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The Great Gatsby - Chapter One | 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 where timeless stories find new voices.
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Today we begin one of the most iconic novels of the 20th
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century, a story of obsession, reinvention, and the devastating
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cost of chasing a dream that was never really yours.
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The Great Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald, Chapter 1 In my
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younger, more impressionable years, my father offered me a
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piece of advice that has lingered in my thoughts ever
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since. Whenever you feel like
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criticizing anyone, he said, just remember that not everyone
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in this world has had the advantages you've had.
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He left it at that, but we've always communicated in a
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reserved yet meaningful way, and I understood he implied much
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more. As a result, I tend to withhold
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judgment, a habit that has revealed many intriguing
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personalities to me and also made me the target of more than
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a few seasoned boars. An unusual mind quickly senses
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and clings to this trait when it appears in a typical person,
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which led to me being unfairly labeled a politician in college
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simply because I was Privy to the hidden sorrows of wild,
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unknown men. Most of these confidences were
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unsolicited. I have often pretended to be
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asleep, distracted, or humorously indifferent when I
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sensed with unmistakable signs that a personal revelation was
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about to surface. For the intimate disclosures of
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young men, or at least the way they express them, are often
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derivative and marred by obvious omissions.
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Withholding judgment is an act of endless hope.
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I still fear missing something if I forget that, as my father
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somewhat snobbishly suggested, and I somewhat snobbishly echo,
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a sense of basic decency is unevenly distributed at birth.
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And after boasting about my tolerance, I must admit it has
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its limits. Behavior may be rooted in solid
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ground or shifting sands, but beyond a certain point, I no
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longer care what it's based on. When I returned from the East
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last fall, I found myself longing for a world that stood
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perpetually at attention. Clad in moral uniformity, I
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craved an end to wild adventures and the privileged peaks into
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the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man whose name
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graces this book, escaped my newfound disdain.
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Gatsby, who embodied everything I instinctively scorned.
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If personality is a seamless sequence of successful gestures,
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then there was something magnificent about him, a
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heightened sensitivity to life's promises, as though he were akin
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to one of those complex machines that detect earthquakes from
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10,000 miles away. This responsiveness was not the
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same as the weak impressionability often
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mischaracterized as creative temperament.
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It was an extraordinary capacity for hope, a romantic readiness
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unlike anything I had ever encountered and likely never
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would again. No, Gatsby turned out fine in
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the end. It was the things that preyed on
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him, the foul dust that trailed in the wake of his dreams, that
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temporarily dulled my interest in the feudal sorrows and
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fleeting joys of men. My family has been prominent and
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well off in this Midwestern city for three generations.
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The Caraways are somewhat of a clan with a tradition claiming
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descent from the Dukes of Baklu, though the true founder of our
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line was my grandfather's brother.
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He arrived here in 51, sent a substitute to fight in the Civil
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War, and established the wholesale hardware business that
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my father continues to run today.
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I never met this great uncle, but I am said to resemble him
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particularly in the rather stern portrait that hangs in my
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father's office. I graduated from New Haven in
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1915, exactly 25 years after my father, and shortly thereafter I
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took part in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the
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Great War. I enjoyed the counter raid so
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much that I returned feeling unsettled.
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What once felt like the warm center of the world, the
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Midwest, now seemed like the frayed edge of the universe.
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So I decided to head east and learn the bond business.
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Everyone I knew was in bonds so I figured it could accommodate
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one more bachelor. My aunts and uncles disgusted as
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if they were picking a prep school for me and eventually
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with serious hesitant expressions they said why yes.
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My father agreed to support me for a year, and after some
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delays I moved E, thinking it was for good.
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In the spring of 22, the sensible thing was to find a
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place in the city. But it was a warm season and I
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had just left a land of sprawling lawns and friendly
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trees. So when a young colleague
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suggested we rent a house together in a commuter town, it
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seemed like a great idea. He found the place, a weathered
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flimsy bungalow for 80 a month, but at the last moment the firm
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sent him to Washington, and I ended up in the countryside
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alone. I had a dog, at least for a few
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days, until he ran off, and an old Dodge, plus a Finnish woman
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who made my bed, cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish
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proverbs to herself over the electric stove.
