i agree this article should get a -1 because of these reasons:
1. you didnt put the among us memes
2. this looks like coldpost
3. my eyes hurt after trying your "super epic" theme
4. you didnt make a reference to our masterpiece
hi it is me aaron92
-1 too complicated, not enough insanity after pressing button at the bottom
Finding the Forgotten, Mending the Found.
TASTE YOUR OWN DOWNVOTING MEDICINE HAHA /j
"Party Rock Anthem"
(feat. Lauren Bennett and GoonRock)
Party rock
Let's go!
Party rock is in the house tonight
Everybody just have a good time
And we gon' make you lose your mind
Everybody just have a good time (clap!)
Party rock is in the house tonight
Everybody just have a good time
(I can feel it baby!)
And we gon' make you lose your mind
We just wanna see you… shake that!
In the club party rock, lookin' for your girl,
She on my jock non-stop when we're in the spot
Booty move her weight like she on the block
Where the drank? I gots to know
Tight jeans, tattoo 'cause I'm rock and roll
Half-black half-white domino
Gain the money Oprah Doe!
Yo!
I'm running through these hoes like Drano
I got that devilish flow rock and roll no halo
We party rock! Yeah, that's the crew that I'm repping
On a rise to the top no lead in our Zeppelin
Hey!
Party rock is in the house tonight
Everybody just have a good time
And we gon' make you lose your mind
Everybody just have a good time
Let's go
Party rock is in the house tonight
Everybody just have a good time
(I can feel it baby!)
And we gon' make you lose your mind
We just wanna see you… shake that!
Every day I'm shuffling
Shuffling shuffling
Step up fast
And be the first girl to make me throw this cash
We get money, don't be mad,
Now stop – hating's bad
[Lauren Bennett:]
Get up get down put your hands up to the sound [3x]
Put your hands up to the sound [2x]
Get up [9x]
Put your hands up to the sound, to the sound
Put your hands up! [4x]
Party rock is in the house tonight (put your hands up!)
Everybody just have a good time (put your hands up!)
And we gon' make you lose your mind (put your hands up!)
Everybody just have a good good good time
Put your hands up
I can feel it, baby!
Put your hands up
Put your hands up
Shake that!
Every day I'm shuffling
Put your put your
Put your put your
Put your put your
Put your put your
Put your hands up
Your hands up
Put your hands up
Little by Little:
Personnel (it's actually public) file: Saria.S
Saria is actually spelled “g-a-y”
Age: More than 7
-ban Sariastuff underage
Last known location: at some bar. drinking milk (they can't drink alcohol yet)
-ban Sariastuff drinking milk
Incomprehensible to the naked eye,
OOOOOOOOOOOO YOU SAID NAKED I’M TELLING MOM OOOOOOO
joined the M.E.G. a while ago.
Role playing?
Saria.S is best described as a writhing mass of the incomprehensible,
You said incomprehensible already dingus
including emotions such as happiness and sad,
HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHA Greenlighters Don’t feel emotions, are you some kind of idiot?
17 hamlets from Belarus,
Nerd
1 hamlet from Shakespeare,
Nerd
1m3 of water,
Nerd
and a cup of McDonalds sprite.
Ew
All for the small price of 4 and a half moneys!!!
Cheapskate
Researchers, wanderers, and chickens pheasants
MORE ROLEPLAYING SMH MY HEAD
who have been in their presence are sparse,
Just like I’ve been in the presence of your mom
but they all report enlightenment, newfound appreciation for life, and a profound reconnection with God.
Someone needs an ego check
Radiation poisoning has also been reported, but the issue is not pressing.
Imagine being radioactive that’s kinda sussy dude
Currently head of telling people their documents suck at M.E.G. base whatever Greek letter we're on right now.
STOP ROLEPLAYING OR I’M TELLING MOM YOU HIT ME!!!!1!1!1!1!!111!1!1!1!!!!
Is in a platonic relationship with Bob.
Gay
Nobody knows what the S in Saria.S stands for.
It stands for sussy
Concept:
Ewwwwww!!!!! Backrooms author!!!!!! Gross!!!!! Smelly!!!!! Get a life!!!!!!
Execution:
Ewwwwww!!!!! Backrooms author!!!!!! Gross!!!!! Smelly!!!!! Get a life!!!!!!
Did I enjoy reading this?
Ewwwwww!!!!! Backrooms author!!!!!! Gross!!!!! Smelly!!!!! Get a life!!!!!!
Final Verdict
-1 + L + Ratio + Blocked + Reported + Screenshotted + Yo mama
According to all known laws of aviation, there is no way that a bee should be able to fly. Its wings are too small to get its fat little body off the ground. The bee, of course, flies anyway. Because bees don’t care what humans think is impossible.” SEQ. 75 - “INTRO TO BARRY” INT. BENSON HOUSE - DAY ANGLE ON: Sneakers on the ground. Camera PANS UP to reveal BARRY BENSON’S BEDROOM ANGLE ON: Barry’s hand flipping through different sweaters in his closet. BARRY Yellow black, yellow black, yellow black, yellow black, yellow black, yellow black…oohh, black and yellow… ANGLE ON: Barry wearing the sweater he picked, looking in the mirror. BARRY (CONT’D) Yeah, let’s shake it up a little. He picks the black and yellow one. He then goes to the sink, takes the top off a CONTAINER OF HONEY, and puts some honey into his hair. He squirts some in his mouth and gargles. Then he takes the lid off the bottle, and rolls some on like deodorant. CUT TO: INT. BENSON HOUSE KITCHEN - CONTINUOUS Barry’s mother, JANET BENSON, yells up at Barry. JANET BENSON Barry, breakfast is ready! CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 1. INT. BARRY’S ROOM - CONTINUOUS BARRY Coming! SFX: Phone RINGING. Barry’s antennae vibrate as they RING like a phone. Barry’s hands are wet. He looks around for a towel. BARRY (CONT’D) Hang on a second! He wipes his hands on his sweater, and pulls his antennae down to his ear and mouth. BARRY (CONT'D) Hello? His best friend, ADAM FLAYMAN, is on the other end. ADAM Barry? BARRY Adam? ADAM Can you believe this is happening? BARRY Can’t believe it. I’ll pick you up. Barry sticks his stinger in a sharpener. SFX: BUZZING AS HIS STINGER IS SHARPENED. He tests the sharpness with his finger. SFX: Bing. BARRY (CONT’D) Looking sharp. ANGLE ON: Barry hovering down the hall, sliding down the staircase bannister. Barry’s mother, JANET BENSON, is in the kitchen. JANET BENSON Barry, why don’t you use the stairs? Your father paid good money for those. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 2. BARRY Sorry, I’m excited. Barry’s father, MARTIN BENSON, ENTERS. He’s reading a NEWSPAPER with the HEADLINE, “Queen gives birth to thousandtuplets: Resting Comfortably.” MARTIN BENSON Here’s the graduate. We’re very proud of you, Son. And a perfect report card, all B’s. JANET BENSON (mushing Barry’s hair) Very proud. BARRY Ma! I’ve got a thing going here. Barry re-adjusts his hair, starts to leave. JANET BENSON You’ve got some lint on your fuzz. She picks it off. BARRY Ow, that’s me! MARTIN BENSON Wave to us. We’ll be in row 118,000. Barry zips off. BARRY Bye! JANET BENSON Barry, I told you, stop flying in the house! CUT TO: SEQ. 750 - DRIVING TO GRADUATION EXT. BEE SUBURB - MORNING A GARAGE DOOR OPENS. Barry drives out in his CAR. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 3. ANGLE ON: Barry’s friend, ADAM FLAYMAN, standing by the curb. He’s reading a NEWSPAPER with the HEADLINE: “Frisbee Hits Hive: Internet Down. Bee-stander: “I heard a sound, and next thing I knew…wham-o!.” Barry drives up, stops in front of Adam. Adam jumps in. BARRY Hey, Adam. ADAM Hey, Barry. (pointing at Barry’s hair) Is that fuzz gel? BARRY A little. It’s a special day. Finally graduating. ADAM I never thought I’d make it. BARRY Yeah, three days of grade school, three days of high school. ADAM Those were so awkward. BARRY Three days of college. I’m glad I took off one day in the middle and just hitchhiked around the hive. ADAM You did come back different. They drive by a bee who’s jogging. ARTIE Hi Barry! BARRY (to a bee pedestrian) Hey Artie, growing a mustache? Looks good. Barry and Adam drive from the suburbs into the city. ADAM Hey, did you hear about Frankie? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 4. BARRY Yeah. ADAM You going to his funeral? BARRY No, I’m not going to his funeral. Everybody knows you sting someone you die, you don’t waste it on a squirrel. He was such a hot head. ADAM Yeah, I guess he could’ve just gotten out of the way. The DRIVE through a loop de loop. BARRY AND ADAM Whoa…Whooo…wheee!! ADAM I love this incorporating the amusement park right into our regular day. BARRY I guess that’s why they say we don’t need vacations. CUT TO: SEQ. 95 - GRADUATION EXT. GRADUATION CEREMONY - CONTINUOUS Barry and Adam come to a stop. They exit the car, and fly over the crowd to their seats. * BARRY * (re: graduation ceremony) * Boy, quite a bit of pomp…under * the circumstances. * They land in their seats. BARRY (CONT’D) Well Adam, today we are men. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 5. ADAM We are. BARRY Bee-men. ADAM Amen! BARRY Hallelujah. Barry hits Adam’s forehead. Adam goes into the rapture. An announcement comes over the PA. ANNOUNCER (V.O) Students, faculty, distinguished bees…please welcome, Dean Buzzwell. ANGLE ON: DEAN BUZZWELL steps up to the podium. The podium has a sign that reads: “Welcome Graduating Class of:”, with train-station style flipping numbers after it. BUZZWELL Welcome New Hive City graduating class of… The numbers on the podium change to 9:15. BUZZWELL (CONT’D) …9:15. (he clears his throat) And that concludes our graduation ceremonies. And begins your career at Honex Industries. BARRY Are we going to pick our job today? ADAM I heard it’s just orientation. The rows of chairs change in transformer-like mechanical motion to Universal Studios type tour trams. Buzzwell walks off stage. BARRY (re: trams) Whoa, heads up! Here we go. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 6. SEQ. 125 - “FACTORY” FEMALE VOICE (V.O) Keep your hands and antennas inside the tram at all times. (in Spanish) Dejen las manos y antennas adentro del tram a todos tiempos. BARRY I wonder what it’s going to be like? ADAM A little scary. Barry shakes Adam. BARRY AND ADAM AAHHHH! The tram passes under SIGNS READING: “Honex: A Division of Honesco: A Part of the Hexagon Group.” TRUDY Welcome to Honex, a division of Honesco, and a part of the Hexagon group. BARRY This is it! The Honex doors OPEN, revealing the factory. BARRY (CONT’D) Wow. TRUDY We know that you, as a bee, have worked your whole life to get to the point where you can work for your whole life. Honey begins when our valiant pollen jocks bring the nectar to the hive where our top secret formula is automatically color-corrected, scent adjusted and bubble contoured into this… Trudy GRABS a TEST TUBE OF HONEY from a technician. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 7. TRUDY (CONT’D) …soothing, sweet syrup with its distinctive golden glow, you all know as… EVERYONE ON THE TRAM (in unison) H-o-n-e-y. Trudy flips the flask into the crowd, and laughs as they all scramble for it. ANGLE ON: A GIRL BEE catching the honey. ADAM (sotto) That girl was hot. BARRY (sotto) She’s my cousin. ADAM She is? BARRY Yes, we’re all cousins. ADAM Right. You’re right. TRUDY At Honex, we also constantly strive to improve every aspect of bee existence. These bees are stress testing a new helmet technology. ANGLE ON: A STUNT BEE in a HELMET getting hit with a NEWSPAPER, then a SHOE, then a FLYSWATTER. He gets up, and gives a “thumb’s up”. The graduate bees APPLAUD. ADAM (re: stunt bee) What do you think he makes? BARRY Not enough. TRUDY And here we have our latest advancement, the Krelman. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 8. BARRY Wow, what does that do? TRUDY Catches that little strand of honey that hangs after you pour it. Saves us millions. ANGLE ON: The Krelman machine. Bees with hand-shaped hats on, rotating around a wheel to catch drips of honey. Adam’s hand shoots up. ADAM Can anyone work on the Krelman? TRUDY Of course. Most bee jobs are small ones. But bees know that every small job, if it’s done well, means a lot. There are over 3000 different bee occupations. But choose carefully, because you’ll stay in the job that you pick for the rest of your life. The bees CHEER. ANGLE ON: Barry’s smile dropping slightly. BARRY The same job for the rest of your life? I didn’t know that. ADAM What’s the difference? TRUDY And you’ll be happy to know that bees as a species haven’t had one day off in 27 million years. BARRY So you’ll just work us to death? TRUDY (laughing) We’ll sure try. Everyone LAUGHS except Barry. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 9. The tram drops down a log-flume type steep drop. Cameras flash, as all the bees throw up their hands. The frame freezes into a snapshot. Barry looks concerned. The tram continues through 2 doors. FORM DISSOLVE TO: SEQ. 175 - “WALKING THE HIVE” INT. HONEX LOBBY ANGLE ON: The log-flume photo, as Barry looks at it. ADAM Wow. That blew my mind. BARRY (annoyed) “What’s the difference?” Adam, how could you say that? One job forever? That’s an insane choice to have to make. ADAM Well, I’m relieved. Now we only have to make one decision in life. BARRY But Adam, how could they never have told us that? ADAM Barry, why would you question anything? We’re bees. We’re the most perfectly functioning society on Earth. They walk by a newspaper stand with A SANDWICH BOARD READING: “Bee Goes Berserk: Stings Seven Then Self.” ANGLE ON: A BEE filling his car’s gas tank from a honey pump. He fills his car some, then takes a swig for himself. NEWSPAPER BEE (to the bee guzzling gas) Hey! Barry and Adam begin to cross the street. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 10. BARRY Yeah but Adam, did you ever think that maybe things work a little too well around here? They stop in the middle of the street. The traffic moves perfectly around them. ADAM Like what? Give me one example. BARRY (thinks) …I don’t know. But you know what I’m talking about. They walk off. SEQ. 400 - “MEET THE JOCKS” SFX: The SOUND of Pollen Jocks. PAN DOWN from the Honex statue. J-GATE ANNOUNCER Please clear the gate. Royal Nectar Force on approach. Royal Nectar Force on approach. BARRY Wait a second. Check it out. Hey, hey, those are Pollen jocks. ADAM Wow. FOUR PATROL BEES FLY in through the hive’s giant Gothic entrance. The Patrol Bees are wearing fighter pilot helmets with black visors. ADAM (CONT’D) I’ve never seen them this close. BARRY They know what it’s like to go outside the hive. ADAM Yeah, but some of them don’t come back. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 11. The nectar from the pollen jocks is removed from their backpacks, and loaded into trucks on their way to Honex. A SMALL CROWD forms around the Patrol Bees. Each one has a PIT CREW that takes their nectar. Lou Loduca hurries a pit crew along: LOU LODUCA You guys did great! You’re monsters. You’re sky freaks! I love it! I love it! SCHOOL GIRLS are jumping up and down and squealing nearby. BARRY I wonder where those guys have just been? ADAM I don’t know. BARRY Their day’s not planned. Outside the hive, flying who-knows-where, doing who-knows-what. ADAM You can’t just decide one day to be a Pollen Jock. You have to be bred for that. BARRY Right. Pollen Jocks cross in close proximity to Barry and Adam. Some pollen falls off, onto Barry and Adam. BARRY (CONT’D) Look at that. That’s more pollen than you and I will ever see in a lifetime. ADAM (playing with the pollen) It’s just a status symbol. I think bees make too big a deal out of it. BARRY Perhaps, unless you’re wearing it, and the ladies see you wearing it. ANGLE ON: Two girl bees. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 12. ADAM Those ladies? Aren’t they our cousins too? BARRY Distant, distant. ANGLE ON: TWO POLLEN JOCKS. JACKSON Look at these two. SPLITZ Couple of Hive Harrys. JACKSON Let’s have some fun with them. The pollen jocks approach. Barry and Adam continue to talk to the girls. GIRL 1 It must be so dangerous being a pollen jock. BARRY Oh yeah, one time a bear had me pinned up against a mushroom. He had one paw on my throat, and with the other he was slapping me back and forth across the face. GIRL 1 Oh my. BARRY I never thought I’d knock him out. GIRL 2 (to Adam) And what were you doing during all of this? ADAM Obviously I was trying to alert the authorities. The girl swipes some pollen off of Adam with a finger. BARRY (re: pollen) I can autograph that if you want. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 13. JACKSON Little gusty out there today, wasn’t it, comrades? BARRY Yeah. Gusty. BUZZ You know, we’re going to hit a sunflower patch about six miles from here tomorrow. BARRY Six miles, huh? ADAM (whispering) Barry. BUZZ It’s a puddle-jump for us. But maybe you’re not up for it. BARRY Maybe I am. ADAM (whispering louder) You are not! BUZZ We’re going, oh-nine hundred at JGate. ADAM (re: j-gate) Whoa. BUZZ (leaning in, on top of Barry) What do you think, Buzzy Boy? Are you bee enough? BARRY I might be. It all depends on what oh-nine hundred means. CUT TO: SEQ. 450 - “THE BALCONY” "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 14. INT. BENSON HOUSE BALCONY - LATER Barry is standing on the balcony alone, looking out over the city. Martin Benson ENTERS, sneaks up behind Barry and gooses him in his ribs. MARTIN BENSON Honex! BARRY Oh, Dad. You surprised me. MARTIN BENSON (laughing) Have you decided what you’re interested in, Son? BARRY Well, there’s a lot of choices. MARTIN BENSON But you only get one. Martin LAUGHS. BARRY Dad, do you ever get bored doing the same job every day? MARTIN BENSON Son, let me tell you something about stirring. (making the stirring motion) You grab that stick and you just move it around, and you stir it around. You get yourself into a rhythm, it’s a beautiful thing. BARRY You know dad, the more I think about it, maybe the honey field just isn’t right for me. MARTIN BENSON And you were thinking of what, making balloon animals? That’s a bad job for a guy with a stinger. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 15. BARRY Well no… MARTIN BENSON Janet, your son’s not sure he wants to go into honey. JANET BENSON Oh Barry, you are so funny sometimes. BARRY I’m not trying to be funny. MARTIN BENSON You’re not funny, you’re going into honey. Our son, the stirrer. JANET BENSON You’re going to be a stirrer?! BARRY No one’s listening to me. MARTIN BENSON Wait until you see the sticks I have for you. BARRY I can say anything I want right now. I’m going to get an ant tattoo. JANET BENSON Let’s open some fresh honey and celebrate. BARRY Maybe I’ll pierce my thorax! MARTIN BENSON (toasting) To honey! BARRY Shave my antennae! JANET BENSON To honey! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 16. BARRY Shack up with a grasshopper, get a gold tooth, and start calling everybody “Dawg.” CUT TO: SEQ. 760 - “JOB PLACEMENT” EXT. HONEX LOBBY - CONTINUOUS ANGLE ON: A BEE BUS STOP. One group of bees stands on the pavement, as another group hovers above them. A doubledecker bus pulls up. The hovering bees get on the top level, and the standing bees get on the bottom. Barry and Adam pull up outside of Honex. ADAM I can’t believe we’re starting work today. BARRY Today’s the day. Adam jumps out of the car. ADAM (O.C) Come on. All the good jobs will be gone. BARRY Yeah, right… ANGLE ON: A BOARD READING: “JOB PLACEMENT BOARD”. Buzzwell, the Bee Processor, is at the counter. Another BEE APPLICANT, SANDY SHRIMPKIN is EXITING. SANDY SHRIMPKIN Is it still available? BUZZWELL Hang on. (he looks at changing numbers on the board) Two left. And…one of them’s yours. Congratulations Son, step to the side please. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 17. SANDY SHRIMPKIN Yeah! ADAM (to Sandy, leaving) What did you get? SANDY SHRIMPKIN Picking the crud out. That is stellar! ADAM Wow. BUZZWELL (to Adam and Barry) Couple of newbies? ADAM Yes Sir. Our first day. We are ready. BUZZWELL Well, step up and make your choice. ANGLE ON: A CHART listing the different sectors of Honex. Heating, Cooling, Viscosity, Krelman, Pollen Counting, Stunt Bee, Pouring, Stirrer, Humming, Regurgitating, Front Desk, Hair Removal, Inspector No. 7, Chef, Lint Coordinator, Stripe Supervisor, Antennae-ball polisher, Mite Wrangler, Swatting Counselor, Wax Monkey, Wing Brusher, Hive Keeper, Restroom Attendant. ADAM (to Barry) You want to go first? BARRY No, you go. ADAM Oh my. What’s available? BUZZWELL Restroom attendant is always open, and not for the reason you think. ADAM Any chance of getting on to the Krelman, Sir? BUZZWELL Sure, you’re on. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 18. He plops the KRELMAN HAT onto Adam’s head. ANGLE ON: The job board. THE COLUMNS READ: “OCCUPATION” “POSITIONS AVAILABLE”, and “STATUS”. The middle column has numbers, and the right column has job openings flipping between “open”, “pending”, and “closed”. BUZZWELL (CONT’D) Oh, I’m sorry. The Krelman just closed out. ADAM Oh! He takes the hat off Adam. BUZZWELL Wax Monkey’s always open. The Krelman goes from “Closed” to “Open”. BUZZWELL (CONT’D) And the Krelman just opened up again. ADAM What happened? BUZZWELL Well, whenever a bee dies, that’s an opening. (pointing at the board) See that? He’s dead, dead, another dead one, deady, deadified, two more dead. Dead from the neck up, dead from the neck down. But, that’s life. ANGLE ON: Barry’s disturbed expression. ADAM (feeling pressure to decide) Oh, this is so hard. Heating, cooling, stunt bee, pourer, stirrer, humming, inspector no. 7, lint coordinator, stripe supervisor, antenna-ball polisher, mite wrangler— Barry, Barry, what do you think I should— Barry? Barry? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 19. Barry is gone. CUT TO: SEQ. 775 - “LOU LODUCA SPEECH” EXT. J-GATE - SAME TIME Splitz, Jackson, Buzz, Lou and two other BEES are going through final pre-flight checks. Barry ENTERS. LOU LODUCA Alright, we’ve got the sunflower patch in quadrant nine. Geranium window box on Sutton Place… Barry’s antennae rings, like a phone. ADAM (V.O) What happened to you? Where are you? Barry whispers throughout. BARRY I’m going out. ADAM (V.O) Out? Out where? BARRY Out there. ADAM (V.O) (putting it together) Oh no. BARRY I have to, before I go to work for the rest of my life. ADAM (V.O) You’re going to die! You’re crazy! Hello? BARRY Oh, another call coming in. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 20. ADAM (V.O) You’re cra— Barry HANGS UP. ANGLE ON: Lou Loduca. LOU LODUCA If anyone’s feeling brave, there’s a Korean Deli on 83rd that gets their roses today. BARRY (timidly) Hey guys. BUZZ Well, look at that. SPLITZ Isn’t that the kid we saw yesterday? LOU LODUCA (to Barry) Hold it son, flight deck’s restricted. JACKSON It’s okay Lou, we’re going to take him up. Splitz and Jackson CHUCKLE. LOU LODUCA Really? Feeling lucky, are ya? A YOUNGER SMALLER BEE THAN BARRY, CHET, runs up with a release waiver for Barry to sign. CHET Sign here. Here. Just initial that. Thank you. LOU LODUCA Okay, you got a rain advisory today and as you all know, bees cannot fly in rain. So be careful. As always, (reading off clipboard) watch your brooms, hockey sticks, dogs, birds, bears, and bats. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 21. Also, I got a couple reports of root beer being poured on us. Murphy’s in a home because of it, just babbling like a cicada. BARRY That’s awful. LOU LODUCA And a reminder for all you rookies, bee law number one, absolutely no talking to humans. Alright, launch positions! The Jocks get into formation, chanting as they move. LOU LODUCA (CONT’D) Black and Yellow! JOCKS Hello! SPLITZ (to Barry) Are you ready for this, hot shot? BARRY Yeah. Yeah, bring it on. Barry NODS, terrified. BUZZ Wind! - CHECK! JOCK #1 Antennae! - CHECK! JOCK #2 Nectar pack! - CHECK! JACKSON Wings! - CHECK! SPLITZ Stinger! - CHECK! BARRY Scared out of my shorts - CHECK. LOU LODUCA Okay ladies, let’s move it out. Everyone FLIPS their goggles down. Pit crew bees CRANK their wings, and remove the starting blocks. We hear loud HUMMING. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 22. LOU LODUCA (CONT'D) LOU LODUCA (CONT’D) Pound those petunia's, you striped stem-suckers! All of you, drain those flowers! A FLIGHT DECK GUY in deep crouch hand-signals them out the archway as the backwash from the bee wings FLUTTERS his jump suit. Barry follows everyone. SEQ. 800 - “FLYING WITH THE JOCKS” The bees climb above tree tops in formation. Barry is euphoric. BARRY Whoa! I’m out! I can’t believe I’m out! So blue. Ha ha ha! (a beat) I feel so fast…and free. (re: kites in the sky) Box kite! Wow! They fly by several bicyclists, and approach a patch of flowers. BARRY (CONT'D) Flowers! SPLITZ This is blue leader. We have roses visual. Bring it around thirty degrees and hold. BARRY (sotto) Roses. JACKSON Thirty degrees, roger, bringing it around. Many pollen jocks break off from the main group. They use their equipment to collect nectar from flowers. Barry flies down to watch the jocks collect the nectar. JOCK Stand to the side kid, it’s got a bit of a kick. The jock fires the gun, and recoils. Barry watches the gun fill up with nectar. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 23. BARRY Oh, that is one Nectar Collector. JOCK You ever see pollination up close? BARRY No, Sir. He takes off, and the excess pollen dust falls causing the flowers to come back to life. JOCK (as he pollinates) I pick some pollen up over here, sprinkle it over here, maybe a dash over there, pinch on that one…see that? It’s a little bit of magic, ain’t it? The FLOWERS PERK UP as he pollinates. BARRY Wow. That’s amazing. Why do we do that? JOCK …that’s pollen power, Kid. More pollen, more flowers, more nectar, more honey for us. BARRY Cool. The Jock WINKS at Barry. Barry rejoins the other jocks in the sky. They swoop in over a pond, kissing the surface. We see their image reflected in the water; they’re really moving. They fly over a fountain. BUZZ I’m picking up a lot of bright yellow, could be daisies. Don’t we need those? SPLITZ Copy that visual. We see what appear to be yellow flowers on a green field. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 24. They go into a deep bank and dive. BUZZ Hold on, one of these flowers seems to be on the move. SPLITZ Say again…Are you reporting a moving flower? BUZZ Affirmative. SEQ. 900 - “TENNIS GAME” The pollen jocks land. It is a tennis court with dozens of tennis balls. A COUPLE, VANESSA and KEN, plays tennis. The bees land right in the midst of a group of balls. KEN (O.C) That was on the line! The other bees start walking around amongst the immense, yellow globes. SPLITZ This is the coolest. What is it? They stop at a BALL on a white line and look up at it. JACKSON I don’t know, but I’m loving this color. SPLITZ (smelling tennis ball) Smells good. Not like a flower. But I like it. JACKSON Yeah, fuzzy. BUZZ Chemical-y. JACKSON Careful, guys, it’s a little grabby. Barry LANDS on a ball and COLLAPSES. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 25. BARRY Oh my sweet lord of bees. JACKSON Hey, candy brain, get off there! Barry attempts to pulls his legs off, but they stick. BARRY Problem! A tennis shoe and a hand ENTER FRAME. The hand picks up the ball with Barry underneath it. BARRY (CONT'D) Guys! BUZZ This could be bad. JACKSON Affirmative. Vanessa walks back to the service line, BOUNCES the ball. Each time it BOUNCES, the other bees cringe and GASP. ANGLE ON: Barry, terrified. Pure dumb luck, he’s not getting squished. BARRY (with each bounce) Very close…Gonna Hurt…Mamma’s little boy. SPLITZ You are way out of position, rookie. ANGLE ON: Vanessa serving. We see Barry and the ball up against the racket as she brings it back. She tosses the ball into the air; Barry’s eyes widen. The ball is STRUCK, and the rally is on. KEN Coming in at you like a missile! Ken HITS the ball back. Barry feels the g-forces. ANGLE ON: The Pollen Jocks watching Barry pass by them in SLOW MOTION. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 26. BARRY (in slow motion) Help me! JACKSON You know, I don't think these are flowers. SPLITZ Should we tell him? JACKSON I think he knows. BARRY (O.S) What is this?! Vanessa HITS a high arcing lob. Ken waits, poised for the return. We see Barry having trouble maneuvering the ball from fatigue. KEN (overly confident) Match point! ANGLE ON: Ken running up. He has a killer look in his eyes. He’s going to hit the ultimate overhead smash. KEN (CONT'D) You can just start packing up Honey, because I believe you’re about to eat it! ANGLE ON: Pollen Jocks. JACKSON Ahem! Ken is distracted by the jock. KEN What? No! He misses badly. The ball rockets into oblivion. Barry is still hanging on. ANGLE ON: Ken, berating himself. KEN (CONT’D) Oh, you cannot be serious. We hear the ball WHISTLING, and Barry SCREAMING. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 27. BARRY Yowser!!! SEQ. 1000 - “SUV” The ball flies through the air, and lands in the middle of the street. It bounces into the street again, and sticks in the grille of an SUV. INT. CAR ENGINE - CONTINUOUS BARRY’S POV: the grille of the SUV sucks him up. He tumbles through a black tunnel, whirling vanes, and pistons. BARRY AHHHHHHHHHHH!! OHHHH!! EECHHH!! AHHHHHH!! Barry gets chilled by the A/C system, and sees a frozen grasshopper. BARRY (CONT’D) (re: grasshopper) Eww, gross. CUT TO: INT. CAR - CONTINUOUS The car is packed with a typical suburban family: MOTHER, FATHER, eight-year old BOY, LITTLE GIRL in a car seat and a GRANDMOTHER. A big slobbery DOG is behind a grate. Barry pops into the passenger compartment, hitting the Mother’s magazine. MOTHER There’s a bee in the car! They all notice the bee and start SCREAMING. BARRY Aaahhhh! Barry tumbles around the car. We see the faces from his POV. MOTHER Do something! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 28. FATHER I’m driving! Barry flies by the little girl in her CAR SEAT. She waves hello. LITTLE GIRL Hi, bee. SON He’s back here! He’s going to sting me! The car SWERVES around the road. Barry flies into the back, where the slobbery dog SNAPS at him. Barry deftly avoids the jaws and gross, flying SPITTLE. MOTHER Nobody move. If you don’t move, he won’t sting you. Freeze! Everyone in the car freezes. Barry freezes. They stare at each other, eyes going back and forth, waiting to see who will make the first move. Barry blinks. GRANNY He blinked! Granny pulls out a can of HAIR SPRAY. SON Spray him, Granny! Granny sprays the hair spray everywhere. FATHER What are you doing? GRANNY It’s hair spray! Extra hold! MOTHER Kill it! Barry gets sprayed back by the hair spray, then sucked out of the sunroof. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 29. EXT. CITY STREET - CONTINUOUS BARRY Wow. The tension level out here is unbelievable. I’ve got to get home. As Barry flies down the street, it starts to RAIN. He nimbly avoids the rain at first. BARRY (CONT’D) Whoa. Whoa! Can’t fly in rain! Can’t fly in rain! Can’t fly in— A couple of drops hit him, his wings go limp and he starts falling. BARRY (CONT'D) Mayday! Mayday! Bee going down! Barry sees a window ledge and aims for it and just makes it. Shivering and exhausted, he crawls into an open window as it CLOSES. SEQ. 1100 - “VANESSA SAVES BARRY” INT. VANESSA’S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS Inside the window, Barry SHAKES off the rain like a dog. Vanessa, Ken, Andy, and Anna ENTER the apartment. VANESSA Ken, can you close the window please? KEN Huh? Oh. (to Andy) Hey, check out my new resume. I made it into a fold-out brochure. You see? It folds out. Ken holds up his brochure, with photos of himself, and a resume in the middle. ANGLE ON: Barry hiding behind the curtains, as Ken CLOSES THE WINDOW. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 30. BARRY Oh no, more humans. I don’t need this. Barry HOVERS up into the air and THROWS himself into the glass. BARRY (CONT’D) (dazed) Ow! What was that? He does it again, and then multiple more times. BARRY (CONT'D) Maybe this time…this time, this time, this time, this time, this time, this time, this time. Barry JUMPS onto the drapes. BARRY (CONT'D) (out of breath) Drapes! (then, re: glass) That is diabolical. KEN It’s fantastic. It’s got all my special skills, even my top ten favorite movies. ANDY What’s your number one? Star Wars? KEN Ah, I don’t go for that, (makes Star Wars noises), kind of stuff. ANGLE ON: Barry. BARRY No wonder we’re not supposed to talk to them. They’re out of their minds. KEN When I walk out of a job interview they’re flabbergasted. They can’t believe the things I say. Barry looks around and sees the LIGHT BULB FIXTURE in the middle of the ceiling. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 31. BARRY (re: light bulb) Oh, there’s the sun. Maybe that’s a way out. Barry takes off and heads straight for the light bulb. His POV: The seventy-five watt label grows as he gets closer. BARRY (CONT’D) I don’t remember the sun having a big seventy five on it. Barry HITS the bulb and is KNOCKED SILLY. He falls into a BOWL OF GUACAMOLE. Andy dips his chip in the guacamole, taking Barry with it. ANGLE ON: Ken and Andy. KEN I’ll tell you what. You know what? I predicted global warming. I could feel it getting hotter. At first I thought it was just me. Barry’s POV: Giant human mouth opening. KEN (CONT’D) Wait! Stop! Beeeeeee! ANNA Kill it! Kill it! They all JUMP up from their chairs. Andy looks around for something to use. Ken comes in for the kill with a big TIMBERLAND BOOT on each hand. KEN Stand back. These are winter boots. Vanessa ENTERS, and stops Ken from squashing Barry. VANESSA (grabs Ken’s arm) Wait. Don’t kill him. CLOSE UP: on Barry’s puzzled face. KEN You know I’m allergic to them. This thing could kill me. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 32. VANESSA Why does his life have any less value than yours? She takes a GLASS TUMBLER and places it over Barry. KEN Why does his life have any less value than mine? Is that your statement? VANESSA I’m just saying, all life has value. You don’t know what he’s capable of feeling. Barry looks up through the glass and watches this conversation, astounded. Vanessa RIPS Ken’s resume in half and SLIDES it under the glass. KEN (wistful) My brochure. There’s a moment of eye contact as she carries Barry to the window. She opens it and sets him free. VANESSA There you go, little guy. KEN (O.C) I’m not scared of them. But, you know, it’s an allergic thing. ANDY (O.C) * Hey, why don’t you put that on your * resume-brochure? * KEN (O.C) It’s not funny, my whole face could puff up. ANDY (O.C) Make it one of your “Special Skills.” KEN (O.C) You know, knocking someone out is also a special skill. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 33. EXT. WINDOWSILL - CONTINUOUS Barry stares over the window frame. He can’t believe what’s just happened. It is still RAINING. DISSOLVE TO: SEQ. 1200 - “BARRY SPEAKS” EXT. WINDOWSILL - LATER Barry is still staring through the window. Inside, everyone’s saying their good-byes. KEN Vanessa, next week? Yogurt night? VANESSA Uh, yeah sure Ken. You know, whatever. KEN You can put carob chips on there. VANESSA Good night. KEN (as he exits) Supposed to be less calories, or something. VANESSA Bye. She shuts the door. Vanessa starts cleaning up. BARRY I’ve got to say something. She saved my life. I’ve got to say something. Alright, here it goes. Barry flies in. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 34. INT. VANESSA’S APARTMENT - CONTINUOUS Barry hides himself on different PRODUCTS placed along the kitchen shelves. He hides on a Bumblebee Tuna can, and a “Greetings From Coney Island” MUSCLE-MAN POSTCARD on the fridge. BARRY (on fridge) What would I say? (landing on a bottle) I could really get in trouble. He stands looking at Vanessa. BARRY (CONT'D) It’s a bee law. You’re not supposed to talk to a human. I can’t believe I’m doing this. I’ve got to. Oh, I can’t do it! Come on! No, yes, no, do it! I can’t. How should I start it? You like jazz? No, that’s no good. Here she comes. Speak, you fool. As Vanessa walks by, Barry takes a DEEP BREATH. BARRY (CONT’D) (cheerful) Umm…hi. Vanessa DROPS A STACK OF DISHES, and HOPS BACK. BARRY (CONT’D) I’m sorry. VANESSA You’re talking. BARRY Yes, I know, I know. VANESSA You’re talking. BARRY I know, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. VANESSA It’s okay. It’s fine. It’s just, I know I’m dreaming, but I don’t recall going to bed. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 35. BARRY Well, you know I’m sure this is very disconcerting. VANESSA Well yeah. I mean this is a bit of a surprise to me. I mean…you’re a bee. BARRY Yeah, I am a bee, and you know I’m not supposed to be doing this, but they were all trying to kill me and if it wasn’t for you…I mean, I had to thank you. It’s just the way I was raised. Vanessa intentionally JABS her hand with a FORK. VANESSA Ow! BARRY That was a little weird. VANESSA (to herself) I’m talking to a bee. BARRY Yeah. VANESSA I’m talking to a bee. BARRY Anyway… VANESSA And a bee is talking to me… BARRY I just want you to know that I’m grateful, and I’m going to leave now. VANESSA Wait, wait, wait, wait, how did you learn to do that? BARRY What? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 36. VANESSA The talking thing. BARRY Same way you did, I guess. Mama, Dada, honey, you pick it up. VANESSA That’s very funny. BARRY Yeah. Bees are funny. If we didn’t laugh, we’d cry. With what we have to deal with. Vanessa LAUGHS. BARRY (CONT’D) Anyway. VANESSA Can I, uh, get you something? BARRY Like what? VANESSA I don’t know. I mean, I don’t know. Coffee? BARRY Well, uh, I don’t want to put you out. VANESSA It’s no trouble. BARRY Unless you’re making anyway. VANESSA Oh, it takes two minutes. BARRY Really? VANESSA It’s just coffee. BARRY I hate to impose. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 37. VANESSA Don’t be ridiculous. BARRY Actually, I would love a cup. VANESSA Hey, you want a little rum cake? BARRY I really shouldn’t. VANESSA Have a little rum cake. BARRY No, no, no, I can’t. VANESSA Oh, come on. BARRY You know, I’m trying to lose a couple micrograms here. VANESSA Where? BARRY Well… These stripes don’t help. VANESSA You look great. BARRY I don’t know if you know anything about fashion. Vanessa starts POURING the coffee through an imaginary cup and directly onto the floor. BARRY (CONT'D) Are you alright? VANESSA No. DISSOLVE TO: SEQ. 1300 - “ROOFTOP COFFEE” "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 38. EXT. VANESSA’S ROOF - LATER Barry and Vanessa are drinking coffee on her roof terrace. He is perched on her keychain. BARRY …He can’t get a taxi. He’s making the tie in the cab, as they’re flying up Madison. So he finally gets there. VANESSA Uh huh? BARRY He runs up the steps into the church, the wedding is on… VANESSA Yeah? BARRY …and he says, watermelon? I thought you said Guatemalan. VANESSA Uh huh? BARRY Why would I marry a watermelon? Barry laughs. Vanessa doesn’t. VANESSA Oh! Is that, uh, a bee joke? BARRY Yeah, that’s the kind of stuff that we do. VANESSA Yeah, different. A BEAT. VANESSA (CONT’D) So anyway…what are you going to do, Barry? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 39. BARRY About work? I don’t know. I want to do my part for the hive, but I can’t do it the way they want. VANESSA I know how you feel. BARRY You do? VANESSA Sure, my parents wanted me to be a lawyer or doctor, but I wanted to be a florist. BARRY Really? VANESSA My only interest is flowers. BARRY Our new queen was just elected with that same campaign slogan. VANESSA Oh. BARRY Anyway, see there’s my hive, right there. You can see it. VANESSA Oh, you’re in Sheep Meadow. BARRY (excited) Yes! You know the turtle pond? VANESSA Yes? BARRY I’m right off of that. VANESSA Oh, no way. I know that area. Do you know I lost a toe-ring there once? BARRY Really? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 40. VANESSA Yes. BARRY Why do girls put rings on their toes? VANESSA Why not? BARRY I don’t know. It’s like putting a hat on your knee. VANESSA Really? Okay. A JANITOR in the background changes a LIGHTBULB. To him, it appears that Vanessa is talking to an imaginary friend. JANITOR You all right, ma’am? VANESSA Oh, yeah, fine. Just having two cups of coffee. BARRY Anyway, this has been great. (wiping his mouth) Thanks for the coffee. Barry gazes at Vanessa. VANESSA Oh yeah, it’s no trouble. BARRY Sorry I couldn’t finish it. Vanessa giggles. BARRY (CONT'D) (re: coffee) If I did, I’d be up the rest of my life. Ummm. Can I take a piece of this with me? VANESSA Sure. Here, have a crumb. She takes a CRUMB from the plate and hands it to Barry. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 41. BARRY (a little dreamy) Oh, thanks. VANESSA Yeah. There is an awkward pause. BARRY Alright, well then, I guess I’ll see you around, or not, or… VANESSA Okay Barry. BARRY And thank you so much again, for before. VANESSA Oh that? BARRY Yeah. VANESSA Oh, that was nothing. BARRY Well, not nothing, but, anyway… Vanessa extends her hand, and shakes Barry’s gingerly. The Janitor watches. The lightbulb shorts out. The Janitor FALLS. CUT TO: SEQ. 1400 - “HONEX” INT. HONEX BUILDING - NEXT DAY ANGLE ON: A TEST BEE WEARING A PARACHUTE is in a wind tunnel, hovering through increasingly heavy wind. SIGNS UNDER A FLASHING LIGHT READ: “Test In Progress” & “Hurricane Survival Test”. 2 BEES IN A LAB COATS are observing behind glass. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 42. LAB COAT BEE 1 This can’t possibly work. LAB COAT BEE 2 Well, he’s all set to go, we may as well try it. (into the mic) Okay Dave, pull the chute. The test bee opens his parachute. He’s instantly blown against the rear wall. Adam and Barry ENTER. ADAM Sounds amazing. BARRY Oh, it was amazing. It was the scariest, happiest moment of my life. ADAM Humans! Humans! I can’t believe you were with humans! Giant scary humans! What were they like? BARRY Huge and crazy. They talk crazy, they eat crazy giant things. They drive around real crazy. ADAM And do they try and kill you like on TV? BARRY Some of them. But some of them don’t. ADAM How’d you get back? BARRY Poodle. ADAM Look, you did it. And I’m glad. You saw whatever you wanted to see out there, you had your “experience”, and now you’re back, you can pick out your job, and everything can be normal. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 43. ANGLE ON: LAB BEES examining a CANDY CORN through a microscope. BARRY Well… ADAM Well? BARRY Well, I met someone. ADAM You met someone? Was she Bee-ish? BARRY Mmm. ADAM Not a WASP? Your parents will kill you. BARRY No, no, no, not a wasp. ADAM Spider? BARRY You know, I’m not attracted to the spiders. I know to everyone else it’s like the hottest thing with the eight legs and all. I can’t get by that face. Barry makes a spider face. ADAM So, who is she? BARRY She’s a human. ADAM Oh no, no, no, no. That didn’t happen. You didn’t do that. That is a bee law. You wouldn’t break a bee law. BARRY Her name’s Vanessa. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 44. ADAM Oh, oh boy! BARRY She’s so-o nice. And she’s a florist! ADAM Oh, no. No, no, no! You’re dating a human florist? BARRY We’re not dating. ADAM You’re flying outside the hive. You’re talking to human beings that attack our homes with power washers and M-80’s. That’s 1/8 of a stick of dynamite. BARRY She saved my life. And she understands me. ADAM This is over. Barry pulls out the crumb. BARRY Eat this. Barry stuffs the crumb into Adam’s face. ADAM This is not over. What was that? BARRY They call it a crumb. ADAM That was SO STINGING STRIPEY! BARRY And that’s not even what they eat. That just falls off what they eat. Do you know what a Cinnabon is? ADAM No. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 45. BARRY It’s bread… ADAM Come in here! BARRY and cinnamon, ADAM Be quiet! BARRY and frosting…they heat it up— ADAM Sit down! INT. ADAM’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS BARRY Really hot! ADAM Listen to me! We are not them. We’re us. There’s us and there’s them. BARRY Yes, but who can deny the heart that is yearning… Barry rolls his chair down the corridor. ADAM There’s no yearning. Stop yearning. Listen to me. You have got to start thinking bee, my friend. ANOTHER BEE JOINS IN. ANOTHER BEE Thinking bee. WIDER SHOT AS A 3RD BEE ENTERS, popping up over the cubicle wall. 3RD BEE Thinking bee. EVEN WIDER SHOT AS ALL THE BEES JOIN IN. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 46. OTHER BEES Thinking bee. Thinking bee. Thinking bee. CUT TO: SEQ. 1500 - “POOLSIDE NAGGING” EXT. BACKYARD PARENT’S HOUSE - DAY Barry sits on a RAFT in a hexagon honey pool, legs dangling into the water. Janet Benson and Martin Benson stand over him wearing big, sixties sunglasses and cabana-type outfits. The sun shines brightly behind their heads. JANET BENSON (O.C) There he is. He’s in the pool. MARTIN BENSON You know what your problem is, Barry? BARRY I’ve got to start thinking bee? MARTIN BENSON Barry, how much longer is this going to go on? It’s been three days. I don’t understand why you’re not working. BARRY Well, I’ve got a lot of big life decisions I’m thinking about. MARTIN BENSON What life? You have no life! You have no job! You’re barely a bee! Barry throws his hands in the air. BARRY Augh. JANET BENSON Would it kill you to just make a little honey? Barry ROLLS off the raft and SINKS to the bottom of the pool. We hear his parents’ MUFFLED VOICES from above the surface. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 47. JANET BENSON (CONT'D) (muffled) Barry, come out from under there. Your father’s talking to you. Martin, would you talk to him? MARTIN BENSON Barry, I’m talking to you. DISSOLVE TO: EXT. PICNIC AREA - DAY MUSIC: “Sugar Sugar” by the Archies. Barry and Vanessa are having a picnic. A MOSQUITO lands on Vanessa’s leg. She SWATS it violently. Barry’s head whips around, aghast. They stare at each other awkwardly in a frozen moment, then BURST INTO HYSTERICAL LAUGHTER. Vanessa GETS UP. VANESSA You coming? BARRY Got everything? VANESSA All set. Vanessa gets into a one-man Ultra Light plane with a black and yellow paint scheme. She puts on her helmet. BARRY You go ahead, I’ll catch up. VANESSA (come hither wink) Don’t be too long. The Ultra Light takes off. Barry catches up. They fly sideby-side. VANESSA (CONT’D) Watch this! Vanessa does a loop, and FLIES right into the side of a mountain, BURSTING into a huge ball of flames. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 48. BARRY (yelling, anguished) Vanessa! EXT. BARRY’S PARENT’S HOUSE - CONTINUOUS ANGLE ON: Barry’s face bursting through the surface of the pool, GASPING for air, eyes opening in horror. MARTIN BENSON We’re still here, Barry. JANET BENSON I told you not to yell at him. He doesn’t respond when you yell at him. MARTIN BENSON Then why are you yelling at me? JANET BENSON Because you don’t listen. MARTIN BENSON I’m not listening to this. Barry is toweling off, putting on his sweater. BARRY Sorry Mom, I’ve got to go. JANET BENSON Where are you going? BARRY Nowhere. I’m meeting a friend. Barry JUMPS off the balcony and EXITS. JANET BENSON (calling after him) A girl? Is this why you can’t decide? BARRY Bye! JANET BENSON I just hope she’s Bee-ish. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 49. SEQ. 1700 - “STREETWALK/SUPERMARKET” EXT. VANESSA’S FLORIST SHOP - DAY Vanessa FLIPS the sign to say “Sorry We Missed You”, and locks the door. ANGLE ON: A POSTER on Vanessa’s door for the Tournament of Roses Parade in Pasadena. BARRY So they have a huge parade of just flowers every year in Pasadena? VANESSA Oh, to be in the Tournament of Roses, that’s every florist’s dream. Up on a float, surrounded by flowers, crowds cheering. BARRY Wow, a tournament. Do the roses actually compete in athletic events? VANESSA No. Alright, I’ve got one. How come you don’t fly everywhere? BARRY It’s exhausting. Why don’t you run everywhere? VANESSA Hmmm. BARRY Isn’t that faster? VANESSA Yeah, okay. I see, I see. Alright, your turn. Barry and Vanessa walk/fly down a New York side street, no other pedestrians near them. BARRY Ah! Tivo. You can just freeze live TV? That’s insane. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 50. VANESSA What, you don’t have anything like that? BARRY We have Hivo, but it’s a disease. It’s a horrible, horrible disease. VANESSA Oh my. They turn the corner onto a busier avenue and people start to swat at Barry. MAN Dumb bees! VANESSA You must just want to sting all those jerks. BARRY We really try not to sting. It’s usually fatal for us. VANESSA So you really have to watch your temper? They ENTER a SUPERMARKET. CUT TO: INT. SUPERMARKET BARRY Oh yeah, very carefully. You kick a wall, take a walk, write an angry letter and throw it out. You work through it like any emotion— anger, jealousy, (under his breath) lust. Barry hops on top of some cardboard boxes in the middle of an aisle. A stock boy, HECTOR, whacks him with a rolled up magazine. VANESSA (to Barry) Oh my goodness. Are you okay? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 51. BARRY Yeah. Whew! Vanessa WHACKS Hector over the head with the magazine. VANESSA (to Hector) What is wrong with you?! HECTOR It’s a bug. VANESSA Well he’s not bothering anybody. Get out of here, you creep. Vanessa pushes him, and Hector EXITS, muttering. BARRY (shaking it off) What was that, a Pick and Save circular? VANESSA Yeah, it was. How did you know? BARRY It felt like about ten pages. Seventy-five’s pretty much our limit. VANESSA Boy, you’ve really got that down to a science. BARRY Oh, we have to. I lost a cousin to Italian Vogue. VANESSA I’ll bet. Barry stops, sees the wall of honey jars. BARRY What, in the name of Mighty Hercules, is this? How did this get here? Cute Bee? Golden Blossom? Ray Liotta Private Select? VANESSA Is he that actor? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 52. BARRY I never heard of him. Why is this here? VANESSA For people. We eat it. BARRY Why? (gesturing around the market) You don’t have enough food of your own? VANESSA Well yes, we— BARRY How do you even get it? VANESSA Well, bees make it… BARRY I know who makes it! And it’s hard to make it! There’s Heating and Cooling, and Stirring…you need a whole Krelman thing. VANESSA It’s organic. BARRY It’s our-ganic! VANESSA It’s just honey, Barry. BARRY Just…what?! Bees don’t know about this. This is stealing. A lot of stealing! You’ve taken our homes, our schools, our hospitals. This is all we have. And it’s on sale? I’m going to get to the bottom of this. I’m going to get to the bottom of all of this! He RIPS the label off the Ray Liotta Private Select. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 53. SEQ. 1800 - “WINDSHIELD” EXT. BACK OF SUPERMARKET LOADING DOCK - LATER THAT DAY Barry disguises himself by blacking out his yellow lines with a MAGIC MARKER and putting on some war paint. He sees Hector, the stock boy, with a knife CUTTING open cardboard boxes filled with honey jars. MAN You almost done? HECTOR Almost. Barry steps in some honey, making a SNAPPING noise. Hector stops and turns. HECTOR (CONT’D) He is here. I sense it. Hector grabs his BOX CUTTER. Barry REACTS, hides himself behind the box again. HECTOR (CONT’D) (talking too loud, to no one in particular) Well, I guess I’ll go home now, and just leave this nice honey out, with no one around. A BEAT. Hector pretends to exit. He takes a couple of steps in place. ANGLE ON: The honey jar. Barry steps out into a moody spotlight. BARRY You’re busted, box boy! HECTOR Ah ha! I knew I heard something. So, you can talk. Barry flies up, stinger out, pushing Hector up against the wall. As Hector backs up, he drops his knife. BARRY Oh, I can talk. And now you’re going to start talking. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 54. Where are you getting all the sweet stuff? Who’s your supplier?! HECTOR I don’t know what you’re talking about. I thought we were all friends. The last thing we want to do is upset any of you…bees! Hector grabs a PUSHPIN. Barry fences with his stinger. HECTOR (CONT’D) You’re too late. It’s ours now! BARRY You, sir, have crossed the wrong sword. HECTOR You, sir, are about to be lunch for my iguana, Ignacio! Barry and Hector get into a cross-swords, nose-to-nose confrontation. BARRY Where is the honey coming from? Barry knocks the pushpin out of his hand. Barry puts his stinger up to Hector’s nose. BARRY (CONT'D) Tell me where?! HECTOR (pointing to a truck) Honey Farms. It comes from Honey Farms. ANGLE ON: A Honey Farms truck leaving the parking lot. Barry turns, takes off after the truck through an alley. He follows the truck out onto a busy street, dodging a bus, and several cabs. CABBIE Crazy person! He flies through a metal pipe on the top of a truck. BARRY OOOHHH! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 55. BARRY (CONT'D) Barry grabs onto a bicycle messenger’s backpack. The honey farms truck starts to pull away. Barry uses the bungee cord to slingshot himself towards the truck. He lands on the windshield, where the wind plasters him to the glass. He looks up to find himself surrounded by what appear to be DEAD BUGS. He climbs across, working his way around the bodies. BARRY (CONT’D) Oh my. What horrible thing has happened here? Look at these faces. They never knew what hit them. And now they’re on the road to nowhere. A MOSQUITO opens his eyes. MOOSEBLOOD Pssst! Just keep still. BARRY What? You’re not dead? MOOSEBLOOD Do I look dead? Hey man, they will wipe anything that moves. Now, where are you headed? BARRY To Honey Farms. I am onto something huge here. MOOSEBLOOD I’m going to Alaska. Moose blood. Crazy stuff. Blows your head off. LADYBUG I’m going to Tacoma. BARRY (to fly) What about you? MOOSEBLOOD He really is dead. BARRY Alright. The WIPER comes towards them. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 56. MOOSEBLOOD Uh oh. BARRY What is that? MOOSEBLOOD Oh no! It’s a wiper, triple blade! BARRY Triple blade? MOOSEBLOOD Jump on. It’s your only chance, bee. They hang on as the wiper goes back and forth. MOOSEBLOOD (CONT'D) (yelling to the truck driver through the glass) Why does everything have to be so dog-gone clean?! How much do you people need to see? Open your eyes! Stick your head out the window! CUT TO: INT. TRUCK CAB SFX: Radio. RADIO VOICE For NPR News in Washington, I’m Carl Kasell. EXT. TRUCK WINDSHIELD MOOSEBLOOD But don’t kill no more bugs! The Mosquito is FLUNG off of the wiper. MOOSEBLOOD (CONT'D) Beeeeeeeeeeeeee! BARRY Moose blood guy! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 57. Barry slides toward the end of the wiper, is thrown off, but he grabs the AERIAL and hangs on for dear life. Barry looks across and sees a CRICKET on another vehicle in the exact same predicament. They look at each other and SCREAM in unison. BARRY AND CRICKET Aaaaaaaaaah! ANOTHER BUG grabs onto the aerial, and screams as well. INT. TRUCK CAB - SAME TIME DRIVER You hear something? TRUCKER PASSENGER Like what? DRIVER Like tiny screaming. TRUCKER PASSENGER Turn off the radio. The driver reaches down and PRESSES a button, lowering the aerial. EXT. TRUCK WINDSHIELD - SAME TIME Barry and the other bug do a “choose up” to the bottom, Barry wins. BARRY Aha! Then he finally has to let go and gets thrown into the truck horn atop cab. Mooseblood is inside. MOOSEBLOOD Hey, what’s up bee boy? BARRY Hey, Blood! DISSOLVE TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 58. INT. TRUCK HORN - LATER BARRY …and it was just an endless row of honey jars as far as the eye could see. MOOSEBLOOD Wow. BARRY So I’m just assuming wherever this honey truck goes, that’s where they’re getting it. I mean, that honey’s ours! MOOSEBLOOD Bees hang tight. BARRY Well, we’re all jammed in there. It’s a close community. MOOSEBLOOD Not us, man. We’re on our own. Every mosquito is on his own. BARRY But what if you get in trouble? MOOSEBLOOD Trouble? You're a mosquito. You're in trouble! Nobody likes us. They’re just all smacking. People see a mosquito, smack, smack! BARRY At least you’re out in the world. You must meet a lot of girls. MOOSEBLOOD Mosquito girls try to trade up; get with a moth, dragonfly…mosquito girl don’t want no mosquito. A BLOOD MOBILE pulls up alongside. MOOSEBLOOD (CONT'D) Whoa, you have got to be kidding me. Mooseblood’s about to leave the building. So long bee. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 59. Mooseblood EXITS the horn, and jumps onto the blood mobile. MOOSEBLOOD (CONT'D) Hey guys. I knew I’d catch you all down here. Did you bring your crazy straws? CUT TO: SEQ. 1900 - “THE APIARY” EXT. APIARY - LATER Barry sees a SIGN, “Honey Farms” The truck comes to a stop. SFX: The Honey farms truck blares its horn. Barry flies out, lands on the hood. ANGLE ON: Two BEEKEEPERS, FREDDY and ELMO, walking around to the back of the gift shop. Barry follows them, and lands in a nearby tree FREDDY …then we throw it in some jars, slap a label on it, and it’s pretty much pure profit. BARRY What is this place? ELMO Bees got a brain the size of a pinhead. FREDDY They are pinheads. The both LAUGH. ANGLE ON: Barry REACTING. They arrive at the back of the shop where one of them opens a SMOKER BOX. FREDDY (CONT’D) Hey, check out the new smoker. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 60. ELMO Oh, Sweet. That’s the one you want. FREDDY The Thomas 3000. BARRY Smoker? FREDDY 90 puffs a minute, semi-automatic. Twice the nicotine, all the tar. They LAUGH again, nefariously. FREDDY (CONT’D) Couple of breaths of this, and it knocks them right out. They make the honey, and we make the money. BARRY “They make the honey, and we make the money?” Barry climbs onto the netting of Freddy’s hat. He climbs up to the brim and looks over the edge. He sees the apiary boxes as Freddy SMOKES them. BARRY (CONT'D) Oh my. As Freddy turns around, Barry jumps into an open apiary box, and into an apartment. HOWARD and FRAN are just coming to from the smoking. BARRY (CONT’D) What’s going on? Are you okay? HOWARD Yeah, it doesn’t last too long. HE COUGHS a few times. BARRY How did you two get here? Do you know you’re in a fake hive with fake walls? HOWARD (pointing to a picture on the wall) "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 61. Our queen was moved here, we had no choice. BARRY (looking at a picture on the wall) This is your queen? That’s a man in women’s clothes. That’s a dragqueen! The other wall opens. Barry sees the hundreds of apiary boxes. BARRY (CONT'D) What is this? Barry pulls out his camera, and starts snapping. BARRY (CONT’D) Oh no. There’s hundreds of them. (V.O, as Barry takes pictures) Bee honey, our honey, is being brazenly stolen on a massive scale. CUT TO: SEQ. 2100 - “BARRY TELLS FAMILY” INT. BARRY’S PARENT’S HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - LATER Barry has assembled his parents, Adam, and Uncle Carl. BARRY This is worse than anything the bears have done to us. And I intend to do something about it. JANET BENSON Oh Barry, stop. MARTIN BENSON Who told you that humans are taking our honey? That’s just a rumor. BARRY Do these look like rumors? Barry throws the PICTURES on the table. Uncle Carl, cleaning his glasses with his shirt tail, digs through a bowl of nuts with his finger. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 62. HOWARD (CONT'D) UNCLE CARL That’s a conspiracy theory. These are obviously doctored photos. JANET BENSON Barry, how did you get mixed up in all this? ADAM (jumping up) Because he’s been talking to humans! JANET BENSON Whaaat? MARTIN BENSON Talking to humans?! Oh Barry. ADAM He has a human girlfriend and they make out! JANET BENSON Make out? Barry? BARRY We do not. ADAM You wish you could. BARRY Who’s side are you on? ADAM The bees! Uncle Carl stands up and pulls his pants up to his chest. UNCLE CARL I dated a cricket once in San Antonio. Man, those crazy legs kept me up all night. Hotcheewah! JANET BENSON Barry, this is what you want to do with your life? BARRY This is what I want to do for all our lives. Nobody works harder than bees. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 63. Dad, I remember you coming home some nights so overworked, your hands were still stirring. You couldn’t stop them. MARTIN BENSON Ehhh… JANET BENSON (to Martin) I remember that. BARRY What right do they have to our hardearned honey? We’re living on two cups a year. They’re putting it in lip balm for no reason what-soever. MARTIN BENSON Even if it’s true, Barry, what could one bee do? BARRY I’m going to sting them where it really hurts. MARTIN BENSON In the face? BARRY No. MARTIN BENSON In the eye? That would really hurt. BARRY No. MARTIN BENSON Up the nose? That’s a killer. BARRY No. There’s only one place you can sting the humans. One place where it really matters. CUT TO: SEQ. 2300 - “HIVE AT 5 NEWS/BEE LARRY KING” "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 64. BARRY (CONT'D) INT. NEWS STUDIO - DAY DRAMATIC NEWS MUSIC plays as the opening news sequence rolls. We see the “Hive at Five” logo, followed by shots of past news events: A BEE freeway chase, a BEE BEARD protest rally, and a BEAR pawing at the hive as the BEES flee in panic. BOB BUMBLE (V.O.) Hive at Five, the hive’s only full hour action news source… SHOTS of NEWSCASTERS flash up on screen. BOB BUMBLE (V.O.) (CONT'D) With Bob Bumble at the anchor desk… BOB has a big shock of anchorman hair, gray temples and overly white teeth. BOB BUMBLE (V.O.) (CONT'D) …weather with Storm Stinger, sports with Buzz Larvi, and Jeanette Chung. JEANETTE is an Asian bee. BOB BUMBLE (CONT'D) Good evening, I’m Bob Bumble. JEANETTE CHUNG And I’m Jeanette Chung. BOB BUMBLE Our top story, a tri-county bee, Barry Benson… INSERT: Barry’s graduation picture. BOB BUMBLE (CONT'D) …is saying he intends to sue the human race for stealing our honey, packaging it, and profiting from it illegally. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 65. INT. BEENN STUDIO - BEE LARRY KING LIVE BEE LARRY KING, wearing suspenders and glasses, is interviewing Barry. A LOWER-THIRD CHYRON reads: “Bee Larry King Live.” BEE LARRY KING Don’t forget, tomorrow night on Bee Larry King, we are going to have three former Queens all right here in our studio discussing their new book, “Classy Ladies,” out this week on Hexagon. (to Barry) Tonight, we’re talking to Barry Benson. Did you ever think, I’m just a kid from the hive, I can’t do this? BARRY Larry, bees have never been afraid to change the world. I mean, what about Bee-Columbus? Bee-Ghandi? Be-geesus? BEE LARRY KING Well, where I’m from you wouldn’t think of suing humans. We were thinking more like stick ball, candy stores. BARRY How old are you? BEE LARRY KING I want you to know that the entire bee community is supporting you in this case, which is certain to be the trial of the bee century. BARRY Thank you, Larry. You know, they have a Larry King in the human world, too. BEE LARRY KING It’s a common name. Next week on Bee Larry King… "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 66. BARRY No, I mean he looks like you. And he has a show with suspenders and different colored dots behind him. BEE LARRY KING Next week on Bee Larry King… BARRY Old guy glasses, and there’s quotes along the bottom from the guest you’re watching even though you just heard them… BEE LARRY KING Bear week next week! They’re scary, they’re hairy, and they’re here live. Bee Larry King EXITS. BARRY Always leans forward, pointy shoulders, squinty eyes… (lights go out) Very Jewish. CUT TO: SEQ. 2400 - “FLOWER SHOP” INT. VANESSA’S FLOWER SHOP - NIGHT Stacks of law books are piled up, legal forms, etc. Vanessa is talking with Ken in the other room. KEN Look, in tennis, you attack at the point of weakness. VANESSA But it was my grandmother, Ken. She’s 81. KEN Honey, her backhand’s a joke. I’m not going to take advantage of that? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 67. BARRY (O.C) Quiet please. Actual work going on here. KEN Is that that same bee? BARRY (O.C) Yes it is. VANESSA I’m helping him sue the human race. KEN What? Barry ENTERS. BARRY Oh, hello. KEN Hello Bee. Barry flies over to Vanessa. VANESSA This is Ken. BARRY Yeah, I remember you. Timberland, size 10 1/2, Vibram sole I believe. KEN Why does he talk again, Hun? VANESSA (to Ken, sensing the tension) Listen, you’d better go because we’re really busy working. KEN But it’s our yogurt night. VANESSA (pushing him out the door) Oh…bye bye. She CLOSES the door. KEN Why is yogurt night so difficult?! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 68. Vanessa ENTERS the back room carrying coffee. VANESSA Oh you poor thing, you two have been at this for hours. BARRY Yes, and Adam here has been a huge help. ANGLE ON: A EMPTY CINNABON BOX with Adam asleep inside, covered in frosting. VANESSA How many sugars? BARRY Just one. I try not to use the competition. So, why are you helping me, anyway? VANESSA Bees have good qualities. BARRY (rowing on the sugar cube like a gondola) Si, Certo. VANESSA And it feels good to take my mind off the shop. I don’t know why, instead of flowers, people are giving balloon bouquets now. BARRY Yeah, those are great…if you’re 3. VANESSA And artificial flowers. BARRY (re: plastic flowers) Oh, they just get me psychotic! VANESSA Yeah, me too. BARRY The bent stingers, the pointless pollination. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 69. VANESSA Bees must hate those fake plastic things. BARRY There’s nothing worse than a daffodil that’s had work done. VANESSA (holding up the lawsuit documents) Well, maybe this can make up for it a little bit. CUT TO: EXT. VANESSA’S FLORIST SHOP They EXIT the store, and cross to the mailbox. VANESSA You know Barry, this lawsuit is a pretty big deal. BARRY I guess. VANESSA Are you sure that you want to go through with it? BARRY Am I sure? (kicking the envelope into the mailbox) When I’m done with the humans, they won’t be able to say, “Honey, I’m home,” without paying a royalty. CUT TO: SEQ. 2700 - “MEET MONTGOMERY” EXT. MANHATTAN COURTHOUSE - DAY P.O.V SHOT - A camera feed turns on, revealing a newsperson. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 70. PRESS PERSON #2 (talking to camera) Sarah, it’s an incredible scene here in downtown Manhattan where all eyes and ears of the world are anxiously waiting, because for the first time in history, we’re going to hear for ourselves if a honey bee can actually speak. ANGLE ON: Barry, Vanessa, and Adam getting out of the cab. The press spots Barry and Vanessa and pushes in. Adam sits on Vanessa’s shoulder. INT. COURTHOUSE - CONTINUOUS Barry, Vanessa, and Adam sit at the Plaintiff’s Table. VANESSA (turns to Barry) What have we gotten into here, Barry? BARRY I don’t know, but it’s pretty big, isn’t it? ADAM I can’t believe how many humans don’t have to be at work during the day. BARRY Hey, you think these billion dollar multinational food companies have good lawyers? CUT TO: EXT. COURTHOUSE STEPS - CONTINUOUS A BIG BLACK CAR pulls up. ANGLE ON: the grill filling the frame. We see the “L.T.M” monogram on the hood ornament. The defense lawyer, LAYTON T. MONTGOMERY comes out, squashing a bug on the pavement. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 71. INT. COURTHOUSE - CONTINUOUS Barry SHUDDERS. VANESSA What’s the matter? BARRY I don’t know. I just got a chill. Montgomery ENTERS. He walks by Barry’s table shaking a honey packet. MONTGOMERY Well, if it isn’t the B-Team. (re: the honey packet) Any of you boys work on this? He CHUCKLES. The JUDGE ENTERS. SEQ. 3000 - “WITNESSES” BAILIFF All rise! The Honorable Judge Bumbleton presiding. JUDGE (shuffling papers) Alright…Case number 4475, Superior Court of New York. Barry Bee Benson vs. the honey industry, is now in session. Mr. Montgomery, you are representing the five major food companies, collectively. ANGLE ON: Montgomery’s BRIEFCASE. It has an embossed emblem of an EAGLE, holding a gavel in one talon and a briefcase in the other. MONTGOMERY A privilege. JUDGE Mr. Benson. Barry STANDS. JUDGE (CONT’D) You are representing all bees of the world? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 72. Montgomery, the stenographer, and the jury lean in. CUT TO: EXT. COURTHOUSE - CONTINUOUS The spectators outside freeze. The helicopters angle forward to listen closely. CUT TO: INT. COURTHOUSE BARRY Bzzz bzzz bzzz…Ahh, I’m kidding, I’m kidding. Yes, your honor. We are ready to proceed. ANGLE ON: Courtroom hub-bub. JUDGE And Mr. Montgomery, your opening statement, please. Montgomery rises. MONTGOMERY (grumbles, clears his throat) Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. My grandmother was a simple woman. Born on a farm, she believed it was man's divine right to benefit from the bounty of nature God put before us. If we were to live in the topsy-turvy world Mr. Benson imagines, just think of what it would mean. Maybe I would have to negotiate with the silk worm for the elastic in my britches. Talking bee. How do we know this isn’t some sort of holographic motion picture capture Hollywood wizardry? They could be using laser beams, robotics, ventriloquism, cloning…for all we know he could be on steroids! Montgomery leers at Barry, who moves to the stand. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 73. JUDGE Mr. Benson? Barry makes his opening statement. BARRY Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury, there’s no trickery here. I’m just an ordinary bee. And as a bee, honey’s pretty important to me. It’s important to all bees. We invented it, we make it, and we protect it with our lives. Unfortunately, there are some people in this room who think they can take whatever they want from us cause we’re the little guys. And what I’m hoping is that after this is all over, you’ll see how by taking our honey, you’re not only taking away everything we have, but everything we are. ANGLE ON: Vanessa smiling. ANGLE ON: The BEE GALLERY wiping tears away. CUT TO: INT. BENSON HOUSE Barry’s family is watching the case on TV. JANET BENSON Oh, I wish he would dress like that all the time. So nice… CUT TO: INT. COURTROOM - LATER JUDGE Call your first witness. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 74. INT. COURTHOUSE - LATER BARRY So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden of Honey Farms. Pretty big company you have there? MR. VANDERHAYDEN I suppose so. BARRY And I see you also own HoneyBurton, and Hon-Ron. MR. VANDERHAYDEN Yes. They provide beekeepers for our farms. BARRY Beekeeper. I find that to be a very disturbing term, I have to say. I don’t imagine you employ any bee free-ers, do you? MR. VANDERHAYDEN No. BARRY I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you. MR. VANDERHAYDEN (louder) No. BARRY No. Because you don’t free bees. You keep bees. And not only that, it seems you thought a bear would be an appropriate image for a jar of honey? MR. VANDERHAYDEN Well, they’re very lovable creatures. Yogi-bear, Fozzy-bear, Build-a-bear. BARRY Yeah, you mean like this?! Vanessa and the SUPERINTENDANT from her building ENTER with a GIANT FEROCIOUS GRIZZLY BEAR. He has a neck collar and chains extending from either side. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 75. By pulling the chains, they bring him directly in front of Vanderhayden. The bear LUNGES and ROARS. BARRY (CONT'D) Bears kill bees! How would you like his big hairy head crashing into your living room? Biting into your couch, spitting out your throwpillows…rowr, rowr! The bear REACTS. BEAR Rowr!! BARRY Okay, that’s enough. Take him away. Vanessa and the Superintendant pull the bear out of the courtroom. Vanderhayden TREMBLES. The judge GLARES at him. CUT TO: INT. COURTROOM- A LITTLE LATER Barry questions STING. BARRY So, Mr. Sting. Thank you for being here. Your name intrigues me, I have to say. Where have I heard it before? STING I was with a band called "The Police". BARRY But you've never been a police officer of any kind, have you? STING No, I haven't. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 76. BARRY No, you haven’t. And so, here we have yet another example of bee culture being casually stolen by a human for nothing more than a prance-about stage name. STING Oh please. BARRY Have you ever been stung, Mr. Sting? Because I'm feeling a little stung, Sting. Or should I say, (looking in folder) Mr. Gordon M. Sumner? The jury GASPS. MONTGOMERY (to his aides) That’s not his real name? You idiots! CUT TO: INT. COURTHOUSE- LATER BARRY Mr. Liotta, first may I offer my belated congratulations on your Emmy win for a guest spot on E.R. in 2005. LIOTTA Thank you. Thank you. Liotta LAUGHS MANIACALLY. BARRY I also see from your resume that you’re devilishly handsome, but with a churning inner turmoil that’s always ready to blow. LIOTTA I enjoy what I do. Is that a crime? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 77. BARRY Not yet it isn’t. But is this what it’s come to for you, Mr. Liotta? Exploiting tiny helpless bees so you don’t have to rehearse your part, and learn your lines, Sir? LIOTTA Watch it Benson, I could blow right now. BARRY This isn’t a goodfella. This is a badfella! LIOTTA (exploding, trying to smash Barry with the Emmy) Why doesn’t someone just step on this little creep and we can all go home? You’re all thinking it. Say it! JUDGE Order! Order in this courtroom! A MONTAGE OF NEWSPAPER HEADLINES FOLLOWS: NEW YORK POST: “Bees to Humans: Buzz Off”. NEW YORK TELEGRAM: “Sue Bee”. DAILY VARIETY: “Studio Dumps Liotta Project. Slams Door on Unlawful Entry 2.” CUT TO: SEQ. 3175 - “CANDLELIGHT DINNER” INT. VANESSA’S APARTMENT Barry and Vanessa are having a candle light dinner. Visible behind Barry is a “LITTLE MISSY” SET BOX, with the flaps open. BARRY Well, I just think that was awfully nice of that bear to pitch in like that. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 78. VANESSA I’m telling you, I think the jury’s on our side. BARRY Are we doing everything right…you know, legally? VANESSA I’m a florist. BARRY Right, right. Barry raises his glass. BARRY (CONT’D) Well, here’s to a great team. VANESSA To a great team. They toast. Ken ENTERS KEN Well hello. VANESSA Oh…Ken. BARRY Hello. VANESSA I didn’t think you were coming. KEN No, I was just late. I tried to call. But, (holding his cell phone) the battery… VANESSA I didn’t want all this to go to waste, so I called Barry. Luckily he was free. BARRY Yeah. KEN (gritting his teeth) Oh, that was lucky. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 79. VANESSA Well, there’s still a little left. I could heat it up. KEN Yeah, heat it up. Sure, whatever. Vanessa EXITS. Ken and Barry look at each other as Barry eats. BARRY So, I hear you’re quite a tennis player. I’m not much for the game myself. I find the ball a little grabby. KEN That’s where I usually sit. Right there. VANESSA (O.C) Ken, Barry was looking at your resume, and he agreed with me that “eating with chopsticks” isn’t really a special skill. KEN (to Barry) You think I don’t see what you’re doing? BARRY Hey look, I know how hard it is trying to find the right job. We certainly have that in common. KEN Do we? BARRY Well, bees have 100% employment, of course. But we do jobs like taking the crud out. KEN That’s just what I was thinking about doing. Ken holds his table knife up. It slips out of his hand. He goes under the table to pick it up. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 80. VANESSA Ken, I let Barry borrow your razor for his fuzz. I hope that was alright. Ken hits his head on the table. BARRY I’m going to go drain the old stinger. KEN Yeah, you do that. Barry EXITS to the bathroom, grabbing a small piece of a VARIETY MAGAZINE on the way. BARRY Oh, look at that. Ken slams the champagne down on the table. Ken closes his eyes and buries his face in his hands. He grabs a magazine on the way into the bathroom. SEQ. 2800 - “BARRY FIGHTS KEN” INT. BATHROOM - CONTINUOUS Ken ENTERS, closes the door behind him. He’s not happy. Barry is washing his hands. He glances back at Ken. KEN You know, I’ve just about had it with your little mind games. BARRY What’s that? KEN Italian Vogue. BARRY Mamma Mia, that’s a lot of pages. KEN It’s a lot of ads. BARRY Remember what Van said. Why is your life any more valuable than mine? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 81. KEN It’s funny, I just can’t seem to recall that! Ken WHACKS at Barry with the magazine. He misses and KNOCKS EVERYTHING OFF THE VANITY. Ken grabs a can of AIR FRESHENER. KEN (CONT'D) I think something stinks in here. He sprays at Barry. BARRY I love the smell of flowers. KEN Yeah? How do you like the smell of flames? Ken lights the stream. BARRY Not as much. Barry flies in a circle. Ken, trying to stay with him, spins in place. ANGLE ON: Flames outside the bathroom door. Ken slips on the Italian Vogue, falls backward into the shower, pulling down the shower curtain. The can hits him in the head, followed by the shower curtain rod, and the rubber duck. Ken reaches back, grabs the handheld shower head. He whips around, looking for Barry. ANGLE ON: A WATERBUG near the drain. WATERBUG Waterbug. Not taking sides. Barry is on the toilet tank. He comes out from behind a shampoo bottle, wearing a chapstick cap as a helmet. BARRY Ken, look at me! I’m wearing a chapstick hat. This is pathetic. ANGLE ON: Ken turning the hand shower nozzle from “GENTLE”, to “TURBO”, to “LETHAL”. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 82. KEN I’ve got issues! Ken fires the water at Barry, knocking him into the toilet. The items from the vanity (emory board, lipstick, eye curler, etc.) are on the toilet seat. Ken looks down at Barry. KEN (CONT'D) Well well well, a royal flush. BARRY You’re bluffing. KEN Am I? Ken flushes the toilet. Barry grabs the Emory board and uses it to surf. He puts his hand in the water while he’s surfing. Some water splashes on Ken. BARRY Surf’s up, dude! KEN Awww, poo water! He does some skate board-style half-pipe riding. Barry surfs out of the toilet. BARRY That bowl is gnarly. Ken tries to get a shot at him with the toilet brush. KEN Except for those dirty yellow rings. Vanessa ENTERS. VANESSA Kenneth! What are you doing? KEN You know what? I don’t even like honey! I don’t eat it! VANESSA We need to talk! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 83. She pulls Ken out by his ear. Ken glares at Barry. CUT TO: INT. HALLWAY - CONTINUOUS VANESSA He’s just a little bee. And he happens to be the nicest bee I’ve met in a long time. KEN Long time? What are you talking about? Are there other bugs in your life? VANESSA No, but there are other things bugging me in life. And you’re one of them! KEN Fine! Talking bees, no yogurt night…my nerves are fried from riding on this emotional rollercoaster. VANESSA Goodbye, Ken. KEN Augh! VANESSA Whew! Ken EXITS, then re-enters frame. KEN And for your information, I prefer sugar-free, artificial sweeteners, made by man! He EXITS again. The DOOR SLAMS behind him. VANESSA (to Barry) I’m sorry about all that. Ken RE-ENTERS. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 84. KEN I know it’s got an aftertaste! I like it! BARRY (re: Ken) I always felt there was some kind of barrier between Ken and me. (puts his hands in his pockets) I couldn’t overcome it. Oh well. VANESSA Are you going to be okay for the trial tomorrow? BARRY Oh, I believe Mr. Montgomery is about out of ideas. CUT TO: SEQ. 3300 - “ADAM STINGS MONTY” INT. COURTROOM - NEXT DAY ANGLE ON: Medium shot of Montgomery standing at his table. MONTGOMERY We would like to call Mr. Barry Benson Bee to the stand. ADAM (whispering to Vanessa) Now that’s a good idea. (to Barry) You can really see why he’s considered one of the very best lawyers— Oh. Barry rolls his eyes. He gets up, takes the stand. A juror in a striped shirt APPLAUDS. MR. GAMMIL (whispering) Layton, you’ve got to weave some magic with this jury, or it’s going to be all over. Montgomery is holding a BOOK, “The Secret Life of Bees”. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 85. MONTGOMERY (confidently whispering) Oh, don’t worry Mr. Gammil. The only thing I have to do to turn this jury around is to remind them of what they don’t like about bees. (to Gammil) You got the tweezers? Mr. Gammil NODS, and pats his breast pocket. MR. GAMMIL Are you allergic? MONTGOMERY Only to losing, son. Only to losing. Montgomery approaches the stand. MONTGOMERY (CONT’D) Mr. Benson Bee. I’ll ask you what I think we’d all like to know. What exactly is your relationship to that woman? Montgomery points to Vanessa. BARRY We’re friends. MONTGOMERY Good friends? BARRY Yes. MONTGOMERY (softly in Barry’s face) How good? BARRY What? MONTGOMERY Do you live together? BARRY Wait a minute, this isn’t about— "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 86. MONTGOMERY Are you her little… (clearing throat) … bed bug? BARRY (flustered) Hey, that’s not the kind of— MONTGOMERY I’ve seen a bee documentary or two. Now, from what I understand, doesn’t your Queen give birth to all the bee children in the hive? BARRY Yeah, but— MONTGOMERY So those aren’t even your real parents! ANGLE ON: Barry’s parents. MARTIN BENSON Oh, Barry. BARRY Yes they are! ADAM Hold me back! Vanessa holds him back with a COFFEE STIRRER. Montgomery points to Barry’s parents. MONTGOMERY You’re an illegitimate bee, aren’t you Benson? ADAM He’s denouncing bees! All the bees in the courtroom start to HUM. They’re agitated. MONTGOMERY And don’t y’all date your cousins? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 87. VANESSA (standing, letting go of Adam) Objection! Adam explodes from the table and flies towards Montgomery. ADAM I’m going to pin cushion this guy! Montgomery turns around and positions himself by the judge’s bench. He sticks his butt out. Montgomery winks at his team. BARRY Adam, don’t! It’s what he wants! Adam shoves Barry out of the way. Adam STINGS Montgomery in the butt. The jury REACTS, aghast. MONTGOMERY Ow! I’m hit! Oh, lordy, I am hit! The judge BANGS her gavel. JUDGE Order! Order! Please, Mr. Montgomery. MONTGOMERY The venom! The venom is coursing through my veins! I have been felled by a wing-ed beast of destruction. You see? You can’t treat them like equals. They’re strip-ed savages! Stinging’s the only thing they know! It’s their way! ANGLE ON: Adam, collapsed on the floor. Barry rushes to his side. BARRY Adam, stay with me. ADAM I can’t feel my legs. Montgomery falls on the Bailiff. BAILIFF Take it easy. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 88. MONTGOMERY Oh, what angel of mercy will come forward to suck the poison from my heaving buttocks? The JURY recoils. JUDGE Please, I will have order in this court. Order! Order, please! FADE TO: SEQ. 3400 - “ADAM AT HOSPITAL” INT. HOSPITAL - STREET LEVEL ROOM - DAY PRESS PERSON #1 (V.O) The case of the honey bees versus the human race took a pointed turn against the bees yesterday, when one of their legal team stung Layton T. Montgomery. Now here’s Don with the 5-day. A NURSE lets Barry into the room. Barry CARRIES a FLOWER. BARRY Thank you. Barry stands over Adam, in a bed. Barry lays the flower down next to him. The TV is on. BARRY (CONT'D) Hey buddy. ADAM Hey. BARRY Is there much pain? Adam has a BEE-SIZED PAINKILLER HONEY BUTTON near his head that he presses. ADAM (pressing the button) Yeah…I blew the whole case, didn’t I? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 89. BARRY Oh, it doesn’t matter. The important thing is you’re alive. You could have died. ADAM I’d be better off dead. Look at me. Adam THROWS the blanket off his lap, revealing a GREEN SANDWICH SWORD STINGER. ADAM (CONT’D) (voice cracking) They got it from the cafeteria, they got it from downstairs. In a tuna sandwich. Look, there’s a little celery still on it. BARRY What was it like to sting someone? ADAM I can’t explain it. It was all adrenaline…and then…ecstasy. Barry looks at Adam. BARRY Alright. ADAM You think that was all a trap? BARRY Of course. I’m sorry. I flew us right into this. What were we thinking? Look at us, we’re just a couple of bugs in this world. ADAM What do you think the humans will do to us if they win? BARRY I don’t know. ADAM I hear they put the roaches in motels. That doesn’t sound so bad. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 90. BARRY Adam, they check in, but they don’t check out. Adam GULPS. ADAM Oh my. ANGLE ON: the hospital window. We see THREE PEOPLE smoking outside on the sidewalk. The smoke drifts in. Adam COUGHS. ADAM (CONT’D) Say, could you get a nurse to close that window? BARRY Why? ADAM The smoke. Bees don’t smoke. BARRY Right. Bees don’t smoke. Bees don’t smoke! But some bees are smoking. Adam, that’s it! That’s our case. Adam starts putting his clothes on. ADAM It is? It’s not over? BARRY No. Get up. Get dressed. I’ve got to go somewhere. You get back the court and stall. Stall anyway you can. CUT TO: SEQ. 3500 - “SMOKING GUN” INT. COURTROOM - THE NEXT DAY Adam is folding a piece of paper into a boat. ADAM …and assuming you’ve done step 29 correctly, you’re ready for the tub. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 91. ANGLE ON: The jury, all with paper boats of their own. JURORS Ooh. ANGLE ON: Montgomery frustrated with Gammil, who’s making a boat also. Monty crumples Gammil’s boat, and throws it at him. JUDGE Mr. Flayman? ADAM Yes? Yes, Your Honor? JUDGE Where is the rest of your team? ADAM (fumbling with his swordstinger) Well, your honor, it’s interesting. You know Bees are trained to fly kind of haphazardly and as a result quite often we don’t make very good time. I actually once heard a pretty funny story about a bee— MONTGOMERY Your Honor, haven’t these ridiculous bugs taken up enough of this court’s valuable time? Montgomery rolls out from behind his table. He’s suspended in a LARGE BABY CHAIR with wheels. MONTGOMERY (CONT'D) How much longer are we going to allow these absurd shenanigans to go on? They have presented no compelling evidence to support their charges against my clients who have all run perfectly legitimate businesses. I move for a complete dismissal of this entire case. JUDGE Mr. Flayman, I am afraid I am going to have to consider Mr. Montgomery’s motion. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 92. ADAM But you can’t. We have a terrific case. MONTGOMERY Where is your proof? Where is the evidence? Show me the smoking gun. Barry bursts through the door. BARRY Hold it, your honor. You want a smoking gun? Here is your smoking gun. Vanessa ENTERS, holding a bee smoker Vanessa slams the beekeeper's SMOKER onto the judge’s bench. JUDGE What is that? BARRY It’s a Bee smoker. Montgomery GRABS the smoker. MONTGOMERY What, this? This harmless little contraption? This couldn’t hurt a fly, let alone a bee. He unintentionally points it towards the bee gallery, KNOCKING THEM ALL OUT. The jury GASPS. The press SNAPS pictures of them. BARRY Members of the jury, look at what has happened to bees who have never been asked, "Smoking or Non?" Is this what nature intended for us? To be forcibly addicted to these smoke machines in man-made wooden slat work camps? Living out our lives as honey slaves to the white man? Barry gestures dramatically towards Montgomery's racially mixed table. The BLACK LAWYER slowly moves his chair away. GAMMIL What are we going to do? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 93. MONTGOMERY (to Pross) He's playing the species card. Barry lands on the scale of justice, by the judge’s bench. It balances as he lands. BARRY Ladies and gentlemen, please, FreeThese-Bees! ANGLE ON: Jury, chanting "Free the bees". JUDGE The court finds in favor of the bees. The chaos continues. Barry flies over to Vanessa, with his hand up for a “high 5”. BARRY Vanessa, we won! VANESSA Yay! I knew you could do it. Highfive! She high 5’s Barry, sending him crashing to the table. He bounces right back up. VANESSA (CONT'D) Oh, sorry. BARRY Ow!! I’m okay. Vanessa, do you know what this means? All the honey is finally going to belong to the bees. Now we won’t have to work so hard all the time. Montgomery approaches Barry, surrounded by the press. The cameras and microphones go to Montgomery. MONTGOMERY (waving a finger) This is an unholy perversion of the balance of nature, Benson! You’ll regret this. ANGLE ON: Barry’s ‘deer in headlights’ expression, as the press pushes microphones in his face. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 94. PRESS PERSON 1 Barry, how much honey do you think is out there? BARRY Alright, alright, one at a time… SARAH Barry, who are you wearing? BARRY Uhhh, my sweater is Ralph Lauren, and I have no pants. The Press follows Barry as he EXITS. ANGLE ON: Adam and Vanessa. ADAM (putting papers away) What if Montgomery’s right? VANESSA What do you mean? ADAM We’ve been living the bee way a long time. 27 million years. DISSOLVE TO: SEQ. 3600 - “HONEY ROUNDUP” EXT. HONEY FARMS APIARY - MONTAGE SARAH (V.O) Congratulations on your victory. What are you going to demand as a settlement? BARRY (V.O) (over montage) First, we’re going to demand a complete shutdown of all bee work camps. Then, we want to get back all the honey that was ours to begin with. Every last drop. We demand an end to the glorification of the bear as anything more than a filthy, smelly, big-headed, bad breath, stink-machine. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 95. I believe we’re all aware of what they do in the woods. We will no longer tolerate derogatory beenegative nick-names, unnecessary inclusion of honey in bogus health products, and la-dee-da tea-time human snack garnishments. MONTAGE IMAGES: Close-up on an ATF JACKET, with the YELLOW LETTERS. Camera pulls back. We see an ARMY OF BEE AND HUMAN AGENTS wearing hastily made “Alcohol, Tobacco, Firearms, and Honey” jackets. Barry supervises. The gate to Honey Farms is locked permanently. All the smokers are collected and locked up. All the bees leave the Apiary. CUT TO: EXT. ATF OUTSIDE OF SUPERMARKET - MONTAGE Agents begin YANKING honey off the supermarket shelves, and out of shopping baskets. CUT TO: EXT. NEW HIVE CITY - MONTAGE The bees tear down a honey-bear statue. CUT TO: EXT. YELLOWSTONE FOREST - MONTAGE POV of a sniper’s crosshairs. An animated BEAR character looka-like, turns his head towards camera. BARRY Wait for my signal. ANGLE ON: Barry lowering his binoculars. BARRY (CONT'D) Take him out. The sniper SHOOTS the bear. It hits him in the shoulder. The bear looks at it. He gets woozy and the honey jar falls out of his lap, an ATF&H agent catches it. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 96. BARRY (V.O) (CONT'D) ATF&H AGENT (to the bear’s pig friend) He’ll have a little nausea for a few hours, then he’ll be fine. CUT TO: EXT. STING’S HOUSE - MONTAGE ATF&H agents SLAP CUFFS on Sting, who is meditating. STING But it’s just a prance-about stage name! CUT TO: INT. A WOMAN’S SHOWER - MONTAGE A WOMAN is taking a shower, and using honey shampoo. An ATF&H agent pulls the shower curtain aside, and grabs her bottle of shampoo. The woman SCREAMS. The agent turns to the 3 other agents, and Barry. ANGLE ON: Barry looking at the label on the shampoo bottle, shaking his head and writing in his clipboard. CUT TO: EXT. SUPERMARKET CAFE - MONTAGE Another customer, an old lady having her tea with a little jar of honey, gets her face pushed down onto the table and turned to the side by two agents. One of the agents has a gun on her. OLD LADY Can’t breathe. CUT TO: EXT. CENTRAL PARK - MONTAGE An OIL DRUM of honey is connected to Barry’s hive. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 97. BARRY Bring it in, boys. CUT TO: SEQ. 3650 - “NO MORE WORK” INT. HONEX - MONTAGE ANGLE ON: The honey goes past the 3-cup hash-mark, and begins to overflow. A WORKER BEE runs up to Buzzwell. WORKER BEE 1 Mr. Buzzwell, we just passed 3 cups, and there’s gallons mores coming. I think we need to shutdown. KEYCHAIN BEE (to Buzzwell) Shutdown? We’ve never shutdown. ANGLE ON: Buzzwell overlooking the factory floor. BUZZWELL Shutdown honey production! Stop making honey! ANGLE ON: TWO BEES, each with a KEY. BUZZWELL (CONT’D) Turn your key, Sir! They turn the keys simultaneously, War Games-style, shutting down the honey machines. ANGLE ON: the Taffy-Pull machine, Centrifuge, and Krelman all slowly come to a stop. The bees look around, bewildered. WORKER BEE 5 What do we do now? A BEAT. WORKER BEE 6 Cannon ball!! He jumps into a HONEY VAT, doesn’t penetrate the surface. He looks around, and slowly sinks down to his waist. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 98. EXT. HONEX FACTORY THE WHISTLE BLOWS, and the bees all stream out the exit. CUT TO: INT. J-GATE - CONTINUOUS Lou Loduca gives orders to the pollen jocks. LOU LODUCA We’re shutting down honey production. Mission abort. CUT TO: EXT. CENTRAL PARK Jackson receives the orders, mid-pollination. JACKSON Aborting pollination and nectar detail. Returning to base. CUT TO: EXT. NEW HIVE CITY ANGLE ON: Bees, putting sun-tan lotion on their noses and antennae, and sunning themselves on the balconies of the gyms. CUT TO: EXT. CENTRAL PARK ANGLE ON: THE FLOWERS starting to DROOP. CUT TO: INT. J-GATE J-Gate is deserted. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 99. EXT. NEW HIVE CITY ANGLE ON: Bees sunning themselves. A TIMER DINGS, and they all turn over. CUT TO: EXT. CENTRAL PARK TIME LAPSE of Central Park turning brown. CUT TO: EXT. VANESSA’S FLORIST SHOP CLOSE-UP SHOT: Vanessa writes “Sorry. No more flowers.” on a “Closed” sign, an turns it facing out. CUT TO: SEQ. 3700 - “IDLE HIVE” EXT. NEW HIVE CITY - DAY Barry flies at high speed. TRACKING SHOT into the hive, through the lobby of Honex, and into Adam’s office. CUT TO: INT. ADAM’S OFFICE - CONTINUOUS Barry meets Adam in his office. Adam’s office is in disarray. There are papers everywhere. He’s filling up his cardboard hexagon box. BARRY (out of breath) Adam, you wouldn’t believe how much honey was out there. ADAM Oh yeah? BARRY What’s going on around here? Where is everybody? Are they out celebrating? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 100. ADAM (exiting with a cardboard box of belongings) No, they’re just home. They don’t know what to do. BARRY Hmmm. ADAM They’re laying out, they’re sleeping in. I heard your Uncle Carl was on his way to San Antonio with a cricket. BARRY At least we got our honey back. They walk through the empty factory. ADAM Yeah, but sometimes I think, so what if the humans liked our honey? Who wouldn’t? It’s the greatest thing in the world. I was excited to be a part of making it. ANGLE ON: Adam’s desk on it’s side in the hall. ADAM (CONT’D) This was my new desk. This was my new job. I wanted to do it really well. And now…and now I can’t. Adam EXITS. CUT TO: SEQ. 3900 - “WORLD WITHOUT BEES” INT. STAIRWELL Vanessa and Barry are walking up the stairs to the roof. BARRY I don’t understand why they’re not happy. We have so much now. I thought their lives would be better. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 101. VANESSA Hmmm. BARRY They’re doing nothing. It’s amazing, honey really changes people. VANESSA You don’t have any idea what’s going on, do you? BARRY What did you want to show me? VANESSA This. They reach the top of the stairs. Vanessa opens the door. CUT TO: EXT. VANESSA’S ROOFTOP - CONTINUOUS Barry sees Vanessa’s flower pots and small garden have all turned brown. BARRY What happened here? VANESSA That is not the half of it… Vanessa turns Barry around with her two fingers, revealing the view of Central Park, which is also all brown. BARRY Oh no. Oh my. They’re all wilting. VANESSA Doesn’t look very good, does it? BARRY No. VANESSA And who’s fault do you think that is? "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 102. BARRY Mmmm…you know, I’m going to guess, bees. VANESSA Bees? BARRY Specifically me. I guess I didn’t think that bees not needing to make honey would affect all these other things. VANESSA And it’s not just flowers. Fruits, vegetables…they all need bees. BARRY Well, that’s our whole SAT test right there. VANESSA So, you take away the produce, that affects the entire animal kingdom. And then, of course… BARRY The human species? VANESSA (clearing throat) Ahem! BARRY Oh. So, if there’s no more pollination, it could all just go south here, couldn’t it? VANESSA And I know this is also partly my fault. Barry takes a long SIGH. BARRY How about a suicide pact? VANESSA (not sure if he’s joking) How would we do it? BARRY I’ll sting you, you step on me. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 103. VANESSA That just kills you twice. BARRY Right, right. VANESSA Listen Barry. Sorry but I’ve got to get going. She EXITS. BARRY (looking out over the park) Had to open my mouth and talk… (looking back) Vanessa..? Vanessa is gone. CUT TO: SEQ. 3935 - “GOING TO PASADENA” EXT. NY STREET - CONTINUOUS Vanessa gets into a cab. Barry ENTERS. BARRY Vanessa. Why are you leaving? Where are you going? VANESSA To the final Tournament of Roses parade in Pasadena. They moved it up to this weekend because all the flowers are dying. It’s the last chance I’ll ever have to see it. BARRY Vanessa, I just want to say I’m sorry. I never meant it to turn out like this. VANESSA I know. Me neither. Vanessa cab drives away. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 104. BARRY (chuckling to himself) Tournament of Roses. Roses can’t do sports. Wait a minute…roses. Roses? Roses!? Vanessa! Barry follows shortly after. He catches up to it, and he pounds on the window. Barry follows shortly after Vanessa’s cab. He catches up to it, and he pounds on the window. INT. TAXI - CONTINUOUS Barry motions for her to roll the window down. She does so. BARRY Roses?! VANESSA Barry? BARRY (as he flies next to the cab) Roses are flowers. VANESSA Yes, they are. BARRY Flowers, bees, pollen! VANESSA I know. That’s why this is the last parade. BARRY Maybe not. The cab starts pulling ahead of Barry. BARRY (CONT'D) (re: driver) Could you ask him to slow down? VANESSA Could you slow down? The cabs slows. Barry flies in the window, and lands in the change box, which closes on him. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 105. VANESSA (CONT'D) Barry! Vanessa lets him out. Barry stands on the change box, in front of the driver’s license. BARRY Okay, I made a huge mistake! This is a total disaster, and it’s all my fault! VANESSA Yes, it kind of is. BARRY I’ve ruined the planet. And, I wanted to help with your flower shop. Instead, I’ve made it worse. VANESSA Actually, it’s completely closed down. BARRY Oh, I thought maybe you were remodeling. Nonetheless, I have another idea. And it’s greater than all my previous great ideas combined. VANESSA I don’t want to hear it. Vanessa closes the change box on Barry. BARRY (opening it again) Alright, here’s what I’m thinking. They have the roses, the roses have the pollen. I know every bee, plant, and flower bud in this park. All we’ve got to do is get what they’ve got back here with what we’ve got. VANESSA Bees… BARRY Park… VANESSA Pollen… "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 106. BARRY Flowers… VANESSA Repollination! BARRY (on luggage handle, going up) Across the nation! CUT TO: SEQ. 3950 - “ROSE PARADE” EXT. PASADENA PARADE BARRY (V.O) Alright. Tournament of Roses. Pasadena, California. They’ve got nothing but flowers, floats, and cotton candy. Security will be tight. VANESSA I have an idea. CUT TO: EXT. FLOAT STAGING AREA ANGLE ON: Barry and Vanessa approaching a HEAVILY ARMED GUARD in front of the staging area. VANESSA Vanessa Bloome, FTD. Official floral business. He leans in to look at her badge. She SNAPS IT SHUT, VANESSA (CONT’D) Oh, it’s real. HEAVILY ARMED GUARD Sorry ma’am. That’s a nice brooch, by the way. VANESSA Thank you. It was a gift. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 107. They ENTER the staging area. BARRY (V.O) Then, once we’re inside, we just pick the right float. VANESSA How about the Princess and the Pea? BARRY Yeah. VANESSA I can be the princess, and— BARRY …yes, I think— VANESSA You could be— BARRY I’ve— VANESSA The pea. BARRY Got it. CUT TO: EXT. FLOAT STAGING AREA - A FEW MOMENTS LATER Barry, dressed as a PEA, flies up and hovers in front of the princess on the “Princess and the Pea” float. The float is sponsored by Inflat-a-bed and a SIGN READS: “Inflat-a-bed: If it blows, it’s ours.” BARRY Sorry I’m late. Where should I sit? PRINCESS What are you? BARRY I believe I’m the pea. PRINCESS The pea? It’s supposed to be under the mattresses. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 108. BARRY Not in this fairy tale, sweetheart. PRINCESS I’m going to go talk to the marshall. BARRY You do that. This whole parade is a fiasco! She EXITS. Vanessa removes the step-ladder. The princess FALLS. Barry and Vanessa take off in the float. BARRY (CONT’D) Let’s see what this baby will do. ANGLE ON: Guy with headset talking to drivers. HEADSET GUY Hey! The float ZOOMS by. A young CHILD in the stands, TIMMY, cries. CUT TO: EXT. FLOAT STAGING AREA - A FEW MOMENTS LATER ANGLE ON: Vanessa putting the princess hat on. BARRY (V.O) Then all we do is blend in with traffic, without arousing suspicion. CUT TO: EXT. THE PARADE ROUTE - CONTINUOUS The floats go flying by the crowds. Barry and Vanessa’s float CRASHES through the fence. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 109. EXT. LA FREEWAY Vanessa and Barry speed, dodging and weaving, down the freeway. BARRY (V.O) And once we’re at the airport, there’s no stopping us. CUT TO: EXT. LAX AIRPORT Barry and Vanessa pull up to the curb, in front of an TSA AGENT WITH CLIPBOARD. TSA AGENT Stop. Security. Did you and your insect pack your own float? VANESSA (O.C) Yes. TSA AGENT Has this float been in your possession the entire time? VANESSA (O.C) Since the parade…yes. ANGLE ON: Barry holding his shoes. TSA AGENT Would you remove your shoes and everything in your pockets? Can you remove your stinger, Sir? BARRY That’s part of me. TSA AGENT I know. Just having some fun. Enjoy your flight. CUT TO: EXT. RUNWAY Barry and Vanessa’s airplane TAKES OFF. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 110. BARRY (O.C) Then, if we’re lucky, we’ll have just enough pollen to do the job. DISSOLVE TO: SEQ. 4025 - “COCKPIT FIGHT” INT. AIRPLANE Vanessa is on the aisle. Barry is on a laptop calculating flowers, pollen, number of bees, airspeed, etc. He does a “Stomp” dance on the keyboard. BARRY Can you believe how lucky we are? We have just enough pollen to do the job. I think this is going to work, Vanessa. VANESSA It’s got to work. PILOT (V.O) Attention passengers. This is Captain Scott. I’m afraid we have a bit of bad weather in the New York area. And looks like we’re going to be experiencing a couple of hours delay. VANESSA Barry, these are cut flowers with no water. They’ll never make it. BARRY I’ve got to get up there and talk to these guys. VANESSA Be careful. Barry flies up to the cockpit door. CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT - CONTINUOUS A female flight attendant, ANGELA, is in the cockpit with the pilots. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 111. There’s a KNOCK at the door. BARRY (C.O) Hey, can I get some help with this Sky Mall Magazine? I’d like to order the talking inflatable travel pool filter. ANGELA (to the pilots, irritated) Excuse me. CUT TO: EXT. CABIN - CONTINUOUS Angela opens the cockpit door and looks around. She doesn’t see anybody. ANGLE ON: Barry hidden on the yellow and black “caution” stripe. As Angela looks around, Barry zips into the cockpit. CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT BARRY Excuse me, Captain. I am in a real situation here… PILOT (pulling an earphone back, to the co-pilot) What did you say, Hal? CO-PILOT I didn’t say anything. PILOT (he sees Barry) Ahhh! Bee! BARRY No, no! Don’t freak out! There’s a chance my entire species— CO-PILOT (taking off his earphones) Ahhh! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 112. The pilot grabs a “DUSTBUSTER” vacuum cleaner. He aims it around trying to vacuum up Barry. The co-pilot faces camera, as the pilot tries to suck Barry up. Barry is on the other side of the co-pilot. As they dosey-do, the toupee of the co-pilot begins to come up, still attached to the front. CO-PILOT (CONT'D) What are you doing? Stop! The toupee comes off the co-pilot’s head, and sticks in the Dustbuster. Barry runs across the bald head. BARRY Wait a minute! I’m an attorney! CO-PILOT Who’s an attorney? PILOT Don’t move. The pilot uses the Dustbuster to try and mash Barry, who is hovering in front of the co-pilot’s nose, and knocks out the co-pilot who falls out of his chair, hitting the life raft release button. The life raft inflates, hitting the pilot, knocking him into a wall and out cold. Barry surveys the situation. BARRY Oh, Barry. CUT TO: INT. AIRPLANE CABIN Vanessa studies her laptop, looking serious. SFX: PA CRACKLE. BARRY (V.O) (in captain voice) Good afternoon passengers, this is your captain speaking. Would a Miss Vanessa Bloome in 24F please report to the cockpit. And please hurry! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 113. ANGLE ON: The aisle, and Vanessa head popping up. CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT Vanessa ENTERS. VANESSA What happened here? BARRY I tried to talk to them, but then there was a Dustbuster, a toupee, a life raft exploded…Now one’s bald, one’s in a boat, and they’re both unconscious. VANESSA Is that another bee joke? BARRY No. No one’s flying the plane. The AIR TRAFFIC CONTROLLER, BUD, speaks over the radio. BUD This is JFK control tower. Flight 356, what’s your status? Vanessa presses a button, and the intercom comes on. VANESSA This is Vanessa Bloome. I’m a florist from New York. BUD Where’s the pilot? VANESSA He’s unconscious and so is the copilot. BUD Not good. Is there anyone onboard who has flight experience? A BEAT. BARRY As a matter of fact, there is. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 114. BUD Who’s that? VANESSA Barry Benson. BUD From the honey trial? Oh great. BARRY Vanessa, this is nothing more than a big metal bee. It’s got giant wings, huge engines. VANESSA I can’t fly a plane. BARRY Why not? Isn’t John Travolta a pilot? VANESSA Yes? BARRY How hard could it be? VANESSA Wait a minute. Barry, we’re headed into some lightning. CUT TO: Vanessa shrugs, and takes the controls. SEQ. 4150 - “BARRY FLIES PLANE” INT. BENSON HOUSE The family is all huddled around the TV at the Benson house. ANGLE ON: TV. Bob Bumble is broadcasting. BOB BUMBLE This is Bob Bumble. We have some late-breaking news from JFK airport, where a very suspenseful scene is developing. Barry Benson, fresh off his stunning legal victory… "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 115. Adam SPRAYS a can of HONEY-WHIP into his mouth. ADAM That’s Barry. BOB BUMBLE …is now attempting to land a plane, loaded with people, flowers, and an incapacitated flight crew. EVERYONE Flowers?! CUT TO: INT. AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL TOWER BUD Well, we have an electrical storm in the area, and two individuals at the controls of a jumbo jet with absolutely no flight experience. JEANETTE CHUNG Just a minute, Mr. Ditchwater, there’s a honey bee on that plane. BUD Oh, I’m quite familiar with Mr. Benson’s work, and his no-account compadres. Haven’t they done enough damage already? JEANETTE CHUNG But isn’t he your only hope right now? BUD Come on, technically a bee shouldn’t be able to fly at all. CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT. Barry REACTS BUD The wings are too small, their bodies are too big— "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 116. BARRY (over PA) Hey, hold on a second. Haven’t we heard this million times? The surface area of the wings, and the body mass doesn’t make sense? JEANETTE CHUNG Get this on the air. CAMERAMAN You got it! CUT TO: INT. BEE TV CONTROL ROOM An engineer throws a switch. BEE ENGINEER Stand by. We’re going live. The “ON AIR” sign illuminates. CUT TO: INT. VARIOUS SHOTS OF NEW HIVE CITY The news report plays on TV. The pollen jocks are sitting around, playing paddle-ball, Wheel-o, and one of them is spinning his helmet on his finger. Buzzwell is in an office cubicle, playing computer solitaire. Barry’s family and Adam watch from their living room. Bees sitting on the street curb turn around to watch the TV. BARRY Mr. Ditchwater, the way we work may be a mystery to you, because making honey takes a lot of bees doing a lot of small jobs. But let me tell you something about a small job. If you do it really well, it makes a big difference. More than we realized. To us, to everyone. That’s why I want to get bees back to doing what we do best. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 117. Working together. That’s the bee way. We’re not made of Jello. We get behind a fellow. Black and yellow. CROWD OF BEES Hello! CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT Barry is giving orders to Vanessa. BARRY Left, right, down, hover. VANESSA Hover? BARRY Forget hover. VANESSA You know what? This isn’t so hard. Vanessa pretends to HONK THE HORN. VANESSA (CONT’D) Beep, beep! Beep, beep! A BOLT OF LIGHTNING HITS the plane. The plane takes a sharp dip. VANESSA (CONT’D) Barry, what happened? BARRY (noticing the control panel) Wait a minute. I think we were on autopilot that whole time. VANESSA That may have been helping me. BARRY And now we’re not! VANESSA (V.O.) (folding her arms) Well, then it turns out I cannot fly a plane. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 118. BARRY (CONT'D) Vanessa struggles with the yoke. CUT TO: EXT. AIRPLANE The airplane goes into a steep dive. CUT TO: SEQ. 4175 - “CRASH LANDING” INT. J-GATE An ALERT SIGN READING: “Hive Alert. We Need:” Then the SIGNAL goes from “Two Bees” “Some Bees” “Every Bee There Is” Lou Loduca gathers the pollen jocks at J-Gate. LOU LODUCA All of you, let’s get behind this fellow. Move it out! The bees follow Lou Loduca, and EXIT J-Gate. CUT TO: INT. AIRPLANE COCKPIT BARRY Our only chance is if I do what I would do, and you copy me with the wings of the plane! VANESSA You don’t have to yell. BARRY I’m not yelling. We happen to be in a lot of trouble here. VANESSA It’s very hard to concentrate with that panicky tone in your voice. BARRY It’s not a tone. I’m panicking! CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 119. EXT. JFK AIRPORT ANGLE ON: The bees arriving and massing at the airport. CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT Barry and Vanessa alternately SLAP EACH OTHER IN THE FACE. VANESSA I don’t think I can do this. BARRY Vanessa, pull yourself together. Listen to me, you have got to snap out of it! VANESSA You snap out of it! BARRY You snap out of it! VANESSA You snap out of it! BARRY You snap out of it! VANESSA You snap out of it! CUT TO: EXT. AIRPLANE A GIGANTIC SWARM OF BEES flies in to hold the plane up. CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT - CONTINUOUS BARRY You snap out of it! VANESSA You snap out of it! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 120. BARRY You snap— VANESSA Hold it! BARRY (about to slap her again) Why? Come on, it’s my turn. VANESSA How is the plane flying? Barry’s antennae ring. BARRY I don’t know. (answering) Hello? CUT TO: EXT. AIRPLANE ANGLE ON: The underside of the plane. The pollen jocks have massed all around the underbelly of the plane, and are holding it up. LOU LODUCA Hey Benson, have you got any flowers for a happy occasion in there? CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT Lou, Buzz, Splitz, and Jackson come up alongside the cockpit. BARRY The pollen jocks! VANESSA They do get behind a fellow. BARRY Black and yellow. LOU LODUCA (over headset) Hello. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 121. Alright you two, what do you say we drop this tin can on the blacktop? VANESSA What blacktop? Where? I can’t see anything. Can you? BARRY No, nothing. It’s all cloudy. CUT TO: EXT. RUNWAY Adam SHOUTS. ADAM Come on, you’ve got to think bee, Barry. Thinking bee, thinking bee. ANGLE ON: Overhead shot of runway. The bees are in the formation of a flower. In unison they move, causing the flower to FLASH YELLOW AND BLACK. BEES (chanting) Thinking bee, thinking bee. CUT TO: INT. COCKPIT We see through the swirling mist and clouds. A GIANT SHAPE OF A FLOWER is forming in the middle of the runway. BARRY Wait a minute. I think I’m feeling something. VANESSA What? BARRY I don’t know, but it’s strong. And it’s pulling me, like a 27 million year old instinct. Bring the nose of the plane down. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 122. LOU LODUCA (CONT'D) EXT. RUNWAY All the bees are on the runway chanting “Thinking Bee”. CUT TO: INT. CONTROL TOWER RICK What in the world is on the tarmac? ANGLE ON: Dave OTS onto runway seeing a flower being formed by millions of bees. BUD Get some lights on that! CUT TO: EXT. RUNWAY ANGLE ON: AIRCRAFT LANDING LIGHT SCAFFOLD by the side of the runway, illuminating the bees in their flower formation. INT. COCKPIT BARRY Vanessa, aim for the flower! VANESSA Oh, okay? BARRY Cut the engines! VANESSA Cut the engines? BARRY We’re going in on bee power. Ready boys? LOU LODUCA Affirmative. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 123. INT. AIRPLANE COCKPIT BARRY Good, good, easy now. Land on that flower! Ready boys? Give me full reverse. LOU LODUCA Spin it around! The plane attempts to land on top of an “Aloha Airlines” plane with flowers painted on it. BARRY (V.O) I mean the giant black and yellow pulsating flower made of millions of bees! VANESSA Which flower? BARRY That flower! VANESSA I’m aiming at the flower! The plane goes after a FAT GUY IN A HAWAIIAN SHIRT. BARRY (V.O) That’s a fat guy in a flowered shirt! The other other flower! The big one. He snaps a photo and runs away. BARRY (CONT'D) Full forward. Ready boys? Nose down. Bring your tail up. Rotate around it. VANESSA Oh, this is insane, Barry. BARRY This is the only way I know how to fly. CUT TO: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 124. AIR TRAFFIC CONTROL TOWER BUD Am I koo-koo kachoo, or is this plane flying in an insect-like pattern? CUT TO: EXT. RUNWAY BARRY (V.O) Get your nose in there. Don’t be afraid of it. Smell it. Full reverse! Easy, just drop it. Be a part of it. Aim for the center! Now drop it in. Drop it in, woman! The plane HOVERS and MANEUVERS, landing in the center of the giant flower, like a bee. The FLOWERS from the cargo hold spill out onto the runway. INT. AIPLANE CABIN The passengers are motionless for a beat. PASSENGER Come on already! They hear the “ding ding”, and all jump up to grab their luggage out of the overheads. SEQ. 4225 - “RUNWAY SPEECH” EXT. RUNWAY - CONTINUOUS The INFLATABLE SLIDES pop out the side of the plane. The passengers escape. Barry and Vanessa slide down out of the cockpit. Barry and Vanessa exhale a huge breath. VANESSA Barry, we did it. You taught me how to fly. Vanessa raises her hand up for a high five. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 125. BARRY Yes. No high five. VANESSA Right. ADAM Barry, it worked. Did you see the giant flower? BARRY What giant flower? Where? Of course I saw the flower! That was genius, man. Genius! ADAM Thank you. BARRY But we’re not done yet. Barry flies up to the wing of the plane, and addresses the bee crowd. BARRY (CONT’D) Listen everyone. This runway is covered with the last pollen from the last flowers available anywhere on Earth. That means this is our last chance. We’re the only ones who make honey, pollinate flowers, and dress like this. If we’re going to survive as a species, this is our moment. So what do you all say? Are we going to be bees, or just Museum of Natural History key chains? BEES We’re bees! KEYCHAIN BEE Keychain! BARRY Then follow me… Except Keychain. BUZZ Hold on Barry. You’ve earned this. Buzz puts a pollen jock jacket and helmet with Barry’s name on it on Barry. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 126. BARRY I’m a pollen jock! (looking at the jacket. The sleeves are a little long) And it’s a perfect fit. All I’ve got to do are the sleeves. The Pollen Jocks toss Barry a gun. BARRY (CONT’D) Oh yeah! ANGLE ON: Martin and Janet Benson. JANET BENSON That’s our Barry. All the bees descend upon the flowers on the tarmac, and start collecting pollen. CUT TO: SEQ. 4250 - “RE-POLLINATION” EXT. SKIES - CONTINUOUS The squadron FLIES over the city, REPOLLINATING trees and flowers as they go. Barry breaks off from the group, towards Vanessa’s flower shop. CUT TO: EXT. VANESSA’S FLOWER SHOP - CONTINUOUS Barry REPOLLINATES Vanessa’s flowers. CUT TO: EXT. CENTRAL PARK - CONTINUOUS ANGLE ON: Timmy with a frisbee, as the bees fly by. TIMMY Mom, the bees are back! "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 127. Central Park is completely repollinated by the bees. DISSOLVE TO: INT. HONEX - CONTINUOUS Honex is back to normal and everyone is busily working. ANGLE ON: Adam, putting his Krelman hat on. ADAM If anyone needs to make a call, now’s the time. I’ve got a feeling we’ll be working late tonight! The bees CHEER. CUT TO: SEQ. 4355 EXT: VANESSA’S FLOWER SHOP With a new sign out front. “Vanessa & Barry: Flowers, Honey, Legal Advice” DISSOLVE TO: INT: FLOWER COUNTER Vanessa doing a brisk trade with many customers. CUT TO: INT: FLOWER SHOP - CONTINUOUS Vanessa is selling flowers. In the background, there are SHELVES STOCKED WITH HONEY. VANESSA (O.C.) Don’t forget these. Have a great afternoon. Yes, can I help who’s next? Who’s next? Would you like some honey with that? It is beeapproved. SIGN ON THE BACK ROOM DOOR READS: “Barry Benson: Insects at Law”. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 128. Camera moves into the back room. ANGLE ON: Barry. ANGLE ON: Barry’s COW CLIENT. COW Milk, cream, cheese…it’s all me. And I don’t see a nickel. BARRY Uh huh? Uh huh? COW (breaking down) Sometimes I just feel like a piece of meat. BARRY I had no idea. VANESSA Barry? I’m sorry, have you got a moment? BARRY Would you excuse me? My mosquito associate here will be able to help you. Mooseblood ENTERS. MOOSEBLOOD Sorry I’m late. COW He’s a lawyer too? MOOSEBLOOD Ma’am, I was already a bloodsucking parasite. All I needed was * a briefcase. * ANGLE ON: Flower Counter. VANESSA (to customer) Have a great afternoon! (to Barry) Barry, I just got this huge tulip order for a wedding, and I can’t get them anywhere. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 129. BARRY Not a problem, Vannie. Just leave it to me. Vanessa turns back to deal with a customer. VANESSA You’re a life-saver, Barry. (to the next customer) Can I help who’s next? Who’s next? ANGLE ON: Vanessa smiling back at Barry. Barry smiles too, then snaps himself out of it. BARRY (speaks into his antennae) Alright. Scramble jocks, it’s time to fly! VANESSA Thank you, Barry! EXT. FLOWER SHOP - CONTINUOUS ANGLE ON: Ken and Andy walking down the street. KEN (noticing the new sign) Augh! What in the world? It’s that bee again! ANDY (guiding Ken protectively) Let it go, Kenny. KEN That bee is living my life! When will this nightmare end? ANDY Let it all go. They don’t break stride. ANGLE ON: Camera in front of Barry as he flies out the door and up into the sky. Pollen jocks fold in formation behind him as they zoom into the park. BARRY (to Splitz) Beautiful day to fly. "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 130. JACKSON Sure is. BARRY Between you and me, I was dying to get out of that office. FADE OUT: "Bee Movie" - JS REVISIONS 8/13/07 131.
i'm sorry. i won't do this again. i still love you, but we should be friends. Expecto patronum.
