatsby's house, but they used to go there by the hundreds.

* * *

I decided to go home, go West. But there was one thing to be done. I met Jordan Baker and talked about what had happened to us together and what had happened afterward to me.

She was dressed to play golf and she looked like a good illustration for the sport magazine. When I had finished she told me without comment that she was engaged. For just a minute I thought that I was making a mistake, but then I got up to say goodbye.

We shook hands. Angry, and half in love with her, I went away.

* * *

One afternoon late in October I saw Tom Buchanan. He was walking ahead of me along Fifth Avenue. Suddenly he saw me and walked back holding out his hand.

“What's the matter, Nick? Do you object to shaking hands with me?”

“Yes. You know what I think of you.”

“You're crazy, Nick,” he said quickly. “I don't know what's the matter with you.”

“Tom,” I inquired, “what did you say to Wilson that afternoon?”

“I told him the truth,” he said. “He was crazy enough to kill me if I hadn't told him who owned the car. What if I did tell him? That fellow threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy's. He ran over Myrtle and never even stopped his car.”

There was nothing I could say.

“And if you think I didn't suffer – look here, when I went to that flat and saw the box of dog biscuits on the sideboard I sat down and cried like a baby. It was awful!”

I couldn't forgive him or like him but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy. I shook hands with him; I felt as though I were talking to a child. Then he went into the jewelry store to buy a pearl necklace – or perhaps only a pair of cuff buttons.

Gatsby believed in the green light, the future that year by year recedes before us. We try to swim against the current, taken back ceaselessly into the past.

Великий Гэтсби

Глава 1

В юношеские годы мой отец дал мне один совет.

– Если тебе вдруг захочется осудить кого-то, – сказал он мне, – помни, что не у всех людей в этом мире были такие же преимущества, как у тебя.

Он больше ничего не сказал, но я понял, что в его словах заключался более глубокий смысл. Привычка сдерживать суждения открыла для меня множество любопытных натур. В колледже я был посвящён в тайные горести сумасбродных и непредсказуемых людей.

Когда я вернулся прошлой осенью с Востока, то почувствовал, что хотел бы видеть весь мир облачённым в униформу. Мне больше не нужны были увлекательные вылазки с привилегией заглядывать в человеческие души. Только Гэтсби, чьим именем названа эта книга, был исключением – Гэтсби, который представлял собой всё, что я искренне презирал.

В нём было нечто великолепное, некая обострённая чувствительность к посулам жизни, словно он был частью одной из тех сложных машин, которые регистрируют землетрясения на расстоянии десяти тысяч миль. Это был редкостный дар надежды, романтическая готовность, которой я никогда не находил ни в каком другом человеке.

Моя семья состояла из видных, зажиточных людей на протяжении трёх поколений. Каррауэи – это нечто вроде клана, и, согласно преданию, мы происходим от герцогов Баклю, хотя фактическим родоначальником моей линии был брат моего дедушки, который приехал сюда в 1851 году и начал своё дело по оптовой торговле скобяными товарами, которое мой отец продолжает до сих пор. Я никогда не видел своего двоюродного деда, но я похож на него: я видел портрет, который висит в конторе отца.

Я закончил Йельский университет в Нью-Хейвене в 1915 году, ровно через четверть века после своего отца, и немного позже участвовал в Первой мировой войне. Затем я решил двинуться на Восток и изучить биржевое дело. Отец согласился финансировать меня в течение года, и после различных задержек весной 1922 года я приехал на Восток, как мне думалось, навсегда.

Было разумно найти жильё в городе, но близилось лето, и когда один молодой человек из офиса предложил мне снять дом вместе с ним, это показалось прекрасной мыслью. Он нашёл дом, картонную хибару, за восемьдесят долларов в месяц. У меня был старый «додж» и финская горничная, которая прибирала кровать и готовила завтрак, а также бормотала себе под нос по-фински над электрической плитой.

Однажды утром некий человек остановил меня на дороге.

– Как пройти в посёлок Уэст-Эгг? – спросил он беспомощно.

Я сказал ему. Я был гидом, первооткрывателем, первым поселенцем. Летом жизнь начиналась по новой.

Надо было много всего прочитать. Я купил дюжину томов по банковскому и кредитному делу, по инвестиционным ценным бумагам, и они стояли на моей полке, сверкая красными и золотыми корешками.

Я жил в Уэст-Эгге. Я арендовал дом в одном из самых странных посёлков в Северной Америке. Он находился на длинном, с буйной растительностью острове, который простирался к востоку Нью-Йорка. Мой дом стоял между двумя огромными виллами, которые снимали за двенадцать или пятнадцать тысяч долларов в сезон. Вилла справа от меня была особняком Гэтсби.