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It was lonely for a day or two, until 1 morning.
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A man newer to the area than I was stopped me on the road.
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How do you get to West Egg Village?
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He asked, looking lost. I gave him directions As I
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continued my walk. The loneliness vanished.
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I felt transformed into a guide, a trailblazer, a pioneer.
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He had effortlessly granted me the freedom of the neighborhood.
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With the sun shining and the trees bursting, with leaves
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growing as rapidly as scenes in a fast-paced film, I was filled
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with that familiar sense that life was starting anew with the
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arrival of summer. There was so much to explore, so
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much vitality to draw from the invigorating young heir.
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I bought a dozen books on banking, credit and investment
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securities, their red and gold covers gleaming like freshly
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minted coins, promising to reveal the luminous secrets
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known only to the likes of Midas, Morgan and Messinas.
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I intended to read many other books as well.
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I had been quite literary in college.
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One year I penned a series of very earnest and straightforward
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editorials for the Yale News, and now I planned to reintroduce
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such pursuits into my life, aiming to become once more that
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narrowly defined of specialists, the well-rounded man.
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This isn't merely a clever saying.
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After all, life is more effectively viewed from a single
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vantage point. By chance, I had rented a house
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in one of the most peculiar communities in North America.
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It was located on that slender, exuberant island stretching east
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of New York, where, among other natural oddities, 2 unusual land
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formations exist 20 miles from the city. 2 enormous eggs,
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identical in shape and separated only by a polite Bay, protrude
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into the most tamed body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere,
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the expansive aquatic barnyard of Long Island Sound.
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They aren't perfect ovals. Like the egg in the Columbus
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Tail, they are both flattened at the point of contact.
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But their physical resemblance must be a constant source of
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amazement to the goals soaring above to those without wings.
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The most intriguing aspect is how these creatures differ in
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every way except for their shape and size.
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I lived in West Egg, the well, the less fashionable of the two
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places, though calling it that barely scratches the surface of
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the strange and somewhat sinister contrast between them.
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My house was perched right at the tip of the Egg, just 50
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yards from the Sound, nestled between two enormous estates
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that rented for 12 or $15,000 a season.
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The one to my right was a colossal structure by any
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measure, an exact replica of a Normandy Hotel de Ville with a
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tower on one side, freshly built with a sparse covering of raw
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Ivy, a marble swimming pool, and over 40 acres of lawn and
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garden. This was Gatsby's mansion, or
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more accurately since I didn't know Mr. Gatsby, it was a
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mansion occupied by a man of that name.
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My own house was an eyesore, but a minor 1, and it had been
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overlooked, which meant I had a view of the water, a partial
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view of my neighbor's lawn, and the comforting nearness of
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millionaires. All for $80.00 a month.
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Across the Polite Bay, the white palaces of the fashionable
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Easter eggs sparkled along the water, and the real story of the
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summer began on the evening I drove over there to have dinner
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with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once
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removed, and I had known Tom in college, just after the war.
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I had spent two days with them in Chicago.
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Her husband, among his various physical achievements, had been
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one of the most formidable football ends ever to play at
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New Haven, a national figure in his own right, one of those men
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who reached such a peak of limited excellence at 21 that
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everything afterward felt like an anticlimax.
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His family was incredibly wealthy.
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Even during his college days, his casual spending was often
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criticized. But now he had left Chicago and
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arrived in the East in a way that was truly astonishing.
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For example, he had transported a string of polo ponies from
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Lake Forest. It was difficult to grasp that
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someone from my own generation could possess such wealth.
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I never understood why they moved E they had spent a year in
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France for no particular reason and then wandered restlessly
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from place to place wherever the rich gathered to play polo.
