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The Great Gatsby - Chapter Six | Full Audiobook · Chapter by Chapter — The Lost Library

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Welcome back to chapter by Chapter, the audiobook
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experience. We're continuing The Great
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Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald. If this is your first time here,
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start from the beginning of this season and follow Nick
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Carraway's story from the very start.
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And if you've been with us since Chapter 5, welcome back.
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Gatsby got what he wanted. Daisy is back.
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The dream he spent five years building is finally standing in
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his living room. But dreams have a way of
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becoming complicated the moment they become real.
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Follow the show so you never miss a chapter and drop a
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comment with the classic you want us to read next.
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Now sit back and let's continue the story.
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Chapter 6. Around this time, a young and
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ambitious reporter from New York showed up 1 morning at Gatsby's
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doorstep, asking if he had any comments to make.
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Comments on what? Gatsby asked politely.
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Well, any statement you'd like to give?
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After a muddled 5 minutes, it became clear that the reporter
1:07
had caught wind of Gatsby's name in his office, linked to
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something he either couldn't disclose or didn't fully grasp.
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It was his day off and with commendable initiative, he had
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rushed over to see. It was a shot in the dark, yet
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the reporter's instincts were spot on.
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Gatsby's fame, fueled by the hundreds who had enjoyed his
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hospitality and thus became self-proclaimed experts on his
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past, had grown all summer, almost reaching the threshold of
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newsworthiness. Contemporary myths like the
1:41
underground pipeline to Canada clung to him, and there was a
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persistent rumor that he didn't live in a house at all, but on a
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boat disguised as a house, secretly moving up and down the
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Long Island shore. Why these fabrications pleased
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James Gatz of North Dakota is hard to pinpoint.
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James Gatz. That was his real, or at least
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legal, name. He had changed it at 17, at the
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precise moment marking the start of his career, when he saw Dan
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Cody's yacht anchor over the most treacherous flat on Lake
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Superior. It was James Gatz who had been
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wandering along the beach that afternoon in a ragged green
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jersey and canvas pants. But it was already Jay Gatsby
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who borrowed A rowboat, paddled out to the and warned Cody that
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a gust might catch him and tear him apart within half an hour.
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I suspect he had the name ready long before.
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Even then. His parents were aimless and
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unsuccessful farmers. He never truly accepted them as
2:48
his own. In truth, Jay Gatsby of West
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Egg, Long Island emerged from his idealized vision of himself.
2:57
He saw himself as a son of God, a phrase that, if it holds any
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meaning, means precisely that. And he felt destined to carry
3:05
out his work serving a vast, gaudy and deceptive beauty.
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So he crafted the kind of Jay Gatsby a 17 year old might dream
3:15
up, and he remained loyal to this vision until the end.
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For over a year he had been making his way along the
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southern shore of Lake Superior, working as a clam digger, a
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salmon Fisher, or in any job that provided food and shelter.
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His body, bronzed and toughening, adapted naturally to
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the half intense, half leisurely rhythm of those invigorating
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days. He became acquainted with women
3:41
early on, and since they indulged him, he grew disdainful
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of them, scornful of young virgins for their naivety and of
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others for their hysteria over matters he, in his overwhelming
3:53
self focus, took for granted. Yet his heart was in constant
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chaotic turmoil. The most bizarre and fantastical
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ideas haunted him at night as the clock ticked on the
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washstand and the moon drenched his scattered clothes with its
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damp light. Each night he wove more into the
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tapestry of his fantasies until sleep enveloped A vivid scene
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with a forgetful embrace. For a time, these dreams offered
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an escape for his imagination. They suggested the unreality of
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reality, a promise that the foundation of the world rested
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securely on a fairy's wing. Driven by a sense of future
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greatness, he adventured months earlier to the modest Lutheran
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College of Saint Olaf's in southern Minnesota.