There are roads,
a samurai must travel…
welcome to backroms theory!!! today we are theorizing what does the S in Saria S. stands for!
theory 1: it means "stuff"
theory 2: it is sarias last name irl
theory 3: it means "stupid"
but that is just a theory, a backroms theory!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
hi it is me aaron92
Unfortunately, this article sucks.
What the hell were you thinking when writing this?
I’d rather listen to Imagine Dragons than read this.
Actually cringe.
(The S actually stands for Sucks)
/j
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Chapter
In my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since.
“Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,” he told me, “just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the ad- vantages that you’ve had.”
He didn’t say any more, but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that. In consequence, I’m in- clined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores. The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men. Most of the confidences were unsought — frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile lev- ity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quivering on the horizon; for the intimate revel- ations of young men, or at least the terms in which they ex- press them, are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious sup- pressions. Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my father snobbishly suggested, and I snobbishly repeat, a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth.
And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit. Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes, but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on. When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I wanted no more riotous
4
excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart. Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction — Gatsby, who represented everything for which I have an unaffected scorn. If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gor- geous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away. This re- sponsiveness had nothing to do with that flabby impressionab- ility which is dignified under the name of the “creative tem- perament.”— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again. No — Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporar- ily closed out my interest in the abortive sorrows and short- winded elations of men.
My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this Middle Western city for three generations. The Carraways are something of a clan, and we have a tradition that we’re descen- ded from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the actual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother, who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War, and started the wholesale hardware business that my father carries on to-day.
I never saw this great-uncle, but I’m supposed to look like him — with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic migration known as the Great War. I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless. Instead of being the warm centre of the world, the Middle West now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe — so I decided to go East and learn the bond busi- ness. Everybody I knew was in the bond business, so I sup- posed it could support one more single man. All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep school for me, and finally said, “Why — ye — es,” with very grave, hesit- ant faces. Father agreed to finance me for a year, and after various delays I came East, permanently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two.
5
The practical thing was to find rooms in the city, but it was a warm season, and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office suggested that we take a house together in a commuting town, it sounded like a great idea. He found the house, a weather-beaten card- board bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington, and I went out to the country alone. I had a dog — at least I had him for a few days until he ran away — and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman, who made my bed and cooked breakfast and muttered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove.
It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road.
“How do you get to West Egg village?” he asked helplessly.
I told him. And as I walked on I was lonely no longer. I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler. He had casually con- ferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood.
And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.
There was so much to read, for one thing, and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giving air. I bought a dozen volumes on banking and credit and investment securities, and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Maecenas knew. And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides. I was rather literary in college — one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the “Yale News.”— and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and be- come again that most limited of all specialists, the “well-roun- ded man.” This isn’t just an epigram — life is much more suc- cessfully looked at from a single window, after all.
It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North America. It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York — and where there are, among other natural curios- ities, two unusual formations of land. Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and
6
separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domest- icated body of salt water in the Western hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound. they are not perfect ovals — like the egg in the Columbus story, they are both crushed flat at the contact end — but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetual confusion to the gulls that fly over- head. to the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size.
I lived at West Egg, the — well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bizarre and not a little sinister contrast between them. my house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season. the one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard — it was a factual imitation of some Hotel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool, and more than forty acres of lawn and garden. it was Gatsby’s mansion. Or, rather, as I didn’t know Mr. Gatsby, it was a mansion inhabited by a gentleman of that name. My own house was an eyesore, but it was a small eyesore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires — all for eighty dollars a month.
Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans. Daisy was my second cousin once re- moved, and I’d known Tom in college. And just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago.
Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven — a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-climax. His family were enormously wealthy — even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach — but now he’d left Chicago and come East in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance, he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake
7
Forest. it was hard to realize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to do that.
Why they came East I don’t know. They had spent a year in France for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together. This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the tele- phone, but I didn’t believe it — I had no sight into Daisy’s heart, but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seeking, a little wistfully, for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game.
And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarcely knew at all. Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful red-and-white Georgian Colonial mansion, overlooking the bay. The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens — finally when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run. The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch.
He had changed since his New Haven years. Now he was a sturdy straw-haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner. Two shining arrogant eyes had estab- lished dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward. Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body — he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing, and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat. It was a body capable of enormous leverage — a cruel body.
His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the impres- sion of fractiousness he conveyed. There was a touch of pa- ternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked — and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts.
“Now, don’t think my opinion on these matters is final,” he seemed to say, “just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.” We were in the same senior society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he
8
approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own.
We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch.
“I’ve got a nice place here,” he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly.
Turning me around by one arm, he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep, pungent roses, and a snub-nosed motor-boat that bumped the tide offshore.
“It belonged to Demaine, the oil man.” He turned me around again, politely and abruptly. “We’ll go inside.”
We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy-colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end. The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house. A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up to- ward the frosted wedding-cake of the ceiling, and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, making a shadow on it as wind does on the sea.
The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which two young women were buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon. They were both in white, and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house. I must have stood for a few moments listening to the whip and snap of the curtains and the groan of a picture on the wall. Then there was a boom as Tom Buchanan shut the rear win- dows and the caught wind died out about the room, and the curtains and the rugs and the two young women ballooned slowly to the floor.
The younger of the two was a stranger to me. She was exten- ded full length at her end of the divan, completely motionless, and with her chin raised a little, as if she were balancing something on it which was quite likely to fall. If she saw me out of the corner of her eyes she gave no hint of it — indeed, I was almost surprised into murmuring an apology for having dis- turbed her by coming in.
The other girl, Daisy, made an attempt to rise — she leaned slightly forward with a conscientious expression — then she
9
laughed, an absurd, charming little laugh, and I laughed too and came forward into the room.
“I’m p-paralyzed with happiness.” She laughed again, as if she said something very witty, and held my hand for a moment, looking up into my face, promising that there was no one in the world she so much wanted to see. That was a way she had. She hinted in a murmur that the surname of the balancing girl was Baker. (I’ve heard it said that Daisy’s murmur was only to make people lean toward her; an irrelevant criticism that made it no less charming.)
At any rate, Miss Baker’s lips fluttered, she nodded at me al- most imperceptibly, and then quickly tipped her head back again — the object she was balancing had obviously tottered a little and given her something of a fright. Again a sort of apo- logy arose to my lips. Almost any exhibition of complete self- sufficiency draws a stunned tribute from me.
I looked back at my cousin, who began to ask me questions in her low, thrilling voice. It was the kind of voice that the ear fol- lows up and down, as if each speech is an arrangement of notes that will never be played again. Her face was sad and lovely with bright things in it, bright eyes and a bright passion- ate mouth, but there was an excitement in her voice that men who had cared for her found difficult to forget: a singing com- pulsion, a whispered “Listen,” a promise that she had done gay, exciting things just a while since and that there were gay, exciting things hovering in the next hour.
I told her how I had stopped off in Chicago for a day on my way East, and how a dozen people had sent their love through me.
“Do they miss me?” she cried ecstatically.
“The whole town is desolate. All the cars have the left rear wheel painted black as a mourning wreath, and there’s a per- sistent wail all night along the north shore.”
“How gorgeous! Let’s go back, Tom. To-morrow!” Then she added irrelevantly: “You ought to see the baby.”
“I’d like to.”
“She’s asleep. She’s three years old. Haven’t you ever seen her?”
“Never.”
“Well, you ought to see her. She’s ——”
10
Tom Buchanan, who had been hovering restlessly about the room, stopped and rested his hand on my shoulder.
“What you doing, Nick?” “I’m a bond man.”
“Who with?”
I told him.
“Never heard of them,” he remarked decisively.
This annoyed me.
“You will,” I answered shortly. “You will if you stay in the
East.”
“Oh, I’ll stay in the East, don’t you worry,” he said, glancing
at Daisy and then back at me, as if he were alert for something more. “I’d be a God damned fool to live anywhere else.”
At this point Miss Baker said: “Absolutely!” with such sud- denness that I started — it was the first word she uttered since I came into the room. Evidently it surprised her as much as it did me, for she yawned and with a series of rapid, deft move- ments stood up into the room.
“I’m stiff,” she complained, “I’ve been lying on that sofa for as long as I can remember.”
“Don’t look at me,” Daisy retorted, “I’ve been trying to get you to New York all afternoon.”
“No, thanks,” said Miss Baker to the four cocktails just in from the pantry, “I’m absolutely in training.”
Her host looked at her incredulously.
“You are!” He took down his drink as if it were a drop in the bottom of a glass. “How you ever get anything done is beyond me.”
I looked at Miss Baker, wondering what it was she “got done.” I enjoyed looking at her. She was a slender, small- breasted girl, with an erect carriage, which she accentuated by throwing her body backward at the shoulders like a young ca- det. Her gray sun-strained eyes looked back at me with polite reciprocal curiosity out of a wan, charming, discontented face. It occurred to me now that I had seen her, or a picture of her, somewhere before.
“You live in West Egg,” she remarked contemptuously. “I know somebody there.”
“I don’t know a single ——” “You must know Gatsby.”
11
“Gatsby?” demanded Daisy. “What Gatsby?”
Before I could reply that he was my neighbor dinner was an- nounced; wedging his tense arm imperatively under mine, Tom Buchanan compelled me from the room as though he were moving a checker to another square.
Slenderly, languidly, their hands set lightly on their hips, the two young women preceded us out onto a rosy-colored porch, open toward the sunset, where four candles flickered on the table in the diminished wind.
“Why CANDLES?” objected Daisy, frowning. She snapped them out with her fingers. “In two weeks it’ll be the longest day in the year.” She looked at us all radiantly. “Do you always watch for the longest day of the year and then miss it? I always watch for the longest day in the year and then miss it.”
“We ought to plan something,” yawned Miss Baker, sitting down at the table as if she were getting into bed.
“All right,” said Daisy. “What’ll we plan?” She turned to me helplessly: “What do people plan?”
Before I could answer her eyes fastened with an awed ex- pression on her little finger.
“Look!” she complained; “I hurt it.”
We all looked — the knuckle was black and blue.
“You did it, Tom,” she said accusingly. “I know you didn’t
mean to, but you DID do it. That’s what I get for marrying a brute of a man, a great, big, hulking physical specimen of a ——”
“I hate that word hulking,” objected Tom crossly, “even in kidding.”
“Hulking,” insisted Daisy.
Sometimes she and Miss Baker talked at once, unobtrusively and with a bantering inconsequence that was never quite chat- ter, that was as cool as their white dresses and their imperson- al eyes in the absence of all desire. They were here, and they accepted Tom and me, making only a polite pleasant effort to entertain or to be entertained. They knew that presently dinner would be over and a little later the evening too would be over and casually put away. It was sharply different from the West, where an evening was hurried from phase to phase toward its close, in a continually disappointed anticipation or else in sheer nervous dread of the moment itself.
12
“You make me feel uncivilized, Daisy,” I confessed on my second glass of corky but rather impressive claret. “Can’t you talk about crops or something?”
I meant nothing in particular by this remark, but it was taken up in an unexpected way.
“Civilization’s going to pieces,” broke out Tom violently. “I’ve gotten to be a terrible pessimist about things. Have you read ‘The Rise of the Colored Empires’ by this man Goddard?”
“Why, no,” I answered, rather surprised by his tone.
“Well, it’s a fine book, and everybody ought to read it. The idea is if we don’t look out the white race will be — will be ut- terly submerged. It’s all scientific stuff; it’s been proved.”
“Tom’s getting very profound,” said Daisy, with an expres- sion of unthoughtful sadness. “He reads deep books with long words in them. What was that word we ——”
“Well, these books are all scientific,” insisted Tom, glancing at her impatiently. “This fellow has worked out the whole thing. It’s up to us, who are the dominant race, to watch out or these other races will have control of things.”
“We’ve got to beat them down,” whispered Daisy, winking fe- rociously toward the fervent sun.
“You ought to live in California —” began Miss Baker, but Tom interrupted her by shifting heavily in his chair.
“This idea is that we’re Nordics. I am, and you are, and you are, and ——” After an infinitesimal hesitation he included Daisy with a slight nod, and she winked at me again. “— And we’ve produced all the things that go to make civilization — oh, science and art, and all that. Do you see?”
There was something pathetic in his concentration, as if his complacency, more acute than of old, was not enough to him any more. When, almost immediately, the telephone rang in- side and the butler left the porch Daisy seized upon the mo- mentary interruption and leaned toward me.
“I’ll tell you a family secret,” she whispered enthusiastically. “It’s about the butler’s nose. Do you want to hear about the butler’s nose?”
“That’s why I came over to-night.”
“Well, he wasn’t always a butler; he used to be the silver pol- isher for some people in New York that had a silver service for
13
two hundred people. He had to polish it from morning till night, until finally it began to affect his nose ——”
“Things went from bad to worse,” suggested Miss Baker.
“Yes. Things went from bad to worse, until finally he had to give up his position.”
For a moment the last sunshine fell with romantic affection upon her glowing face; her voice compelled me forward breathlessly as I listened — then the glow faded, each light deserting her with lingering regret, like children leaving a pleasant street at dusk.
The butler came back and murmured something close to Tom’s ear, whereupon Tom frowned, pushed back his chair, and without a word went inside. As if his absence quickened something within her, Daisy leaned forward again, her voice glowing and singing.
“I love to see you at my table, Nick. You remind me of a — of a rose, an absolute rose. Doesn’t he?” She turned to Miss Baker for confirmation: “An absolute rose?”
This was untrue. I am not even faintly like a rose. She was only extemporizing, but a stirring warmth flowed from her, as if her heart was trying to come out to you concealed in one of those breathless, thrilling words. Then suddenly she threw her
on the table and excused herself and went into the
Baker and I exchanged a short glance consciously of meaning. I was about to speak when she sat up and said “Sh!” in a warning voice. A subdued impas- murmur was audible in the room beyond, and Miss Baker leaned forward unashamed, trying to hear. The murmur trembled on the verge of coherence, sank down, mounted ex-
citedly, and then ceased altogether.
“This Mr. Gatsby you spoke of is my neighbor ——” I said. “Don’t talk. I want to hear what happens.”
“Is something happening?” I inquired innocently.
“You mean to say you don’t know?” said Miss Baker, honestly
surprised. “I thought everybody knew.”
“I don’t.”
“Why ——” she said hesitantly, “Tom’s got some woman in
New York.”
“Got some woman?” I repeated blankly.
napkin house. Miss devoid alertly sioned
14
Miss Baker nodded.
“She might have the decency not to telephone him at dinner time. Don’t you think?”
Almost before I had grasped her meaning there was the flut- ter of a dress and the crunch of leather boots, and Tom and Daisy were back at the table.
“It couldn’t be helped!” cried Daisy with tense gaiety.
She sat down, glanced searchingly at Miss Baker and then at me, and continued: “I looked outdoors for a minute, and it’s very romantic outdoors. There’s a bird on the lawn that I think must be a nightingale come over on the Cunard or White Star Line. He’s singing away ——” Her voice sang: “It’s romantic, isn’t it, Tom?”
“Very romantic,” he said, and then miserably to me: “If it’s light enough after dinner, I want to take you down to the stables.”
The telephone rang inside, startlingly, and as Daisy shook her head decisively at Tom the subject of the stables, in fact all subjects, vanished into air. Among the broken fragments of the last five minutes at table I remember the candles being lit again, pointlessly, and I was conscious of wanting to look squarely at every one, and yet to avoid all eyes. I couldn’t guess what Daisy and Tom were thinking, but I doubt if even Miss Baker, who seemed to have mastered a certain hardy scepticism, was able utterly to put this fifth guest’s shrill metallic urgency out of mind. To a certain temperament the situation might have seemed intriguing — my own instinct was to telephone immediately for the police.
The horses, needless to say, were not mentioned again. Tom and Miss Baker, with several feet of twilight between them, strolled back into the library, as if to a vigil beside a perfectly tangible body, while, trying to look pleasantly interested and a little deaf, I followed Daisy around a chain of connecting veran- das to the porch in front. In its deep gloom we sat down side by side on a wicker settee.
Daisy took her face in her hands as if feeling its lovely shape, and her eyes moved gradually out into the velvet dusk. I saw that turbulent emotions possessed her, so I asked what I thought would be some sedative questions about her little girl.
15
“We don’t know each other very well, Nick,” she said sud- denly. “Even if we are cousins. You didn’t come to my wedding.”
“I wasn’t back from the war.”
“That’s true.” She hesitated. “Well, I’ve had a very bad time, Nick, and I’m pretty cynical about everything.”
Evidently she had reason to be. I waited but she didn’t say any more, and after a moment I returned rather feebly to the subject of her daughter.
“I suppose she talks, and — eats, and everything.”
“Oh, yes.” She looked at me absently. “Listen, Nick; let me tell you what I said when she was born. Would you like to hear?”
“Very much.”
“It’ll show you how I’ve gotten to feel about — things. Well, she was less than an hour old and Tom was God knows where. I woke up out of the ether with an utterly abandoned feeling, and asked the nurse right away if it was a boy or a girl. She told me it was a girl, and so I turned my head away and wept. ‘all right,’ I said, ‘I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool — that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”
“You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow,” she went on in a convinced way. “Everybody thinks so — the most advanced people. And I KNOW. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.” Her eyes flashed around her in a defiant way, rather like Tom’s, and she laughed with thrill- ing scorn. “Sophisticated — God, I’m sophisticated!”
The instant her voice broke off, ceasing to compel my atten- tion, my belief, I felt the basic insincerity of what she had said. It made me uneasy, as though the whole evening had been a trick of some sort to exact a contributory emotion from me. I waited, and sure enough, in a moment she looked at me with an absolute smirk on her lovely face, as if she had asserted her membership in a rather distinguished secret society to which she and Tom belonged.
Inside, the crimson room bloomed with light.
Tom and Miss Baker sat at either end of the long couch and she read aloud to him from the SATURDAY EVENING POST.— the words, murmurous and uninflected, running together in a
16
soothing tune. The lamp-light, bright on his boots and dull on the autumn-leaf yellow of her hair, glinted along the paper as she turned a page with a flutter of slender muscles in her arms.
When we came in she held us silent for a moment with a lif- ted hand.
“To be continued,” she said, tossing the magazine on the table, “in our very next issue.”
Her body asserted itself with a restless movement of her knee, and she stood up.
“Ten o’clock,” she remarked, apparently finding the time on the ceiling. “Time for this good girl to go to bed.”
“Jordan’s going to play in the tournament to-morrow,” ex- plained Daisy, “over at Westchester.”
“Oh — you’re Jordan BAKER.”
I knew now why her face was familiar — its pleasing con- temptuous expression had looked out at me from many roto- gravure pictures of the sporting life at Asheville and Hot Springs and Palm Beach. I had heard some story of her too, a critical, unpleasant story, but what it was I had forgotten long ago.
“Good night,” she said softly. “Wake me at eight, won’t you.” “If you’ll get up.”
“I will. Good night, Mr. Carraway. See you anon.”
“Of course you will,” confirmed Daisy. “In fact I think I’ll ar-
range a marriage. Come over often, Nick, and I’ll sort of — oh — fling you together. You know — lock you up accidentally in linen closets and push you out to sea in a boat, and all that sort of thing ——”
“Good night,” called Miss Baker from the stairs. “I haven’t heard a word.”
“She’s a nice girl,” said Tom after a moment. “They oughtn’t to let her run around the country this way.”
“Who oughtn’t to?” inquired Daisy coldly.
“Her family.”
“Her family is one aunt about a thousand years old. Besides,
Nick’s going to look after her, aren’t you, Nick? She’s going to spend lots of week-ends out here this summer. I think the home influence will be very good for her.”
Daisy and Tom looked at each other for a moment in silence.
17
“Is she from New York?” I asked quickly.
“From Louisville. Our white girlhood was passed together there. Our beautiful white ——”
“Did you give Nick a little heart to heart talk on the ver- anda?” demanded Tom suddenly.
“Did I?” She looked at me.
“I can’t seem to remember, but I think we talked about the Nordic race. Yes, I’m sure we did. It sort of crept up on us and first thing you know ——”
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Nick,” he advised me.
I said lightly that I had heard nothing at all, and a few minutes later I got up to go home. They came to the door with me and stood side by side in a cheerful square of light. As I started my motor Daisy peremptorily called: “Wait!”
“I forgot to ask you something, and it’s important. We heard you were engaged to a girl out West.”
“That’s right,” corroborated Tom kindly. “We heard that you were engaged.”
“It’s libel. I’m too poor.”
“But we heard it,” insisted Daisy, surprising me by opening up again in a flower-like way. “We heard it from three people, so it must be true.”
Of course I knew what they were referring to, but I wasn’t even vaguely engaged. The fact that gossip had published the banns was one of the reasons I had come East. You can’t stop going with an old friend on account of rumors, and on the oth- er hand I had no intention of being rumored into marriage.
Their interest rather touched me and made them less re- motely rich — nevertheless, I was confused and a little disgus- ted as I drove away. It seemed to me that the thing for Daisy to do was to rush out of the house, child in arms — but apparently there were no such intentions in her head. As for Tom, the fact that he “had some woman in New York.” was really less sur- prising than that he had been depressed by a book. Something was making him nibble at the edge of stale ideas as if his sturdy physical egotism no longer nourished his peremptory heart.
Already it was deep summer on roadhouse roofs and in front of wayside garages, where new red gas-pumps sat out in pools of light, and when I reached my estate at West Egg I ran the
18
car under its shed and sat for a while on an abandoned grass roller in the yard. The wind had blown off, leaving a loud, bright night, with wings beating in the trees and a persistent organ sound as the full bellows of the earth blew the frogs full of life. The silhouette of a moving cat wavered across the moonlight, and turning my head to watch it, I saw that I was not alone — fifty feet away a figure had emerged from the shadow of my neighbor’s mansion and was standing with his hands in his pockets regarding the silver pepper of the stars. Something in his leisurely movements and the secure position of his feet upon the lawn suggested that it was Mr. Gatsby him- self, come out to determine what share was his of our local heavens.
I decided to call to him. Miss Baker had mentioned him at dinner, and that would do for an introduction. But I didn’t call to him, for he gave a sudden intimation that he was content to be alone — he stretched out his arms toward the dark water in a curious way, and, far as I was from him, I could have sworn he was trembling. Involuntarily I glanced seaward — and dis- tinguished nothing except a single green light, minute and far away, that might have been the end of a dock. When I looked once more for Gatsby he had vanished, and I was alone again in the unquiet darkness.
19
2
Chapter
About half way between West Egg and New York the motor road hastily joins the railroad and runs beside it for a quarter of a mile, so as to shrink away from a certain desolate area of land. This is a valley of ashes — a fantastic farm where ashes grow like wheat into ridges and hills and grotesque gar- dens; where ashes take the forms of houses and chimneys and rising smoke and, finally, with a transcendent effort, of men who move dimly and already crumbling through the powdery air. Occasionally a line of gray cars crawls along an invisible track, gives out a ghastly creak, and comes to rest, and imme- diately the ash-gray men swarm up with leaden spades and stir up an impenetrable cloud, which screens their obscure opera- tions from your sight. But above the gray land and the spasms of bleak dust which drift endlessly over it, you perceive, after a moment, the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg. The eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg are blue and gigantic — their irises are one yard high. They look out of no face, but, instead, from a pair of enormous yellow spectacles which pass over a nonexistent nose. Evidently some wild wag of an oculist set them there to fatten his practice in the borough of Queens, and then sank down himself into eternal blindness, or forgot them and moved away. But his eyes, dimmed a little by many paintless days, un- der sun and rain, brood on over the solemn dumping ground.
The valley of ashes is bounded on one side by a small foul river, and, when the drawbridge is up to let barges through, the passengers on waiting trains can stare at the dismal scene for as long as half an hour. There is always a halt there of at least a minute, and it was because of this that I first met Tom Buchanan’s mistress.
The fact that he had one was insisted upon wherever he was known. His acquaintances resented the fact that he turned up in popular restaurants with her and, leaving her at a table,
20
sauntered about, chatting with whomsoever he knew. Though I was curious to see her, I had no desire to meet her — but I did. I went up to New York with Tom on the train one afternoon, and when we stopped by the ashheaps he jumped to his feet and, taking hold of my elbow, literally forced me from the car.
“We’re getting off,” he insisted. “I want you to meet my girl.”
I think he’d tanked up a good deal at luncheon, and his de- termination to have my company bordered on violence. The su- percilious assumption was that on Sunday afternoon I had nothing better to do.
I followed him over a low whitewashed railroad fence, and we walked back a hundred yards along the road under Doctor Eckleburg’s persistent stare. The only building in sight was a small block of yellow brick sitting on the edge of the waste land, a sort of compact Main Street ministering to it, and con- tiguous to absolutely nothing. One of the three shops it con- tained was for rent and another was an all-night restaurant, approached by a trail of ashes; the third was a garage — Re- pairs. GEORGE B. WILSON. Cars bought and sold.— and I fol- lowed Tom inside.
The interior was unprosperous and bare; the only car visible was the dust-covered wreck of a Ford which crouched in a dim corner. It had occurred to me that this shadow of a garage must be a blind, and that sumptuous and romantic apartments were concealed overhead, when the proprietor himself ap- peared in the door of an office, wiping his hands on a piece of waste. He was a blond, spiritless man, anaemic, and faintly handsome. When he saw us a damp gleam of hope sprang into his light blue eyes.
“Hello, Wilson, old man,” said Tom, slapping him jovially on the shoulder. “How’s business?”
“I can’t complain,” answered Wilson unconvincingly. “When are you going to sell me that car?”
“Next week; I’ve got my man working on it now.”
“Works pretty slow, don’t he?”
“No, he doesn’t,” said Tom coldly. “And if you feel that way
about it, maybe I’d better sell it somewhere else after all.”
“I don’t mean that,” explained Wilson quickly. “I just meant
——”
21
His voice faded off and Tom glanced impatiently around the garage. Then I heard footsteps on a stairs, and in a moment the thickish figure of a woman blocked out the light from the office door. She was in the middle thirties, and faintly stout, but she carried her surplus flesh sensuously as some women can. Her face, above a spotted dress of dark blue crepe-de- chine, contained no facet or gleam of beauty, but there was an immediately perceptible vitality about her as if the nerves of her body were continually smouldering. She smiled slowly and, walking through her husband as if he were a ghost, shook hands with Tom, looking him flush in the eye. Then she wet her lips, and without turning around spoke to her husband in a soft, coarse voice:
“Get some chairs, why don’t you, so somebody can sit down.”
“Oh, sure,” agreed Wilson hurriedly, and went toward the little office, mingling immediately with the cement color of the walls. A white ashen dust veiled his dark suit and his pale hair as it veiled everything in the vicinity — except his wife, who moved close to Tom.
“I want to see you,” said Tom intently. “Get on the next train.”
“All right.”
“I’ll meet you by the news-stand on the lower level.” She nod- ded and moved away from him just as George Wilson emerged with two chairs from his office door.
We waited for her down the road and out of sight. It was a few days before the Fourth of July, and a gray, scrawny Italian child was setting torpedoes in a row along the railroad track.
“Terrible place, isn’t it,” said Tom, exchanging a frown with Doctor Eckleburg.
“Awful.”
“It does her good to get away.”
“Doesn’t her husband object?”
“Wilson? He thinks she goes to see her sister in New York.
He’s so dumb he doesn’t know he’s alive.”
So Tom Buchanan and his girl and I went up together to New
York — or not quite together, for Mrs. Wilson sat discreetly in another car. Tom deferred that much to the sensibilities of those East Eggers who might be on the train.
22
She had changed her dress to a brown figured muslin, which stretched tight over her rather wide hips as Tom helped her to the platform in New York. At the news-stand she bought a copy of TOWN TATTLE. and a moving-picture magazine, and in the station drug-store some cold cream and a small flask of perfume. Up-stairs, in the solemn echoing drive she let four taxicabs drive away before she selected a new one, lavender- colored with gray upholstery, and in this we slid out from the mass of the station into the glowing sunshine. But immediately she turned sharply from the window and, leaning forward, tapped on the front glass.
“I want to get one of those dogs,” she said earnestly. “I want to get one for the apartment. They’re nice to have — a dog.”
We backed up to a gray old man who bore an absurd resemb- lance to John D. Rockefeller. In a basket swung from his neck cowered a dozen very recent puppies of an indeterminate breed.
“What kind are they?” asked Mrs. Wilson eagerly, as he came to the taxi-window.
“All kinds. What kind do you want, lady?”
“I’d like to get one of those police dogs; I don’t suppose you got that kind?”
The man peered doubtfully into the basket, plunged in his hand and drew one up, wriggling, by the back of the neck.
“That’s no police dog,” said Tom.
“No, it’s not exactly a polICE dog,” said the man with disap- pointment in his voice. “It’s more of an Airedale.” He passed his hand over the brown wash-rag of a back. “Look at that coat. Some coat. That’s a dog that’ll never bother you with catching cold.”
“I think it’s cute,” said Mrs. Wilson enthusiastically. “How much is it?”
“That dog?” He looked at it admiringly. “That dog will cost you ten dollars.”
The Airedale — undoubtedly there was an Airedale con- cerned in it somewhere, though its feet were startlingly white — changed hands and settled down into Mrs. Wilson’s lap, where she fondled the weather-proof coat with rapture.
“Is it a boy or a girl?” she asked delicately. “That dog? That dog’s a boy.”
23
“It’s a bitch,” said Tom decisively. “Here’s your money. Go and buy ten more dogs with it.”
We drove over to Fifth Avenue, so warm and soft, almost pas- toral, on the summer Sunday afternoon that I wouldn’t have been surprised to see a great flock of white sheep turn the corner.
“Hold on,” I said, “I have to leave you here.”
“No, you don’t,” interposed Tom quickly.
“Myrtle’ll be hurt if you don’t come up to the apartment.
Won’t you, Myrtle?”
“Come on,” she urged. “I’ll telephone my sister Catherine.
She’s said to be very beautiful by people who ought to know.” “Well, I’d like to, but ——”
We went on, cutting back again over the Park toward the
West Hundreds. At 158th Street the cab stopped at one slice in a long white cake of apartment-houses. Throwing a regal homecoming glance around the neighborhood, Mrs. Wilson gathered up her dog and her other purchases, and went haughtily in.
“I’m going to have the McKees come up,” she announced as we rose in the elevator. “And, of course, I got to call up my sis- ter, too.”
The apartment was on the top floor — a small living-room, a small dining-room, a small bedroom, and a bath. The living- room was crowded to the doors with a set of tapestried fur- niture entirely too large for it, so that to move about was to stumble continually over scenes of ladies swinging in the gar- dens of Versailles. The only picture was an over-enlarged pho- tograph, apparently a hen sitting on a blurred rock. Looked at from a distance, however, the hen resolved itself into a bonnet, and the countenance of a stout old lady beamed down into the room. Several old copies of TOWN TATTLE. lay on the table to- gether with a copy of SIMON CALLED PETER, and some of the small scandal magazines of Broadway. Mrs. Wilson was first concerned with the dog. A reluctant elevator-boy went for a box full of straw and some milk, to which he added on his own initiative a tin of large, hard dog-biscuits — one of which de- composed apathetically in the saucer of milk all afternoon. Meanwhile Tom brought out a bottle of whiskey from a locked bureau door.
24
I have been drunk just twice in my life, and the second time was that afternoon; so everything that happened has a dim, hazy cast over it, although until after eight o’clock the apart- ment was full of cheerful sun. Sitting on Tom’s lap Mrs. Wilson called up several people on the telephone; then there were no cigarettes, and I went out to buy some at the drugstore on the corner. When I came back they had disappeared, so I sat down discreetly in the living-room and read a chapter of SIMON CALLED PETER.— either it was terrible stuff or the whiskey distorted things, because it didn’t make any sense to me.
Just as Tom and Myrtle (after the first drink Mrs. Wilson and I called each other by our first names) reappeared, company commenced to arrive at the apartment-door.
The sister, Catherine, was a slender, worldly girl of about thirty, with a solid, sticky bob of red hair, and a complexion powdered milky white. Her eye-brows had been plucked and then drawn on again at a more rakish angle, but the efforts of nature toward the restoration of the old alignment gave a blurred air to her face. When she moved about there was an in- cessant clicking as innumerable pottery bracelets jingled up and down upon her arms. She came in with such a proprietary haste, and looked around so possessively at the furniture that I wondered if she lived here. But when I asked her she laughed immoderately, repeated my question aloud, and told me she lived with a girl friend at a hotel.
Mr. McKee was a pale, feminine man from the flat below. He had just shaved, for there was a white spot of lather on his cheekbone, and he was most respectful in his greeting to every one in the room. He informed me that he was in the “artistic game,” and I gathered later that he was a photographer and had made the dim enlargement of Mrs. Wilson’s mother which hovered like an ectoplasm on the wall. His wife was shrill, lan- guid, handsome, and horrible. She told me with pride that her husband had photographed her a hundred and twenty-seven times since they had been married.
Mrs. Wilson had changed her costume some time before, and was now attired in an elaborate afternoon dress of cream- colored chiffon, which gave out a continual rustle as she swept about the room. With the influence of the dress her personality had also undergone a change. The intense vitality that had
25
been so remarkable in the garage was converted into impress- ive hauteur. Her laughter, her gestures, her assertions became more violently affected moment by moment, and as she expan- ded the room grew smaller around her, until she seemed to be revolving on a noisy, creaking pivot through the smoky air.
“My dear,” she told her sister in a high, mincing shout, “most of these fellas will cheat you every time. All they think of is money. I had a woman up here last week to look at my feet, and when she gave me the bill you’d of thought she had my ap- pendicitis out.”
“What was the name of the woman?” asked Mrs. McKee.
“Mrs. Eberhardt. She goes around looking at people’s feet in their own homes.”
“I like your dress,” remarked Mrs. McKee, “I think it’s adorable.”
Mrs. Wilson rejected the compliment by raising her eyebrow in disdain.
“It’s just a crazy old thing,” she said. “I just slip it on some- times when I don’t care what I look like.”
“But it looks wonderful on you, if you know what I mean,” pursued Mrs. McKee. “If Chester could only get you in that pose I think he could make something of it.”
We all looked in silence at Mrs. Wilson, who removed a strand of hair from over her eyes and looked back at us with a brilliant smile. Mr. McKee regarded her intently with his head on one side, and then moved his hand back and forth slowly in front of his face.
“I should change the light,” he said after a moment. “I’d like to bring out the modelling of the features. And I’d try to get hold of all the back hair.”
“I wouldn’t think of changing the light,” cried Mrs. McKee. “I think it’s ——”
Her husband said “SH!” and we all looked at the subject again, whereupon Tom Buchanan yawned audibly and got to his feet.
“You McKees have something to drink,” he said. “Get some more ice and mineral water, Myrtle, before everybody goes to sleep.”
26
“I told that boy about the ice.” Myrtle raised her eyebrows in despair at the shiftlessness of the lower orders. “These people! You have to keep after them all the time.”
She looked at me and laughed pointlessly. Then she flounced over to the dog, kissed it with ecstasy, and swept into the kit- chen, implying that a dozen chefs awaited her orders there.
“I’ve done some nice things out on Long Island,” asserted Mr. McKee.
Tom looked at him blankly.
“Two of them we have framed down-stairs.”
“Two what?” demanded Tom.
“Two studies. One of them I call MONTAUK POINT— THE
GULLS, and the other I call MONTAUK POINT— THE SEA.” The sister Catherine sat down beside me on the couch. “Do you live down on Long Island, too?” she inquired.
“I live at West Egg.”
“Really? I was down there at a party about a month ago. At a man named Gatsby’s. Do you know him?”
“I live next door to him.”
“Well, they say he’s a nephew or a cousin of Kaiser Wil- helm’s. That’s where all his money comes from.”
“Really?”
She nodded.
“I’m scared of him. I’d hate to have him get anything on me.” This absorbing information about my neighbor was interrup-
ted by Mrs. McKee’s pointing suddenly at Catherine:
“Chester, I think you could do something with HER,” she broke out, but Mr. McKee only nodded in a bored way, and
turned his attention to Tom.
“I’d like to do more work on Long Island, if I could get the
entry. All I ask is that they should give me a start.”
“Ask Myrtle,” said Tom, breaking into a short shout of laughter as Mrs. Wilson entered with a tray. “She’ll give you a
letter of introduction, won’t you Myrtle?”
“Do what?” she asked, startled.
“You’ll give McKee a letter of introduction to your husband,
so he can do some studies of him.” His lips moved silently for a moment as he invented. “GEORGE B. WILSON AT THE GASOLINE PUMP, or something like that.”
27
Catherine leaned close to me and whispered in my ear: “Neither of them can stand the person they’re married to.”
“Can’t they?”
“Can’t STAND them.” She looked at Myrtle and then at Tom. “What I say is, why go on living with them if they can’t stand them? If I was them I’d get a divorce and get married to each other right away.”