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Daisy mentioned over the phone that this move was permanent,
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but I didn't believe it. I couldn't see into Daisy's
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heart, but I sensed that Tom would continue to drift somewhat
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wistfully in search of the dramatic excitement of some long
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lost football game. So it was that on a warm, breezy
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evening, I drove over to East Egg to visit 2 old friends whom
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I barely knew. Their house was even more
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extravagant than I had anticipated, a lively red and
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white Georgian colonial mansion overlooking the Bay.
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The lawn stretched from the beach to the front door, 1/4 of
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a mile away, leaping over sundials and brick paths and
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vibrant gardens. Finally, as it reached the
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house, it climbed up the side in bright vines, as if propelled by
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its own momentum. The front was interrupted by a
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row of French windows, now a glow with reflected gold, and
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wide open to the warm breezy afternoon with Tom Buchanan
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standing on the front porch in riding clothes, his legs apart.
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He had changed since his days at New Haven.
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Now he was a robust straw haired man of 30 with a rather hard
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mouth and an arrogant demeanor. 2 piercing, arrogant eyes
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dominated his face, giving him the look of someone perpetually
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leaning forward with aggression. Not even the flamboyant elegance
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of his riding attire could mask the immense power of his
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physique. He seemed to fill those polished
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boots to the point of straining the top laces, and you could see
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the powerful muscles shifting beneath his thin coat as his
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shoulder moved. It was a body built for immense
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force, a body with a cruel edge. His voice, a rough, Husky tenor,
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only reinforced the impression of his irritable nature.
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There was a hint of condescending authority in it,
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even towards those he liked, and there were men at New Haven who
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had despised him. Now, don't assume my opinion on
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these matters is definitive, he seemed to imply.
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Just because I'm stronger and more of a man than you are.
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We were part of the same senior society, and though we were
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never close, I always sensed that he approved of me and
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wanted me to like him with a kind of harsh, defiant longing
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of his own. We chatted for a few minutes on
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the sunlit porch. I've got a nice place here, he
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remarked, his eyes darting restlessly.
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Grasping my arm, he turned me around, sweeping a broad, flat
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hand across the view, which included a sunken Italian
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garden, half an acre of deep, fragrant roses, and a stubby
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motorboat bobbing with the tide offshore.
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It belonged to Domain, the oil man.
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He turned me around again, both polite and abrupt.
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We'll grow inside. We stepped through a lofty
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corridor into a bright, rosy hued room, delicately tethered
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to the house by French windows at each end.
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These windows stood slightly open, their white frames
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gleaming against the fresh grass outside, which seemed to extend
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a little into the room itself. A breeze swept through, sending
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the curtains billowing in at one end and out the other like pale
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flags, twisting them upward toward the ornate frosted
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ceiling and then rippling over the wine colored rug, casting
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shadows like wind over the sea. The only thing completely still
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in the room was a massive couch where two young women reclined
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as if buoyed by an anchored balloon.
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Both were dressed in white, their garments fluttering as if
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they had just been swept back inside.
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After a brief flight around the house.
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I stood for a moment, listening to the snap of the curtains and
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the creak of a picture on the wall.
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Then came a boom as Tom Buchanan closed the rear windows and the
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captured wind subsided, leaving the curtains, the rug, and the
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two young women to gently settle back to the floor.
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The younger woman was unfamiliar to me.
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She lay stretched out at her end of the divan, perfectly still,
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her chin slightly raised, as if balancing something precarious.
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If she noticed me from the corner of her eye, she gave no
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indication, so much so that I almost felt compelled to
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apologize for intruding. The other woman, Daisy, made a
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move to arise, leaning forward with a deliberate expression.
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Then she laughed, A delightful, whimsical laugh, and I found
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myself laughing too, as I stepped further into the room.
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I'm so overwhelmed with happiness I can hardly move.
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She laughed again, as if she'd just delivered a clever line,
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and held my hand briefly, her eyes meeting mine with a promise
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that there was no one. She was more eager to see that
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was her way. She softly mentioned that the
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girl balancing nearby was named Baker.
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Some say Daisy's soft spoken manner was just to draw people
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closer, a critique that did nothing to diminish its charm.
