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最令人陶醉的时光。
Again at eight o’clock； when the dark lanes of the Forties were five deep with throbbing taxicabs； bound for the theatre district； I felt a sinking in my heart。 Forms leaned together in the taxis as they waited； and voices sang； and there was laughter from unheard jokes； and lighted cigarettes outlined unintelligible 70 gestures inside。 Imagining that I； too； was hurrying toward gayety and sharing their intimate excitement； I wished them well。 有时晚上八点钟，四十几号街那一带阴暗的街巷挤满了出租汽车，五辆一排，热闹非凡，都是前往戏院区的，这时我心中就感到一种无名的怅惘。出租汽车在路口暂停的时候，车里边的人身子偎在一起，说话的声音传了出来，听不见的笑话引起了欢笑，点燃的香烟在里面造成一个个模糊的光圈。幻想着我也在匆匆赶去寻欢作乐，分享他们内心的激动，于是我暗自为他们祝福。
For a while I lost sight of Jordan Baker； and then in midsummer I found her again。 有好久我没有见过乔丹？贝克，后来在仲夏时节我又找到了她。
At first I was flattered to go places with her； because she was a golf champion； and every one knew her name。 起初我对陪她到各处去感到很荣幸，因为她是个高尔夫球冠军，所有的人都知道她的大名。
Then it was something more。 后来却有了另一种感情。
I wasn’t actually in love； but I felt a sort of tender curiosity。 我并没有真的爱上她，但我产生了一种温柔的好奇心。
The bored haughty face that she turned to the world concealed something—most affectations conceal something eventually； even though they don’t in the beginning—and one day I found what it was。 她对世人摆出的那副厌烦而高傲的面孔掩盖了点什么…大多数装模作样的言行到后来总是在掩盖点什么，虽然起初并不如此有一天我发现了那是什么。
When we were on a houseparty together up in Warwick； she left a borrowed car out in the rain with the top down； and then lied about it—and suddenly I remembered the story about her that had eluded me that night at Daisy’s。 At her first big golf tournament there was a row that nearly reached the newspapers—a suggestion that she had moved her ball from a bad lie in the semifinal round。 当时我们两人一同到沃维克去参加一次别墅聚会。她把一辆借来的车子车篷不拉上就停在雨里，然后扯了个谎突然之间我记起了那天晚上我在黛西家里想不起来的那件关于她的事。在她参加的第一个重要的高尔夫锦标赛L，发生了一场风波，差一点闹到登报有人说在半决赛那一局她把球从一个不利的位置上移动过。
The thing approached the proportions of a scandal—then died away。 事情几乎要成为一桩丑闻…后来平息了下去。
A caddy retracted his statement； and the only other witness admitted that he might have been mistaken。 一个球童收回了他的话，唯一的另一个见证人也承认他可能搞错了。
The incident and the name had remained together in my mind。 这个事件和她的名字却留在我脑子里。
Jordan Baker instinctively avoided clever； shrewd men； and now I saw that this was because she felt safer on a plane where any divergence from a code would be thought impossible。 She was incurably dishonest。 She wasn’t able to endure being at a disadvantage and； given this unwillingness； I suppose she had begun dealing in subterfuges when she was very young in order to keep that cool； insolent smile turned to the world and yet satisfy the demands of her hard； jaunty body。 乔丹呗克本能地回避聪明机警的男人，现在我明白了这是因为她认为，在对越轨的行动不以为然的社会圈子里活动比较保险。她不诚实到了不可救药的地步。她不能忍受处于不利的地位，既然这样不甘心，因此我想她从很年轻的时候就开始耍各种花招，为了对世人保持那个傲慢的冷笑，而同时又能满足她那硬硬的、矫健的肉体的要求。
It made no difference to me。 这对我完全无所谓。
Dishonesty in a woman is a thing you never blame deeply—I was casually sorry； and then I forgot。 女人不诚实，这是人们司空见惯的事我微微感到遗憾，过后就忘了。
It was on that same house party that we had a curious conversation about driving a car。 It started because she passed so close to some workmen that our fender flicked a button on one man’s coat。 也是在参加那次别墅聚会的时候，我们俩有过一次关于开车的奇怪的谈话。因为她从几个工人身旁开过去，挨得太近，结果挡泥板擦着一个工人上衣的纽扣。
“You’re a rotten driver；” I protested。 “Either you ought to be more careful； or you oughtn’t to drive at all。” 〃你是个粗心的驾驶员，〃我提出了抗议，〃你该再小心点儿，要不就干脆别开车。〃