“Doesn’t she like Wilson either?”
The answer to this was unexpected. It came from Myrtle, who had overheard the question, and it was violent and obscene.
“You see,” cried Catherine triumphantly. She lowered her voice again. “It’s really his wife that’s keeping them apart. She’s a Catholic, and they don’t believe in divorce.”
Daisy was not a Catholic, and I was a little shocked at the elaborateness of the lie.
“When they do get married,” continued Catherine, “they’re going West to live for a while until it blows over.”
“It’d be more discreet to go to Europe.”
“Oh, do you like Europe?” she exclaimed surprisingly. “I just got back from Monte Carlo.”
“Really.”
“Just last year. I went over there with another girl.” “Stay long?”
“No, we just went to Monte Carlo and back. We went by way of Marseilles. We had over twelve hundred dollars when we started, but we got gypped out of it all in two days in the private rooms. We had an awful time getting back, I can tell you. God, how I hated that town!”
The late afternoon sky bloomed in the window for a moment like the blue honey of the Mediterranean — then the shrill voice of Mrs. McKee called me back into the room.
“I almost made a mistake, too,” she declared vigorously. “I almost married a little kyke who’d been after me for years. I knew he was below me. Everybody kept saying to me: ‘Lucille, that man’s ‘way below you!’ But if I hadn’t met Chester, he’d of got me sure.”
“Yes, but listen,” said Myrtle Wilson, nodding her head up and down, “at least you didn’t marry him.”
“I know I didn’t.”
28
“Well, I married him,” said Myrtle, ambiguously. “And that’s the difference between your case and mine.”
“Why did you, Myrtle?” demanded Catherine. “Nobody forced you to.”
Myrtle considered.
“I married him because I thought he was a gentleman,” she said finally. “I thought he knew something about breeding, but he wasn’t fit to lick my shoe.”
“You were crazy about him for a while,” said Catherine.
“Crazy about him!” cried Myrtle incredulously. “Who said I was crazy about him? I never was any more crazy about him than I was about that man there.”
She pointed suddenly at me, and every one looked at me ac- cusingly. I tried to show by my expression that I had played no part in her past.
“The only CRAZY I was was when I married him. I knew right away I made a mistake. He borrowed somebody’s best suit to get married in, and never even told me about it, and the man came after it one day when he was out. ‘oh, is that your suit?’ I said. ‘this is the first I ever heard about it.’ But I gave it to him and then I lay down and cried to beat the band all afternoon.”
“She really ought to get away from him,” resumed Catherine to me. “They’ve been living over that garage for eleven years. And tom’s the first sweetie she ever had.”
The bottle of whiskey — a second one — was now in constant demand by all present, excepting Catherine, who “felt just as good on nothing at all.” Tom rang for the janitor and sent him for some celebrated sandwiches, which were a complete sup- per in themselves. I wanted to get out and walk southward to- ward the park through the soft twilight, but each time I tried to go I became entangled in some wild, strident argument which pulled me back, as if with ropes, into my chair. Yet high over the city our line of yellow windows must have contributed their share of human secrecy to the casual watcher in the darkening streets, and I was him too, looking up and wondering. I was within and without, simultaneously enchanted and repelled by the inexhaustible variety of life.
Myrtle pulled her chair close to mine, and suddenly her warm breath poured over me the story of her first meeting with Tom.
29
“It was on the two little seats facing each other that are al- ways the last ones left on the train. I was going up to New York to see my sister and spend the night. He had on a dress suit and patent leather shoes, and I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, but every time he looked at me I had to pretend to be looking at the advertisement over his head. When we came into the station he was next to me, and his white shirt-front pressed against my arm, and so I told him I’d have to call a policeman, but he knew I lied. I was so excited that when I got into a taxi with him I didn’t hardly know I wasn’t getting into a subway train. All I kept thinking about, over and over, was ‘You can’t live forever; you can’t live forever.’”
She turned to Mrs. McKee and the room rang full of her arti- ficial laughter.
“My dear,” she cried, “I’m going to give you this dress as soon as I’m through with it. I’ve got to get another one to-mor- row. I’m going to make a list of all the things I’ve got to get. A massage and a wave, and a collar for the dog, and one of those cute little ash-trays where you touch a spring, and a wreath with a black silk bow for mother’s grave that’ll last all summer. I got to write down a list so I won’t forget all the things I got to do.”
It was nine o’clock — almost immediately afterward I looked at my watch and found it was ten. Mr. McKee was asleep on a chair with his fists clenched in his lap, like a photograph of a man of action. Taking out my handkerchief I wiped from his cheek the remains of the spot of dried lather that had worried me all the afternoon.
The little dog was sitting on the table looking with blind eyes through the smoke, and from time to time groaning faintly. People disappeared, reappeared, made plans to go somewhere, and then lost each other, searched for each other, found each other a few feet away. Some time toward midnight Tom Buchanan and Mrs. Wilson stood face to face discussing, in im- passioned voices, whether Mrs. Wilson had any right to men- tion Daisy’s name.
“Daisy! Daisy! Daisy!” shouted Mrs. Wilson. “I’ll say it whenever I want to! Daisy! Dai ——”
Making a short deft movement, Tom Buchanan broke her nose with his open hand.
30
Then there were bloody towels upon the bath-room floor, and women’s voices scolding, and high over the confusion a long broken wail of pain. Mr. McKee awoke from his doze and star- ted in a daze toward the door. When he had gone half way he turned around and stared at the scene — his wife and Cather- ine scolding and consoling as they stumbled here and there among the crowded furniture with articles of aid, and the des- pairing figure on the couch, bleeding fluently, and trying to spread a copy of TOWN TATTLE. over the tapestry scenes of Versailles. Then Mr. McKee turned and continued on out the door. Taking my hat from the chandelier, I followed.
“Come to lunch some day,” he suggested, as we groaned down in the elevator.
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
“Keep your hands off the lever,” snapped the elevator boy.
“I beg your pardon,” said Mr. McKee with dignity, “I didn’t
know I was touching it.”
“All right,” I agreed, “I’ll be glad to.”
… I was standing beside his bed and he was sitting up
between the sheets, clad in his underwear, with a great portfo- lio in his hands.
“Beauty and the Beast … Loneliness … Old Grocery Horse … Brook’n Bridge … .”
Then I was lying half asleep in the cold lower level of the Pennsylvania Station, staring at the morning TRIBUNE, and waiting for the four o’clock train.
31
3
Chapter
There was music from my neighbor’s house through the summer nights. In his blue gardens men and girls came and went like moths among the whisperings and the cham- pagne and the stars. At high tide in the afternoon I watched his guests diving from the tower of his raft, or taking the sun on the hot sand of his beach while his two motor-boats slit the wa- ters of the Sound, drawing aquaplanes over cataracts of foam. On week-ends his Rolls-Royce became an omnibus, bearing parties to and from the city between nine in the morning and long past midnight, while his station wagon scampered like a brisk yellow bug to meet all trains. And on Mondays eight ser- vants, including an extra gardener, toiled all day with mops and scrubbing-brushes and hammers and garden-shears, re- pairing the ravages of the night before.
Every Friday five crates of oranges and lemons arrived from a fruiterer in New York — every Monday these same oranges and lemons left his back door in a pyramid of pulpless halves. There was a machine in the kitchen which could extract the juice of two hundred oranges in half an hour if a little button was pressed two hundred times by a butler’s thumb.
At least once a fortnight a corps of caterers came down with several hundred feet of canvas and enough colored lights to make a Christmas tree of Gatsby’s enormous garden. On buffet tables, garnished with glistening hors-d’oeuvre, spiced baked hams crowded against salads of harlequin designs and pastry pigs and turkeys bewitched to a dark gold. In the main hall a bar with a real brass rail was set up, and stocked with gins and liquors and with cordials so long forgotten that most of his fe- male guests were too young to know one from another.
By seven o’clock the orchestra has arrived, no thin five-piece affair, but a whole pitful of oboes and trombones and saxo- phones and viols and cornets and piccolos, and low and high
32
drums. The last swimmers have come in from the beach now and are dressing up-stairs; the cars from New York are parked five deep in the drive, and already the halls and salons and ver- andas are gaudy with primary colors, and hair shorn in strange new ways, and shawls beyond the dreams of Castile. The bar is in full swing, and floating rounds of cocktails permeate the garden outside, until the air is alive with chatter and laughter, and casual innuendo and introductions forgotten on the spot, and enthusiastic meetings between women who never knew each other’s names.
The lights grow brighter as the earth lurches away from the sun, and now the orchestra is playing yellow cocktail music, and the opera of voices pitches a key higher. Laughter is easier minute by minute, spilled with prodigality, tipped out at a cheerful word. The groups change more swiftly, swell with new arrivals, dissolve and form in the same breath; already there are wanderers, confident girls who weave here and there among the stouter and more stable, become for a sharp, joyous moment the centre of a group, and then, excited with triumph, glide on through the sea-change of faces and voices and color under the constantly changing light.
Suddenly one of the gypsies, in trembling opal, seizes a cock- tail out of the air, dumps it down for courage and, moving her hands like Frisco, dances out alone on the canvas platform. A momentary hush; the orchestra leader varies his rhythm obli- gingly for her, and there is a burst of chatter as the erroneous news goes around that she is Gilda Gray’s understudy from the FOLLIES. The party has begun.
I believe that on the first night I went to Gatsby’s house I was one of the few guests who had actually been invited. People were not invited — they went there. They got into auto- mobiles which bore them out to Long Island, and somehow they ended up at Gatsby’s door. Once there they were intro- duced by somebody who knew Gatsby, and after that they con- ducted themselves according to the rules of behavior associ- ated with amusement parks. Sometimes they came and went without having met Gatsby at all, came for the party with a simplicity of heart that was its own ticket of admission.
I had been actually invited. A chauffeur in a uniform of robin’s-egg blue crossed my lawn early that Saturday morning
33
with a surprisingly formal note from his employer: the honor would be entirely Gatsby’s, it said, if I would attend his “little party.” that night. He had seen me several times, and had in- tended to call on me long before, but a peculiar combination of circumstances had prevented it — signed Jay Gatsby, in a majestic hand.
Dressed up in white flannels I went over to his lawn a little after seven, and wandered around rather ill at ease among swirls and eddies of people I didn’t know — though here and there was a face I had noticed on the commuting train. I was immediately struck by the number of young Englishmen dotted about; all well dressed, all looking a little hungry, and all talk- ing in low, earnest voices to solid and prosperous Americans. I was sure that they were selling something: bonds or insurance or automobiles. They were at least agonizingly aware of the easy money in the vicinity and convinced that it was theirs for a few words in the right key.
As soon as I arrived I made an attempt to find my host, but the two or three people of whom I asked his whereabouts stared at me in such an amazed way, and denied so vehemently any knowledge of his movements, that I slunk off in the direc- tion of the cocktail table — the only place in the garden where a single man could linger without looking purposeless and alone.
I was on my way to get roaring drunk from sheer embarrass- ment when Jordan Baker came out of the house and stood at the head of the marble steps, leaning a little backward and looking with contemptuous interest down into the garden.
Welcome or not, I found it necessary to attach myself to some one before I should begin to address cordial remarks to the passers-by.
“Hello!” I roared, advancing toward her. My voice seemed unnaturally loud across the garden.
“I thought you might be here,” she responded absently as I came up. “I remembered you lived next door to ——” She held my hand impersonally, as a promise that she’d take care of me in a minute, and gave ear to two girls in twin yellow dresses, who stopped at the foot of the steps.
“Hello!” they cried together. “Sorry you didn’t win.”
34
That was for the golf tournament. She had lost in the finals the week before.
“You don’t know who we are,” said one of the girls in yellow, “but we met you here about a month ago.”
“You’ve dyed your hair since then,” remarked Jordan, and I started, but the girls had moved casually on and her remark was addressed to the premature moon, produced like the sup- per, no doubt, out of a caterer’s basket. With Jordan’s slender golden arm resting in mine, we descended the steps and sauntered about the garden. A tray of cocktails floated at us through the twilight, and we sat down at a table with the two girls in yellow and three men, each one introduced to us as Mr. Mumble.
“Do you come to these parties often?” inquired Jordan of the girl beside her.
“The last one was the one I met you at,” answered the girl, in an alert confident voice. She turned to her companion: “Wasn’t it for you, Lucille?”
It was for Lucille, too.
“I like to come,” Lucille said. “I never care what I do, so I al- ways have a good time. When I was here last I tore my gown on a chair, and he asked me my name and address — inside of a week I got a package from Croirier’s with a new evening gown in it.”
“Did you keep it?” asked Jordan.
“Sure I did. I was going to wear it to-night, but it was too big in the bust and had to be altered. It was gas blue with lavender beads. Two hundred and sixty-five dollars.”
“There’s something funny about a fellow that’ll do a thing like that,” said the other girl eagerly. “He doesn’t want any trouble with ANYbody.”
“Who doesn’t?” I inquired.
“Gatsby. Somebody told me ——”
The two girls and Jordan leaned together confidentially. “Somebody told me they thought he killed a man once.”
A thrill passed over all of us. The three Mr. Mumbles bent
forward and listened eagerly.
“I don’t think it’s so much THAT,” argued Lucille sceptically;
“it’s more that he was a German spy during the war.” One of the men nodded in confirmation.
35
“I heard that from a man who knew all about him, grew up with him in Germany,” he assured us positively.
“Oh, no,” said the first girl, “it couldn’t be that, because he was in the American army during the war.” As our credulity switched back to her she leaned forward with enthusiasm. “You look at him sometimes when he thinks nobody’s looking at him. I’ll bet he killed a man.”
She narrowed her eyes and shivered. Lucille shivered. We all turned and looked around for Gatsby. It was testimony to the romantic speculation he inspired that there were whispers about him from those who found little that it was necessary to whisper about in this world.
The first supper — there would be another one after mid- night — was now being served, and Jordan invited me to join her own party, who were spread around a table on the other side of the garden. There were three married couples and Jordan’s escort, a persistent undergraduate given to violent in- nuendo, and obviously under the impression that sooner or later Jordan was going to yield him up her person to a greater or lesser degree. Instead of rambling, this party had preserved a dignified homogeneity, and assumed to itself the function of representing the staid nobility of the country-side — East Egg condescending to West Egg, and carefully on guard against its spectroscopic gayety.
“Let’s get out,” whispered Jordan, after a somehow wasteful and inappropriate half-hour. “This is much too polite for me.”
We got up, and she explained that we were going to find the host: I had never met him, she said, and it was making me un- easy. The undergraduate nodded in a cynical, melancholy way.
The bar, where we glanced first, was crowded, but Gatsby was not there. She couldn’t find him from the top of the steps, and he wasn’t on the veranda. On a chance we tried an important-looking door, and walked into a high Gothic library, panelled with carved English oak, and probably transported complete from some ruin overseas.
A stout, middle-aged man, with enormous owl-eyed spec- tacles, was sitting somewhat drunk on the edge of a great table, staring with unsteady concentration at the shelves of books. As we entered he wheeled excitedly around and ex- amined Jordan from head to foot.
36
“What do you think?” he demanded impetuously.
“About what?” He waved his hand toward the book-shelves. “About that. As a matter of fact you needn’t bother to ascer-
tain. I ascertained. They’re real.”
“The books?”
He nodded.
“Absolutely real — have pages and everything. I thought
they’d be a nice durable cardboard. Matter of fact, they’re ab- solutely real. Pages and — Here! Lemme show you.”
Taking our scepticism for granted, he rushed to the book- cases and returned with Volume One of the “Stoddard Lectures.”
“See!” he cried triumphantly. “It’s a bona-fide piece of prin- ted matter. It fooled me. This fella’s a regular Belasco. It’s a triumph. What thoroughness! What realism! Knew when to stop, too — didn’t cut the pages. But what do you want? What do you expect?”
He snatched the book from me and replaced it hastily on its shelf, muttering that if one brick was removed the whole lib- rary was liable to collapse.
“Who brought you?” he demanded. “Or did you just come? I was brought. Most people were brought.”
Jordan looked at him alertly, cheerfully, without answering.
“I was brought by a woman named Roosevelt,” he continued. “Mrs. Claud Roosevelt. Do you know her? I met her somewhere last night. I’ve been drunk for about a week now, and I thought it might sober me up to sit in a library.”
“Has it?”
“A little bit, I think. I can’t tell yet. I’ve only been here an hour. Did I tell you about the books? They’re real. They’re ——” “You told us.” We shook hands with him gravely and went
back outdoors.
There was dancing now on the canvas in the garden; old men
pushing young girls backward in eternal graceless circles, su- perior couples holding each other tortuously, fashionably, and keeping in the corners — and a great number of single girls dancing individualistically or relieving the orchestra for a mo- ment of the burden of the banjo or the traps. By midnight the hilarity had increased. A celebrated tenor had sung in Italian, and a notorious contralto had sung in jazz, and between the
37
numbers people were doing “stunts.” all over the garden, while happy, vacuous bursts of laughter rose toward the summer sky. A pair of stage twins, who turned out to be the girls in yellow, did a baby act in costume, and champagne was served in glasses bigger than finger-bowls. The moon had risen higher, and floating in the Sound was a triangle of silver scales, trem- bling a little to the stiff, tinny drip of the banjoes on the lawn.
I was still with Jordan Baker. We were sitting at a table with a man of about my age and a rowdy little girl, who gave way upon the slightest provocation to uncontrollable laughter. I was enjoying myself now. I had taken two finger-bowls of champagne, and the scene had changed before my eyes into something significant, elemental, and profound.
At a lull in the entertainment the man looked at me and smiled.
“Your face is familiar,” he said, politely. “Weren’t you in the Third Division during the war?”
“Why, yes. I was in the Ninth Machine-gun Battalion.”
“I was in the Seventh Infantry until June nineteen-eighteen. I knew I’d seen you somewhere before.”
We talked for a moment about some wet, gray little villages in France. Evidently he lived in this vicinity, for he told me that he had just bought a hydroplane, and was going to try it out in the morning.
“Want to go with me, old sport? Just near the shore along the Sound.”
“What time?”
“Any time that suits you best.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to ask his name when Jordan
looked around and smiled.
“Having a gay time now?” she inquired.
“Much better.” I turned again to my new acquaintance. “This
is an unusual party for me. I haven’t even seen the host. I live over there ——” I waved my hand at the invisible hedge in the distance, “and this man Gatsby sent over his chauffeur with an invitation.” For a moment he looked at me as if he failed to understand.
“I’m Gatsby,” he said suddenly.
“What!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I beg your pardon.”
38
“I thought you knew, old sport. I’m afraid I’m not a very good host.”
He smiled understandingly — much more than understand- ingly. It was one of those rare smiles with a quality of eternal reassurance in it, that you may come across four or five times in life. It faced — or seemed to face — the whole external world for an instant, and then concentrated on you with an irresist- ible prejudice in your favor. It understood you just so far as you wanted to be understood, believed in you as you would like to believe in yourself, and assured you that it had precisely the impression of you that, at your best, you hoped to convey. Pre- cisely at that point it vanished — and I was looking at an eleg- ant young rough-neck, a year or two over thirty, whose elabor- ate formality of speech just missed being absurd. Some time before he introduced himself I’d got a strong impression that he was picking his words with care.
Almost at the moment when Mr. Gatsby identified himself, a butler hurried toward him with the information that Chicago was calling him on the wire. He excused himself with a small bow that included each of us in turn.
“If you want anything just ask for it, old sport,” he urged me. “Excuse me. I will rejoin you later.”
When he was gone I turned immediately to Jordan — con- strained to assure her of my surprise. I had expected that Mr. Gatsby would be a florid and corpulent person in his middle years.
“Who is he?” I demanded.
“Do you know?”
“He’s just a man named Gatsby.”
“Where is he from, I mean? And what does he do?”
“Now YOU’RE started on the subject,” she answered with a
wan smile. “Well, he told me once he was an Oxford man.” A dim background started to take shape behind him, but at her next remark it faded away.
“However, I don’t believe it.”
“Why not?” “I don’t know,” she insisted, “I just don’t think he went there.”
Something in her tone reminded me of the other girl’s “I think he killed a man,” and had the effect of stimulating my curiosity. I would have accepted without question the
39
information that Gatsby sprang from the swamps of Louisiana or from the lower East Side of New York. That was compre- hensible. But young men didn’t — at least in my provincial in- experience I believed they didn’t — drift coolly out of nowhere and buy a palace on Long Island Sound.
“Anyhow, he gives large parties,” said Jordan, changing the subject with an urbane distaste for the concrete. “And I like large parties. They’re so intimate. At small parties there isn’t any privacy.”
There was the boom of a bass drum, and the voice of the or- chestra leader rang out suddenly above the echolalia of the garden.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” he cried. “At the request of Mr. Gatsby we are going to play for you Mr. Vladimir Tostoff’s latest work, which attracted so much attention at Carnegie Hall last May. If you read the papers, you know there was a big sensation.” He smiled with jovial condescension, and added: “Some sensation!” Whereupon everybody laughed.
“The piece is known,” he concluded lustily, “as Vladimir Tostoff’s JAZZ HISTORY OF THE WORLD.”
The nature of Mr. Tostoff’s composition eluded me, because just as it began my eyes fell on Gatsby, standing alone on the marble steps and looking from one group to another with ap- proving eyes. His tanned skin was drawn attractively tight on his face and his short hair looked as though it were trimmed every day. I could see nothing sinister about him. I wondered if the fact that he was not drinking helped to set him off from his guests, for it seemed to me that he grew more correct as the fraternal hilarity increased. When the JAZZ HISTORY OF THE WORLD was over, girls were putting their heads on men’s shoulders in a puppyish, convivial way, girls were swooning backward playfully into men’s arms, even into groups, knowing that some one would arrest their falls — but no one swooned backward on Gatsby, and no French bob touched Gatsby’s shoulder, and no singing quartets were formed with Gatsby’s head for one link.
“I beg your pardon.”
Gatsby’s butler was suddenly standing beside us.
“Miss Baker?” he inquired. “I beg your pardon, but Mr.
Gatsby would like to speak to you alone.”
40
“With me?” she exclaimed in surprise.
“Yes, madame.”
She got up slowly, raising her eyebrows at me in astonish-
ment, and followed the butler toward the house. I noticed that she wore her evening-dress, all her dresses, like sports clothes — there was a jauntiness about her movements as if she had first learned to walk upon golf courses on clean, crisp mornings.
I was alone and it was almost two. For some time confused and intriguing sounds had issued from a long, many-windowed room which overhung the terrace. Eluding Jordan’s under- graduate, who was now engaged in an obstetrical conversation with two chorus girls, and who implored me to join him, I went inside.
The large room was full of people. One of the girls in yellow was playing the piano, and beside her stood a tall, red-haired young lady from a famous chorus, engaged in song. She had drunk a quantity of champagne, and during the course of her song she had decided, ineptly, that everything was very, very sad — she was not only singing, she was weeping too. Whenev- er there was a pause in the song she filled it with gasping, broken sobs, and then took up the lyric again in a quavering soprano. The tears coursed down her cheeks — not freely, however, for when they came into contact with her heavily beaded eyelashes they assumed an inky color, and pursued the rest of their way in slow black rivulets. A humorous suggestion was made that she sing the notes on her face, whereupon she threw up her hands, sank into a chair, and went off into a deep vinous sleep.
“She had a fight with a man who says he’s her husband,” ex- plained a girl at my elbow.
I looked around. Most of the remaining women were now having fights with men said to be their husbands. Even Jordan’s party, the quartet from East Egg, were rent asunder by dissension. One of the men was talking with curious intens- ity to a young actress, and his wife, after attempting to laugh at the situation in a dignified and indifferent way, broke down entirely and resorted to flank attacks — at intervals she ap- peared suddenly at his side like an angry diamond, and hissed: “You promised!” into his ear.
41
The reluctance to go home was not confined to wayward men. The hall was at present occupied by two deplorably sober men and their highly indignant wives. The wives were sym- pathizing with each other in slightly raised voices.
“Whenever he sees I’m having a good time he wants to go home.”
“Never heard anything so selfish in my life.”
“We’re always the first ones to leave.”
“So are we.”
“Well, we’re almost the last to-night,” said one of the men
sheepishly. “The orchestra left half an hour ago.”
In spite of the wives’ agreement that such malevolence was beyond credibility, the dispute ended in a short struggle, and
both wives were lifted, kicking, into the night.
As I waited for my hat in the hall the door of the library
opened and Jordan Baker and Gatsby came out together. He was saying some last word to her, but the eagerness in his manner tightened abruptly into formality as several people ap- proached him to say good-bye.
Jordan’s party were calling impatiently to her from the porch, but she lingered for a moment to shake hands.
“I’ve just heard the most amazing thing,” she whispered. “How long were we in there?”
“Why, about an hour.” “It was — simply amazing,” she re- peated abstractedly. “But I swore I wouldn’t tell it and here I am tantalizing you.” She yawned gracefully in my face: “Please come and see me… . Phone book … Under the name of Mrs. Sigourney Howard … My aunt … ” She was hurrying off as she talked — her brown hand waved a jaunty salute as she melted into her party at the door.
Rather ashamed that on my first appearance I had stayed so late, I joined the last of Gatsby’s guests, who were clustered around him. I wanted to explain that I’d hunted for him early in the evening and to apologize for not having known him in the garden.
“Don’t mention it,” he enjoined me eagerly. “Don’t give it an- other thought, old sport.” The familiar expression held no more familiarity than the hand which reassuringly brushed my shoulder. “And don’t forget we’re going up in the hydroplane to-morrow morning, at nine o’clock.”
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Then the butler, behind his shoulder: “Philadelphia wants you on the ‘phone, sir.”
“All right, in a minute. Tell them I’ll be right there… . good night.”
“Good night.”
“Good night.” He smiled — and suddenly there seemed to be a pleasant significance in having been among the last to go, as if he had desired it all the time. “Good night, old sport… . good night.”
But as I walked down the steps I saw that the evening was not quite over. Fifty feet from the door a dozen headlights illu- minated a bizarre and tumultuous scene. In the ditch beside the road, right side up, but violently shorn of one wheel, rested a new coupe which had left Gatsby’s drive not two minutes be- fore. The sharp jut of a wall accounted for the detachment of the wheel, which was now getting considerable attention from half a dozen curious chauffeurs. However, as they had left their cars blocking the road, a harsh, discordant din from those in the rear had been audible for some time, and added to the already violent confusion of the scene.
A man in a long duster had dismounted from the wreck and now stood in the middle of the road, looking from the car to the tire and from the tire to the observers in a pleasant, puzzled way.
“See!” he explained. “It went in the ditch.”
The fact was infinitely astonishing to him, and I recognized first the unusual quality of wonder, and then the man — it was the late patron of Gatsby’s library.
“How’d it happen?”
He shrugged his shoulders.
“I know nothing whatever about mechanics,” he said
decisively.
“But how did it happen? Did you run into the wall?” “Don’t
ask me,” said Owl Eyes, washing his hands of the whole mat- ter. “I know very little about driving — next to nothing. It happened, and that’s all I know.”
“Well, if you’re a poor driver you oughtn’t to try driving at night.”
“But I wasn’t even trying,” he explained indignantly, “I wasn’t even trying.”
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An awed hush fell upon the bystanders.
“Do you want to commit suicide?”
“You’re lucky it was just a wheel! A bad driver and not even
TRYing!”
“You don’t understand,” explained the criminal. “I wasn’t
driving. There’s another man in the car.”
The shock that followed this declaration found voice in a
sustained “Ah-h-h!” as the door of the coupe swung slowly open. The crowd — it was now a crowd — stepped back invol- untarily, and when the door had opened wide there was a ghostly pause. Then, very gradually, part by part, a pale, dangling individual stepped out of the wreck, pawing tentat- ively at the ground with a large uncertain dancing shoe.
Blinded by the glare of the headlights and confused by the in- cessant groaning of the horns, the apparition stood swaying for a moment before he perceived the man in the duster.
“Wha’s matter?” he inquired calmly. “Did we run outa gas?” “Look!”
Half a dozen fingers pointed at the amputated wheel — he
stared at it for a moment, and then looked upward as though he suspected that it had dropped from the sky.
“It came off,” some one explained.
He nodded.
“At first I din’ notice we’d stopped.”
A pause. Then, taking a long breath and straightening his
shoulders, he remarked in a determined voice:
“Wonder’ff tell me where there’s a gas’line station?”
At least a dozen men, some of them little better off than he
was, explained to him that wheel and car were no longer joined by any physical bond.
“Back out,” he suggested after a moment. “Put her in reverse.”
“But the WHEEL’S off!”
He hesitated.
“No harm in trying,” he said.
The caterwauling horns had reached a crescendo and I
turned away and cut across the lawn toward home. I glanced back once. A wafer of a moon was shining over Gatsby’s house, making the night fine as before, and surviving the laughter and the sound of his still glowing garden. A sudden emptiness
44
seemed to flow now from the windows and the great doors, en- dowing with complete isolation the figure of the host, who stood on the porch, his hand up in a formal gesture of farewell.
Reading over what I have written so far, I see I have given the impression that the events of three nights several weeks apart were all that absorbed me. On the contrary, they were merely casual events in a crowded summer, and, until much later, they absorbed me infinitely less than my personal affairs.
Most of the time I worked. In the early morning the sun threw my shadow westward as I hurried down the white chasms of lower New York to the Probity Trust. I knew the oth- er clerks and young bond-salesmen by their first names, and lunched with them in dark, crowded restaurants on little pig sausages and mashed potatoes and coffee. I even had a short affair with a girl who lived in Jersey City and worked in the ac- counting department, but her brother began throwing mean looks in my direction, so when she went on her vacation in July I let it blow quietly away.
I took dinner usually at the Yale Club — for some reason it was the gloomiest event of my day — and then I went up-stairs to the library and studied investments and securities for a con- scientious hour. There were generally a few rioters around, but they never came into the library, so it was a good place to work. After that, if the night was mellow, I strolled down Madison Avenue past the old Murray Hill Hotel, and over 33rd Street to the Pennsylvania Station.
I began to like New York, the racy, adventurous feel of it at night, and the satisfaction that the constant flicker of men and women and machines gives to the restless eye. I liked to walk up Fifth Avenue and pick out romantic women from the crowd and imagine that in a few minutes I was going to enter into their lives, and no one would ever know or disapprove. Some- times, in my mind, I followed them to their apartments on the corners of hidden streets, and they turned and smiled back at me before they faded through a door into warm darkness. At the enchanted metropolitan twilight I felt a haunting loneliness sometimes, and felt it in others — poor young clerks who loitered in front of windows waiting until it was time for a solit- ary restaurant dinner — young clerks in the dusk, wasting the most poignant moments of night and life.
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Again at eight o’clock, when the dark lanes of the Forties were five deep with throbbing taxi-cabs, bound for the theatre district, I felt a sinking in my heart. Forms leaned together in the taxis as they waited, and voices sang, and there was laughter from unheard jokes, and lighted cigarettes outlined unintelligible 70 gestures inside. Imagining that I, too, was hurrying toward gayety and sharing their intimate excitement, I wished them well.
For a while I lost sight of Jordan Baker, and then in midsum- mer I found her again. At first I was flattered to go places with her, because she was a golf champion, and every one knew her name. Then it was something more. I wasn’t actually in love, but I felt a sort of tender curiosity. The bored haughty face that she turned to the world concealed something — most affecta- tions conceal something eventually, even though they don’t in the beginning — and one day I found what it was. When we were on a house-party together up in Warwick, she left a bor- rowed car out in the rain with the top down, and then lied about it — and suddenly I remembered the story about her that had eluded me that night at Daisy’s. At her first big golf tour- nament there was a row that nearly reached the newspapers — a suggestion that she had moved her ball from a bad lie in the semi-final round. The thing approached the proportions of a scandal — then died away. A caddy retracted his statement, and the only other witness admitted that he might have been mistaken. The incident and the name had remained together in my mind.
Jordan Baker instinctively avoided clever, shrewd men, and now I saw that this was because she felt safer on a plane where any divergence from a code would be thought im- possible. She was incurably dishonest. She wasn’t able to en- dure being at a disadvantage and, given this unwillingness, I suppose she had begun dealing in subterfuges when she was very young in order to keep that cool, insolent smile turned to the world and yet satisfy the demands of her hard, jaunty body.
It made no difference to me. Dishonesty in a woman is a thing you never blame deeply — I was casually sorry, and then I forgot. It was on that same house party that we had a curious conversation about driving a car. It started because she passed
46
so close to some workmen that our fender flicked a button on one man’s coat.
“You’re a rotten driver,” I protested. “Either you ought to be more careful, or you oughtn’t to drive at all.”
“I am careful.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Well, other people are,” she said lightly.
“What’s that got to do with it?”
“They’ll keep out of my way,” she insisted. “It takes two to
make an accident.”
“Suppose you met somebody just as careless as yourself.”
“I hope I never will,” she answered. “I hate careless people.
That’s why I like you.”
Her gray, sun-strained eyes stared straight ahead, but she
had deliberately shifted our relations, and for a moment I thought I loved her. But I am slow-thinking and full of interior rules that act as brakes on my desires, and I knew that first I had to get myself definitely out of that tangle back home. I’d been writing letters once a week and signing them: “Love, Nick,” and all I could think of was how, when that certain girl played tennis, a faint mustache of perspiration appeared on her upper lip. Nevertheless there was a vague understanding that had to be tactfully broken off before I was free.
Every one suspects himself of at least one of the cardinal vir- tues, and this is mine: I am one of the few honest people that I have ever known.
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4
Chapter
On Sunday morning while church bells rang in the villages alongshore, the world and its mistress returned to Gatsby’s house and twinkled hilariously on his lawn.
“He’s a bootlegger,” said the young ladies, moving some- where between his cocktails and his flowers. “One time he killed a man who had found out that he was nephew to Von Hindenburg and second cousin to the devil. Reach me a rose, honey, and pour me a last drop into that there crystal glass.”
Once I wrote down on the empty spaces of a time-table the names of those who came to Gatsby’s house that summer. It is an old time-table now, disintegrating at its folds, and headed “This schedule in effect July 5th, 1922.” But I can still read the gray names, and they will give you a better impression than my generalities of those who accepted Gatsby’s hospitality and paid him the subtle tribute of knowing nothing whatever about him.
From East Egg, then, came the Chester Beckers and the Leeches, and a man named Bunsen, whom I knew at Yale, and Doctor Webster Civet, who was drowned last summer up in Maine. And the Hornbeams and the Willie Voltaires, and a whole clan named Blackbuck, who always gathered in a corner and flipped up their noses like goats at whosoever came near. And the Ismays and the Chrysties (or rather Hubert Auerbach and Mr. Chrystie’s wife), and Edgar Beaver, whose hair, they say, turned cotton-white one winter afternoon for no good reas- on at all.
Clarence Endive was from East Egg, as I remember. He came only once, in white knickerbockers, and had a fight with a bum named Etty in the garden. From farther out on the Is- land came the Cheadles and the O. R. P. Schraeders, and the Stonewall Jackson Abrams of Georgia, and the Fishguards and the Ripley Snells. Snell was there three days before he went to
48
the penitentiary, so drunk out on the gravel drive that Mrs. Ulysses Swett’s automobile ran over his right hand. The Dan- cies came, too, and S. B. Whitebait, who was well over sixty, and Maurice A. Flink, and the Hammerheads, and Beluga the tobacco importer, and Beluga’s girls.
From West Egg came the Poles and the Mulreadys and Cecil Roebuck and Cecil Schoen and Gulick the state senator and Newton Orchid, who controlled Films Par Excellence, and Eck- haust and Clyde Cohen and Don S. Schwartze (the son) and Ar- thur McCarty, all connected with the movies in one way or an- other. And the Catlips and the Bembergs and G. Earl Muldoon, brother to that Muldoon who afterward strangled his wife. Da Fontano the promoter came there, and Ed Legros and James B. (“Rot-Gut.”) Ferret and the De Jongs and Ernest Lilly — they came to gamble, and when Ferret wandered into the garden it meant he was cleaned out and Associated Traction would have to fluctuate profitably next day.
A man named Klipspringer was there so often and so long that he became known as “the boarder.”— I doubt if he had any other home. Of theatrical people there were Gus Waize and Horace O’donavan and Lester Meyer and George Duck- weed and Francis Bull. Also from New York were the Chromes and the Backhyssons and the Dennickers and Russel Betty and the Corrigans and the Kellehers and the Dewars and the Scullys and S. W. Belcher and the Smirkes and the young Quinns, divorced now, and Henry L. Palmetto, who killed him- self by jumping in front of a subway train in Times Square.
Benny McClenahan arrived always with four girls. They were never quite the same ones in physical person, but they were so identical one with another that it inevitably seemed they had been there before. I have forgotten their names — Jaqueline, I think, or else Consuela, or Gloria or Judy or June, and their last names were either the melodious names of flowers and months or the sterner ones of the great American capitalists whose cousins, if pressed, they would confess themselves to be.
In addition to all these I can remember that Faustina O’brien came there at least once and the Baedeker girls and young Brewer, who had his nose shot off in the war, and Mr. Al- brucksburger and Miss Haag, his fiancee, and Ardita Fitz- Peters and Mr. P. Jewett, once head of the American Legion,
49
and Miss Claudia Hip, with a man reputed to be her chauffeur, and a prince of something, whom we called Duke, and whose name, if I ever knew it, I have forgotten.
All these people came to Gatsby’s house in the summer.
At nine o’clock, one morning late in July, Gatsby’s gorgeous car lurched up the rocky drive to my door and gave out a burst of melody from its three-noted horn. It was the first time he had called on me, though I had gone to two of his parties, mounted in his hydroplane, and, at his urgent invitation, made frequent use of his beach.
“Good morning, old sport. You’re having lunch with me to- day and I thought we’d ride up together.”
He was balancing himself on the dashboard of his car with that resourcefulness of movement that is so peculiarly Americ- an — that comes, I suppose, with the absence of lifting work or rigid sitting in youth and, even more, with the formless grace of our nervous, sporadic games. This quality was continually breaking through his punctilious manner in the shape of rest- lessness. He was never quite still; there was always a tapping foot somewhere or the impatient opening and closing of a hand.
He saw me looking with admiration at his car.
“It’s pretty, isn’t it, old sport?” He jumped off to give me a better view. “Haven’t you ever seen it before?”
I’d seen it. Everybody had seen it. It was a rich cream color, bright with nickel, swollen here and there in its monstrous length with triumphant hat-boxes and supper-boxes and tool- boxes, and terraced with a labyrinth of wind-shields that mirrored a dozen suns. Sitting down behind many layers of glass in a sort of green leather conservatory, we started to town.
I had talked with him perhaps half a dozen times in the past month and found, to my disappointment, that he had little to say: So my first impression, that he was a person of some un- defined consequence, had gradually faded and he had become simply the proprietor of an elaborate road-house next door.
And then came that disconcerting ride. We hadn’t reached West Egg village before Gatsby began leaving his elegant sen- tences unfinished and slapping himself indecisively on the knee of his caramel-colored suit.
50
“Look here, old sport,” he broke out surprisingly. “What’s your opinion of me, anyhow?” A little overwhelmed, I began the generalized evasions which that question deserves.
“Well, I’m going to tell you something about my life,” he in- terrupted. “I don’t want you to get a wrong idea of me from all these stories you hear.”