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Meanwhile, Miss Baker's lips twitched and she gave me the
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slightest nod before quickly tilting her head back.
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The object she was balancing must have wobbled, giving her a
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bit of a scare. Again, I felt an apology forming
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on my lips. Any display of complete self
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assurance tends to leave me in silent awe.
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I turned back to my cousin who began questioning me in her low,
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captivating voice. It was the kind of voice that
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the ear follows up and down, as if each sentence is a melody
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never to be repeated. Her face was both sad and
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beautiful, with bright, lively features, sparkling eyes, and a
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vibrant, passionate mouth. Yet there was an excitement in
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her voice that lingered with the men who had cared for her.
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A compelling melody, a hushed listen, a promise of recent
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thrilling adventures, and more to come in the near future.
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I shared with her that I had paused in Chicago for a day on
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my journey east, and how a dozen people had sent their love
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through me. Do they miss me?
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She exclaimed with a burst of excitement.
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The entire town feels empty without you.
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Every car has its left rear wheel painted black like a
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morning wreath, and there's a constant wailing echoing along
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the North Shore all night. How wonderful.
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Let's go back Tom. Tomorrow, she added suddenly, as
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if struck by a new thought. You should see the baby.
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I'd like that. She's asleep now.
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She's three years old. Have you never seen her?
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Never. Well, you really should.
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She's Tom. Buchanan, who had been pacing
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the room with restless energy, paused and placed his hand on my
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shoulder. What are you up to, Mick?
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I'm in the bond business. With whom?
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I told him the name of the firm. Never heard of them.
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He said with a note of finality. This irked me.
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You will. I replied tersely.
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You will if you stick around the East.
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Oh, I'll be staying in the East, don't worry.
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He assured me, casting a glance at Daisy before returning his
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gaze to me as if he were on the lookout for something more.
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I'd be a damn fool to live anywhere else at that moment.
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Miss Baker exclaimed absolutely with such abruptness that I
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jumped. It was the first thing she'd
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said since I entered the room. It seemed to surprise her as
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much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of
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quick, graceful movements, stood up.
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I'm stiff, she complained. I've been lying on that sofa for
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as long as I can remember. Don't blame me, Daisy replied.
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I've been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.
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No thanks, Miss Baker said to the four cocktails just brought
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in from the pantry. I'm absolutely in training.
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Her host looked at her incredulously.
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You are. He drowned his drink as if it
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was just a drop left in the glass.
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How you managed to accomplish anything is beyond me.
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I glanced at Miss Baker, curious about what she actually
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accomplished. I enjoyed looking at her.
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She was a slender, small breasted woman with a poised
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posture which she emphasized by arching her shoulders back like
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a young cadet. Her Gray sun bleached eyes met
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mine with a polite, mutual curiosity from a pale, charming,
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yet discontented face. It struck me just then that I
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had seen her before, or at least a picture of her.
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You live in West Egg, She said with a hint of disdain.
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I know someone there. I don't know a single.
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You must know Gatsby. Gatsby.
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Daisy interjected. Who's Gatsby?
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Before I could explain that he was my neighbor, dinner was
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announced. Tom Buchanan, with a firm grip
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on my arm, steered me out of the room as if he were moving a
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chess piece to a new position. With a graceful, unhurried air,
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their hands resting lightly on their hips, the two young women
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LED us onto a porch bathed in the rosy glow of sunset, where 4
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candles flickered in the gentle breeze.
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Why candles? Daisy questioned, frowning.
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She extinguished them with a quick pinch of her fingers.
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In two weeks, it'll be the longest day of the year.
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She beamed at us. Do you always look forward to
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the longest day and then let it slip by?
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I always look forward to it and let it slip by.
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We should plan something. Miss Baker suggested with a yawn
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as she settled into her chair as if she was climbing into bed.
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All right, Daisy agreed. What should we plan?
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She turned to me, lost. What do people even plan?
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Before she could respond, her gaze fixed on her little finger
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with a look of awe. Look, she complained.