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His stay lasted a mere 2 weeks, as he was quickly disillusioned
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by the institution's stark indifference to the grand
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Symphony of his destiny, and he loathed the janitorial work that
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was meant to fund his education. Disheartened, he returned to
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Lake Superior, still in search of purpose when Dan Cody's yacht
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anchored in the nearby shallows. Cody, then 50, was a veteran of
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the Nevada silver mines, the Yukon and every gold rush since
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1875. His ventures in Montana copper
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had made him a multi millionaire, leaving him
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physically robust but teetering on the edge of mental decline.
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Aware of this vulnerability, countless women sought to part
5:30
him from his wealth. Among them, Ella Kaye, A
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journalist with questionable motives, manipulated his
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weaknesses, leading him to a life at sea on a yacht, a story
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well known in the sensational journalism OF19-O2.
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For five years he had drifted along, welcoming shores until he
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became a pivotal figure in the life of James Gatz at Little
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Girl Bay. To the young Gatsby, who paused
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his rowing to gaze up at the yacht's deck, it embodied all
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the allure and splendor the world had to offer.
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Perhaps he smiled at Cody, having learned that his smile
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was well received. Whatever the case, Cody engaged
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him in conversation, during which Gatsby revealed his new
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identity and demonstrated his quick wit and boundless
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ambition. Within days, Cody took him to
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Duluth, outfitting him with a blue coat, 6 pairs of white duck
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trousers, and a yachting cap. When the Ptolemy set sail for
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the West Indies and the Barbary Coast, Gatsby departed as well.
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He worked in a nebulous personal role during his time with Cody.
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He served as steward, mate, skipper, secretary, and even
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jailer. Dan Cody Sober was acutely aware
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of the extravagant escapades Dan Cody Drunk might embark upon,
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and thus he increasingly relied on Gatsby to manage such
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eventualities. This arrangement endured for
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five years, during which the yacht circled the continent
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three times. It might have continued
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indefinitely had Ella Kay not boarded one night in Boston, and
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a week later Dan Cody met an untimely death.
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I repall the portrait of him in Gatsby's bedroom, a Gray Florida
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man with a hard, vacant expression, the original
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debauchee who, in a certain era of American history, brought the
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wild excesses of the frontier brothel and saloon back to the
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Eastern seaboard. It was indirectly because of
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Cody that Gatsby drank so sparingly.
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At lively gatherings, women would sometimes rub champagne
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into his hair. For his part, he developed the
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habit of abstaining from alcohol.
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From Cody, Gatsby was supposed to inherit a sum, $25,000.
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He never received it. He never grasped the legal
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maneuver that deprived him of it.
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But the remainder of Cody's fortune went entirely to Ella K.
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He was left with an education that fit him perfectly.
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The once indistinct outline of Jay Gatsby had solidified into
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the presence of a real man. He shared all this with me much
8:15
later, but I've included it here to dispel those early wild
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rumors about his background, which were entirely unfounded.
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He confided in me during a time of uncertainty, when I was
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caught between believing everything and nothing about
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him. So I take this brief pause while
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Gatsby, metaphorically speaking, caught his breath to dispel
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these misconceptions. It was also a pause in my
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involvement with his affairs. For several weeks, I neither saw
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him nor heard his voice over the phone.
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I was mostly in New York, spending time with Jordan and
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trying to win over her elderly aunt.
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But eventually I visited his house one Sunday afternoon.
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I had barely arrived when someone brought Tom Buchanan in
9:00
for a drink. I was surprised, of course, but
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the real surprise was that it hadn't happened sooner.
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They were a group of three on horseback, Tom, a man named
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Sloan and an attractive woman in a brown riding outfit who had
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been there before. I'm delighted to see you, said
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Gatsby, standing on his porch. I'm delighted that you dropped
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in. As if they truly cared.
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Please take a seat. Would you like a cigarette or a
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cigar? He moved briskly around the
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room, ringing bells. I'll have a drink ready for you
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in just a moment. The presence of Tom deeply
9:35
unsettled him, yet he would remain uneasy until he had
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offered them something. Vaguely aware that was their
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sole expectation, Mr. Sloan declined.
