Ive left Daisys house, she said. Im at Hempstead[96], and Im going down to Southampton[97] this afternoon.
Probably it had been tactful to leave Daisys house, but the act annoyed me, and her next remark made me rigid.
You werent so nice to me last night.
How could it have mattered then?
Silence for a moment. Then:
However I want to see you.
I want to see you, too.
Suppose I dont go to Southampton, and come into town this afternoon?
No I dont think this afternoon.
Very well.
Its impossible this afternoon. Various
We talked like that for a while, and then abruptly we werent talking any longer. I dont know which of us hung up with a sharp click, but I know I didnt care. I couldnt have talked to her across a tea-table that day if I never talked to her again in this world.
I called Gatsbys house a few minutes later, but the line was busy. I tried four times; finally an exasperated central told me the wire was being kept open for long distance from Detroit. Taking out my time-table, I drew a small circle around the three-fifty train. Then I leaned back in my chair and tried to think. It was just noon.
* * *When I passed the ash-heaps on the train that morning I had crossed deliberately to the other side of the car. I supposed thered be a curious crowd around there all day with little boys searching for dark spots in the dust, and some garrulous man telling over and over what had happened, until it became less and less real even to him and he could tell it no longer, and Myrtle Wilsons tragic achievement was forgotten. Now I want to go back a little and tell what happened at the garage after we left there the night before.
They had difficulty in locating the sister, Catherine. She must have broken her rule against drinking that night, for when she arrived she was stupid with liquor and unable to understand that the ambulance had already gone to Flushing. When they convinced her of this, she immediately fainted, as if that was the intolerable part of the affair. Someone, kind or curious, took her in his car and drove her in the wake of her sisters body.
Until long after midnight a changing crowd lapped up against the front of the garage, while George Wilson rocked himself back and forth on the couch inside. For a while the door of the office was open, and everyone who came into the garage glanced irresistibly 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. Still later Michaelis had to ask the last stranger to wait there fifteen minutes longer, while he went back to his own place and made a pot of coffee. After that, he stayed there alone with Wilson until dawn.
About three oclock the quality of Wilsons incoherent muttering changed he grew quieter and began to talk about the yellow car. He announced that he had a way of finding out whom the yellow car belonged to, and then he blurted out that a couple of months ago his wife had come from the city with her face bruised and her nose swollen.
But when he heard himself say this, he flinched and began to cry Oh, my God! again in his groaning voice. Michaelis made a clumsy attempt to distract him.
How long have you been married, George? Come on there, try and sit still a minute and answer my question. How long have you been married?
Twelve years.
Ever had any children? Come on, George, sit still I asked you a question. Did you ever have any children?
The hard brown beetles kept thudding against the dull light, and whenever Michaelis heard a car go tearing along the road outside it sounded to him like the car that hadnt stopped a few hours before. He didnt like to go into the garage, because the work bench was stained where the body had been lying, so he moved uncomfortably around the office he knew every object in it before morning and from time to time sat down beside Wilson trying to keep him more quiet.
Have you got a church you go to sometimes, George? Maybe even if you havent been there for a long time? Maybe I could call up the church and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see?
Dont belong to any.
You ought to have a church, George, for times like this. You must have gone to church once. Didnt you get married in a church? Listen, George, listen to me. Didnt you get married in a church?
That was a long time ago.
The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking for a moment he was silent. Then the same half-knowing, half-bewildered look came back into his faded eyes.
Look in the drawer there, he said, pointing at the desk.
The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking for a moment he was silent. Then the same half-knowing, half-bewildered look came back into his faded eyes.
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 braided silver. It was apparently new.