So he was aware of the bizarre accusations that flavored con- versation in his halls.
“I’ll tell you God’s truth.” His right hand suddenly ordered di- vine retribution to stand by. “I am the son of some wealthy people in the Middle West — all dead now. I was brought up in America but educated at Oxford, because all my ancestors have been educated there for many years. It is a family tradition.”
He looked at me sideways — and I knew why Jordan Baker had believed he was lying. He hurried the phrase “educated at Oxford,” or swallowed it, or choked on it, as though it had bothered him before. And with this doubt, his whole statement fell to pieces, and I wondered if there wasn’t something a little sinister about him, after all.
“What part of the Middle West?” I inquired casually.
“San Francisco.”
“I see.”
“My family all died and I came into a good deal of money.” His voice was solemn, as if the memory of that sudden ex-
tinction of a clan still haunted him. For a moment I suspected that he was pulling my leg, but a glance at him convinced me otherwise.
“After that I lived like a young rajah in all the capitals of Europe — Paris, Venice, Rome — collecting jewels, chiefly ru- bies, hunting big game, painting a little, things for myself only, and trying to forget something very sad that had happened to me long ago.”
With an effort I managed to restrain my incredulous laughter. The very phrases were worn so threadbare that they evoked no image except that of a turbaned “character.” leaking sawdust at every pore as he pursued a tiger through the Bois de Boulogne.
“Then came the war, old sport. It was a great relief, and I tried very hard to die, but I seemed to bear an enchanted life. I
51
accepted a commission as first lieutenant when it began. In the Argonne Forest I took two machine-gun detachments so far for- ward that there was a half mile gap on either side of us where the infantry couldn’t advance. We stayed there two days and two nights, a hundred and thirty men with sixteen Lewis guns, and when the infantry came up at last they found the insignia of three German divisions among the piles of dead. I was pro- moted to be a major, and every Allied government gave me a decoration — even Montenegro, little Montenegro down on the Adriatic Sea!”
Little Montenegro! He lifted up the words and nodded at them — with his smile. The smile comprehended Montenegro’s troubled history and sympathized with the brave struggles of the Montenegrin people. It appreciated fully the chain of na- tional circumstances which had elicited this tribute from Montenegro’s warm little heart. My incredulity was submerged in fascination now; it was like skimming hastily through a dozen magazines.
He reached in his pocket, and a piece of metal, slung on a ribbon, fell into my palm.
“That’s the one from Montenegro.”
To my astonishment, the thing had an authentic look.
“Orderi di Danilo,” ran the circular legend, “Montenegro,
Nicolas Rex.”
“Turn it.”
“Major Jay Gatsby,” I read, “For Valour Extraordinary.” “Here’s another thing I always carry. A souvenir of Oxford
days. It was taken in Trinity Quad — the man on my left is now the Earl of Dorcaster.”
It was a photograph of half a dozen young men in blazers loafing in an archway through which were visible a host of spires. There was Gatsby, looking a little, not much, younger — with a cricket bat in his hand.
Then it was all true. I saw the skins of tigers flaming in his palace on the Grand Canal; I saw him opening a chest of rubies to ease, with their crimson-lighted depths, the gnawings of his broken heart.
“I’m going to make a big request of you to-day,” he said, pocketing his souvenirs with satisfaction, “so I thought you ought to know something about me. I didn’t want you to think I
52
was just some nobody. You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad thing that happened to me.” He hesitated. “You’ll hear about it this afternoon.”
“At lunch?”
“No, this afternoon. I happened to find out that you’re taking Miss Baker to tea.”
“Do you mean you’re in love with Miss Baker?”
“No, old sport, I’m not. But Miss Baker has kindly consented to speak to you about this matter.”
I hadn’t the faintest idea what “this matter.” was, but I was more annoyed than interested. I hadn’t asked Jordan to tea in order to discuss Mr. Jay Gatsby. I was sure the request would be something utterly fantastic, and for a moment I was sorry I’d ever set foot upon his overpopulated lawn.
He wouldn’t say another word. His correctness grew on him as we neared the city. We passed Port Roosevelt, where there was a glimpse of red-belted ocean-going ships, and sped along a cobbled slum lined with the dark, undeserted saloons of the faded-gilt nineteen-hundreds. Then the valley of ashes opened out on both sides of us, and I had a glimpse of Mrs. Wilson straining at the garage pump with panting vitality as we went by.
With fenders spread like wings we scattered light through half Long Island City — only half, for as we twisted among the pillars of the elevated I heard the familiar “jug — jug — SPAT!” of a motorcycle, and a frantic policeman rode alongside.
“All right, old sport,” called Gatsby. We slowed down. Taking a white card from his wallet, he waved it before the man’s eyes.
“Right you are,” agreed the policeman, tipping his cap. “Know you next time, Mr. Gatsby. Excuse ME!”
“What was that?” I inquired.
“The picture of Oxford?”
“I was able to do the commissioner a favor once, and he
sends me a Christmas card every year.”
Over the great bridge, with the sunlight through the girders
making a constant flicker upon the moving cars, with the city rising up across the river in white heaps and sugar lumps all built with a wish out of non-olfactory money. The city seen
53
from the Queensboro Bridge is always the city seen for the first time, in its first wild promise of all the mystery and the beauty in the world.
A dead man passed us in a hearse heaped with blooms, fol- lowed by two carriages with drawn blinds, and by more cheer- ful carriages for friends. The friends looked out at us with the tragic eyes and short upper lips of southeastern Europe, and I was glad that the sight of Gatsby’s splendid car was included in their sombre holiday. As we crossed Blackwell’s Island a lim- ousine passed us, driven by a white chauffeur, in which sat three modish negroes, two bucks and a girl. I laughed aloud as the yolks of their eyeballs rolled toward us in haughty rivalry.
“Anything can happen now that we’ve slid over this bridge,” I thought; “anything at all… .”
Even Gatsby could happen, without any particular wonder.
Roaring noon. In a well — fanned Forty-second Street cellar I met Gatsby for lunch. Blinking away the brightness of the street outside, my eyes picked him out obscurely in the ante- room, talking to another man.
“Mr. Carraway, this is my friend Mr. Wolfsheim.”
A small, flat-nosed Jew raised his large head and regarded me with two fine growths of hair which luxuriated in either nostril. After a moment I discovered his tiny eyes in the half- darkness.
“— So I took one look at him,” said Mr. Wolfsheim, shaking my hand earnestly, “and what do you think I did?”
“What?” I inquired politely.
But evidently he was not addressing me, for he dropped my hand and covered Gatsby with his expressive nose.
“I handed the money to Katspaugh and I sid: ‘all right, Kats- paugh, don’t pay him a penny till he shuts his mouth.’ He shut it then and there.”
Gatsby took an arm of each of us and moved forward into the restaurant, whereupon Mr. Wolfsheim swallowed a new sen- tence he was starting and lapsed into a somnambulatory abstraction.
“Highballs?” asked the head waiter.
“This is a nice restaurant here,” said Mr. Wolfsheim, looking at the Presbyterian nymphs on the ceiling. “But I like across the street better!”
54
“Yes, highballs,” agreed Gatsby, and then to Mr. Wolfsheim: “It’s too hot over there.”
“Hot and small — yes,” said Mr. Wolfsheim, “but full of memories.”
“What place is that?” I asked.
“The old Metropole.
“The old Metropole,” brooded Mr. Wolfsheim gloomily.
“Filled with faces dead and gone. Filled with friends gone now forever. I can’t forget so long as I live the night they shot Rosy Rosenthal there. It was six of us at the table, and Rosy had eat and drunk a lot all evening. When it was almost morning the waiter came up to him with a funny look and says somebody wants 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, so help me, move outside this room.’
“It was four o’clock in the morning then, and if we’d of raised the blinds we’d of seen daylight.”
“Did he go?” I asked innocently.
“Sure he went.” Mr. Wolfsheim’s nose flashed at me indig- nantly. “He turned around in the door and says: ‘Don’t let that waiter take away my coffee!’ Then he went out on the side- walk, 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 in an inter- ested way. “I understand you’re looking for a business gonnegtion.”
The juxtaposition of these two remarks was startling. 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.”
A succulent hash arrived, and Mr. Wolfsheim, forgetting the
more sentimental atmosphere of the old Metropole, began to eat with ferocious delicacy. His eyes, meanwhile, roved very slowly all around the room — he completed the arc by turning
55
to inspect the people directly behind. I think that, except for my presence, he would have taken one short glance beneath our own table.
“Look here, old sport,” said Gatsby, leaning toward me, “I’m afraid I made you a little angry this morning in the car.”
There was the smile again, but this time I held out against it.
“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 has it all got to come through Miss Baker?”
“Oh, it’s nothing underhand,” he assured me. “Miss Baker’s a great sportswoman, you know, and she’d never do anything that wasn’t all right.”
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 to look at and a perfect gentleman.”
“Yes.”
“He’s an Oggsford man.”
“Oh!”
“He went to Oggsford College in England. You know Oggs-
ford College?”
“I’ve heard of it.”
“It’s one of the most famous colleges in the world.”
“Have you known Gatsby for a long time?” I inquired. “Several years,” he answered in a gratified way. “I made the
pleasure of his acquaintance just after the war. But I knew I had discovered a man of fine breeding after I talked with him an hour. I said to myself: ‘There’s the kind of man you’d like to take home and introduce to your mother and sister.’.” He paused. “I see you’re looking at my cuff buttons.” I hadn’t been looking at them, but I did now.
They were composed of oddly familiar pieces of ivory.
“Finest specimens of human molars,” he informed me. “Well!” I inspected them. “That’s a very interesting idea.” “Yeah.” He flipped his sleeves up under his coat. “Yeah,
Gatsby’s very careful about women. He would never so much as look at a friend’s wife.”
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When the subject of this instinctive trust returned to the table and sat down Mr. Wolfsheim drank his coffee with a jerk and got to his feet.
“I have enjoyed my lunch,” he said, “and I’m going to run off from you two young men before I outstay my welcome.”
“Don’t hurry, Meyer,” said Gatsby, without enthusiasm. Mr. Wolfsheim raised his hand in a sort of benediction.
“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 ——” He supplied an imaginary noun with another wave of his hand. “As for me, I am fifty years old, and I won’t impose myself on you any longer.”
As he shook hands and turned away his tragic nose was trembling. I wondered if I had said anything to offend him.
“He becomes very sentimental sometimes,” explained Gatsby. “This is one of his sentimental days. He’s quite a char- acter around New York — a denizen of Broadway.”
“Who is he, anyhow, an actor?”
“No.”
“A dentist?”
“Meyer Wolfsheim? No, he’s a gambler.” Gatsby hesitated,
then added coolly: “He’s the man who fixed the World’s Series back in 1919.”
“Fixed the World’s Series?” I repeated.
The idea staggered me. I remembered, of course, that the World’s Series had been fixed in 1919, but if I had thought of it at all I would have thought of it as a thing that merely HAPPENED, the end of some inevitable chain. It never oc- curred to me that one man could start to play with the faith of fifty million people — with the single-mindedness of a burglar blowing a safe.
“How did he happen to do that?” I asked after a minute. “He just saw the opportunity.”
“Why isn’t he in jail?”
“They can’t get him, old sport. He’s a smart man.”
I insisted on paying the check. As the waiter brought my change I caught sight of Tom Buchanan across the crowded room.
57
“Come along with me for a minute,” I said; “I’ve got to say hello to some one.” When he saw us Tom jumped up and took half a dozen steps in our direction.
“Where’ve you been?” he demamded eagerly. “Daisy’s furi- ous because you haven’t called up.”
“This is Mr. Gatsby, Mr. Buchanan.”
They shook hands briefly, and a strained, unfamiliar look of embarrassment came over Gatsby’s face.
“How’ve you been, anyhow?” demanded Tom of me. “How’d you happen to come up this far to eat?”
“I’ve been having lunch with Mr. Gatsby.”
I turned toward Mr. Gatsby, but he was no longer there.
One October day in nineteen-seventeen ——
(said Jordan Baker that afternoon, sitting up very straight on
a straight chair in the tea-garden at the Plaza Hotel)
— I was walking along from one place to another, half on the sidewalks and half on the lawns. I was happier on the lawns be- cause I had on shoes from England with rubber nobs on the soles that bit into the soft ground. I had on a new plaid skirt also that blew a little in the wind, and whenever this happened the red, white, and blue banners in front of all the houses stretched out stiff and said TUT-TUT-TUT-TUT, in a disapprov-
ing way.
The largest of the banners and the largest of the lawns be-
longed to Daisy Fay’s house. She was just eighteen, two years older than me, and by far the most popular of all the young girls in Louisville. She dressed in white, and had a little white roadster, and all day long the telephone rang in her house and excited young officers from Camp Taylor demanded the priv- ilege of monopolizing her that night. “Anyways, for an hour!”
When I came opposite her house that morning her white roadster was beside the curb, and she was sitting in it with a lieutenant I had never seen before. They were so engrossed in each other that she didn’t see me until I was five feet away.
“Hello, Jordan,” she called unexpectedly. “Please come here.”
I was flattered that she wanted to speak to me, because of all the older girls I admired her most. She asked me if I was going to the Red Cross and make bandages. I was. Well, then, would I tell them that she couldn’t come that day? The officer looked
58
at Daisy while she was speaking, in a way that every young girl wants to be looked at sometime, and because it seemed ro- mantic to me I have remembered the incident ever since. His name was Jay Gatsby, and I didn’t lay eyes on him again for over four years — even after I’d met him on Long Island I didn’t realize it was the same man.
That was nineteen-seventeen. By the next year I had a few beaux myself, and I began to play in tournaments, so I didn’t see Daisy very often. She went with a slightly older crowd — when she went with anyone at all. Wild rumors were circulat- ing about her — how her mother had found her packing her bag one winter night to go to New York and say good-by to a soldier who was going overseas. She was effectually prevented, but she wasn’t on speaking terms with her family for several weeks. After that she didn’t play around with the soldiers any more, but only with a few flat-footed, short-sighted young men in town, who couldn’t get into the army at all.
By the next autumn she was gay again, gay as ever. She had a debut after the Armistice, and in February she was presum- ably engaged to a man from New Orleans. In June she married Tom Buchanan of Chicago, with more pomp and circumstance than Louisville ever knew before. He came down with a hun- dred people in four private cars, and hired a whole floor of the Seelbach Hotel, and the day before the wedding he gave her a string of pearls valued at three hundred and fifty thousand dollars.
I was bridesmaid. I came into her room half an hour before the bridal dinner, and found her lying on her bed as lovely as the June night in her flowered dress — and as drunk as a mon- key. she had a bottle of Sauterne in one hand and a letter in the other.
“‘Gratulate me,” she muttered. “Never had a drink before, but oh how I do enjoy it.”
“What’s the matter, Daisy?”
I was scared, I can tell you; I’d never seen a girl like that before.
“Here, deares’.” She groped around in a waste-basket she had with her on the bed and pulled out the string of pearls. “Take ’em down-stairs and give ’em back to whoever they
59
belong to. Tell ’em all Daisy’s change’ her mine. Say: ‘Daisy’s change’ her mine!’.”
She began to cry — she cried and cried. I rushed out and found her mother’s maid, and we locked the door and got her into a cold bath. She wouldn’t let go of the letter. She took it into the tub with her and squeezed it up into a wet ball, and only let me leave it in the soap-dish when she saw that it was coming to pieces like snow.
But she didn’t say another word. We gave her spirits of am- monia and put ice on her forehead and hooked her back into her dress, and half an hour later, when we walked out of the room, the pearls were around her neck and the incident was over. Next day at five o’clock she married Tom Buchanan without so much as a shiver, and started off on a three months’ trip to the South Seas.
I saw them in Santa Barbara when they came back, and I thought I’d never seen a girl so mad about her husband. If he left the room for a minute she’d look around uneasily, and say: “Where’s Tom gone?” and wear the most abstracted expression until she saw him coming in the door. She used to sit on the sand with his head in her lap by the hour, rubbing her fingers over his eyes and looking at him with unfathomable delight. It was touching to see them together — it made you laugh in a hushed, fascinated way. That was in August. A week after I left Santa Barbara Tom ran into a wagon on the Ventura road one night, and ripped a front wheel off his car. The girl who was with him got into the papers, too, because her arm was broken — she was one of the chambermaids in the Santa Barbara Hotel.
The next April Daisy had her little girl, and they went to France for a year. I saw them one spring in Cannes, and later in Deauville, and then they came back to Chicago to settle down. Daisy was popular in Chicago, as you know. They moved with a fast crowd, all of them young and rich and wild, but she came out with an absolutely perfect reputation. Perhaps be- cause she doesn’t drink. It’s a great advantage not to drink among hard-drinking people. You can hold your tongue, and, moreover, you can time any little irregularity of your own so that everybody else is so blind that they don’t see or care.
60
Perhaps Daisy never went in for amour at all — and yet there’s something in that voice of hers… .
Well, about six weeks ago, she heard the name Gatsby for the first time in years. It was when I asked you — do you remem- ber?— if you knew Gatsby in West Egg. After you had gone home she came into my room and woke me up, and said: “What Gatsby?” and when I described him — I was half asleep — she said in the strangest voice that it must be the man she used to know. It wasn’t until then that I connected this Gatsby with the officer in her white car.
When Jordan Baker had finished telling all this we had left the Plaza for half an hour and were driving in a victoria through Central Park. The sun had gone down behind the tall apartments of the movie stars in the West Fifties, and the clear voices of girls, already gathered like crickets on the grass, rose through the hot twilight:
“I’m the Sheik of Araby.
Your love belongs to me.
At night when you’re are asleep
Into your tent I’ll creep ——”
“It was a strange coincidence,” I said.
“But it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”
“Why not?”
“Gatsby bought that house so that Daisy would be just across
the bay.”
Then it had not been merely the stars to which he had as-
pired on that June night. He came alive to me, delivered sud- denly from the womb of his purposeless splendor.
“He wants to know,” continued Jordan, “if you’ll invite Daisy to your house some afternoon and then let him come over.”
The modesty of the demand shook me. He had waited five years and bought a mansion where he dispensed starlight to casual moths — so that he could “come over.” some afternoon to a stranger’s garden.
“Did I have to know all this before he could ask such a little thing?”
“He’s afraid, he’s waited so long. He thought you might be offended. You see, he’s a regular tough underneath it all.”
Something worried me.
“Why didn’t he ask you to arrange a meeting?”
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“He wants her to see his house,” she explained. “And your house is right next door.”
“Oh!”
“I think he half expected her to wander into one of his parties, some night,” went on Jordan, “but she never did. Then he began asking people casually if they knew her, and I was the first one he found. It was that night he sent for me at his dance, and you should have heard the elaborate way he worked up to it. Of course, I immediately suggested a luncheon in New York — and I thought he’d go mad:
“‘I don’t want to do anything out of the way!’ he kept saying. ‘I want to see her right next door.’
“When I said you were a particular friend of Tom’s, he star- ted to abandon the whole idea. He doesn’t know very much about Tom, though he says he’s read a Chicago paper for years just on the chance of catching a glimpse of Daisy’s name.”
It was dark now, and as we dipped under a little bridge I put my arm around Jordan’s golden shoulder and drew her toward me and asked her to dinner. Suddenly I wasn’t thinking of Daisy and Gatsby any more, but of this clean, hard, limited per- son, who dealt in universal scepticism, and who leaned back jauntily just within the circle of my arm. A phrase began to beat in my ears with a sort of heady excitement: “There are only the pursued, the pursuing, the busy and the tired.”
“And Daisy ought to have something in her life,” murmured Jordan to me.
“Does she want to see Gatsby?”
“She’s not to know about it. Gatsby doesn’t want her to know. You’re just supposed to invite her to tea.”
We passed a barrier of dark trees, and then the facade of Fifty-ninth Street, a block of delicate pale light, beamed down into the park. Unlike Gatsby and Tom Buchanan, I had no girl whose disembodied face floated along the dark cornices and blinding signs, and so I drew up the girl beside me, tightening my arms. Her wan, scornful mouth smiled, and so I drew her up again closer, this time to my face.
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5
Chapter
When I came home to West Egg that night I was afraid for a moment that my house was on fire. Two o’clock and the whole corner of the peninsula was blazing with light, which fell unreal on the shrubbery and made thin elongating glints upon the roadside wires. Turning a corner, I saw that it was Gatsby’s house, lit from tower to cellar.
At first I thought it was another party, a wild rout that had resolved itself into “hide-and-go-seek.” or “sardines-in-the- box.” with all the house thrown open to the game. But there wasn’t a sound. Only wind in the trees, which blew the wires and made the lights go off and on again as if the house had winked into the darkness. As my taxi groaned away I saw Gatsby walking toward me across his lawn.
“Your place looks like the World’s Fair,” I said.
“Does it?” He turned his eyes toward it absently. “I have been glancing into some of the rooms. Let’s go to Coney Island, old sport. In my car.”
“It’s too late.”
“Well, suppose we take a plunge in the swimming-pool? I haven’t made use of it all summer.”
“I’ve got to go to bed.”
“All right.”
He waited, looking at me with suppressed eagerness.
“I talked with Miss Baker,” I said after a moment. “I’m going
to call up Daisy to-morrow and invite her over here to tea.” “Oh, that’s all right,” he said carelessly. “I don’t want to put
you to any trouble.”
“What day would suit you?”
“What day would suit YOU?” he corrected me quickly. “I
don’t want to put you to any trouble, you see.”
“How about the day after to-morrow?” He considered for a
moment. Then, with reluctance:
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“I want to get the grass cut,” he said.
We both looked at the grass — there was a sharp line where my ragged lawn ended and the darker, well-kept expanse of his began. I suspected that he meant my grass.
“There’s another little thing,” he said uncertainly, and hesitated.
“Would you rather put it off for a few days?” I asked.
“Oh, it isn’t about that. At least ——” He fumbled with a series of beginnings. “Why, I thought — why, look here, old sport, you don’t make much money, do you?”
“Not very much.”
This seemed to reassure him and he continued more confidently.
“I thought you didn’t, if you’ll pardon my — You see, I carry on a little business on the side, a sort of side line, you under- stand. And I thought that if you don’t make very much — You’re selling bonds, aren’t you, old sport?”
“Trying to.”
“Well, this would interest you. It wouldn’t take up much of your time and you might pick up a nice bit of money. It hap- pens to be a rather confidential sort of thing.”
I realize now that under different circumstances that conver- sation might have been one of the crises of my life. But, be- cause the offer was obviously and tactlessly for a service to be rendered, I had no choice except to cut him off there.
“I’ve got my hands full,” I said. “I’m much obliged but I couldn’t take on any more work.”
“You wouldn’t have to do any business with Wolfsheim.” Evidently he thought that I was shying away from the “gonneg- tion.” mentioned at lunch, but I assured him he was wrong. He waited a moment longer, hoping I’d begin a conversation, but I was too absorbed to be responsive, so he went unwillingly home.
The evening had made me light-headed and happy; I think I walked into a deep sleep as I entered my front door. So I didn’t know whether or not Gatsby went to Coney Island, or for how many hours he “glanced into rooms.” while his house blazed gaudily on. I called up Daisy from the office next morning, and invited her to come to tea.
“Don’t bring Tom,” I warned her.
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“What?”
“Don’t bring Tom.”
“Who is ‘Tom’?” she asked innocently.
The day agreed upon was pouring rain. At eleven o’clock a
man in a raincoat, dragging a lawn-mower, tapped at my front door and said that Mr. Gatsby had sent him over to cut my grass. This reminded me that I had forgotten to tell my Finn to come back, so I drove into West Egg Village to search for her among soggy, whitewashed alleys and to buy some cups and lemons and flowers.
The flowers were unnecessary, for at two o’clock a green- house arrived from Gatsby’s, with innumerable receptacles to contain it. An hour later the front door opened nervously, and Gatsby, in a white flannel suit, silver shirt, and gold-colored tie, hurried in. He was pale, and there were dark signs of sleep- lessness beneath his eyes.
“Is everything all right?” he asked immediately.
“The grass looks fine, if that’s what you mean.”
“What grass?” he inquired blankly. “Oh, the grass in the
yard.” He looked out the window at it, but, judging from his ex- pression, I don’t believe he saw a thing.
“Looks very good,” he remarked vaguely. “One of the papers said they thought the rain would stop about four. I think it was the JOURNAL. Have you got everything you need in the shape of — of tea?”
I took him into the pantry, where he looked a little reproach- fully at the Finn. Together we scrutinized the twelve lemon cakes from the delicatessen shop.
“Will they do?” I asked.
“Of course, of course! They’re fine!” and he added hollowly, “… old sport.”
The rain cooled about half-past three to a damp mist, through which occasional thin drops swam like dew. Gatsby looked with vacant eyes through a copy of Clay’s ECONOMICS, starting at the Finnish tread that shook the kitchen floor, and peering toward the bleared windows from time to time as if a series of invisible but alarming happenings were taking place outside. Finally he got up and informed me, in an uncertain voice, that he was going home.
“Why’s that?”
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“Nobody’s coming to tea. It’s too late!” He looked at his watch as if there was some pressing demand on his time else- where. “I can’t wait all day.”
“Don’t be silly; it’s just two minutes to four.”
He sat down miserably, as if I had pushed him, and simultan- eously there was the sound of a motor turning into my lane. We both jumped up, and, a little harrowed myself, I went out into the yard.
Under the dripping bare lilac-trees a large open car was coming up the drive. It stopped. Daisy’s face, tipped sideways beneath a three-cornered lavender hat, looked out at me with a bright ecstatic smile.
“Is this absolutely where you live, my dearest one?”
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic in the rain. I had to follow the sound of it for a moment, up and down, with my ear alone, before any words came through. A damp streak of hair lay like a dash of blue paint across her cheek, and her hand was wet with glistening drops as I took it to help her from the car.
“Are you in love with me,” she said low in my ear, “or why did I have to come alone?”
“That’s the secret of Castle Rackrent. Tell your chauffeur to go far away and spend an hour.”
“Come back in an hour, Ferdie.” Then in a grave murmur: “His name is Ferdie.”
“Does the gasoline affect his nose?”
“I don’t think so,” she said innocently. “Why?”
We went in. To my overwhelming surprise the living-room
was deserted.
“Well, that’s funny,” I exclaimed.
“What’s funny?”
She turned her head as there was a light dignified knocking
at the front door. I went out and opened it. Gatsby, pale as death, with his hands plunged like weights in his coat pockets, was standing in a puddle of water glaring tragically into my eyes.
With his hands still in his coat pockets he stalked by me into the hall, turned sharply as if he were on a wire, and disap- peared into the living-room. It wasn’t a bit funny. Aware of the
66
loud beating of my own heart I pulled the door to against the increasing rain.
For half a minute there wasn’t a sound. Then from the living- room I heard a sort of choking murmur and part of a laugh, fol- lowed by Daisy’s voice on a clear artificial note: “I certainly am awfully glad to see you again.”
A pause; it endured horribly. I had nothing to do in the hall, so I went into the room.
Gatsby, his hands still in his pockets, was reclining against the mantelpiece in a strained counterfeit of perfect ease, even of boredom. His head leaned back so far that it rested against the face of a defunct mantelpiece clock, and from this position his distraught eyes stared down at Daisy, who was sitting, frightened but graceful, on the edge of a stiff chair.
“We’ve met before,” muttered Gatsby. His eyes glanced mo- mentarily at me, and his lips parted with an abortive attempt at a laugh. Luckily the clock took this moment to tilt dangerously at the pressure of his head, whereupon he turned and caught it with trembling fingers, and set it back in place. Then he sat down, rigidly, his elbow on the arm of the sofa and his chin in his hand.
“I’m sorry about the clock,” he said.
My own face had now assumed a deep tropical burn. I couldn’t muster up a single commonplace out of the thousand in my head.
“It’s an old clock,” I told them idiotically.
I think we all believed for a moment that it had smashed in pieces on the floor.
“We haven’t met for many years,” said Daisy, her voice as matter-of-fact as it could ever be.
“Five years next November.”
The automatic quality of Gatsby’s answer set us all back at least another minute. I had them both on their feet with the desperate suggestion that they help me make tea in the kit- chen when the demoniac Finn brought it in on a tray.
Amid the welcome confusion of cups and cakes a certain physical decency established itself. Gatsby got himself into a shadow and, while Daisy and I talked, looked conscientiously from one to the other of us with tense, unhappy eyes. However,
67
as calmness wasn’t an end in itself, I made an excuse at the first possible moment, and got to my feet.
“Where are you going?” demanded Gatsby in immediate alarm.
“I’ll be back.”
“I’ve got to speak to you about something before you go.”
He followed me wildly into the kitchen, closed the door, and
whispered:
“Oh, God!” in a miserable way.
“What’s the matter?”
“This is a terrible mistake,” he said, shaking his head from
side to side, “a terrible, terrible mistake.”
“You’re just embarrassed, that’s all,” and luckily I added:
“Daisy’s embarrassed too.”
“She’s embarrassed?” he repeated incredulously.
“Just as much as you are.”
“Don’t talk so loud.”
“You’re acting like a little boy,” I broke out impatiently. “Not
only that, but you’re rude. Daisy’s sitting in there all alone.”
He raised his hand to stop my words, looked at me with un- forgettable reproach, and, opening the door cautiously, went
back into the other room.
I walked out the back way — just as Gatsby had when he had
made his nervous circuit of the house half an hour before — and ran for a huge black knotted tree, whose massed leaves made a fabric against the rain. Once more it was pouring, and my irregular lawn, well-shaved by Gatsby’s gardener, aboun- ded in small, muddy swamps and prehistoric marshes. There was nothing to look at from under the tree except Gatsby’s enormous house, so I stared at it, like Kant at his church steeple, for half an hour. A brewer had built it early in the “period.” craze, a decade before, and there was a story that he’d agreed to pay five years’ taxes on all the neighboring cot- tages if the owners would have their roofs thatched with straw. Perhaps their refusal took the heart out of his plan to Found a Family — he went into an immediate decline. His children sold his house with the black wreath still on the door. Americans, while occasionally willing to be serfs, have always been obstin- ate about being peasantry.
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After half an hour, the sun shone again, and the grocer’s automobile rounded Gatsby’s drive with the raw material for his servants’ dinner — I felt sure he wouldn’t eat a spoonful. A maid began opening the upper windows of his house, appeared momentarily in each, and, leaning from a large central bay, spat meditatively into the garden. It was time I went back. While the rain continued it had seemed like the murmur of their voices, rising and swelling a little now and then with gusts of emotion. But in the new silence I felt that silence had fallen within the house too.
I went in — after making every possible noise in the kitchen, short of pushing over the stove — but I don’t believe they heard a sound. They were sitting at either end of the couch, looking at each other as if some question had been asked, or was in the air, and every vestige of embarrassment was gone. Daisy’s face was smeared with tears, and when I came in she jumped up and began wiping at it with her handkerchief before a mirror. But there was a change in Gatsby that was simply confounding. He literally glowed; without a word or a gesture of exultation a new well-being radiated from him and filled the little room.
“Oh, hello, old sport,” he said, as if he hadn’t seen me for years. I thought for a moment he was going to shake hands.
“It’s stopped raining.”
“Has it?” When he realized what I was talking about, that there were twinkle-bells of sunshine in the room, he smiled like a weather man, like an ecstatic patron of recurrent light, and repeated the news to Daisy. “What do you think of that? It’s stopped raining.”
“I’m glad, Jay.” Her throat, full of aching, grieving beauty, told only of her unexpected joy.
“I want you and Daisy to come over to my house,” he said, “I’d like to show her around.”
“You’re sure you want me to come?”
“Absolutely, old sport.”
Daisy went up-stairs to wash her face — too late I thought
with humiliation of my towels — while Gatsby and I waited on the lawn.
“My house looks well, doesn’t it?” he demanded. “See how the whole front of it catches the light.”
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I agreed that it was splendid.
“Yes.” His eyes went over it, every arched door and square tower. “It took me just three years to earn the money that bought it.”
“I thought you inherited your money.”
“I did, old sport,” he said automatically, “but I lost most of it in the big panic — the panic of the war.”
I think he hardly knew what he was saying, for when I asked him what business he was in he answered, “That’s my affair,” before he realized that it wasn’t the appropriate reply.
“Oh, I’ve been in several things,” he corrected himself. “I was in the drug business and then I was in the oil business. But I’m not in either one now.” He looked at me with more atten- tion. “Do you mean you’ve been thinking over what I proposed the other night?”
Before I could answer, Daisy came out of the house and two rows of brass buttons on her dress gleamed in the sunlight.
“That huge place THERE?” she cried pointing.
“Do you like it?”
“I love it, but I don’t see how you live there all alone.”
“I keep it always full of interesting people, night and day.
People who do interesting things. Celebrated people.”
Instead of taking the short cut along the Sound we went down the road and entered by the big postern. With enchant- ing murmurs Daisy admired this aspect or that of the feudal sil- houette against the sky, admired the gardens, the sparkling odor of jonquils and the frothy odor of hawthorn and plum blos- soms and the pale gold odor of kiss-me-at-the-gate. It was strange to reach the marble steps and find no stir of bright dresses in and out the door, and hear no sound but bird voices
in the trees.
And inside, as we wandered through Marie Antoinette music-
rooms and Restoration salons, I felt that there were guests concealed behind every couch and table, under orders to be breathlessly silent until we had passed through. As Gatsby closed the door of “the Merton College Library.” I could have sworn I heard the owl-eyed man break into ghostly laughter.
We went up-stairs, through period bedrooms swathed in rose and lavender silk and vivid with new flowers, through dressing- rooms and poolrooms, and bathrooms with sunken baths —
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intruding into one chamber where a dishevelled man in paja- mas was doing liver exercises on the floor. It was Mr. Klipspringer, the “boarder.” I had seen him wandering hungrily about the beach that morning. Finally we came to Gatsby’s own apartment, a bedroom and a bath, and an Adam study, where we sat down and drank a glass of some Chartreuse he took from a cupboard in the wall.
He hadn’t once ceased looking at Daisy, and I think he reval- ued everything in his house according to the measure of re- sponse it drew from her well-loved eyes. Sometimes, too, he stared around at his possessions in a dazed way, as though in her actual and astounding presence none of it was any longer real. Once he nearly toppled down a flight of stairs.
His bedroom was the simplest room of all — except where the dresser was garnished with a toilet set of pure dull gold. Daisy took the brush with delight, and smoothed her hair, whereupon Gatsby sat down and shaded his eyes and began to laugh.
“It’s the funniest thing, old sport,” he said hilariously. “I can’t — When I try to ——”
He had passed visibly through two states and was entering upon a third. After his embarrassment and his unreasoning joy he was consumed with wonder at her presence. He had been full of the idea so long, dreamed it right through to the end, waited with his teeth set, so to speak, at an inconceivable pitch of intensity. Now, in the reaction, he was running down like an overwound clock.
Recovering himself in a minute he opened for us two hulking patent cabinets which held his massed suits and dressing- gowns and ties, and his shirts, piled like bricks in stacks a dozen high.
“I’ve got a man in England who buys me clothes. He sends over a selection of things at the beginning of each season, spring and fall.”
He took out a pile of shirts and began throwing them, one by one, before us, shirts of sheer linen and thick silk and fine flan- nel, which lost their folds as they fell and covered the table in many-colored disarray. While we admired he brought more and the soft rich heap mounted higher — shirts with stripes and scrolls and plaids in coral and apple-green and lavender and
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faint orange, and monograms of Indian blue. Suddenly, with a strained sound, Daisy bent her head into the shirts and began to cry stormily.
“They’re such beautiful shirts,” she sobbed, her voice muffled in the thick folds. “It makes me sad because I’ve never seen such — such beautiful shirts before.”
After the house, we were to see the grounds and the swimming-pool, and the hydroplane and the mid-summer flowers — but outside Gatsby’s window it began to rain again, so we stood in a row looking at the corrugated surface of the Sound.
“If it wasn’t for the mist we could see your home across the bay,” said Gatsby. “You always have a green light that burns all night at the end of your dock.”
Daisy put her arm through his abruptly, but he seemed ab- sorbed in what he had just said. Possibly it had occurred to him that the colossal significance of that light had now vanished forever. Compared to the great distance that had separated him from Daisy it had seemed very near to her, almost touch- ing her. It had seemed as close as a star to the moon. Now it was again a green light on a dock. His count of enchanted ob- jects had diminished by one.
I began to walk about the room, examining various indefinite objects in the half darkness. A large photograph of an elderly man in yachting costume attracted me, hung on the wall over his desk.
“Who’s this?”
“That? That’s Mr. Dan Cody, old sport.”
The name sounded faintly familiar.
“He’s dead now. He used to be my best friend years ago.” There was a small picture of Gatsby, also in yachting cos-
tume, on the bureau — Gatsby with his head thrown back defi- antly — taken apparently when he was about eighteen.
“I adore it,” exclaimed Daisy. “The pompadour! You never told me you had a pompadour — or a yacht.”
“Look at this,” said Gatsby quickly. “Here’s a lot of clippings — about you.”
They stood side by side examining it. I was going to ask to see the rubies when the phone rang, and Gatsby took up the receiver.
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“Yes… . well, I can’t talk now… . I can’t talk now, old sport… . I said a SMALL town… . he must know what a small town is… . well, he’s no use to us if Detroit is his idea of a small town… .”
He rang off.
“Come here QUICK!” cried Daisy at the window.
The rain was still falling, but the darkness had parted in the
west, and there was a pink and golden billow of foamy clouds above the sea.
“Look at that,” she whispered, and then after a moment: “I’d like to just get one of those pink clouds and put you in it and push you around.”
I tried to go then, but they wouldn’t hear of it; perhaps my presence made them feel more satisfactorily alone.
“I know what we’ll do,” said Gatsby, “we’ll have Klipspringer play the piano.”
He went out of the room calling “Ewing!” and returned in a few minutes accompanied by an embarrassed, slightly worn young man, with shell-rimmed glasses and scanty blond hair. He was now decently clothed in a “sport shirt,” open at the neck, sneakers, and duck trousers of a nebulous hue.
“Did we interrupt your exercises?” inquired Daisy politely.
“I was asleep,” cried Mr. Klipspringer, in a spasm of embar- rassment. “That is, I’d BEEN asleep. Then I got up… .”
“Klipspringer plays the piano,” said Gatsby, cutting him off. “Don’t you, Ewing, old sport?”
“I don’t play well. I don’t — I hardly play at all. I’m all out of prac ——”
“We’ll go down-stairs,” interrupted Gatsby. He flipped a switch. The gray windows disappeared as the house glowed full of light.
In the music-room Gatsby turned on a solitary lamp beside the piano. He lit Daisy’s cigarette from a trembling match, and sat down with her on a couch far across the room, where there was no light save what the gleaming floor bounced in from the hall.
When Klipspringer had played THE LOVE NEST. he turned around on the bench and searched unhappily for Gatsby in the gloom.