На другой стороне залива над водой сверкали белые дворцы фешенебельного Ист-Эгга, и история этого лета, на самом деле, начинается с того вечера, когда я приехал туда, чтобы пообедать с Бьюкененами. Дэйзи была моей троюродной сестрой. Её мужа звали Том. Я знал Тома в колледже. И сразу после войны я пару дней гостил у них в Чикаго.

Семья Тома была чрезвычайно богата – ещё в колледже его свобода распоряжаться деньгами вызывала нарекания. Я не знаю, почему они приехали на Восток. «Мы решили осесть», – сказала Дэйзи по телефону, но я этому не поверил. Они провели год во Франции, не имея определённой цели, затем перемещались туда-сюда, всюду, где люди играли в поло и были богаты.

И вот, случилось так, что одним тёплым ветреным вечером я поехал в Ист-Эгг повидать двух старых друзей, которых едва вообще знал. Их дом оказался ещё изысканнее, чем я ожидал. Газон начинался на берегу и четверть мили тянулся до передней двери. Фасад был прорезан линией французских окон, сверкавших отблесками золота и распахнутых навстречу тёплому ветреному дню. Том Бьюкенен в костюме для верховой езды стоял в дверях.

Со времён Нью-Хейвена Том изменился. Теперь он был крепким тридцатилетним мужчиной с соломенного цвета волосами, чётко очерченным ртом и надменными манерами.

Он не мог скрыть огромную силу своего тела. Это было тело, обладавшее сокрушительной силой, жестокое тело.

Его голос был грубым хриплым тенором. «Что ж, не считайте моё мнение по этому вопросу непререкаемым, – казалось, говорил он, – только потому, что я сильнее и вообще вам не ровня». Мы состояли в одном студенческом обществе, и, хотя мы никогда не были близки, у меня всегда было впечатление, что он стремился мне понравиться.

Мы поговорили несколько минут, стоя на залитом солнцем крыльце.

– У меня здесь хорошо, – сказал он. Он развернул меня, вежливо, но резко. – Пойдём внутрь.

Мы прошли через огромный холл и попали в ярко-розовое пространство. Окна были приоткрыты и блестели. В комнату дул ветерок, трепля занавески, похожие на бледные флаги.

Единственным неподвижным предметом в комнате была огромная кушетка, на которой лежали две молодые женщины. Обе они были в белом. Я постоял некоторое время, прислушиваясь к хлопанью занавесок и скрипу картины на стене.

Том Бьюкенен затворил окна, и пойманный ветер замер в комнате. Младшая из этих двух женщин был мне незнакома. Она была полностью неподвижна, лишь её подбородок был немного приподнят.

Другая девушка, Дэйзи, сделала попытку встать. Она наклонилась немного вперёд, потом засмеялась нелепым очаровательным смешком, и я тоже рассмеялся и шагнул в комнату.

– Я п-п-п-парализована от счастья.

Она снова засмеялась и на мгновение удержала мою руку, изучая моё лицо.

Она прошептала, что фамилия другой девушки – Бейкер. Губы мисс Бейкер шевельнулись, она кивнула мне, а затем снова быстро отклонила назад свою голову.

Я снова посмотрел на кузину, которая принялась задавать мне вопросы своим низким, волнующим голосом. Её лицо было грустно и прекрасно – на нём сильно выделялись сверкающие глаза и яркий чувственный рот.

Я рассказал ей, что проведал в Чикаго некоторых друзей и что дюжина из них посылали ей привет.

– Они скучают по мне? – воскликнула она.

– Весь город опустел. Все машины покрашены в чёрный цвет, и всю ночь слышится плач.

– Как мило! Давай вернёмся, Том. Завтра! – Потом она добавила не к месту: – Ты должен увидеть ребёнка.

– Хотелось бы.

– Она спит. Ей два года. Ты никогда её не видел?

– Никогда.

– Тогда ты должен её увидеть. Она…

Том Бьюкенен положил руку на моё плечо.

– Чем ты занимаешься, Ник?

– Я занимаюсь кредитными операциями.

– У кого?

Я рассказал ему.

– Никогда не слышал о них, – заметил он высокомерно.

Это меня задело.

– Услышишь, – ответил я коротко. – Услышишь, если вы останетесь на Востоке.

– О, я останусь на Востоке, не волнуйся, – сказал он, глядя на Дэйзи, а затем посмотрел на меня.

В этом месте мисс Бейкер сказала «Точно!» Это было первое слово, которое она произнесла с тех пор, как я вошёл в комнату. Это удивило её так же, как и меня. Она зевнула и в два-три быстрых и ловких движения встала посреди комнаты.

– Видишь, – сказала Дэйзи мисс Бейкер. – Я весь день пытаюсь вытащить тебя в Нью-Йорк.