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I heard it. We all looked.
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The knuckle was bruised a deep shade of black and blue.
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You did it, Tom, She accused. I know you didn't mean to, but
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you did. That's what I get for marrying a
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brute of a man. A big hulking physical specimen
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of AI. Hate that word, Hulking Tom
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objected irritably. Even as a joke, Hulking Daisy
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insisted sometimes she and Miss Baker would talk simultaneously
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in a manner that was unobtrusive and playfully inconsequential,
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never quite descending into mere chatter.
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Their conversation was cool as their white dresses and their
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detached eyes, devoid of any real desire.
21:21
They were present, accepting Tom and me with only a polite,
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pleasant effort to entertain or be entertained.
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They knew that soon dinner would end, and not long after the
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evening would be over and casually set aside.
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It was starkly different from the West, where an evening
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rushed from one phase to the next, driven by a constant
21:42
unfulfilled anticipation or a sheer nervous dread of the
21:46
moment itself. You make me feel uncivilized,
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Daisy. I admitted on my second glass of
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Corky, but rather impressive claret.
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Can't you talk about crops or something?
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I meant nothing specific by this remark, but it was picked up in
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an unexpected way. Society's falling apart.
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Tom erupted with a fierce intensity.
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I've become incredibly pessimistic about the state of
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things. Have you read The Rise of the
22:13
Colored Empires by this guy Goddard?
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No, I haven't, I replied, taken aback by his fervor.
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Well, it's an important book, and everyone should read it.
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The premise is that if we're not careful, the white race will be
22:26
completely overrun. It's all based on scientific
22:30
evidence. It's been proven.
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Tom's getting quite deep, Daisy remarked with a vague, sorrowful
22:36
air. He reads these serious books
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with big words. What was that word?
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We. These books are scientific, Tom
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insisted, casting an impatient glance at her.
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This guy has figured it all out. It's up to us, the dominant
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race, to be vigilant, or these other races will take over.
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We have to keep them in check. Daisy whispered, winking
22:59
fiercely at the blazing sun. You should move to California.
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Miss Baker began, but Tom cut her off by shifting heavily in
23:07
his chair. The idea is that we're Nordics.
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I am, you are, and you are, He said, pausing for a fraction of
23:15
a second before including Daisy with a slight nod, to which she
23:19
winked at me again. And we've created everything
23:23
that defines civilization, science, art, and all that.
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Do you see? His focus was almost pitiable,
23:30
as if his once sufficient self satisfaction now left him
23:34
wanting. Just then, the phone rang
23:37
inside, and the Butler stepped away from the porch.
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DZ seized the brief interruption, leaning toward me
23:43
with a spark of excitement. I'll share a family secret, She
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whispered eagerly. It's about the Butler's nose.
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Want to hear it? That's exactly why I came over
23:53
tonight. Well, he wasn't always a Butler.
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He used to Polish silver for a New York family with a service
24:00
for 200. He polished from dawn to dusk,
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and eventually it affected his nose.
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Things went from bad to worse, Miss Baker interjected.
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Yes, they did, until he finally had to quit.
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For a moment, the last rays of sun bathed her face with a
24:17
tender glow. Her voice drew me in, breathless
24:21
as I listened. Then the light faded, each beam
24:24
slipping away with a gentle reluctance, like children
24:27
leaving a beloved street at twilight.
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The Butler returned, whispering something to Tom, who frowned,
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pushed back his chair, and silently went inside, as if his
24:38
departure sparked something in her.
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Daisy leaned in again, her voice vibrant and melodic.
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I love having you at my table, Nick.
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You remind me of a rose. An absolute rose, Don't you
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think so? She turned to Miss Baker for
24:52
confirmation. An absolute rose.
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This wasn't true. I'm not even remotely like a
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rose. She was improvising, yet there
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was a warmth in her words, as if her heart was reaching out,
25:04
hidden within those breathless, thrilling phrases.
25:07
Then, without warning, she tossed her napkin onto the
25:10
table, excused herself, and went inside the house.