“I’m all out of practice, you see. I told you I couldn’t play. I’m all out of prac ——”
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“Don’t talk so much, old sport,” commanded Gatsby. “Play!” “IN THE MORNING,
IN THE EVENING,
AIN’T WE GOT FUN——”
Outside the wind was loud and there was a faint flow of thun- der along the Sound. All the lights were going on in West Egg now; the electric trains, men-carrying, were plunging home through the rain from New York. It was the hour of a profound human change, and excitement was generating on the air. “ONE THING’S SURE AND NOTHING’S SURER
THE RICH GET RICHER AND THE POOR GET— CHILDREN. IN THE MEANTIME,
IN BETWEEN TIME——”
As I went over to say good-by I saw that the expression of be- wilderment had come back into Gatsby’s face, as though a faint doubt had occurred to him as to the quality of his present hap- piness. Almost five years! There must have been moments even that afternoon whe Daisy tumbled short of his dreams — not through her own fault, but because of the colossal vitality of his illusion. It had gone beyond her, beyond everything. He had thrown himself into it with a creative passion, adding to it all the time, decking it out with every bright feather that drifted his way. No amount of fire or freshness can challenge what a man will store up in his ghostly heart.
As I watched him he adjusted himself a little, visibly. His hand took hold of hers, and as she said something low in his ear he turned toward her with a rush of emotion. I think that voice held him most, with its fluctuating, feverish warmth, be- cause it couldn’t be over-dreamed — that voice was a deathless song.
They had forgotten me, but Daisy glanced up and held out her hand; Gatsby didn’t know me now at all. I looked once more at them and they looked back at me, remotely, possessed by intense life. Then I went out of the room and down the marble steps into the rain, leaving them there together.
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1/5
Whoa, it’s a forum signature. Ain’t that cool?
I’m waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
6
Chapter
About this time an ambitious young reporter from New York arrived one morning at Gatsby’s door and asked him if he had anything to say.
“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 wouldn’t reveal or didn’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 didn’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, isn’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 bor- rowed a rowboat, pulled out to the TUOLOMEE, and informed Cody that a wind might catch him and break him up in half an hour.
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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 par- ents at all. The truth was that Jay Gatsby of West Egg, Long Is- land, 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 be- cause 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 grot- esque 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 prom- ise that the rock of the world was founded securely on a fairy’s wing.
An instinct toward his future glory had led him, some months before, to the small Lutheran college of St. Olaf in southern Minnesota. He stayed there two weeks, dismayed at its fero- cious indifference to the drums of his destiny, to destiny itself, and despising the janitor’s work with which he was to pay his way through. Then he drifted back to Lake Superior, and he was still searching for something to do on the day that Dan Cody’s yacht dropped anchor in the shallows alongshore.
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Cody was fifty years old then, a product of the Nevada silver fields, of the Yukon, of every rush for metal since seventy-five. The transactions in Montana copper that made him many times a millionaire found him physically robust but on the verge of soft-mindedness, and, suspecting this, an infinite number of women tried to separate him from his money. The none too sa- vory ramifications by which Ella Kaye, the newspaper woman, played Madame de Maintenon to his weakness and sent him to sea in a yacht, were common knowledge to the turgid sub- journalism of 1902. He had been coasting along all too hospit- able shores for five years when he turned up as James Gatz’s destiny at Little Girls Point.
To the young Gatz, resting on his oars and looking up at the railed deck, the yacht represented all the beauty and glamour in the world. I suppose he smiled at Cody — he had probably discovered that people liked him when he smiled. At any rate Cody asked him a few questions (one of them elicited the brand new name) and found that he was quick and extravagantly am- bitious. A few days later he took him to Duluth and bought him a blue coat, six pair of white duck trousers, and a yachting cap. And when the TUOLOMEE left for the West Indies and the Bar- bary Coast Gatsby left too.
He was employed in a vague personal capacity — while he remained with Cody he was in turn steward, mate, skipper, secretary, and even jailor, for Dan Cody sober knew what lav- ish doings Dan Cody drunk might soon be about, and he provided for such contingencies by reposing more and more trust in Gatsby. The arrangement lasted five years, during which the boat went three times around the Continent. It might have lasted indefinitely except for the fact that Ella Kaye came on board one night in Boston and a week later Dan Cody inhos- pitably died.
I remember the portrait of him up in Gatsby’s bedroom, a gray, florid man with a hard, empty face — the pioneer de- bauchee, who during one phase of American life brought back to the Eastern seaboard the savage violence of the frontier brothel and saloon. It was indirectly due to Cody that Gatsby drank so little. Sometimes in the course of gay parties women used to rub champagne into his hair; for himself he formed the habit of letting liquor alone.
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And it was from Cody that he inherited money — a legacy of twenty-five thousand dollars. He didn’t get it. He never under- stood the legal device that was used against him, but what re- mained of the millions went intact to Ella Kaye. He was left with his singularly appropriate education; the vague contour of Jay Gatsby had filled out to the substantiality of a man.
He told me all this very much later, but I’ve put it down here with the idea of exploding those first wild rumors about his antecedents, which weren’t even faintly true. Moreover he told it to me at a time of confusion, when I had reached the point of believing everything and nothing about him. So I take advant- age of this short halt, while Gatsby, so to speak, caught his breath, to clear this set of misconceptions away.
It was a halt, too, in my association with his affairs. For sev- eral weeks I didn’t see him or hear his voice on the phone — mostly I was in New York, trotting around with Jordan and try- ing to ingratiate myself with her senile aunt — but finally I went over to his house one Sunday afternoon. I hadn’t been there two minutes when somebody brought Tom Buchanan in for a drink. I was startled, naturally, but the really surprising thing was that it hadn’t happened before.
They were a party of three on horseback — Tom and a man named Sloane and a pretty woman in a brown riding-habit, who had been there previously.
“I’m delighted to see you,” said Gatsby, standing on his porch. “I’m delighted that you dropped in.”
As though they cared!
“Sit right down. Have a cigarette or a cigar.” He walked around the room quickly, ringing bells. “I’ll have something to drink for you in just a minute.”
He was profoundly affected by the fact that Tom was there. But he would be uneasy anyhow until he had given them something, realizing in a vague way that that was all they came for. Mr. Sloane wanted nothing. A lemonade? No, thanks. A little champagne? Nothing at all, thanks… . I’m sorry ——
“Did you have a nice ride?” “Very good roads around here.” “I suppose the automobiles ——” “Yeah.”
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Moved by an irresistible impulse, Gatsby turned to Tom, who had accepted the introduction as a stranger.
“I believe we’ve met somewhere before, Mr. Buchanan.”
“Oh, yes,” said Tom, gruffly polite, but obviously not remem- bering. “So we did. I remember very well.”
“About two weeks ago.”
“That’s right. You were with Nick here.”
“I know your wife,” continued Gatsby, almost aggressively. “That so?”
Tom turned to me.
“You live near here, Nick?”
“Next door.”
“That so?”
Mr. Sloane didn’t enter into the conversation, but lounged
back haughtily in his chair; the woman said nothing either — until unexpectedly, after two highballs, she became cordial.
“We’ll all come over to your next party, Mr. Gatsby,” she sug- gested. “What do you say?”
“Certainly; I’d be delighted to have you.”
“Be ver’ nice,” said Mr. Sloane, without gratitude. “Well — think ought to be starting home.”
“Please don’t hurry,” Gatsby urged them. He had control of himself now, and he wanted to see more of Tom. “Why don’t you — why don’t you stay for supper? I wouldn’t be surprised if some other people dropped in from New York.”
“You come to supper with ME,” said the lady enthusiastically. “Both of you.”
This included me. Mr. Sloane got to his feet.
“Come along,” he said — but to her only.
“I mean it,” she insisted. “I’d love to have you. Lots of room.” Gatsby looked at me questioningly. He wanted to go, and he
didn’t see that Mr. Sloane had determined he shouldn’t. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to,” I said.
“Well, you come,” she urged, concentrating on Gatsby. Mr. Sloane murmured something close to her ear.
“We won’t be late if we start now,” she insisted aloud.
“I haven’t got a horse,” said Gatsby. “I used to ride in the army, but I’ve never bought a horse. I’ll have to follow you in my car. Excuse me for just a minute.”
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The rest of us walked out on the porch, where Sloane and the lady began an impassioned conversation aside.
“My God, I believe the man’s coming,” said Tom. “Doesn’t he know she doesn’t want him?”
“She says she does want him.”
“She has a big dinner party and he won’t know a soul there.” He frowned. “I wonder where in the devil he met Daisy. By God, I may be old-fashioned in my ideas, but women run around too much these days to suit me. They meet all kinds of crazy fish.”
Suddenly Mr. Sloane and the lady walked down the steps and mounted their horses.
“Come on,” said Mr. Sloane to Tom, “we’re late. We’ve got to go.” And then to me: “Tell him we couldn’t wait, will you?”
Tom and I shook hands, the rest of us exchanged a cool nod, and they trotted quickly down the drive, disappearing under the August foliage just as Gatsby, with hat and light overcoat in hand, came out the front door.
Tom was evidently perturbed at Daisy’s running around alone, for on the following Saturday night he came with her to Gatsby’s party. Perhaps his presence gave the evening its pe- culiar quality of oppressiveness — it stands out in my memory from Gatsby’s other parties that summer. There were the same people, or at least the same sort of people, the same profusion of champagne, the same many-colored, many-keyed commo- tion, but I felt an unpleasantness in the air, a pervading harsh- ness that hadn’t been there before. Or perhaps I had merely grown used to it, grown to accept West Egg as a world com- plete in itself, with its own standards and its own great figures, second to nothing because it had no consciousness of being so, and now I was looking at it again, through Daisy’s eyes. It is in- variably saddening to look through new eyes at things upon which you have expended your own powers of adjustment.
They arrived at twilight, and, as we strolled out among the sparkling hundreds, Daisy’s voice was playing murmurous tricks in her throat.
“These things excite me so,” she whispered.
“If you want to kiss me any time during the evening, Nick, just let me know and I’ll be glad to arrange it for you. Just
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mention my name. Or present a green card. I’m giving out green ——”
“Look around,” suggested Gatsby.
“I’m looking around. I’m having a marvelous ——”
“You must see the faces of many people you’ve heard about.” Tom’s arrogant eyes roamed the crowd.
“We don’t go around very much,” he said. “In fact, I was just
thinking I don’t know a soul here.”
“Perhaps you know that lady.” Gatsby indicated a gorgeous,
scarcely human orchid of a woman who sat in state under a white plum tree. Tom and Daisy stared, with that peculiarly un- real feeling that accompanies the recognition of a hitherto ghostly celebrity of the movies.
“She’s lovely,” said Daisy.
“The man bending over her is her director.”
He took them ceremoniously from group to group:
“Mrs. Buchanan … and Mr. Buchanan ——” After an instant’s
hesitation he added: “the polo player.”
“Oh no,” objected Tom quickly, “not me.”
But evidently the sound of it pleased Gatsby, for Tom re-
mained “the polo player.” for the rest of the evening.
“I’ve never met so many celebrities!” Daisy exclaimed. “I liked that man — what was his name?— with the sort of blue
nose.”
Gatsby identified him, adding that he was a small producer. “Well, I liked him anyhow.”
“I’d a little rather not be the polo player,” said Tom pleas-
antly, “I’d rather look at all these famous people in — in oblivion.”
Daisy and Gatsby danced. I remember being surprised by his graceful, conservative fox-trot — I had never seen him dance before. Then they sauntered over to my house and sat on the steps for half an hour, while at her request I remained watch- fully in the garden. “In case there’s a fire or a flood,” she ex- plained, “or any act of God.”
Tom appeared from his oblivion as we were sitting down to supper together. “Do you mind if I eat with some people over here?” he said. “A fellow’s getting off some funny stuff.”
“Go ahead,” answered Daisy genially, “and if you want to take down any addresses here’s my little gold pencil.” … she
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looked around after a moment and told me the girl was “com- mon but pretty,” and I knew that except for the half-hour she’d been alone with Gatsby she wasn’t having a good time.
We were at a particularly tipsy table. That was my fault — Gatsby had been called to the phone, and I’d enjoyed these same people only two weeks before. But what had amused me then turned septic on the air now.
“How do you feel, Miss Baedeker?”
The girl addressed was trying, unsuccessfully, to slump against my shoulder. At this inquiry she sat up and opened her eyes.
“Wha’?”
A massive and lethargic woman, who had been urging Daisy to play golf with her at the local club to-morrow, spoke in Miss Baedeker’s defence:
“Oh, she’s all right now. When she’s had five or six cocktails she always starts screaming like that. I tell her she ought to leave it alone.”
“I do leave it alone,” affirmed the accused hollowly.
“We heard you yelling, so I said to Doc Civet here: ‘There’s somebody that needs your help, Doc.’”
“She’s much obliged, I’m sure,” said another friend, without gratitude. “But you got her dress all wet when you stuck her head in the pool.”
“Anything I hate is to get my head stuck in a pool,” mumbled Miss Baedeker. “They almost drowned me once over in New Jersey.”
“Then you ought to leave it alone,” countered Doctor Civet.
“Speak for yourself!” cried Miss Baedeker violently. “Your hand shakes. I wouldn’t let you operate on me!”
It was like that. Almost the last thing I remember was stand- ing with Daisy and watching the moving-picture director and his Star. They were still under the white plum tree and their faces were touching except for a pale, thin ray of moonlight between. It occurred to me that he had been very slowly bend- ing toward her all evening to attain this proximity, and even while I watched I saw him stoop one ultimate degree and kiss at her cheek.
“I like her,” said Daisy, “I think she’s lovely.”
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But the rest offended her — and inarguably, because it wasn’t a gesture but an emotion. She was appalled by West Egg, this unprecedented “place.” that Broadway had begotten upon a Long Island fishing village — appalled by its raw vigor that chafed under the old euphemisms and by the too obtrusive fate that herded its inhabitants along a short-cut from nothing to nothing. She saw something awful in the very simplicity she failed to understand.
I sat on the front steps with them while they waited for their car. It was dark here in front; only the bright door sent ten square feet of light volleying out into the soft black morning. Sometimes a shadow moved against a dressing-room blind above, gave way to another shadow, an indefinite procession of shadows, who rouged and powdered in an invisible glass.
“Who is this Gatsby anyhow?” demanded Tom suddenly. “Some big bootlegger?”
“Where’d you hear that?” I inquired.
“I didn’t hear it. I imagined it. A lot of these newly rich people are just big bootleggers, you know.”
“Not Gatsby,” I said shortly.
He was silent for a moment. The pebbles of the drive crunched under his feet.
“Well, he certainly must have strained himself to get this me- nagerie together.”
A breeze stirred the gray haze of Daisy’s fur collar.
“At least they’re more interesting than the people we know,” she said with an effort.
“You didn’t look so interested.”
“Well, I was.”
Tom laughed and turned to me.
“Did you notice Daisy’s face when that girl asked her to put
her under a cold shower?”
Daisy began to sing with the music in a husky, rhythmic
whisper, bringing out a meaning in each word that it had never had before and would never have again. When the melody rose, her voice broke up sweetly, following it, in a way contralto voices have, and each change tipped out a little of her warm human magic upon the air.
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“Lots of people come who haven’t been invited,” she said suddenly. “That girl hadn’t been invited. They simply force their way in and he’s too polite to object.”
“I’d like to know who he is and what he does,” insisted Tom. “And I think I’ll make a point of finding out.”
“I can tell you right now,” she answered. “He owned some drug-stores, a lot of drug-stores. He built them up himself.”
The dilatory limousine came rolling up the drive.
“Good night, Nick,” said Daisy.
Her glance left me and sought the lighted top of the steps,
where THREE O’CLOCK IN THE MORNING, a neat, sad little waltz of that year, was drifting out the open door. After all, in the very casualness of Gatsby’s party there were romantic pos- sibilities totally absent from her world. What was it up there in the song that seemed to be calling her back inside? What would happen now in the dim, incalculable hours? Perhaps some unbelievable guest would arrive, a person infinitely rare and to be marvelled at, some authentically radiant young girl who with one fresh glance at Gatsby, one moment of magical encounter, would blot out those five years of unwavering devotion.
I stayed late that night, Gatsby asked me to wait until he was free, and I lingered in the garden until the inevitable swimming party had run up, chilled and exalted, from the black beach, until the lights were extinguished in the guest-rooms overhead. When he came down the steps at last the tanned skin was drawn unusually tight on his face, and his eyes were bright and tired.
“She didn’t like it,” he said immediately.
“Of course she did.”
“She didn’t like it,” he insisted. “She didn’t have a good
time.”
He was silent, and I guessed at his unutterable depression.
“I feel far away from her,” he said. “It’s hard to make her
understand.”
“You mean about the dance?”
“The dance?” He dismissed all the dances he had given with
a snap of his fingers. “Old sport, the dance is unimportant.”
He wanted nothing less of Daisy than that she should go to Tom and say: “I never loved you.” After she had obliterated
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four years with that sentence they could decide upon the more practical measures to be taken. One of them was that, after she was free, they were to go back to Louisville and be married from her house — just as if it were five years ago.
“And she doesn’t understand,” he said. “She used to be able to understand. We’d sit for hours ——”
He broke off and began to walk up and down a desolate path of fruit rinds and discarded favors and crushed flowers.
“I wouldn’t ask too much of her,” I ventured. “You can’t re- peat the past.”
“Can’t repeat the past?” he cried incredulously. “Why of course you can!”
He looked around him wildly, as if the past were lurking here in the shadow of his house, just out of reach of his hand.
“I’m going to fix everything just the way it was before,” he said, nodding determinedly. “She’ll see.”
He talked a lot about the past, and I gathered that he wanted to recover something, some idea of himself perhaps, that had gone into loving Daisy. His life had been confused and dis- ordered since then, but if he could once return to a certain starting place and go over it all slowly, he could find out what that thing was… .
… One autumn night, five years before, they had been walk- ing down the street when the leaves were falling, and they came to a place where there were no trees and the sidewalk was white with moonlight. They stopped here and turned to- ward each other. Now it was a cool night with that mysterious excitement in it which comes at the two changes of the year. The quiet lights in the houses were humming out into the dark- ness and there was a stir and bustle among the stars. Out of the corner of his eye Gatsby saw that the blocks of the side- walks really formed a ladder and mounted to a secret place above the trees — he could climb to it, if he climbed alone, and once there he could suck on the pap of life, gulp down the in- comparable milk of wonder.
His heart beat faster and faster as Daisy’s white face came up to his own. He knew that when he kissed this girl, and forever wed his unutterable visions to her perishable breath, his mind would never romp again like the mind of God. So he waited, listening for a moment longer to the tuning-fork that
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had been struck upon a star. Then he kissed her. At his lips’ touch she blossomed for him like a flower and the incarnation was complete.
Through all he said, even through his appalling sentimental- ity, I was reminded of something — an elusive rhythm, a frag- ment of lost words, that I had heard somewhere a long time ago. For a moment a phrase tried to take shape in my mouth and my lips parted like a dumb man’s, as though there was more struggling upon them than a wisp of startled air. But they made no sound, and what I had almost remembered was un- communicable forever.
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7
Chapter
It was when curiosity about Gatsby was at its highest that the lights in his house failed to go on one Saturday night — and, as obscurely as it had begun, his career as Trimalchio was over. Only gradually did I become aware that the automobiles which turned expectantly into his drive stayed for just a minute and then drove sulkily away. Wondering if he were sick I went over to find out — an unfamiliar butler with a villainous face squinted at me suspiciously from the door.
“Is Mr. Gatsby sick?”
“Nope.” After a pause he added “sir.” in a dilatory, grudging way.
“I hadn’t seen him around, and I was rather worried. Tell him Mr. Carraway came over.”
“Who?” he demanded rudely.
“Carraway.”
“Carraway. All right, I’ll tell him.” Abruptly he slammed the
door.
My Finn informed me that Gatsby had dismissed every ser-
vant in his house a week ago and replaced them with half a dozen others, who never went into West Egg Village to be bribed by the tradesmen, but ordered moderate supplies over the telephone. The grocery boy reported that the kitchen looked like a pigsty, and the general opinion in the village was that the new people weren’t servants at all.
Next day Gatsby called me on the phone. “Going away?” I inquired.
“No, old sport.”
“I hear you fired all your servants.”
“I wanted somebody who wouldn’t gossip. Daisy comes over quite often — in the afternoons.”
So the whole caravansary had fallen in like a card house at the disapproval in her eyes.
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“They’re some people Wolfsheim wanted to do something for. They’re all brothers and sisters. They used to run a small hotel.”
“I see.”
He was calling up at Daisy’s request — would I come to lunch at her house to-morrow? Miss Baker would be there. Half an hour later Daisy herself telephoned and seemed relieved to find that I was coming. Something was up. And yet I couldn’t believe that they would choose this occasion for a scene — es- pecially for the rather harrowing scene that Gatsby had out- lined in the garden.
The next day was broiling, almost the last, certainly the warmest, of the summer. As my train emerged from the tunnel into sunlight, only the hot whistles of the National Biscuit Com- pany broke the simmering hush at noon. The straw seats of the car hovered on the edge of combustion; the woman next to me perspired delicately for a while into her white shirtwaist, and then, as her newspaper dampened under her fingers, lapsed despairingly into deep heat with a desolate cry. Her pocket- book slapped to the floor.
“Oh, my!” she gasped.
I picked it up with a weary bend and handed it back to her, holding it at arm’s length and by the extreme tip of the corners to indicate that I had no designs upon it — but every one near by, including the woman, suspected me just the same.
“Hot!” said the conductor to familiar faces. “Some weather! hot! hot! hot! Is it hot enough for you? Is it hot? Is it … ?”
My commutation ticket came back to me with a dark stain from his hand. That any one should care in this heat whose flushed lips he kissed, whose head made damp the pajama pocket over his heart!
… Through the hall of the Buchanans’ house blew a faint wind, carrying the sound of the telephone bell out to Gatsby and me as we waited at the door.
“The master’s body!” roared the butler into the mouthpiece. “I’m sorry, madame, but we can’t furnish it — it’s far too hot to touch this noon!”
What he really said was: “Yes … yes … I’ll see.”
He set down the receiver and came toward us, glistening slightly, to take our stiff straw hats.
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“Madame expects you in the salon!” he cried, needlessly in- dicating the direction. In this heat every extra gesture was an affront to the common store of life.
The room, shadowed well with awnings, was dark and cool. Daisy and Jordan lay upon an enormous couch, like silver idols weighing down their own white dresses against the singing breeze of the fans.
“We can’t move,” they said together.
Jordan’s fingers, powdered white over their tan, rested for a moment in mine.
“And Mr. Thomas Buchanan, the athlete?” I inquired.
Simultaneously I heard his voice, gruff, muffled, husky, at the hall telephone.
Gatsby stood in the centre of the crimson carpet and gazed around with fascinated eyes. Daisy watched him and laughed, her sweet, exciting laugh; a tiny gust of powder rose from her bosom into the air.
“The rumor is,” whispered Jordan, “that that’s Tom’s girl on the telephone.”
We were silent. The voice in the hall rose high with annoy- ance: “Very well, then, I won’t sell you the car at all… . I’m un- der no obligations to you at all … and as for your bothering me about it at lunch time, I won’t stand that at all!”
“Holding down the receiver,” said Daisy cynically.
“No, he’s not,” I assured her. “It’s a bona-fide deal. I happen to know about it.”
Tom flung open the door, blocked out its space for a moment with his thick body, and hurried into the room.
“Mr. Gatsby!” He put out his broad, flat hand with well-con- cealed dislike. “I’m glad to see you, sir… . Nick… .”
“Make us a cold drink,” cried Daisy.
As he left the room again she got up and went over to Gatsby and pulled his face down, kissing him on the mouth.
“You know I love you,” she murmured.
“You forget there’s a lady present,” said Jordan.
Daisy looked around doubtfully.
“You kiss Nick too.”
“What a low, vulgar girl!”
“I don’t care!” cried Daisy, and began to clog on the brick
fireplace. Then she remembered the heat and sat down guiltily
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on the couch just as a freshly laundered nurse leading a little girl came into the room.
“Bles-sed pre-cious,” she crooned, holding out her arms. “Come to your own mother that loves you.”
The child, relinquished by the nurse, rushed across the room and rooted shyly into her mother’s dress.
“The bles-sed pre-cious! Did mother get powder on your old yellowy hair? Stand up now, and say — How-de-do.”
Gatsby and I in turn leaned down and took the small, reluct- ant hand. Afterward he kept looking at the child with surprise. I don’t think he had ever really believed in its existence before.
“I got dressed before luncheon,” said the child, turning eagerly to Daisy.
“That’s because your mother wanted to show you off.” Her face bent into the single wrinkle of the small, white neck. “You dream, you. You absolute little dream.”
“Yes,” admitted the child calmly. “Aunt Jordan’s got on a white dress too.”
“How do you like mother’s friends?” Daisy turned her around so that she faced Gatsby. “Do you think they’re pretty?”
“Where’s Daddy?”
“She doesn’t look like her father,” explained Daisy. “She looks like me. She’s got my hair and shape of the face.”
Daisy sat back upon the couch. The nurse took a step for- ward and held out her hand.
“Come, Pammy.”
“Good-by, sweetheart!”
With a reluctant backward glance the well-disciplined child
held to her nurse’s hand and was pulled out the door, just as Tom came back, preceding four gin rickeys that clicked full of ice.
Gatsby took up his drink.
“They certainly look cool,” he said, with visible tension.
We drank in long, greedy swallows.
“I read somewhere that the sun’s getting hotter every year,”
said Tom genially. “It seems that pretty soon the earth’s going to fall into the sun — or wait a minute — it’s just the opposite — the sun’s getting colder every year.
“Come outside,” he suggested to Gatsby, “I’d like you to have a look at the place.”
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I went with them out to the veranda. On the green Sound, stagnant in the heat, one small sail crawled slowly toward the fresher sea. Gatsby’s eyes followed it momentarily; he raised his hand and pointed across the bay.
“I’m right across from you.”
“So you are.”
Our eyes lifted over the rose-beds and the hot lawn and the
weedy refuse of the dog-days along-shore. Slowly the white wings of the boat moved against the blue cool limit of the sky. Ahead lay the scalloped ocean and the abounding blessed isles.
“There’s sport for you,” said Tom, nodding. “I’d like to be out there with him for about an hour.”
We had luncheon in the dining-room, darkened too against the heat, and drank down nervous gayety with the cold ale.
“What’ll we do with ourselves this afternoon?” cried Daisy, “and the day after that, and the next thirty years?”
“Don’t be morbid,” Jordan said. “Life starts all over again when it gets crisp in the fall.”
“But it’s so hot,” insisted Daisy, on the verge of tears, “and everything’s so confused. Let’s all go to town!”
Her voice struggled on through the heat, beating against it, molding its senselessness into forms.
“I’ve heard of making a garage out of a stable,” Tom was say- ing to Gatsby, “but I’m the first man who ever made a stable out of a garage.”
“Who wants to go to town?” demanded Daisy insistently. Gatsby’s eyes floated toward her. “Ah,” she cried, “you look so cool.”
Their eyes met, and they stared together at each other, alone in space. With an effort she glanced down at the table.
“You always look so cool,” she repeated.
She had told him that she loved him, and Tom Buchanan saw. He was astounded. His mouth opened a little, and he looked at Gatsby, and then back at Daisy as if he had just recognized her as some one he knew a long time ago.
“You resemble the advertisement of the man,” she went on innocently. “You know the advertisement of the man ——”
“All right,” broke in Tom quickly, “I’m perfectly willing to go to town. Come on — we’re all going to town.”
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He got up, his eyes still flashing between Gatsby and his wife. No one moved.
“Come on!” His temper cracked a little. “What’s the matter, anyhow? If we’re going to town, let’s start.”
His hand, trembling with his effort at self-control, bore to his lips the last of his glass of ale. Daisy’s voice got us to our feet and out on to the blazing gravel drive.
“Are we just going to go?” she objected. “Like this? Aren’t we going to let any one smoke a cigarette first?”
“Everybody smoked all through lunch.”
“Oh, let’s have fun,” she begged him. “It’s too hot to fuss.” He didn’t answer.
“Have it your own way,” she said. “Come on, Jordan.”
They went up-stairs to get ready while we three men stood there shuffling the hot pebbles with our feet. A silver curve of the moon hovered already in the western sky. Gatsby started to speak, changed his mind, but not before Tom wheeled and faced him expectantly.
“Have you got your stables here?” asked Gatsby with an effort.
“About a quarter of a mile down the road.”
“Oh.”
A pause.
“I don’t see the idea of going to town,” broke out Tom sav-
agely. “Women get these notions in their heads ——”
“Shall we take anything to drink?” called Daisy from an up-
per window.
“I’ll get some whiskey,” answered Tom. He went inside. Gatsby turned to me rigidly:
“I can’t say anything in his house, old sport.”
“She’s got an indiscreet voice,” I remarked. “It’s full of ——”
I hesitated.
“Her voice is full of money,” he said suddenly.
That was it. I’d never understood before. It was full of money
— that was the inexhaustible charm that rose and fell in it, the jingle of it, the cymbals’ song of it… . high in a white palace the king’s daughter, the golden girl… .
Tom came out of the house wrapping a quart bottle in a tow- el, followed by Daisy and Jordan wearing small tight hats of metallic cloth and carrying light capes over their arms.
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“Shall we all go in my car?” suggested Gatsby. He felt the hot, green leather of the seat. “I ought to have left it in the shade.”
“Is it standard shift?” demanded Tom.
“Yes.”
“Well, you take my coupe and let me drive your car to town.” The suggestion was distasteful to Gatsby.
“I don’t think there’s much gas,” he objected.
“Plenty of gas,” said Tom boisterously. He looked at the
gauge. “And if it runs out I can stop at a drug-store. You can buy anything at a drug-store nowadays.”
A pause followed this apparently pointless remark. Daisy looked at Tom frowning, and an indefinable expression, at once definitely unfamiliar and vaguely recognizable, as if I had only heard it described in words, passed over Gatsby’s face.
“Come on, Daisy,” said Tom, pressing her with his hand to- ward Gatsby’s car. “I’ll take you in this circus wagon.”
He opened the door, but she moved out from the circle of his arm.
“You take Nick and Jordan. We’ll follow you in the coupe.”
She walked close to Gatsby, touching his coat with her hand. Jordan and Tom and I got into the front seat of Gatsby’s car, Tom pushed the unfamiliar gears tentatively, and we shot off into the oppressive heat, leaving them out of sight behind.
“Did you see that?” demanded Tom.
“See what?”
He looked at me keenly, realizing that Jordan and I must
have known all along.
“You think I’m pretty dumb, don’t you?” he suggested. “Per-
haps I am, but I have a — almost a second sight, sometimes, that tells me what to do. Maybe you don’t believe that, but science ——”
He paused. The immediate contingency overtook him, pulled him back from the edge of the theoretical abyss.
“I’ve made a small investigation of this fellow,” he continued. “I could have gone deeper if I’d known ——”
“Do you mean you’ve been to a medium?” inquired Jordan humorously.
“What?” Confused, he stared at us as we laughed. “A medium?”
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“About Gatsby.”
“About Gatsby! No, I haven’t. I said I’d been making a small investigation of his past.”
“And you found he was an Oxford man,” said Jordan helpfully.
“An Oxford man!” He was incredulous. “Like hell he is! He wears a pink suit.”
“Nevertheless he’s an Oxford man.”
“Oxford, New Mexico,” snorted Tom contemptuously, “or something like that.”
“Listen, Tom. If you’re such a snob, why did you invite him to lunch?” demanded Jordan crossly.
“Daisy invited him; she knew him before we were married — God knows where!”
We were all irritable now with the fading ale, and aware of it we drove for a while in silence. Then as Doctor T. J. Eckle- burg’s faded eyes came into sight down the road, I re- membered Gatsby’s caution about gasoline.
“We’ve got enough to get us to town,” said Tom.
“But there’s a garage right here,” objected Jordan. “I don’t want to get stalled in this baking heat.” Tom threw on both brakes impatiently, and we slid to an abrupt dusty stop under Wilson’s sign. After a moment the proprietor emerged from the interior of his establishment and gazed hollow-eyed at the car.
“Let’s have some gas!” cried Tom roughly. “What do you think we stopped for — to admire the view?”
“I’m sick,” said Wilson without moving. “Been sick all day.” “What’s the matter?”
“I’m all run down.”
“Well, shall I help myself?” Tom demanded. “You sounded
well enough on the phone.”
With an effort Wilson left the shade and support of the door-
way and, breathing hard, unscrewed the cap of the tank. In the sunlight his face was green.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt your lunch,” he said. “But I need money pretty bad, and I was wondering what you were going to do with your old car.”
“How do you like this one?” inquired Tom. “I bought it last week.”
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“It’s a nice yellow one,” said Wilson, as he strained at the handle.
“Like to buy it?”
“Big chance,” Wilson smiled faintly. “No, but I could make some money on the other.”
“What do you want money for, all of a sudden?”
“I’ve been here too long. I want to get away. My wife and I want to go West.”
“Your wife does,” exclaimed Tom, startled.
“She’s been talking about it for ten years.” He rested for a moment against the pump, shading his eyes. “And now she’s going whether she wants to or not. I’m going to get her away.”
The coupe flashed by us with a flurry of dust and the flash of a waving hand.
“What do I owe you?” demanded Tom harshly.
“I just got wised up to something funny the last two days,” remarked Wilson. “That’s why I want to get away. That’s why I been bothering you about the car.”
“What do I owe you?”
“Dollar twenty.”
The relentless beating heat was beginning to confuse me and
I had a bad moment there before I realized that so far his sus- picions hadn’t alighted on Tom. He had discovered that Myrtle had some sort of life apart from him in another world, and the shock had made him physically sick. I stared at him and then at Tom, who had made a parallel discovery less than an hour be- fore — and it occurred to me that there was no difference between men, in intelligence or race, so profound as the differ- ence between the sick and the well. Wilson was so sick that he looked guilty, unforgivably guilty — as if he had just got some poor girl with child.
“I’ll let you have that car,” said Tom. “I’ll send it over to-mor- row afternoon.”
That locality was always vaguely disquieting, even in the broad glare of afternoon, and now I turned my head as though I had been warned of something behind. Over the ashheaps the giant eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg kept their vigil, but I per- ceived, after a moment, that other eyes were regarding us with peculiar intensity from less than twenty feet away.
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In one of the windows over the garage the curtains had been moved aside a little, and Myrtle Wilson was peering down at the car. So engrossed was she that she had no consciousness of being observed, and one emotion after another crept into her face like objects into a slowly developing picture. Her ex- pression was curiously familiar — it was an expression I had of- ten seen on women’s faces, but on Myrtle Wilson’s face it seemed purposeless and inexplicable until I realized that her eyes, wide with jealous terror, were fixed not on Tom, but on Jordan Baker, whom she took to be his wife.
There is no confusion like the confusion of a simple mind, and as we drove away Tom was feeling the hot whips of panic. His wife and his mistress, until an hour ago secure and inviol- ate, were slipping precipitately from his control. Instinct made him step on the accelerator with the double purpose of over- taking Daisy and leaving Wilson behind, and we sped along to- ward Astoria at fifty miles an hour, until, among the spidery girders of the elevated, we came in sight of the easy-going blue coupe.
“Those big movies around Fiftieth Street are cool,” sugges- ted Jordan. “I love New York on summer afternoons when every one’s away. There’s something very sensuous about it — overripe, as if all sorts of funny fruits were going to fall into your hands.”
The word “sensuous” had the effect of further disquieting Tom, but before he could invent a protest the coupe came to a stop, and Daisy signaled us to draw up alongside.
“Where are we going?” she cried.
“How about the movies?”
“It’s so hot,” she complained. “You go. We’ll ride around and
meet you after.” With an effort her wit rose faintly, “We’ll meet you on some corner. I’ll be the man smoking two cigarettes.”
“We can’t argue about it here,” Tom said impatiently, as a truck gave out a cursing whistle behind us. “You follow me to the south side of Central Park, in front of the Plaza.”
Several times he turned his head and looked back for their car, and if the traffic delayed them he slowed up until they came into sight. I think he was afraid they would dart down a side street and out of his life forever.
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But they didn’t. And we all took the less explicable step of en- gaging the parlor of a suite in the Plaza Hotel.
The prolonged and tumultuous argument that ended by herd- ing us into that room eludes me, though I have a sharp physical memory that, in the course of it, my underwear kept climbing like a damp snake around my legs and intermittent beads of sweat raced cool across my back. The notion originated with Daisy’s suggestion that we hire five bath-rooms and take cold baths, and then assumed more tangible form as “a place to have a mint julep.” Each of us said over and over that it was a “crazy idea.”— we all talked at once to a baffled clerk and thought, or pretended to think, that we were being very funny… .
The room was large and stifling, and, though it was already four o’clock, opening the windows admitted Only a gust of hot shrubbery from the Park. Daisy went to the mirror and stood with her back to us, fixing her hair.
“It’s a swell suite,” whispered Jordan respectfully, and every one laughed.
“Open another window,” commanded Daisy, without turning around.
“There aren’t any more.”
“Well, we’d better telephone for an axe ——”
“The thing to do is to forget about the heat,” said Tom impa-
tiently. “You make it ten times worse by crabbing about it.”
He unrolled the bottle of whiskey from the towel and put it
on the table.
“Why not let her alone, old sport?” remarked Gatsby. “You’re
the one that wanted to come to town.”
There was a moment of silence. The telephone book slipped
from its nail and splashed to the floor, whereupon Jordan whispered, “Excuse me.”— but this time no one laughed.
“I’ll pick it up,” I offered.
“I’ve got it.” Gatsby examined the parted string, muttered “Hum!” in an interested way, and tossed the book on a chair.
“That’s a great expression of yours, isn’t it?” said Tom sharply.
“What is?”
“All this ‘old sport’ business. Where’d you pick that up?”
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“Now see here, Tom,” said Daisy, turning around from the mirror, “if you’re going to make personal remarks I won’t stay here a minute. Call up and order some ice for the mint julep.”
As Tom took up the receiver the compressed heat exploded into sound and we were listening to the portentous chords of Mendelssohn’s Wedding March from the ballroom below.
“Imagine marrying anybody in this heat!” cried Jordan dismally.
“Still — I was married in the middle of June,” Daisy re- membered, “Louisville in June! Somebody fainted. Who was it fainted, Tom?”
“Biloxi,” he answered shortly.
“A man named Biloxi. ‘blocks’ Biloxi, and he made boxes — that’s a fact — and he was from Biloxi, Tennessee.”
“They carried him into my house,” appended Jordan, “be- cause we lived just two doors from the church. And he stayed three weeks, until Daddy told him he had to get out. The day after he left Daddy died.” After a moment she added as if she might have sounded irreverent, “There wasn’t any connection.”
“I used to know a Bill Biloxi from Memphis,” I remarked.
“That was his cousin. I knew his whole family history before he left. He gave me an aluminum putter that I use to-day.”
The music had died down as the ceremony began and now a long cheer floated in at the window, followed by intermittent cries of “Yea-ea-ea!” and finally by a burst of jazz as the dan- cing began.
“We’re getting old,” said Daisy. “If we were young we’d rise and dance.”
“Remember Biloxi,” Jordan warned her. “Where’d you know him, Tom?”
“Biloxi?” He concentrated with an effort. “I didn’t know him. He was a friend of Daisy’s.”
“He was not,” she denied. “I’d never seen him before. He came down in the private car.”
“Well, he said he knew you. He said he was raised in Louis- ville. Asa Bird brought him around at the last minute and asked if we had room for him.”
Jordan smiled.
“He was probably bumming his way home. He told me he was president of your class at Yale.”
