The Great Gatsby

That summer I rented a small house in a place called West Egg, on a narrow strip of land outside New York.My name is Nick Carraway, and I had come east to learn the bond business and, I suppose, to start my life over.Next door stood an enormous mansion, all towers and bright lawns, that belonged to a man named Gatsby — though I had never met him, and knew nothing about him.

One evening I drove across the bay to have dinner with my cousin Daisy and her husband, Tom Buchanan, whom I had known slightly at college.Their house was even grander than Gatsby’s, and Tom, once a famous athlete, now had the restless, aggressive manner of a man who expects the best years to be behind him.Daisy was lovely and laughed easily, but there was a sadness under her charm, as if she were waiting for something that would never quite arrive.A friend of hers, a cool young woman named Jordan Baker, lay on the sofa as though the house belonged to her.

Over dinner the talk moved restlessly from horses to servants to books, and twice the telephone rang, and Tom left the table to answer it.When he was gone, Daisy said in a low voice that her life was empty, and that she hoped her little daughter would grow up to be “a beautiful little fool.”She said it lightly, but she meant it, and it made me uncomfortable, as if the whole evening had been a trick to make me feel something for her.

I drove home confused and a little disgusted, and glad to be back among my own overgrown grass and quiet.The lights of my neighbour’s house were off, but I was not alone in the dark.Fifty feet away, a figure had come out onto the lawn and was standing with his hands in his pockets, looking up at the stars.

Something in his calm, easy way of standing told me it was Gatsby himself.I nearly called out to him, but I did not, because he gave a sudden sign that he wished to be alone.He stretched out his arms toward the dark water across the bay, and though I was far off, I thought he was trembling.

I looked out too, and saw nothing except a single green light, small and far away, that might have been the end of a dock.When I looked back, Gatsby was gone, and I was alone again in the quiet darkness.