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Miss Baker and I exchanged A brief glance, deliberately
25:17
devoid of meaning. I was about to speak when she
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sat up suddenly and said SHHHH in a cautionary tone.
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A muted, passionate murmur was audible from the next room, and
25:28
Miss Baker leaned forward unashamedly trying to listen.
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The murmur hovered on the edge of clarity, dipped, rose
25:36
excitedly, and then stopped all together.
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This Mr. Gatsby you mentioned is my neighbor.
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I started. Don't talk.
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I want to hear what's happening. Is something happening?
25:46
I asked innocently. Are you telling me you don't
25:49
know? Miss Baker asked, genuinely
25:51
surprised. I thought everyone was aware.
25:54
I don't. Well.
25:56
She hesitated. Tom has a woman in New York.
25:59
A woman? I echoed, bewildered.
26:01
Miss Baker nodded. She could at least have the
26:04
courtesy not to call him during dinner, don't you think?
26:07
Before I could fully process what she meant, there was the
26:10
rustle of a dress and the sound of leather boots on the floor,
26:13
and Tom and Daisy returned to the table.
26:16
It was unavoidable. Daisy exclaimed with a strange
26:19
cheerfulness. She sat down, casting a
26:22
searching glance at Miss Baker and then at me, and continued.
26:26
I stepped outside for a moment. And it's so romantic out there.
26:29
There's a bird on the lawn. I think it might be a
26:32
Nightingale that came over on the Cunard or White Star Line.
26:35
It's singing away. Isn't it romantic, Tom?
26:39
Very romantic, he added then to me with a note of despair.
26:43
If there's enough light after dinner, I want to show you the
26:45
stables. The phone rang inside, startling
26:48
us, and as Daisy shook her head firmly at Tom, the topic of the
26:53
stables, indeed all topics, seem to dissolve into thin air in the
26:58
scattered remnants of the last five minutes at the table.
27:01
I recall the candles being lit again pointlessly, and I felt a
27:05
strong urge to look directly at everyone, yet avoid meeting any
27:09
eyes. I couldn't fathom what Daisy and
27:11
Tom were thinking, but I doubted even Miss Baker, who seemed to
27:15
have honed a certain resilient skepticism, could completely
27:19
dismiss the insistent, shrill urgency of this uninvited 5th
27:23
guest. To some, the situation might
27:26
have held a certain allure, but my immediate impulse was to call
27:30
the police. The horses, predictably, were
27:33
never brought up again. Tom and Miss Baker, separated by
27:36
a stretch of twilight, wandered back into the library as if
27:40
keeping watch over a palpable presence.
27:43
Meanwhile, I trailed Daisy through a series of
27:45
interconnected verandas to the porch at the front, trying to
27:49
appear both amiably engaged and slightly hard of hearing in the
27:53
porch's shadowy embrace. We settled side by side on a
27:57
Wicker satay. Daisy cradled her face in her
28:00
hands as if tracing its delicate contours, her eyes drifting
28:04
slowly into the velvet darkness. I could sense the storm of
28:08
emotions within her, so I ventured with what I hoped were
28:11
calming inquiries about her little girl.
28:14
We don't really know each other, Nick, she said abruptly.
28:17
Even though we're cousins, you didn't come to my wedding.
28:21
I was still overseas. I replied.
28:23
That's true. She paused.
28:25
Well, I've been through a lot, Nick, and I've grown quite
28:28
cynical about everything. Clearly, she had her reasons.
28:32
I waited, but she didn't add anything else.
28:35
After a moment, I hesitantly brought up her daughter again.
28:38
I guess she talks and eats and all that.
28:41
Oh, yes? She looked at me with a distant
28:44
gaze. Listen, Nick, let me tell you
28:46
what I said when she was born. Want to hear it?
28:49
Absolutely. It'll give you an idea of how I
28:52
feel about things now. Well, she was less than an hour
28:55
old and Tom was who knows where. I came out of the ether with
28:59
this overwhelming sense of abandonment and immediately
29:02
asked the nurse if it was a boy or a girl.
