Великий Гэтсби / The Great Gatsby

“What place is that?” I asked.

“The old Metropole.”

“The old Metropole,” said Mr. Wolfsheim gloomily. “Filled with faces dead and gone. Filled with friends gone now forever. I can't forget the night they shot Rosy Rosenthal there. It was six of us at the table and Rosy was eating and drinking a lot all evening. When it was almost morning the waiter came up to him with a funny look and said somebody wanted to speak to him outside. 'All right,' says Rosy and begins to get up and I pulled him down in his chair. 'Let the bastards come in here if they want you, Rosy, but don't you.' It was four o'clock in the morning.”

“Did he go?” I asked innocently.

“Sure he went,” Mr. Wolfsheim said indignantly. “He turned around in the door and said, 'Don't let that waiter take away my coffee!' Then he went out and they shot him three times in his full belly and drove away.”

“Four of them were electrocuted,” I said, remembering.

“Five with Becker.” His nostrils turned to me. “I see you're looking for a business connection.”

I was surprised. Gatsby answered for me:

“Oh, no,” he exclaimed, “this isn't the man!”

“No?” Mr. Wolfsheim seemed disappointed.

“This is just a friend. I told you we'd talk about that some other time.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. Wolfsheim, “I had a wrong man.”

Food arrived, and Mr. Wolfsheim began to eat.

“Look here, old sport,” said Gatsby, leaning toward me, “I'm afraid I made you a little angry this morning in the automobile.”

“I don't like mysteries,” I answered. “And I don't understand why you won't come out frankly and tell me what you want. Why do you talk about it with Miss Baker?”

“Oh, no mysteries at all,” he assured me. “Miss Baker's a great sportswoman, you know, and she'd never do anything wrong.”

Suddenly he looked at his watch, jumped up and hurried from the room leaving me with Mr. Wolfsheim at the table.

“He has to telephone,” said Mr. Wolfsheim, following him with his eyes. “Fine fellow, isn't he? Handsome and a perfect gentleman.”

“Yes.”

“He's an Oxford man.”

“Oh!”

“He went to Oxford University in England. Do you know Oxford University?”

“I've heard of it.”

“It's one of the most famous universities in the world.”

“Have you known Gatsby for a long time?” I inquired.

“Several years,” he answered. “I made the pleasure of his acquaintance just after the war. I said to myself: 'It's the man you can introduce to your mother and sister.' “ He paused. “I see you're looking at my cuff buttons.”

I was not looking at them, but I did now.

“Real human teeth,” he informed me.

“Well!” I inspected them. “That's a very interesting idea.”

“Yeah. You know, Gatsby's very careful about women. He will never look at a friend's wife.”

When Gatsby returned to the table and sat down, Mr. Wolfsheim drank his coffee and stood up.

“Thank you for the company,” he said.

“Don't hurry, Meyer,” said Gatsby, without enthusiasm.

“You're very polite but I belong to another generation,” he announced solemnly. “You sit here and discuss your sports and your young ladies and your… As for me, I am fifty years old.”

He shook hands and turned away.

“He becomes very sentimental sometimes,” explained Gatsby. “This is one of his sentimental days. He's well-know in New York.”

“Who is he anyhow – an actor?”

“No.”

“A dentist?”

“Meyer Wolfsheim? No, he's a gambler.”

I noticed Tom Buchanan.

“Come along with me for a minute,” I said. “I'll say hello to someone.”

When he saw us Tom jumped up.

“Where've you been?” he demanded eagerly. “Daisy's furious because you disappeared.”

“This is Mr. Gatsby, Mr. Buchanan.”

They shook hands briefly.

“How've you been, anyhow?” demanded Tom of me. “Why did I meet you here?”

“I was having lunch with Mr. Gatsby.”

I turned toward Mr. Gatsby, but he was no longer there.

* * *