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副担架，上面躺着一个喝醉酒的女人，身上穿着一件白色的晚礼服。她一只手耷拉在一边，闪耀着珠宝的寒光。那几个人郑重其事地转身走进一所房子…走错了地方。但是没人知道这个女人的姓名，也没有人关心。 ①埃尔？格列柯（El Greco，约1541－1614），西班牙画家。作品多用宗教题材，并用阴冷色调渲染超现实的气氛。
After Gatsby’s death the East was haunted for me like that； distorted beyond my eyes’ power of correction。 So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to e back home。 盖茨比死后，东部在我心目中就是这样鬼影憧憧，面目全非到超过了我眼睛矫正的能力，因此等到烧枯叶的蓝烟弥漫空中，寒风把晾在绳上的湿衣服吹得邦邦硬的时候，我就决定回家来了。
There was one thing to be done before I left； an awkward； unpleasant thing that perhaps had better have been let alone。 But I wanted to leave things in order and not just trust that obliging and indifferent sea to sweep my refuse away。 I saw Jordan Baker and talked over and around what had happened to us together； and what had happened afterward to me； and she lay perfectly still； listening； in a big chair。 在我离开之前还有一件事要办，一件尴尬的、不愉快的事，本来也许应当不了了之的，但是我希望把事情收拾干净，而不指望那个乐于帮忙而又不动感情的大海来把我的垃圾冲掉。我去见了乔丹？贝克，从头到尾谈了围绕着我们两人之间发生的事情，然后谈到我后来的遭遇，而她躺在一张大椅子里听着，一动也不动。
She was dressed to play golf； and I remember thinking she looked like a good illustration； her chin raised a little jauntily； her hair the color of an autumn leaf； her face the same brown tint as the fingerless glove on her knee。 When I had finished she told me without ment that she was engaged to another man。 I doubted that； though there were several she could have married at a nod of her head； but I pretended to be surprised。 For just a minute I wondered if I wasn’t making a mistake； then I thought it all over again quickly and got up to say goodbye。 她穿的是打高尔夫球的衣服，我还记得我当时想过她活像一幅很好的插图，她的下巴根神气地微微翘起，她头发像秋叶的颜色，她的脸和她放在膝盖上的浅棕色无指手套一个颜色。等我讲完之后，她告诉我她和另一个人订了婚，别的话一句没说。我怀疑她的话，虽然有好几个人是只要她一点头就可以与她结婚的，但是我故作惊讶。一刹那间我寻思自己是否正在犯错误，接着我很快地考虑了一番就站起来告辞了。
“Nevertheless you did throw me over；” said Jordan suddenly。 “You threw me over on the telephone。 I don’t give a damn about you now； but it was a new experience for me； and I felt a little dizzy for a while。” 〃不管怎样，还是你甩掉我的，〃乔丹忽然说，〃你那天在电话L把我甩了。我现在拿你完全不当回事了，但是当时那倒是个新经验，我有好一阵子感到晕头转向的。〃
We shook hands。 我们俩握了握手。
“Oh； and do you remember。”—she added——” a conversation we had once about driving a car？” 〃哦，你还记得吗，〃她又加了一句，〃我们有过一次关于开车的谈话？〃
“Why—not exactly。” 〃啊。。。。。。记不太清了。〃
“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 it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess。 I thought you were rather an honest； straightforward person。 I thought it was your secret pride。” 〃你说过一个开车不小心的人只有在碰上另一个开车不小心的人之前才安全吧？瞧，我碰上了另一个开车不小心的人了，是不是？我是说我真不小心，竟然这样看错了人。我以为你是一个相当老实、正直的人。我以为那是你暗暗引以为荣的事。〃
“I’m thirty；” I said。 “I’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor。” 〃我三十岁了，〃我说，〃要是我年轻五岁，也许我还可以欺骗自己，说这样做光明正大。〃
She didn’t answer。 Angry； and half in love with her； and tremendously sorry； I turned away。 她没有回答。我又气又恼，对她有几分依恋，同时心里又非常难过，只好转身走开了。
One afternoon late in October I saw Tom Buchanan。 He was walking ahead of me along Fifth Avenue in his alert； aggressive way； his hands out a little from his body as if to fight off interference； his head moving sharply here and there； adapting itself to his restless eyes。 Just as I slowed up to avoid overtaking him he stopped and began frowning into the windows of a jewelry store。 Suddenly he saw me and walked back； holding out his hand。 十月下旬的一个下午我碰到了汤姆？布坎农。他在五号路上走在我前面，还是那样机警和盛气凌人，两手微微离开他的身体，仿佛要打退对方的碰撞一样，同时把头忽左忽右地转动，配合他那双溜溜转的眼睛。我正要放慢脚步免得赶上他，他停了下来，蛮着眉头向一家珠宝店的橱窗里看。忽然间他看见了我，就往回走，伸出手来。