29:05
She said it was a girl, and I turned my head and cried.
29:08
All right, I said. I'm glad it's a girl and I hope
29:11
she'll be a fool. That's the best thing a girl can
29:14
be in this world. A beautiful little fool.
29:18
You see, I think everything's awful anyway.
29:21
She continued with a conviction that was hard to ignore.
29:24
Everyone thinks so. The most enlightened people.
29:27
And I know I've been everywhere, seen everything, done
29:30
everything. Her eyes darted around with a
29:33
defiant energy much like Tom's, and she laughed with a thrilling
29:37
disdain. Sophisticated.
29:39
God, I'm sophisticated. The moment her voice fell
29:43
silent, no longer holding my attention or convincing me, I
29:47
sensed the underlying falseness of her words.
29:50
It unsettled me, as if the entire evening had been
29:53
orchestrated to draw some emotional response from me.
29:57
I paused and sure enough, she soon glanced at me with a
30:00
knowing smirk on her beautiful face, as if she had just
30:04
confirmed her place in an exclusive secret society that
30:08
she and Tom were part of. Inside, the room was awash in a
30:12
warm Crimson glow. Tom and Miss Baker were seated
30:16
at opposite ends of the long couch with her reading aloud
30:19
from the Saturday Evening Post. Her voice was a gentle,
30:22
uninflected murmur, the words blending into a calming melody.
30:27
The lamp light shone brightly on Tom's boots and softly on the
30:31
autumn leaf color hair of hers, catching the edge of the paper
30:35
as she turned a page with a graceful flick of her slender
30:38
arm muscles. As we entered, she held us in a
30:41
moment of silence with an upraised hand.
30:44
To be continued. She announced, tossing the
30:47
magazine onto the table in our very next issue.
30:50
Her body shifted restlessly, her knee moving as she stood up.
30:55
10:00, she noted, seemingly reading the time from the
30:58
ceiling. Time for this good girl to head
31:00
to bed. Jordan's playing in the
31:02
tournament tomorrow over at Westchester.
31:05
Oh, you're Jordan Baker? Now I understood why her face
31:09
seemed so familiar. It's charmingly disdainful
31:12
expression had stared back at me from countless rotograph images
31:16
of the sporting elite at places like Asheville, Hot Springs and
31:20
Palm Beach. I vaguely recalled hearing some
31:23
unsavory story about her, but the details had long since
31:27
slipped my mind. Goodnight, she murmured softly.
31:31
Wake me at 8, won't you? If you'll actually get up, I
31:34
will. Good night, Mr. Caraway.
31:36
See you soon. Of course you will, Daisy
31:39
affirmed. In fact, I think I'll
31:41
orchestrate a marriage visit often, Nick and I'll sort of,
31:45
oh, throw you 2 together, you know, accidentally lock you in
31:49
linen closets and send you a drift in a boat, that kind of
31:52
thing. Good night.
31:53
Miss Baker called from the stairs.
31:55
I haven't heard a word. She's a nice girl.
31:58
Tom remarked after a pause. They shouldn't let her roam the
32:01
country like this. Who shouldn't?
32:03
Daisy asked coolly. Her family.
32:06
Her family consists of one aunt who's practically ancient.
32:09
But don't worry, Nick, he'll take care of her, right, Nick?
32:12
She'll be spending a lot of weekends here this summer.
32:15
I think being around family will do her good.
32:18
Daisy and Tom exchanged a silent glance.
32:21
Is she from New York? I asked quickly.
32:23
From Louisville. We spent our innocent girlhood
32:26
there together, our beautiful pure.
32:29
Did you have a little heart to heart with Nick on the porch?
32:32
Tom interrupted suddenly. Did I?
32:34
She asked, looking at me. I can't quite recall, but I
32:38
think we discussed the Nordic race.
32:40
Yes, I'm sure we did. It just sort of came up and
32:43
before we knew it. Don't believe everything you
32:46
hear, Nick, He advised me. I replied lightly that I hadn't
32:50
heard anything at all, and a few minutes later I stood to leave.