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Everything. A lemonade?
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No, thank you. A bit of champagne, Nothing at
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all. Thank you.
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I'm sorry, did you enjoy your ride?
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The roads are quite good around here, I suppose.
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The cars, yes. Compelled by an irresistible
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urge, Gatsby turned to Tom, who had accepted the introduction as
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if they were strangers. I believe we've met before, Mr.
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Buchanan. Oh yes, Tom replied gruffly,
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courteous, clearly not recalling.
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So we did. I remember very well about two
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weeks ago. That's right, you were with Nick
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here. I know your wife, Gatsby said, a
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tone almost confrontational. Is that so?
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Tom turned to me. Do you live nearby, Nick?
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Right next door. Is that so?
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Mr. Sloan didn't join the conversation, reclining
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arrogantly in his chair. The woman remained silent too,
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until after two highballs, she suddenly warmed up.
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She's beautiful, Daisy remarked. The man leaning over her is her
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director. Gatsby LED them with ceremony
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from group to group, Misses Buchanan and Mr. Buchanan.
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After a brief pause, he added the polo player.
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Oh no, Objected Tom swiftly. Not me.
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Apparently the nickname amused Gatsby, as Tom was referred to
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as the polo player for the rest of the night.
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I've never met so many famous people.
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Daisy exclaims. I liked that man.
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What was his name? With the sort of bluish nose
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Gatsby identified him, mentioning that he was a minor
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producer. Well, I liked him anyway.
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I'd prefer not to be the polo player, Tom said with a smile.
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I'd rather watch all these celebrities from a distance.
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Daisy and Gatsby danced. I was struck by his elegant,
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understated foxtrot. I had never seen him dance
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before. Later, they strolled over to my
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house and sat on the steps for half an hour while I stayed
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alert in the garden at her request.
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In case there's a fire or a flood or any act of God.
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Tom emerged from his seclusion as we were about to sit down for
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supper. Do you mind if I join some
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people over here? He asked.
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Someone's telling some amusing stories.
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Go ahead. Daisy responded warmly.
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And if you want to jot down any addresses, here's my little gold
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pencil. After a moment, she glanced
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around and remarked to me that the girl was common but pretty,
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and I realized that aside from the half hour she spent alone
12:17
with Gatsby, she wasn't enjoying herself.
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We found ourselves at a particularly inebriated table,
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and I had only myself to blame. Gatsby had been called away to
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the phone, and I had enjoyed the company of these same people
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just two weeks prior. Yet what had once amused me now
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felt sour and unpleasant. How are you feeling, Miss
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Bodacre? The girl in question was
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attempting, without success, to lean against my shoulder at the
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question. She straightened up and opened
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her eyes. Huh.
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A large, languid woman who had been trying to persuade Daisy to
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join her for golf at the local club the next day spoke up in
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Miss Bodacre's defense. Oh, she's fine now.
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After 5 or 6 cocktails, she always starts screaming like
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that. I keep telling her she should
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steer clear of them. I do steer clear, Miss Botiker
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replied, her voice hollow. We heard you yelling, so I said
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to Doc Civet. Here.
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There's someone who could use your help, Doc.
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She's grateful, I'm sure, remarked another friend, lacking
13:20
any real gratitude. But you soaked her dress when
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you dunked her head in the pool. The one thing I hate is getting
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my head dunked in a pool, Miss Botiker muttered.
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They nearly drowned me once over in New Jersey.
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And then you should steer clear, Doctor Civet retorted.
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Speak for yourself, exclaimed Miss Bodeker with intensity.
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Your hand is trembling. I wouldn't trust you to operate
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on me. That's how it was.
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One of the last things I recall is standing with Daisy,
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observing the film director and his star.
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They remained beneath the white plum tree, their faces nearly
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touching, separated only by a slender beam of moonlight.