Я посмотрел на мисс Бейкер, мне нравилось смотреть на неё. Это была стройная девушка с очень прямой спиной. Её серые, щурившиеся на солнце глаза смотрели на меня. Мне пришло в голову, что я где-то раньше видел её или её портрет.

– Вы живете в Уэст-Эгге, – заметила она свысока. – Я кое-кого там знаю.

– Я не знаю там ни…

– Вы должны знать Гэтсби.

– Гэтсби? – спросила Дэйзи. – Какого Гэтсби?

Прежде, чем я смог ответить, что он мой сосед, объявили, что кушать подано. Том Бьюкенен повёл меня из комнаты. Мы вышли.

Две молодые женщины шли перед нами в сторону заката, где на столе мерцали четыре свечи.

– Зачем эти свечи? – запротестовала, хмурясь, Дэйзи. Она схватила их своими пальцами. – Через две недели будет самый длинный день в году.

Она лучезарно посмотрела на всех нас.

– Вот вы ждёте самый длинный день в году, а потом скучаете по нему? Я всегда так делаю.

– Давайте что-нибудь запланируем, – зевнула мисс Бейкер, садясь за стол.

– Хорошо, – сказала Дэйзи. – Что мы запланируем? – Она беспомощно повернулась ко мне. – Что обычно люди планируют?

Прежде, чем я смог ответить, Дэйзи показала свой мизинец.

– Смотрите! – пожаловалась она. – Я его поранила.

Мы все смотрели – палец был в синяках.

– Это ты сделал, Том, – сказала она. – Я знаю, ты это нечаянно, но это ты СДЕЛАЛ. И зачем я вышла замуж за такого человека!

Она и мисс Бейкер принимали наше с Томом присутствие, вежливо пытаясь развлечь нас или позволяя развлечь их.

– С тобой я чувствую себя дикарём, Дейзи, – сказал я.

– Цивилизация катится в пропасть, – яростно сказал Том. – Если мы не примем меры, белая раса будет подавлена. Так говорит наука; это доказано.

– Том становится мудрым, – печально сказала Дэйзи. – Он читает умные книги с длинными словами. Как там было это слово…

– Это всё научные труды, – настаивал Том, нетерпеливо глядя на неё. – Мы, доминирующая раса, должны следить, чтобы другие расы не обрели над всем контроль.

– Если бы вы жили в Калифорнии… – начала мисс Бейкер, но Том прервал её.

– Идея в том, что мы – я, ты и вы – мы создали всё, из чего состоит цивилизация: науку, искусство и всё прочее. Понимаете?

В его словах было нечто патетическое. Вдруг зазвонил телефон, и Том ушёл.

Дэйзи наклонилась ко мне.

– Мне приятно видеть тебя за своим столом, Ник. Ты напоминаешь мне… розу, совершенную розу. Правда? – Она повернулась к мисс Бейкер за подтверждением. – Совершенную розу.

Это было неправдой. Я ни малейшим образом не похожу на розу. Затем она бросила свою салфетку на стол, извинилась и вошла в дом.

Мисс Бейкер и я обменялись короткими, ничего не значащими взглядами.

– Этот мистер Гэтсби, о котором вы говорили, – мой сосед, – сказал я.

– Помолчите. Я хочу послушать, что происходит.

– А что-то происходит? – спросил я невинно.

– Разве вы не знаете? – поинтересовалась мисс Бейкер, искренне удивленная. – Я думала, что все знают.

– Я не знаю.

– У Тома есть женщина в Нью-Йорке, – сказала мисс Бейкер.

– Женщина? – повторил я.

Мисс Бейкер кивнула.

– Она могла бы вести себя приличнее и не звонить ему во время обеда. Вы так не считаете?

Том и Дэйзи вернулись за стол.

Дэйзи села, пристально поглядела на мисс Бейкер, затем на меня и сказала:

– Я на минуту выглянула наружу, на открытом воздухе очень романтично. На лужайке птица, я думаю, соловей. Он поёт так сладко! Это романтично, правда, Том?

– Очень романтично, – ответил он и затем обратился ко мне: – После обеда я хочу показать тебе своих лошадей.

В доме зазвонил телефон, и Дэйзи решительно покачала головой. Лошади, само собой разумеется, больше не упоминались. Том и мисс Бейкер вошли в библиотеку, а я последовал за Дэйзи вокруг дома. Потом мы уселись на скамейку.

Дэйзи закрыла лицо руками.

– Мы не слишком хорошо знаем друг друга, Ник, – сказала Дэйзи. – Хотя мы и родственники, ты не приехал на мою свадьбу.

– Я тогда ещё не вернулся с войны.

– Это правда. – Она поколебалась. – Знаешь, мне было очень плохо, и я довольно цинична во всём.

Я ждал, но она больше ничего не говорила, и через некоторое время я решил поговорить о её дочери.