32:54
They accompanied me to the door, standing side by side in a warm
32:58
square of light. As I started my car, Daisy
33:01
suddenly called out. Wait, I forgot to ask you
33:04
something, and it's important. We heard you were engaged to a
33:08
girl out West. That's right.
33:10
Tom confirmed with a gentle nod. We heard you were engaged.
33:14
It's a lie. I'm too poor for that, But we
33:18
heard it. Daisy pressed, her demeanor
33:20
unexpectedly blooming with curiosity.
33:23
We heard it from three different people, so it must be true.
33:27
I knew exactly what they were hinting at, but I wasn't even
33:30
remotely engaged. The gossip had been one of the
33:33
reasons I fled to the east. You can't just cut ties with an
33:37
old friend because of rumors. Yet I had no intention of
33:41
letting whispers push me into a marriage.
33:44
Their interest touched me, making them seem less distantly
33:47
affluent. Still, I felt a mix of confusion
33:51
and mild repulsion as I drove away.
33:54
It seemed to me that Daisy should have dashed out of the
33:56
house, child in tow, but clearly she had no such plans.
34:01
As for Tom, the revelation that he had some woman in New York
34:05
was less startling than his being disturbed by a book.
34:09
Something was gnawing at him, as if his robust physical ego no
34:14
longer satisfied his demanding heart.
34:17
By then summer had settled deeply over the Roadhouse roofs
34:21
and the fronts of roadside garages where new red gas pumps
34:24
glowed in pools of light. When I reached my place at West
34:28
Egg, I parked the car under its shelter and sat for a while on
34:32
an old grass roller in the yard. The wind had died down, leaving
34:36
a loud bright night with wings rustling in the trees and a
34:40
continuous organ like sound as the earth's full breath filled
34:44
the frogs with life. A cat's silhouette flickered
34:48
across the moonlit ground and as I turned to watch it, I realized
34:52
I wasn't alone. 50 feet away a figure had emerged from the
34:56
shadows of my neighbors mansion, standing with hands and pockets,
35:00
gazing at the silver sprinkle of stars.
35:04
There was something in the way he moved so leisurely, the
35:07
assured stance of his feet on the grass that made it clear it
35:11
was Mr. Gatsby himself. Stepping out to claim his
35:14
portion of our shared sky, I thought about calling out to
35:18
him. Miss Baker had brought him up
35:20
during dinner, which seemed reason enough for an
35:22
introduction, but I held back, sensing he preferred solitude.
35:27
His arms reached out toward the dark water in a strange gesture,
35:31
and though I was some distance away, I could have sworn he was
35:35
trembling. Almost instinctively, I turned
35:38
my gaze toward the sea, but all I could make out was a solitary
35:41
green light, small and distant, perhaps marking the end of a
35:45
dock. When I looked back for Gatsby,
35:48
he had disappeared, leaving me once more in the restless night.
35:53
And that brings us to the close of chapter one of The Great
35:57
Gatsby by F Scott Fitzgerald. In this opening chapter, we meet
36:03
Nick Carraway, a young man from the Midwest who has come E to
36:08
make his fortune in the bond business.
36:11
He visits his cousin Daisy and her husband, Tom Buchanan at
36:15
their lavish E egg mansion, where, beneath the glamour and
36:20
the candlelit dinners, cracks are already showing.
36:24
Tom is arrogant, restless, and hiding a secret.
36:28
Daisy is beautiful, captivating, and quietly unhappy.
36:33
And at the very end of the night, Nick catches a glimpse of
36:37
his mysterious neighbor Gatsby, alone on his lawn, arms
36:42
outstretched toward a single green light across the water.
36:47
Something is coming, we just don't know what yet.
36:51
Thank you for listening to chapter by Chapter the audiobook
36:55
experience. If this story has pulled you in,
36:58
follow the show so the next chapter finds you automatically.
37:02
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37:05
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37:09
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