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It struck me that he had been gradually leaning toward her all
14:02
evening to reach this closeness, and even as I watched, he bent
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that final fraction and kissed her cheek.
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I like her, Daisy remarked. I think she's lovely.
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Yet the rest of it disturbed her undeniably, because it wasn't
14:17
just a gesture but a feeling. She was unsettled by West Egg,
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this extraordinary place that Broadway had spawned upon a Long
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Island fishing village, unsettled by its raw energy that
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chafed against old niceties and the overt destiny that drove its
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residents on a shortcut from nowhere to nowhere.
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She perceived something dreadful in the very simplicity she
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couldn't grasp. I sat with them on the front
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steps as they waited for their car.
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It was dark here in front, only the bright doorway cast a
14:49
rectangle of light into the gentle blackness of the morning.
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Occasionally a shadow moved against a dressing room blind
14:56
above, replaced by another shadow, an endless parade of
15:00
silhouettes who applied Rouge and powder before an unseen
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mirror. Who is this Gatsby anyway?
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Tom asked abruptly. Some big time, bootlegger.
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Where'd you hear that? I asked.
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I didn't hear it. I just figured a lot of these
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newly wealthy folks are just big bootleggers, you know?
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Not Gatsby, I replied curtly. He paused, the gravel crunching
15:26
under his shoes. Well, he must have gone to great
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lengths to assemble this zoo. A breeze stirred the soft Gray
15:35
fur of Daisy's collar. At least they're more
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interesting than the people we usually meet.
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She said, trying to sound enthusiastic.
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You didn't seem that interested. Well, I was.
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Tom chuckled and turned to me. Did you catch Daisy's expression
15:54
when that girl asked her to put her under a cold shower?
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Daisy began to sing along with the music in a Husky, rhythmic
16:01
whisper, infusing each word with a new meaning it had never held
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before and would never hold again.
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As the melody soared, her voice broke sweetly, following it in
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that way contralto voices do each shift releasing a bit of
16:17
her warm human magic into the air.
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Lots of people show up who weren't invited.
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That girl wasn't invited. They just push their way in.
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And he's too courteous to protest.
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I want to know who he is and what he does.
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Tom insisted. I think I'll make it a point to
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find out. I can tell you right now, she
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replied. She owned a chain of drug
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stores, a lot of them. He built them up himself.
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The slow moving limousine rolled up the drive.
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Good night, Nick, Said Daisy. Her gaze drifted from me to the
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illuminated top of the steps, where 3:00 in the morning, a
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neat, melancholic waltz of that year floated through the open
17:05
door. Despite the casual nature of
17:08
Gatsby's party, there were romantic possibilities entirely
17:12
absent from her own world. What was it in the song that
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seemed to beckon her back inside?
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What might unfold in the dim, unpredictable hours ahead?
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Perhaps some extraordinary guest would arrive, Someone incredibly
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rare and wondrous, a truly radiant young girl who, with one
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fresh glance at Gatsby, 1 moment of enchanting encounter, would
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erase those five years of unwavering devotion.
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I stayed late that night. Gatsby asked me to wait until he
17:45
was free, so I lingered in the garden until the inevitable
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swimming party returned, chilled and exhilarated from the dark
17:53
beach until the lights went out in the guest rooms above.
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When he finally descended the steps, his tanned skin was
18:00
pulled unusually tight across his face and his eyes were
18:04
bright yet weary. She didn't like it, he said
18:08
immediately. Of course she did.
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She didn't enjoy it, he insisted.
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She didn't have a good time. He fell silent, and I sensed the
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depth of his unspoken despair. I feel distant from her, he
18:24
said. It's hard to make her
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understand. Are you talking about the dance?
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The dance? He dismissed all the parties
18:32
he'd thrown with a flick of his fingers.
18:35
Old sport. The dance doesn't matter.
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What he wanted from Daisy was nothing less than for her to go
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to Tom and say I never loved you.
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With those words, she would erase four years and they could
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then figure out the practical steps to take.
