The Great Gatsby. Адаптированная книга для чтения на английском языке. Уровень B1

That’s where all his money comes from».

«Really?»

She nodded.

This absorbing information about my neighbor was interrupted by Mrs. McKee who pointed suddenly at Catherine:

«Chester, I think you could do something with HER», she said, but Mr. McKee only nodded in a bored way, and turned his attention to Tom.

«I’d like to do more work on Long Island», said Mr. McKee, «if I could get the entry. All I ask is that they should give me a start».

«Ask Myrtle», said Tom, laughing, as Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray. «She’ll give you a letter of introduction[21 - Рекомендательное письмо.], won’t you Myrtle?»

«Do what?» she asked, startled.

«You’ll give McKee a letter of introduction to your husband, so he can do some studies of him». His lips moved silently for a moment as he invented. «GEORGE B. WILSON AT THE GASOLINE PUMP, or something like that».

Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: «Neither of them can stand the person they’re married to».

«Can’t they?»

«Can’t STAND them». She looked at Myrtle and then at Tom. «What I say is, why go on living with them if they can’t stand them? If I were them I’d get a divorce and get married to each other right away».

«Doesn’t she like Wilson either?»

The answer to this was unexpected. It came from Myrtle, who had overheard the question, and it was violent and obscene.

«You see», cried Catherine triumphantly. She lowered her voice again. «It’s really his wife that’s keeping them apart. She’s a Catholic, and they don’t believe in divorce».

Daisy was not a Catholic, and I was a little shocked at the lie.

«When they get married at last», continued Catherine, «they’re going West to live for a while until it blows over[22 - Пока всё не уладится.]».

«It’d be more sensible to go to Europe».

«Oh, do you like Europe?» she exclaimed surprisingly. «I just got back from Monte Carlo».

«Really».

«Just last year. I went over there with another girl».

«Did you stay there long?»

«No, we just went to Monte Carlo and back. We had over twelve hundred dollars when we started, but we lost it all in two days in the private rooms[23 - В частных игорных залах.]. We had an awful time getting back, I can tell you. God, how I hated that town!»

The late afternoon sky shone in the window for a moment like the blue honey of the Mediterranean – then the sharp voice of Mrs. McKee called me back into the room.

«I almost made a mistake, too», she declared enthusiastically. «I almost married a nonentity who’d been after me for years. I knew he was below me. Everybody kept saying to me: ‘Lucille, that man’s ‘way below you!’ But for Chester[24 - Если бы не Честер.], I could marry him».

«Yes, but listen», said Myrtle Wilson, «at least you didn’t marry him».

«I know I didn’t».

«Well, I married him», said Myrtle, ambiguously. «And that’s the difference between your case and mine».

«Why did you, Myrtle?» said Catherine. «Nobody forced you to».

«I married him because I thought he was a gentleman», Myrtle said finally. «I thought he knew something about manners, but he wasn’t fit to lick my shoe».

«You were crazy about him for a while», said Catherine.

«Crazy about him!» cried Myrtle in disbelief. «Who said I was crazy about him? I never was any more crazy about him than I was about that man there».

She pointed suddenly at me, and every one looked at me accusingly. I tried to show by my expression that I had played no part in her past.

«I was crazy when I married him. I knew right away I made a mistake. He borrowed somebody’s best suit to get married in, and never even told me about it, and the man came after it one day when he was out. ‘Oh, is that your suit?’ I said, ‘this is the first time I ever heard about it.’ But I gave it to him and then I lay down and cried all afternoon».

«She really ought to get away from him», resumed Catherine to me. «They’ve been living over that garage for eleven years. And Tom’s the first love she ever had».

The bottle of whiskey – a second one – was now in constant demand by all, excepting Catherine, who «felt just as good without drinking at all». I wanted to get out and walk southward toward the park through the soft twilight, but each time I tried to go I became involved in some wild argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair.

Myrtle pulled her chair close to mine, and suddenly her warm breath poured over me the story of her first meeting with Tom.

«It was on the two little seats facing each other that are always the last ones left on the train. I was going up to New York to see my sister and spend the night. He had on a suit and leather shoes, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, but every time he looked at me I had to pretend to be looking at the advertisement over his head. When we came into the station he was next to me, and his white shirt-front pressed against my arm, and so I told him I’d have to call a policeman, but he knew I lied. I was so excited. All I kept thinking about, over and over, was ‘You can’t live forever; you can’t live forever’».

She turned to Mrs. McKee and the room rang full of her artificial laughter.

«My dear», she cried, «I’m going to give you this dress. I’ve got to get another one tomorrow. I’m going to make a list of all the things I’ve got to get. A massage, and a collar for the dog, and one of those cute little ash-trays where you touch a spring, and a wreath with a black silk bow for mother’s grave that’ll last all summer. I have to write down a list so I won’t forget all the things I have to do».

It was nine o’clock – almost immediately afterward I looked at my watch and found it was ten. Mr. McKee was asleep on a chair.

Some time toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs. Wilson stood face to face discussing, in passionate voices, whether Mrs. Wilson had any right to mention Daisy’s name.

«Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!» shouted Mrs. Wilson. «I’ll say it whenever I want to! Daisy! Dal…»

Making a short movement, Tom Buchanan broke her nose with his open hand.

Then there were bloody towels upon the bathroom floor, and women’s voices scolding, and a long wail of pain. Mr. McKee awoke from his sleep and started in surprise toward the door. When he had gone half way he turned around and stared at the scene – his wife and Catherine scolding and consoling as they stumbled here and there among the crowded furniture trying to help Myrtle, and her miserable figure on the sofa. Then Mr. McKee turned and continued on out the door. Taking my hat from the chandelier, I followed.

«Come to lunch some day», he suggested, as we were going down in the elevator.

«Where?»

«Anywhere».

«All right», I agreed, «I’ll be glad to».

Then I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the Pennsylvania Station, waiting for the four o’clock train.