“I am careful。” 〃我很小心。〃
“No； you’re not。” 〃不对，你不小心。〃
“Well； other people are；” she said lightly。 〃不要紧，反正别人很小心。〃她轻巧地说。
“What’s that got to do with it？” 〃这跟你开车有什么关系？〃
“They’ll keep out of my way；” she insisted。 “It takes two to make an accident。” 〃他们会躲开我的，〃她固执地说，〃要双方不小心才能造成一次车祸嘛。〃
“Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself。” 〃假定你碰到一个像你一样不小心的人呢？〃
“I hope I never will；” she answered。 “I hate careless people。 That’s why I like you。” 〃我希望永远不会碰到，〃她答道，〃我顶讨厌不小心的人。这也是我喜欢你的原因。〃
Her gray； sunstrained eyes stared straight ahead； but she had deliberately shifted our relations； and for a moment I thought I loved her。 But I am slowthinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires； and I knew that first I had to get myself definitely out of that tangle back home。 I’d been writing letters once a week and signing them： “Love； Nick；” and all I could think of was how； when that certain girl played tennis； a faint mustache of perspiration appeared on her upper lip。 Nevertheless there was a vague understanding that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free。 她那双灰色的、被太阳照得眯紧的眼睛笔直地盯着前方，但她故意地改变了我们的关系，因而有片刻工夫我以为我爱上了她。但是我思想迟钝，而且满脑袋清规戒律，这都对我的情欲起着刹车的作用，同时我也知道首先我得完全摆脱家乡的那段纠葛。我一直每星期写一封信并且签上〃爱你，尼克〃，而我能想到的只是每次那位小姐一打网球，她的上唇上边总出现像小胡子一样的一溜汗珠。不过确实有过一种含糊的默契，这必须先委婉地解除，然后我才可以自由。
Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal virtues； and this is mine： I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known。 每个人都以为他自己至少有一种主要的美德，而这就是我的：我所认识的诚实的人并不多，而我自己恰好就是其中的一个。
Chapter 4 第四章
On Sunday morning while church bells rang in the villages alongshore； the world and its mistress returned to Gatsby’s house and twinkled hilariously on his lawn。 星期天早晨，教堂的钟声响彻沿岸村镇的时候，时髦社会的男男女女又回到了盖茨比的别墅，在他的草坪上寻欢作乐。
“He’s a bootlegger；” said the young ladies； moving somewhere between his cocktails and his flowers。 “One time he killed a man who had found out that he was nephew to Von Hindenburg and second cousin to the devil。 Reach me a rose； honey； and pour me a last drop into that there crystal glass。” 〃他是个私酒贩子，〃那些少妇一边说，一边在他的鸡尾酒和他的好花之间的什么地方走动着，〃有一回他杀了一个人，那人打听出他是兴登堡①的侄子，魔鬼的表兄弟。递给我一朵玫瑰花，宝贝，再往那只水晶杯子里给我倒最后一滴酒。〃 ①兴登堼？von Hindenburg，18471934），德国元帅，第一次世界大战期间任德军总司令。
Once I wrote down on the empty spaces of a timetable the names of those who came to Gatsby’s house that summer。 It is an old timetable now； disintegrating at its folds； and headed “This schedule in effect July 5th； 1922。” But I can still read the gray names； and they will give you a better impression than my generalities of those who accepted Gatsby’s hospitality and paid him the subtle tribute of knowing nothing whatever about him。 有一次我在一张火车时刻表上空白的地方写下了那年夏大到盖茨比别墅来过的人的名字。现在这已经是一张很旧的时刻表了，沿着折印快要散了，上面印着〃本表一九二二年七月五日起生效〃。但我还认得出那些暗淡的名字，它们可以给你一个比我的笼统概括更清楚的印象，那些人到盖茨比家里做客，却对他一无所知，仿佛这是对他所表示的一种微妙的敬意。
From East Egg； then； came the Chester Beckers and the Leeches； and a man named Bunsen； whom I knew at Yale； and Doctor Webster Civet； who was drowned last summer up in Maine。 And the Hornbeams and the Willie Voltaires； and a whole clan named Blackbuck； who always gathered in a corner and flipped up their noses like goats at whosoever came near。 And the Ismays and the Chrysties （or rather Hubert Auerbach and Mr。 Chrystie’s wife）； and Edgar Beaver； whose hair； they say； turned cottonwhi