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One of those steps was that once she was free, they would return
18:56
to Louisville and Mary from her home, just as if it were five
19:00
years ago. And she doesn't understand, he
19:04
said. She used to be able to
19:05
understand. We'd sit for hours.
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He stopped and began pacing a forlorn path strewn with fruit
19:13
peels, discarded favors, and crushed flowers.
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I wouldn't ask too much of her. I suggested gently.
19:21
You can't repeat the past. Can't repeat the past.
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He exclaimed incredulously. Why, of course you can.
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He glanced around frantically, as if the past were hiding in
19:33
the shadows of his house, just beyond his reach.
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I'm going to set everything back to how it was.
19:40
He declared with a resolute nod. She'll understand.
19:45
He spoke often of the past, and I sensed he was trying to
19:48
reclaim something, perhaps an idea of himself that had been
19:53
lost in his love for Daisy. His life had been chaotic and
19:57
unsettled since then, but he believed that if he could return
20:00
to a certain point and revisit it all slowly, he might discover
20:05
what that elusive thing was. 1 autumn night, five years
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earlier, they had been walking down the street as leaves fell
20:13
around them. They reached a spot where there
20:15
were no trees and the sidewalk was bathed in moonlight.
20:19
They paused there and turned to face each other.
20:22
It was a cool night, filled with the mysterious thrill that
20:26
accompanies the changing of the seasons.
20:29
The quiet lights from the houses hummed into the darkness, and
20:32
the stars seemed to stir with activity.
20:36
Out of the corner of his eye, Gatsby noticed that the blocks
20:39
of the sidewalk formed a ladder leading to a secret place above
20:43
the trees. He could ascend it if he climbed
20:46
alone, and once there, he could drink deeply from the essence of
20:50
life, savoring the unparalleled milk of wonder.
20:54
His heart raced as Daisy's pale face drew near his own.
20:59
He realized that when he kissed this girl, binding his
21:02
indescribable dreams to her fleeting breath, his mind would
21:06
never again frolic like the mind of God.
21:09
So he waited, listening a moment longer to the tuning fork that
21:14
had been struck upon A star. Then he kissed her.
21:18
At the touch of his lips, she opened up to him like a flower
21:22
in bloom, and the transformation was complete.
21:25
In everything he said, even through his overwhelming
21:29
sentimentality, I was reminded of something.
21:32
A fleeting rhythm, a fragment of forgotten words that I had heard
21:36
somewhere long ago. For a moment a phrase tried to
21:39
form on my lips, and they parted like those of a mute person, as
21:44
if more than just a breath of startled air was struggling to
21:47
emerge. But no sound came, and what I
21:50
had nearly recalled slipped away forever beyond communication.
21:55
And that brings us to the close of Chapter 6 of The Great Gatsby
21:59
by F Scott Fitzgerald. This chapter finally gave us the
22:04
truth beneath the myth. His real name, his real origins.
22:08
A dirt poor farm kid from North Dakota who looked out at a rich
22:13
man's yacht one afternoon and decided on the spot to become
22:17
someone else entirely. Jay Gatsby was never born.
22:21
He was invented by a 17 year old with nothing but nerve and an
22:26
unshakeable belief in his own destiny.
22:30
We watched Tom arrive at the party and immediately start
22:33
asking questions. We watched Daisy move through
22:37
Gatsby's world and find it beautiful and troubling all at
22:41
once. And we watched Gatsby after the
22:44
lights went out and everyone went home, standing alone in his
22:48
garden, telling Nick something that stops you cold.
22:51
He wants to repeat the past, not revisit it, not remember it,
22:57
repeat it, erase five years and start again.
23:00
From the moment he kissed her, as if time itself could be
23:04
forced to obey him. Nick tells him you can't repeat
23:08
the past. Gatsby looks at him like he said
23:11
something almost too foolish to answer.
23:14
That gap between what Gatsby believes is possible and what
23:18
the world will actually allow is where everything from here is
23:22
headed. Thank you for listening to
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