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1"You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? Well, I met another bad driver, didn't I? I mean
2it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, straightforward person. I thought
3it was your secret pride." "I'm thirty," I said. "I'm five years too old to lie to myself and call it honour." She
4didn't answer. Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.
5------------------------------------------------------------------------ One afternoon late in October I saw Tom
6Buchanan. He was walking ahead of me along Fifth Avenue in his alert, aggressive way, his hands out a little from his
7body as if to fight off interference, his head moving sharply here and there, adapting itself to his restless eyes. Just
8as I slowed up to avoid overtaking him he stopped and began frowning into the windows of a jewellery store. Suddenly he
9saw me and walked back, holding out his hand. "What's the matter, Nick? Do you object to shaking hands with me?" "Yes.
10You know what I think of you." "You're crazy, Nick," he said quickly. "Crazy as hell. I don't know what's the matter
11with you." "Tom," I inquired, "what did you say to Wilson that afternoon?" He stared at me without a word, and I knew I
12had guessed right about those missing hours. I started to turn away, but he took a step after me and grabbed my arm. "I
13told him the truth," he said. "He came to the door while we were getting ready to leave, and when I sent down word that
14we weren't in he tried to force his way upstairs. He was crazy enough to kill me if I hadn't told him who owned the car.
15His hand was on a revolver in his pocket every minute he was in the house--" He broke off defiantly. "What if I did tell
16him? That fellow had it coming to him. He threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy's, but he was a tough one.
17He ran over Myrtle like you'd run over a dog and never even stopped his car." There was nothing I could say, except the
18one unutterable fact that it wasn't true. "And if you think I didn't have my share of suffering--look here, when I went
19to give up that flat and saw that damn box of dog biscuits sitting there on the sideboard, I sat down and cried like a
20baby. By God it was awful--" I couldn't forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely
21justified. It was all very careless and confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy--they smashed up things and
22creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them
23together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made … I shook hands with him; it seemed silly not to, for I
24felt suddenly as though I were talking to a child. Then he went into the jewellery store to buy a pearl necklace--or
25perhaps only a pair of cuff buttons--rid of my provincial squeamishness forever.
26------------------------------------------------------------------------ Gatsby's house was still empty when I left--the
27grass on his lawn had grown as long as mine. One of the taxi drivers in the village never took a fare past the entrance
28gate without stopping for a minute and pointing inside; perhaps it was he who drove Daisy and Gatsby over to East Egg
29the night of the accident, and perhaps he had made a story about it all his own. I didn't want to hear it and I avoided
30him when I got off the train. I spent my Saturday nights in New York because those gleaming, dazzling parties of his
31were with me so vividly that I could still hear the music and the laughter, faint and incessant, from his garden, and
32the cars going up and down his drive. One night I did hear a material car there, and saw its lights stop at his front
33steps. But I didn't investigate. Probably it was some final guest who had been away at the ends of the earth and didn't
34know that the party was over. On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to the grocer, I went over and
35looked at that huge incoherent failure of a house once more. On the white steps an obscene word, scrawled by some boy
36with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone.
37Then I wandered down to the beach and sprawled out on the sand. Most of the big shore places were closed now and there
38were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferryboat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the
39inessential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch
40sailors' eyes--a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its vanished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby's
41house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man
42must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, compelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither
43understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for
44wonder. And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby's wonder when he first picked out the
45green light at the end of Daisy's dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so
46close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast
47obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night. Gatsby believed in the green
48light, the orgiastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that's no matter--tomorrow we
49will run faster, stretch out our arms further … And one fine morning-- So we beat on, boats against the current, borne
50back ceaselessly into the past.
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