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- Фрэнсис Скотт Фицджеральд
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- Великий Гэтсби
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- Стр. 81/165
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"
Anything
to
say
about
what
?
"
inquired
Gatsby
politely
.
"
Why
--
any
statement
to
give
out
.
"
It
transpired
after
a
confused
five
minutes
that
the
man
had
heard
Gatsby
's
name
around
his
office
in
a
connection
which
he
either
would
n't
reveal
or
did
n't
fully
understand
.
This
was
his
day
off
and
with
laudable
initiative
he
had
hurried
out
"
to
see
.
"
It
was
a
random
shot
,
and
yet
the
reporter
's
instinct
was
right
.
Gatsby
's
notoriety
,
spread
about
by
the
hundreds
who
had
accepted
his
hospitality
and
so
become
authorities
on
his
past
,
had
increased
all
summer
until
he
fell
just
short
of
being
news
.
Contemporary
legends
such
as
the
"
underground
pipe-line
to
Canada
"
attached
themselves
to
him
,
and
there
was
one
persistent
story
that
he
did
n't
live
in
a
house
at
all
,
but
in
a
boat
that
looked
like
a
house
and
was
moved
secretly
up
and
down
the
Long
Island
shore
.
Just
why
these
inventions
were
a
source
of
satisfaction
to
James
Gatz
of
North
Dakota
,
is
n't
easy
to
say
.
James
Gatz
--
that
was
really
,
or
at
least
legally
,
his
name
.
He
had
changed
it
at
the
age
of
seventeen
and
at
the
specific
moment
that
witnessed
the
beginning
of
his
career
--
when
he
saw
Dan
Cody
's
yacht
drop
anchor
over
the
most
insidious
flat
on
Lake
Superior
.
It
was
James
Gatz
who
had
been
loafing
along
the
beach
that
afternoon
in
a
torn
green
jersey
and
a
pair
of
canvas
pants
,
but
it
was
already
Jay
Gatsby
who
borrowed
a
rowboat
,
pulled
out
to
the
Tuolomee
,
and
informed
Cody
that
a
wind
might
catch
him
and
break
him
up
in
half
an
hour
.
I
suppose
he
'd
had
the
name
ready
for
a
long
time
,
even
then
.
His
parents
were
shiftless
and
unsuccessful
farm
people
--
his
imagination
had
never
really
accepted
them
as
his
parents
at
all
.
The
truth
was
that
Jay
Gatsby
of
West
Egg
,
Long
Island
,
sprang
from
his
Platonic
conception
of
himself
.
He
was
a
son
of
God
--
a
phrase
which
,
if
it
means
anything
,
means
just
that
--
and
he
must
be
about
His
Father
's
business
,
the
service
of
a
vast
,
vulgar
,
and
meretricious
beauty
.
So
he
invented
just
the
sort
of
Jay
Gatsby
that
a
seventeen-year-old
boy
would
be
likely
to
invent
,
and
to
this
conception
he
was
faithful
to
the
end
.
For
over
a
year
he
had
been
beating
his
way
along
the
south
shore
of
Lake
Superior
as
a
clam-digger
and
a
salmon-fisher
or
in
any
other
capacity
that
brought
him
food
and
bed
.
His
brown
,
hardening
body
lived
naturally
through
the
half-fierce
,
half-lazy
work
of
the
bracing
days
.
He
knew
women
early
,
and
since
they
spoiled
him
he
became
contemptuous
of
them
,
of
young
virgins
because
they
were
ignorant
,
of
the
others
because
they
were
hysterical
about
things
which
in
his
overwhelming
self-absorbtion
he
took
for
granted
.
But
his
heart
was
in
a
constant
,
turbulent
riot
.
The
most
grotesque
and
fantastic
conceits
haunted
him
in
his
bed
at
night
.
A
universe
of
ineffable
gaudiness
spun
itself
out
in
his
brain
while
the
clock
ticked
on
the
wash-stand
and
the
moon
soaked
with
wet
light
his
tangled
clothes
upon
the
floor
.
Each
night
he
added
to
the
pattern
of
his
fancies
until
drowsiness
closed
down
upon
some
vivid
scene
with
an
oblivious
embrace
.
For
a
while
these
reveries
provided
an
outlet
for
his
imagination
;
they
were
a
satisfactory
hint
of
the
unreality
of
reality
,
a
promise
that
the
rock
of
the
world
was
founded
securely
on
a
fairy
's
wing
.