“What’s the matter； Nick？ Do you object to shaking hands with me？” 〃怎么啦，尼克？你不愿意跟我握手吗？〃
“Yes。 You know what I think of you。” 〃对啦。你知道我对你的看法。〃
“You’re crazy； Nick；” he said quickly。 “Crazy as hell。 I don’t know what’s the matter with you。” 〃你发疯了，尼克，〃他急忙说，〃疯得够呛。我不明白你是怎么回事。〃
“Tom；” I inquired； “what did you say to Wilson that afternoon？” He stared at me without a word； and I knew I had guessed right about those missing hours。 I started to turn away； but he took a step after me and grabbed my arm。 〃汤姆，〃我质问道，〃那天下午你对威尔逊说了什么？〃他一言不发地瞪着我，于是我知道我当时对于不明底细的那几个小时的猜测果然是猜对了。我掉头就走，可是他紧跟上一步，抓住了我的胳臂。
“I told him the truth；” he said。 “He came to the door while we were getting ready to leave； and when I sent down word that we 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。 His hand was on a revolver in his pocket every minute he was in the house——” He broke off defiantly。 “What if I did tell him？ That fellow had it ing to him。 He threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy’s； but he was a tough one。 He ran over Myrtle like you’d run over a dog and never even stopped his car。” 〃我对他说了实话，〃他说，〃他来到我家门口，这时我们正准备出去，后来我让人传话下来说我们不在家，他就想冲上楼来。他已经疯狂到可以杀死我的地步，要是我没告诉他那辆车子是谁的。到了我家里他的手每一分钟都放在他口袋里的一把手枪上。。。。。。〃他突然停住了，态度强硬起来，〃就算我告诉他又该怎样？那家伙自己找死。他把你迷惑了，就像他迷惑了黛西一样，其实他是个心肠狠毒的家伙。他撞死了茉特尔就像撞死了一条狗一样，连车子都不停一下。〃
There was nothing I could say； except the one unutterable fact that it wasn’t true。 我无话可说，除了这个说不出来的事实：事情并不是这样的。
“And if you think I didn’t have my share of suffering—look here； when I went to give up that flat and saw that damn box of dog biscuits sitting there on the sideboard； I sat down and cried like a baby。 By God it was awful——” 〃你不要以为我没有受痛苦…我告诉你，我去退掉那套公寓时，看见那盒倒霉的喂狗的饼干还搁在餐具柜上，我坐下来像小娃娃一样放声大哭。我的天，真难受。。。。。。〃
I couldn’t forgive him or like him； but I saw that what he had done was； to him； entirely justified。 It was all very careless and confused。 They were careless people； Tom and Daisy—they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness； or whatever it was that kept them together； and let other people clean up the mess they had made。 。 。 。 我不能宽恕他，也不能喜欢他，但是我看到，他所做的事情在他自己看来完全是有理的。一切都是粗心大意、混乱不堪的。汤姆和黛西，他们是粗心大意的人…他们砸碎了东西，毁灭了人，然后就退缩到自己的金钱或者麻木不仁或者不管什么使他们留在一起的东西之中，让别人去收拾他们的烂摊子。。。。。。
I shook hands with him； it seemed silly not to； for I felt suddenly as though I were talking to a child。 Then he went into the jewelry store to buy a pearl necklace—or perhaps only a pair of cuff buttons—rid of my provincial squeamishness forever。 我跟他握了握手。不肯握手未免太无聊了，因为我突然觉得仿佛我是在跟一个小孩子说话。随后他走进那家珠宝店去买一串珍珠项链或者也许只是一副袖扣永远摆脱了我这乡下佬吹毛求疵的责难。
Gatsby’s house was still empty when I left—the grass on his lawn had grown as long as mine。 One of the taxi drivers in the village never took a fare past the entrance gate without stopping for a minute and pointing inside； perhaps it was he who drove Daisy and Gatsby over to East Egg the night of the accident； and perhaps he had made a story about it all his own。 I didn’t want to