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Tom and I looked at each other blankly.
“Biloxi?”
“First place, we didn’t have any president ——”
Gatsby’s foot beat a short, restless tattoo and Tom eyed him
suddenly.
“By the way, Mr. Gatsby, I understand you’re an Oxford
man.”
“Not exactly.”
“Oh, yes, I understand you went to Oxford.”
“Yes — I went there.”
A pause. Then Tom’s voice, incredulous and insulting: “You
must have gone there about the time Biloxi went to New Haven.”
Another pause. A waiter knocked and came in with crushed mint and ice but, the silence was unbroken by his “thank you.” and the soft closing of the door. This tremendous detail was to be cleared up at last.
“I told you I went there,” said Gatsby.
“I heard you, but I’d like to know when.”
“It was in nineteen-nineteen, I only stayed five months.
That’s why I can’t really call myself an Oxford man.”
Tom glanced around to see if we mirrored his unbelief. But
we were all looking at Gatsby.
“It was an opportunity they gave to some of the officers after
the Armistice,” he continued. “We could go to any of the uni- versities in England or France.”
I wanted to get up and slap him on the back. I had one of those renewals of complete faith in him that I’d experienced before.
Daisy rose, smiling faintly, and went to the table.
“Open the whiskey, Tom,” she ordered, “and I’ll make you a mint julep. Then you won’t seem so stupid to yourself… . Look at the mint!”
“Wait a minute,” snapped Tom, “I want to ask Mr. Gatsby one more question.”
“Go on,” Gatsby said politely.
“What kind of a row are you trying to cause in my house anyhow?”
They were out in the open at last and Gatsby was content.
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“He isn’t causing a row.” Daisy looked desperately from one to the other. “You’re causing a row. Please have a little self- control.”
“Self-control!” Repeated Tom incredulously. “I suppose the latest thing is to sit back and let Mr. Nobody from Nowhere make love to your wife. Well, if that’s the idea you can count me out… . Nowadays people begin by sneering at family life and family institutions, and next they’ll throw everything over- board and have intermarriage between black and white.”
Flushed with his impassioned gibberish, he saw himself standing alone on the last barrier of civilization.
“We’re all white here,” murmured Jordan.
“I know I’m not very popular. I don’t give big parties. I sup- pose you’ve got to make your house into a pigsty in order to have any friends — in the modern world.”
Angry as I was, as we all were, I was tempted to laugh whenever he opened his mouth. The transition from libertine to prig was so complete.
“I’ve got something to tell YOU, old sport ——” began Gatsby. But Daisy guessed at his intention.
“Please don’t!” she interrupted helplessly. “Please let’s all go home. Why don’t we all go home?”
“That’s a good idea.” I got up. “Come on, Tom. Nobody wants a drink.”
“I want to know what Mr. Gatsby has to tell me.”
“Your wife doesn’t love you,” said Gatsby. “She’s never loved you. She loves me.”
“You must be crazy!” exclaimed Tom automatically.
Gatsby sprang to his feet, vivid with excitement.
“She never loved you, do you hear?” he cried. “She only mar-
ried you because I was poor and she was tired of waiting for me. It was a terrible mistake, but in her heart she never loved any one except me!”
At this point Jordan and I tried to go, but Tom and Gatsby in- sisted with competitive firmness that we remain — as though neither of them had anything to conceal and it would be a priv- ilege to partake vicariously of their emotions.
“Sit down, Daisy,” Tom’s voice groped unsuccessfully for the paternal note. “What’s been going on? I want to hear all about it.”
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“I told you what’s been going on,” said Gatsby. “Going on for five years — and you didn’t know.”
Tom turned to Daisy sharply.
“You’ve been seeing this fellow for five years?”
“Not seeing,” said Gatsby. “No, we couldn’t meet. But both of
us loved each other all that time, old sport, and you didn’t know. I used to laugh sometimes.”— but there was no laughter in his eyes ——” to think that you didn’t know.”
“Oh — that’s all.” Tom tapped his thick fingers together like a clergyman and leaned back in his chair.
“You’re crazy!” he exploded. “I can’t speak about what happened five years ago, because I didn’t know Daisy then — and I’ll be damned if I see how you got within a mile of her un- less you brought the groceries to the back door. But all the rest of that’s a God damned lie. Daisy loved me when she married me and she loves me now.”
“No,” said Gatsby, shaking his head.
“She does, though. The trouble is that sometimes she gets foolish ideas in her head and doesn’t know what she’s doing.” He nodded sagely. “And what’s more, I love Daisy too. Once in a while I go off on a spree and make a fool of myself, but I al- ways come back, and in my heart I love her all the time.”
“You’re revolting,” said Daisy. She turned to me, and her voice, dropping an octave lower, filled the room with thrilling scorn: “Do you know why we left Chicago? I’m surprised that they didn’t treat you to the story of that little spree.”
Gatsby walked over and stood beside her.
“Daisy, that’s all over now,” he said earnestly. “It doesn’t matter any more. Just tell him the truth — that you never loved him — and it’s all wiped out forever.”
She looked at him blindly. “Why — how could I love him — possibly?”
“You never loved him.”
She hesitated. Her eyes fell on Jordan and me with a sort of appeal, as though she realized at last what she was doing — and as though she had never, all along, intended doing any- thing at all. But it was done now. It was too late.
“I never loved him,” she said, with perceptible reluctance. “Not at Kapiolani?” demanded Tom suddenly.
“No.”
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From the ballroom beneath, muffled and suffocating chords were drifting up on hot waves of air.
“Not that day I carried you down from the Punch Bowl to keep your shoes dry?” There was a husky tenderness in his tone… . “Daisy?”
“Please don’t.” Her voice was cold, but the rancor was gone from it. She looked at Gatsby. “There, Jay,” she said — but her hand as she tried to light a cigarette was trembling. Suddenly she threw the cigarette and the burning match on the carpet.
“Oh, you want too much!” she cried to Gatsby. “I love you now — isn’t that enough? I can’t help what’s past.” She began to sob helplessly. “I did love him once — but I loved you too.”
Gatsby’s eyes opened and closed.
“You loved me TOO?” he repeated.
“Even that’s a lie,” said Tom savagely. “She didn’t know you
were alive. Why — there’re things between Daisy and me that you’ll never know, things that neither of us can ever forget.”
The words seemed to bite physically into Gatsby.
“I want to speak to Daisy alone,” he insisted. “She’s all ex- cited now ——”
“Even alone I can’t say I never loved Tom,” she admitted in a pitiful voice. “It wouldn’t be true.”
“Of course it wouldn’t,” agreed Tom.
She turned to her husband.
“As if it mattered to you,” she said.
“Of course it matters. I’m going to take better care of you
from now on.”
“You don’t understand,” said Gatsby, with a touch of panic.
“You’re not going to take care of her any more.”
“I’m not?” Tom opened his eyes wide and laughed. He could
afford to control himself now. “Why’s that?”
“Daisy’s leaving you.”
“Nonsense.”
“I am, though,” she said with a visible effort.
“She’s not leaving me!” Tom’s words suddenly leaned down
over Gatsby. “Certainly not for a common swindler who’d have to steal the ring he put on her finger.”
“I won’t stand this!” cried Daisy. “Oh, please let’s get out.”
“Who are you, anyhow?” broke out Tom. “You’re one of that bunch that hangs around with Meyer Wolfsheim — that much I
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happen to know. I’ve made a little investigation into your af- fairs — and I’ll carry it further to-morrow.”
“You can suit yourself about that, old sport.” said Gatsby steadily.
“I found out what your ‘drug-stores’ were.” He turned to us and spoke rapidly. “He and this Wolfsheim bought up a lot of side-street drug-stores here and in Chicago and sold grain al- cohol over the counter. That’s one of his little stunts. I picked him for a bootlegger the first time I saw him, and I wasn’t far wrong.”
“What about it?” said Gatsby politely. “I guess your friend Walter Chase wasn’t too proud to come in on it.”
“And you left him in the lurch, didn’t you? You let him go to jail for a month over in New Jersey. God! You ought to hear Walter on the subject of YOU.”
“He came to us dead broke. He was very glad to pick up some money, old sport.”
“Don’t you call me ‘old sport’!” cried Tom. Gatsby said noth- ing. “Walter could have you up on the betting laws too, but Wolfsheim scared him into shutting his mouth.”
That unfamiliar yet recognizable look was back again in Gatsby’s face.
“That drug-store business was just small change,” continued Tom slowly, “but you’ve got something on now that Walter’s afraid to tell me about.”
I glanced at Daisy, who was staring terrified between Gatsby and her husband, and at Jordan, who had begun to balance an invisible but absorbing object on the tip of her chin. Then I turned back to Gatsby — and was startled at his expression. He looked — and this is said in all contempt for the babbled slander of his garden — as if he had “killed a man.” For a mo- ment the set of his face could be described in just that fantastic way.
It passed, and he began to talk excitedly to Daisy, denying everything, defending his name against accusations that had not been made. But with every word she was drawing further and further into herself, so he gave that up, and only the dead dream fought on as the afternoon slipped away, trying to touch what was no longer tangible, struggling unhappily, undespair- ingly, toward that lost voice across the room.
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The voice begged again to go.
“PLEASE, Tom! I can’t stand this any more.”
Her frightened eyes told that whatever intentions, whatever
courage, she had had, were definitely gone.
“You two start on home, Daisy,” said Tom. “In Mr. Gatsby’s
car.”
She looked at Tom, alarmed now, but he insisted with mag-
nanimous scorn.
“Go on. He won’t annoy you. I think he realizes that his pre-
sumptuous little flirtation is over.”
They were gone, without a word, snapped out, made acci-
dental, isolated, like ghosts, even from our pity.
After a moment Tom got up and began wrapping the un-
opened bottle of whiskey in the towel.
“Want any of this stuff? Jordan? … Nick?”
I didn’t answer.
“Nick?” He asked again.
“What?”
“Want any?”
“No … I just remembered that to-day’s my birthday.”
I was thirty. Before me stretched the portentous, menacing
road of a new decade.
It was seven o’clock when we got into the coupe with him
and started for Long Island. Tom talked incessantly, exulting and laughing, but his voice was as remote from Jordan and me as the foreign clamor on the sidewalk or the tumult of the elev- ated overhead. Human sympathy has its limits, and we were content to let all their tragic arguments fade with the city lights behind. Thirty — the promise of a decade of loneliness, a thinning list of single men to know, a thinning brief-case of en- thusiasm, thinning hair. But there was Jordan beside me, who, unlike Daisy, was too wise ever to carry well-forgotten dreams from age to age. As we passed over the dark bridge her wan face fell lazily against my coat’s shoulder and the formidable stroke of thirty died away with the reassuring pressure of her hand.
So we drove on toward death through the cooling twilight.
The young Greek, Michaelis, who ran the coffee joint beside the ashheaps was the principal witness at the inquest. He had slept through the heat until after five, when he strolled over to
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the garage, and found George Wilson sick in his office — really sick, pale as his own pale hair and shaking all over. Michaelis advised him to go to bed, but Wilson refused, saying that he’d miss a lot of business if he did. While his neighbor was trying to persuade him a violent racket broke out overhead.
“I’ve got my wife locked in up there,” explained Wilson calmly. “She’s going to stay there till the day after to-morrow, and then we’re going to move away.”
Michaelis was astonished; they had been neighbors for four years, and Wilson had never seemed faintly capable of such a statement. Generally he was one of these worn-out men: when he wasn’t working, he sat on a chair in the doorway and stared at the people and the cars that passed along the road. When any one spoke to him he invariably laughed in an agreeable, colorless way. He was his wife’s man and not his own.
So naturally Michaelis tried to find out what had happened, but Wilson wouldn’t say a word — instead he began to throw curious, suspicious glances at his visitor and ask him what he’d been doing at certain times on certain days. Just as the latter was getting uneasy, some workmen came past the door bound for his restaurant, and Michaelis took the opportunity to get away, intending to come back later. But he didn’t. He supposed he forgot to, that’s all. When he came outside again, a little after seven, he was reminded of the conversation because he heard Mrs. Wilson’s voice, loud and scolding, down-stairs in the garage.
“Beat me!” he heard her cry. “Throw me down and beat me, you dirty little coward!”
A moment later she rushed out into the dusk, waving her hands and shouting — before he could move from his door the business was over.
The “death car.” as the newspapers called it, didn’t stop; it came out of the gathering darkness, wavered tragically for a moment, and then disappeared around the next bend. Michael- is wasn’t even sure of its color — he told the first policeman that it was light green. The other car, the one going toward New York, came to rest a hundred yards beyond, and its driver hurried back to where Myrtle Wilson, her life violently extin- guished, knelt in the road and mingled her thick dark blood with the dust.
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Michaelis and this man reached her first, but when they had torn open her shirtwaist, still damp with perspiration, they saw that her left breast was swinging loose like a flap, and there was no need to listen for the heart beneath. The mouth was wide open and ripped at the corners, as though she had choked a little in giving up the tremendous vitality she had stored so long.
We saw the three or four automobiles and the crowd when we were still some distance away.
“Wreck!” said Tom. “That’s good. Wilson’ll have a little busi- ness at last.”
He slowed down, but still without any intention of stopping, until, as we came nearer, the hushed, intent faces of the people at the garage door made him automatically put on the brakes.
“We’ll take a look,” he said doubtfully, “just a look.”
I became aware now of a hollow, wailing sound which issued incessantly from the garage, a sound which as we got out of the coupe and walked toward the door resolved itself into the words “Oh, my God!” uttered over and over in a gasping moan.
“There’s some bad trouble here,” said Tom excitedly.
He reached up on tiptoes and peered over a circle of heads into the garage, which was lit only by a yellow light in a swinging wire basket overhead. Then he made a harsh sound in his throat, and with a violent thrusting movement of his powerful arms pushed his way through.
The circle closed up again with a running murmur of expos- tulation; it was a minute before I could see anything at all. Then new arrivals deranged the line, and Jordan and I were pushed suddenly inside.
Myrtle Wilson’s body, wrapped in a blanket, and then in an- other blanket, as though she suffered from a chill in the hot night, lay on a work-table by the wall, and Tom, with his back to us, was bending over it, motionless. Next to him stood a mo- torcycle policeman taking down names with much sweat and correction in a little book. At first I couldn’t find the source of the high, groaning words that echoed clamorously through the bare garage — then I saw Wilson standing on the raised threshold of his office, swaying back and forth and holding to the doorposts with both hands. Some man was talking to him in a low voice and attempting, from time to time, to lay a hand on
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his shoulder, but Wilson neither heard nor saw. His eyes would drop slowly from the swinging light to the laden table by the wall, and then jerk back to the light again, and he gave out in- cessantly his high, horrible call:
“Oh, my Ga-od! Oh, my Ga-od! oh, Ga-od! oh, my Ga-od!”
Presently Tom lifted his head with a jerk and, after staring around the garage with glazed eyes, addressed a mumbled in- coherent remark to the policeman.
“M-a-y-.” the policeman was saying, “-o ——” “No, r-.” corrected the man, “M-a-v-r-o ——” “Listen to me!” muttered Tom fiercely.
“r” said the policeman, “o ——”
“g ——”
“g ——” He looked up as Tom’s broad hand fell sharply on his shoulder. “What you want, fella?”
“What happened?— that’s what I want to know.”
“Auto hit her. Ins’antly killed.”
“Instantly killed,” repeated Tom, staring.
“She ran out ina road. Son-of-a-bitch didn’t even stopus car.” “There was two cars,” said Michaelis, “one comin’, one goin’,
see?”
“Going where?” asked the policeman keenly.
“One goin’ each way. Well, she.”— his hand rose toward the
blankets but stopped half way and fell to his side ——” she ran out there an’ the one comin’ from N’york knock right into her, goin’ thirty or forty miles an hour.”
“What’s the name of this place here?” demanded the officer. “Hasn’t got any name.”
A pale well-dressed negro stepped near.
“It was a yellow car,” he said, “big yellow car. New.”
“See the accident?” asked the policeman.
“No, but the car passed me down the road, going faster’n forty. Going fifty, sixty.”
“Come here and let’s have your name. Look out now. I want to get his name.”
Some words of this conversation must have reached Wilson, swaying in the office door, for suddenly a new theme found voice among his gasping cries:
“You don’t have to tell me what kind of car it was! I know what kind of car it was!”
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Watching Tom, I saw the wad of muscle back of his shoulder tighten under his coat. He walked quickly over to Wilson and, standing in front of him, seized him firmly by the upper arms.
“You’ve got to pull yourself together,” he said with soothing gruffness.
Wilson’s eyes fell upon Tom; he started up on his tiptoes and then would have collapsed to his knees had not Tom held him upright.
“Listen,” said Tom, shaking him a little. “I just got here a minute ago, from New York. I was bringing you that coupe we’ve been talking about. That yellow car I was driving this af- ternoon wasn’t mine — do you hear? I haven’t seen it all afternoon.”
Only the negro and I were near enough to hear what he said, but the policeman caught something in the tone and looked over with truculent eyes.
“What’s all that?” he demanded.
“I’m a friend of his.” Tom turned his head but kept his hands firm on Wilson’s body. “He says he knows the car that did it … it was a yellow car.”
Some dim impulse moved the policeman to look suspiciously at Tom.
“And what color’s your car?”
“It’s a blue car, a coupe.”
“We’ve come straight from New York,” I said.
Some one who had been driving a little behind us confirmed
this, and the policeman turned away.
“Now, if you’ll let me have that name again correct ——”
Picking up Wilson like a doll, Tom carried him into the office, set him down in a chair, and came back.
“If somebody’ll come here and sit with him,” he snapped au- thoritatively. He watched while the two men standing closest glanced at each other and went unwillingly into the room. Then Tom shut the door on them and came down the single step, his eyes avoiding the table. As he passed close to me he whispered: “Let’s get out.”
Self-consciously, with his authoritative arms breaking the way, we pushed through the still gathering crowd, passing a hurried doctor, case in hand, who had been sent for in wild hope half an hour ago.
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Tom drove slowly until we were beyond the bend — then his foot came down hard, and the coupe raced along through the night. In a little while I heard a low husky sob, and saw that the tears were overflowing down his face.
“The God damned coward!” he whimpered. “He didn’t even stop his car.”
The Buchanans’ house floated suddenly toward us through the dark rustling trees. Tom stopped beside the porch and looked up at the second floor, where two windows bloomed with light among the vines.
“Daisy’s home,” he said. As we got out of the car he glanced at me and frowned slightly.
“I ought to have dropped you in West Egg, Nick. There’s nothing we can do to-night.”
A change had come over him, and he spoke gravely, and with decision. As we walked across the moonlight gravel to the porch he disposed of the situation in a few brisk phrases.
“I’ll telephone for a taxi to take you home, and while you’re waiting you and Jordan better go in the kitchen and have them get you some supper — if you want any.” He opened the door. “Come in.”
“No, thanks. But I’d be glad if you’d order me the taxi. I’ll wait outside.”
Jordan put her hand on my arm.
“Won’t you come in, Nick?”
“No, thanks.”
I was feeling a little sick and I wanted to be alone. But Jordan
lingered for a moment more.
“It’s only half-past nine,” she said.
I’d be damned if I’d go in; I’d had enough of all of them for
one day, and suddenly that included Jordan too. She must have seen something of this in my expression, for she turned ab- ruptly away and ran up the porch steps into the house. I sat down for a few minutes with my head in my hands, until I heard the phone taken up inside and the butler’s voice calling a taxi. Then I walked slowly down the drive away from the house, intending to wait by the gate.
I hadn’t gone twenty yards when I heard my name and Gatsby stepped from between two bushes into the path. I must
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have felt pretty weird by that time, because I could think of nothing except the luminosity of his pink suit under the moon.
“What are you doing?” I inquired.
“Just standing here, old sport.”
Somehow, that seemed a despicable occupation. For all I
knew he was going to rob the house in a moment; I wouldn’t have been surprised to see sinister faces, the faces of ‘Wolf- sheim’s people,’ behind him in the dark shrubbery.
“Did you see any trouble on the road?” he asked after a minute.
“Yes.”
He hesitated.
“Was she killed?”
“Yes.”
“I thought so; I told Daisy I thought so. It’s better that the
shock should all come at once. She stood it pretty well.”
He spoke as if Daisy’s reaction was the only thing that
mattered.
“I got to West Egg by a side road,” he went on, “and left the
car in my garage. I don’t think anybody saw us, but of course I can’t be sure.”
I disliked him so much by this time that I didn’t find it neces- sary to tell him he was wrong.
“Who was the woman?” he inquired.
“Her name was Wilson. Her husband owns the garage. How the devil did it happen?”
“Well, I tried to swing the wheel ——” He broke off, and sud- denly I guessed at the truth.
“Was Daisy driving?”
“Yes,” he said after a moment, “but of course I’ll say I was. You see, when we left New York she was very nervous and she thought it would steady her to drive — and this woman rushed out at us just as we were passing a car coming the other way. It all happened in a minute, but it seemed to me that she wanted to speak to us, thought we were somebody she knew. Well, first Daisy turned away from the woman toward the other car, and then she lost her nerve and turned back. The second my hand reached the wheel I felt the shock — it must have killed her instantly.”
“It ripped her open ——”
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“Don’t tell me, old sport.” He winced. “Anyhow — Daisy stepped on it. I tried to make her stop, but she couldn’t, so I pulled on the emergency brake. Then she fell over into my lap and I drove on.
“She’ll be all right to-morrow,” he said presently. “I’m just going to wait here and see if he tries to bother her about that unpleasantness this afternoon. She’s locked herself into her room, and if he tries any brutality she’s going to turn the light out and on again.”
“He won’t touch her,’ I said. “He’s not thinking about her.” “I don’t trust him, old sport.”
“How long are you going to wait?”
“All night, if necessary. Anyhow, till they all go to bed.”
A new point of view occurred to me. Suppose Tom found out that Daisy had been driving. He might think he saw a connec- tion in it — he might think anything. I looked at the house; there were two or three bright windows down-stairs and the pink glow from Daisy’s room on the second floor.
“You wait here,” I said. “I’ll see if there’s any sign of a commotion.”
I walked back along the border of the lawn, traversed the gravel softly, and tiptoed up the veranda steps. The drawing- room curtains were open, and I saw that the room was empty. Crossing the porch where we had dined that June night three months before, I came to a small rectangle of light which I guessed was the pantry window. The blind was drawn, but I found a rift at the sill.
Daisy and Tom were sitting opposite each other at the kit- chen table, with a plate of cold fried chicken between them, and two bottles of ale. He was talking intently across the table at her, and in his earnestness his hand had fallen upon and covered her own. Once in a while she looked up at him and nodded in agreement.
They weren’t happy, and neither of them had touched the chicken or the ale — and yet they weren’t unhappy either. There was an unmistakable air of natural intimacy about the picture, and anybody would have said that they were conspir- ing together.
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As I tiptoed from the porch I heard my taxi feeling its way along the dark road toward the house. Gatsby was waiting where I had left him in the drive.
“Is it all quiet up there?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes, it’s all quiet.” I hesitated. “You’d better come home and get some sleep.”
He shook his head.
“I want to wait here till Daisy goes to bed. Good night, old sport.”
He put his hands in his coat pockets and turned back eagerly to his scrutiny of the house, as though my presence marred the sacredness of the vigil. So I walked away and left him standing there in the moonlight — watching over nothing.
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8
Chapter
Icouldn’t sleep all night; a fog-horn was groaning incess- antly on the Sound, and I tossed half-sick between grot- esque reality and savage, frightening dreams. Toward dawn I heard a taxi go up Gatsby’s drive, and immediately I jumped out of bed and began to dress — I felt that I had something to tell him, something to warn him about, and morning would be too late.
Crossing his lawn, I saw that his front door was still open and he was leaning against a table in the hall, heavy with de- jection or sleep.
“Nothing happened,” he said wanly. “I waited, and about four o’clock she came to the window and stood there for a minute and then turned out the light.”
His house had never seemed so enormous to me as it did that night when we hunted through the great rooms for cigarettes. We pushed aside curtains that were like pavilions, and felt over innumerable feet of dark wall for electric light switches — once I tumbled with a sort of splash upon the keys of a ghostly pi- ano. There was an inexplicable amount of dust everywhere, and the rooms were musty, as though they hadn’t been aired for many days. I found the humidor on an unfamiliar table, with two stale, dry cigarettes inside. Throwing open the French win- dows of the drawing-room, we sat smoking out into the darkness.
“You ought to go away,” I said. “It’s pretty certain they’ll trace your car.”
“Go away NOW, old sport?”
“Go to Atlantic City for a week, or up to Montreal.”
He wouldn’t consider it. He couldn’t possibly leave Daisy un-
til he knew what she was going to do. He was clutching at some last hope and I couldn’t bear to shake him free.
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It was this night that he told me the strange story of his youth with Dan Cody — told it to me because “Jay Gatsby.” had broken up like glass against Tom’s hard malice, and the long secret extravaganza was played out. I think that he would have acknowledged anything now, without reserve, but he wanted to talk about Daisy.
She was the first “nice” girl he had ever known. In various unrevealed capacities he had come in contact with such people, but always with indiscernible barbed wire between. He found her excitingly desirable. He went to her house, at first with other officers from Camp Taylor, then alone. It amazed him — he had never been in such a beautiful house before. but what gave it an air of breathless intensity, was that Daisy lived there — it was as casual a thing to her as his tent out at camp was to him. There was a ripe mystery about it, a hint of bedrooms up-stairs more beautiful and cool than other bed- rooms, of gay and radiant activities taking place through its corridors, and of romances that were not musty and laid away already in lavender but fresh and breathing and redolent of this year’s shining motor-cars and of dances whose flowers were scarcely withered. It excited him, too, that many men had already loved Daisy — it increased her value in his eyes. He felt their presence all about the house, pervading the air with the shades and echoes of still vibrant emotions.
But he knew that he was in Daisy’s house by a colossal acci- dent. However glorious might be his future as Jay Gatsby, he was at present a penniless young man without a past, and at any moment the invisible cloak of his uniform might slip from his shoulders. So he made the most of his time. He took what he could get, ravenously and unscrupulously — eventually he took Daisy one still October night, took her because he had no real right to touch her hand.
He might have despised himself, for he had certainly taken her under false pretenses. I don’t mean that he had traded on his phantom millions, but he had deliberately given Daisy a sense of security; he let her believe that he was a person from much the same stratum as herself — that he was fully able to take care of her. As a matter of fact, he had no such facilities — he had no comfortable family standing behind him, and he was
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liable at the whim of an impersonal government to be blown anywhere about the world.
But he didn’t despise himself and it didn’t turn out as he had imagined. He had intended, probably, to take what he could and go — but now he found that he had committed himself to the following of a grail. He knew that Daisy was extraordinary, but he didn’t realize just how extraordinary a “nice” girl could be. She vanished into her rich house, into her rich, full life, leaving Gatsby — nothing. He felt married to her, that was all.
When they met again, two days later, it was Gatsby who was breathless, who was, somehow, betrayed. Her porch was bright with the bought luxury of star-shine; the wicker of the settee squeaked fashionably as she turned toward him and he kissed her curious and lovely mouth. She had caught a cold, and it made her voice huskier and more charming than ever, and Gatsby was overwhelmingly aware of the youth and mystery that wealth imprisons and preserves, of the freshness of many clothes, and of Daisy, gleaming like silver, safe and proud above the hot struggles of the poor.
“I can’t describe to you how surprised I was to find out I loved her, old sport. I even hoped for a while that she’d throw me over, but she didn’t, because she was in love with me too. She thought I knew a lot because I knew different things from her… . Well, there I was, ‘way off my ambitions, getting deeper in love every minute, and all of a sudden I didn’t care. What was the use of doing great things if I could have a better time telling her what I was going to do?” On the last afternoon be- fore he went abroad, he sat with Daisy in his arms for a long, silent time. It was a cold fall day, with fire in the room and her cheeks flushed. Now and then she moved and he changed his arm a little, and once he kissed her dark shining hair. The af- ternoon had made them tranquil for a while, as if to give them a deep memory for the long parting the next day promised. They had never been closer in their month of love, nor commu- nicated more profoundly one with another, than when she brushed silent lips against his coat’s shoulder or when he touched the end of her fingers, gently, as though she were asleep.
He did extraordinarily well in the war. He was a captain be- fore he went to the front, and following the Argonne battles he
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got his majority and the command of the divisional machine- guns. After the Armistice he tried frantically to get home, but some complication or misunderstanding sent him to Oxford in- stead. He was worried now — there was a quality of nervous despair in Daisy’s letters. She didn’t see why he couldn’t come. She was feeling the pressure of the world outside, and she wanted to see him and feel his presence beside her and be re- assured that she was doing the right thing after all.
For Daisy was young and her artificial world was redolent of orchids and pleasant, cheerful snobbery and orchestras which set the rhythm of the year, summing up the sadness and sug- gestiveness of life in new tunes. All night the saxophones wailed the hopeless comment of the BEALE STREET BLUES. while a hundred pairs of golden and silver slippers shuffled the shining dust. At the gray tea hour there were always rooms that throbbed incessantly with this low, sweet fever, while fresh faces drifted here and there like rose petals blown by the sad horns around the floor.
Through this twilight universe Daisy began to move again with the season; suddenly she was again keeping half a dozen dates a day with half a dozen men, and drowsing asleep at dawn with the beads and chiffon of an evening dress tangled among dying orchids on the floor beside her bed. And all the time something within her was crying for a decision. She wanted her life shaped now, immediately — and the decision must be made by some force — of love, of money, of unques- tionable practicality — that was close at hand.
That force took shape in the middle of spring with the arrival of Tom Buchanan. There was a wholesome bulkiness about his person and his position, and Daisy was flattered. Doubtless there was a certain struggle and a certain relief. The letter reached Gatsby while he was still at Oxford.
It was dawn now on Long Island and we went about opening the rest of the windows down-stairs, filling the house with gray-turning, gold-turning light. The shadow of a tree fell ab- ruptly across the dew and ghostly birds began to sing among the blue leaves. There was a slow, pleasant movement in the air, scarcely a wind, promising a cool, lovely day.
“I don’t think she ever loved him.” Gatsby turned around from a window and looked at me challengingly. “You must
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remember, old sport, she was very excited this afternoon. He told her those things in a way that frightened her — that made it look as if I was some kind of cheap sharper. And the result was she hardly knew what she was saying.”
He sat down gloomily.
“Of course she might have loved him just for a minute, when they were first married — and loved me more even then, do you see?”
Suddenly he came out with a curious remark.
“In any case,” he said, “it was just personal.”
What could you make of that, except to suspect some intens-
ity in his conception of the affair that couldn’t be measured? He came back from France when Tom and Daisy were still on their wedding trip, and made a miserable but irresistible jour- ney to Louisville on the last of his army pay. He stayed there a week, walking the streets where their footsteps had clicked to- gether through the November night and revisiting the out-of- the-way places to which they had driven in her white car. Just as Daisy’s house had always seemed to him more mysterious and gay than other houses, so his idea of the city itself, even though she was gone from it, was pervaded with a melancholy
beauty.
He left feeling that if he had searched harder, he might have
found her — that he was leaving her behind. The day-coach — he was penniless now — was hot. He went out to the open ves- tibule and sat down on a folding-chair, and the station slid away and the backs of unfamiliar buildings moved by. Then out into the spring fields, where a yellow trolley raced them for a minute with people in it who might once have seen the pale magic of her face along the casual street.
The track curved and now it was going away from the sun, which as it sank lower, seemed to spread itself in benediction over the vanishing city where she had drawn her breath. He stretched out his hand desperately as if to snatch only a wisp of air, to save a fragment of the spot that she had made lovely for him. But it was all going by too fast now for his blurred eyes and he knew that he had lost that part of it, the freshest and the best, forever.
It was nine o’clock when we finished breakfast and went out on the porch. The night had made a sharp difference in the
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weather and there was an autumn flavor in the air. The gardener, the last one of Gatsby’s former servants, came to the foot of the steps.
“I’m going to drain the pool to-day, Mr. Gatsby. Leaves’ll start falling pretty soon, and then there’s always trouble with the pipes.”
“Don’t do it to-day,” Gatsby answered. He turned to me apo- logetically. “You know, old sport, I’ve never used that pool all summer?”
I looked at my watch and stood up.
“Twelve minutes to my train.”
I didn’t want to go to the city. I wasn’t worth a decent stroke
of work, but it was more than that — I didn’t want to leave Gatsby. I missed that train, and then another, before I could get myself away.
“I’ll call you up,” I said finally.
“Do, old sport.”
“I’ll call you about noon.”
We walked slowly down the steps.
“I suppose Daisy’ll call too.” He looked at me anxiously, as if
he hoped I’d corroborate this.
“I suppose so.”
“Well, good-by.”
We shook hands and I started away. Just before I reached the
hedge I remembered something and turned around.
“They’re a rotten crowd,” I shouted across the lawn. “You’re
worth the whole damn bunch put together.”
I’ve always been glad I said that. It was the only compliment
I ever gave him, because I disapproved of him from beginning to end. First he nodded politely, and then his face broke into that radiant and understanding smile, as if we’d been in ecstat- ic cahoots on that fact all the time. His gorgeous pink rag of a suit made a bright spot of color against the white steps, and I thought of the night when I first came to his ancestral home, three months before. The lawn and drive had been crowded with the faces of those who guessed at his corruption — and he had stood on those steps, concealing his incorruptible dream, as he waved them good-by.
I thanked him for his hospitality. We were always thanking him for that — I and the others.
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“Good-by,” I called. “I enjoyed breakfast, Gatsby.”
Up in the city, I tried for a while to list the quotations on an interminable amount of stock, then I fell asleep in my swivel- chair. Just before noon the phone woke me, and I started up with sweat breaking out on my forehead. It was Jordan Baker; she often called me up at this hour because the uncertainty of her own movements between hotels and clubs and private houses made her hard to find in any other way. Usually her voice came over the wire as something fresh and cool, as if a divot from a green golf-links had come sailing in at the office window, but this morning it seemed harsh and dry.
“I’ve left Daisy’s house,” she said. “I’m at Hempstead, and I’m going down to Southampton this afternoon.”
Probably it had been tactful to leave Daisy’s house, but the act annoyed me, and her next remark made me rigid.
“You weren’t so nice to me last night.” “How could it have mattered then?” Silence for a moment. Then: “However — I want to see you.”
“I want to see you, too.”
“Suppose I don’t go to Southampton, and come into town this afternoon?”
“No — I don’t think this afternoon.”
“Very well.”
“It’s impossible this afternoon. Various ——”
We talked like that for a while, and then abruptly we weren’t
talking any longer. I don’t know which of us hung up with a sharp click, but I know I didn’t care. I couldn’t have talked to her across a tea-table that day if I never talked to her again in this world.
I called Gatsby’s house a few minutes later, but the line was busy. I tried four times; finally an exasperated central told me the wire was being kept open for long distance from Detroit. Taking out my time-table, I drew a small circle around the three-fifty train. Then I leaned back in my chair and tried to think. It was just noon.
When I passed the ashheaps on the train that morning I had crossed deliberately to the other side of the car. I suppose there’d be a curious crowd around there all day with little boys searching for dark spots in the dust, and some garrulous man
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telling over and over what had happened, until it became less and less real even to him and he could tell it no longer, and Myrtle Wilson’s tragic achievement was forgotten. Now I want to go back a little and tell what happened at the garage after we left there the night before.
They had difficulty in locating the sister, Catherine. She must have broken her rule against drinking that night, for when she arrived she was stupid with liquor and unable to understand that the ambulance had already gone to Flushing. When they convinced her of this, she immediately fainted, as if that was the intolerable part of the affair. Some one, kind or curious, took her in his car and drove her in the wake of her sister’s body.
Until long after midnight a changing crowd lapped up against the front of the garage, while George Wilson rocked himself back and forth on the couch inside. For a while the door of the office was open, and every one who came into the garage glanced irresistibly through it. Finally someone said it was a shame, and closed the door. Michaelis and several other men were with him; first, four or five men, later two or three men. Still later Michaelis had to ask the last stranger to wait there fifteen minutes longer, while he went back to his own place and made a pot of coffee. After that, he stayed there alone with Wilson until dawn.
About three o’clock the quality of Wilson’s incoherent mut- tering changed — he grew quieter and began to talk about the yellow car. He announced that he had a way of finding out whom the yellow car belonged to, and then he blurted out that a couple of months ago his wife had come from the city with her face bruised and her nose swollen.
But when he heard himself say this, he flinched and began to cry “Oh, my God!” again in his groaning voice. Michaelis made a clumsy attempt to distract him.
“How long have you been married, George? Come on there, try and sit still a minute and answer my question. How long have you been married?”
“Twelve years.”
“Ever had any children? Come on, George, sit still — I asked you a question. Did you ever have any children?”
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The hard brown beetles kept thudding against the dull light, and whenever Michaelis heard a car go tearing along the road outside it sounded to him like the car that hadn’t stopped a few hours before. He didn’t like to go into the garage, because the work bench was stained where the body had been lying, so he moved uncomfortably around the office — he knew every ob- ject in it before morning — and from time to time sat down be- side Wilson trying to keep him more quiet.
“Have you got a church you go to sometimes, George? Maybe even if you haven’t been there for a long time? Maybe I could call up the church and get a priest to come over and he could talk to you, see?”
“Don’t belong to any.”
“You ought to have a church, George, for times like this. You must have gone to church once. Didn’t you get married in a church? Listen, George, listen to me. Didn’t you get married in a church?”
“That was a long time ago.”
The effort of answering broke the rhythm of his rocking — for a moment he was silent. Then the same half-knowing, half- bewildered look came back into his faded eyes.
“Look in the drawer there,” he said, pointing at the desk. “Which drawer?”
“That drawer — that one.”
Michaelis opened the drawer nearest his hand. There was
nothing in it but a small, expensive dog-leash, made of leather and braided silver. It was apparently new.
“This?” he inquired, holding it up.
Wilson stared and nodded.
“I found it yesterday afternoon. She tried to tell me about it,
but I knew it was something funny.”
“You mean your wife bought it?”
“She had it wrapped in tissue paper on her bureau.” Michaelis didn’t see anything odd in that, and he gave Wilson
a dozen reasons why his wife might have bought the dog-leash. But conceivably Wilson had heard some of these same explana- tions before, from Myrtle, because he began saying “Oh, my God!” again in a whisper — his comforter left several explana- tions in the air.
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“Then he killed her,” said Wilson. His mouth dropped open suddenly.
“Who did?”
“I have a way of finding out.”
“You’re morbid, George,” said his friend. “This has been a
strain to you and you don’t know what you’re saying. You’d better try and sit quiet till morning.”
“He murdered her.”
“It was an accident, George.”
Wilson shook his head. His eyes narrowed and his mouth
widened slightly with the ghost of a superior “Hm!”
“I know,” he said definitely, “I’m one of these trusting fellas and I don’t think any harm to nobody, but when I get to know a thing I know it. It was the man in that car. She ran out to speak
to him and he wouldn’t stop.”
Michaelis had seen this too, but it hadn’t occurred to him
that there was any special significance in it. He believed that Mrs. Wilson had been running away from her husband, rather than trying to stop any particular car.
“How could she of been like that?”
“She’s a deep one,” said Wilson, as if that answered the question. “Ah-h-h ——”
He began to rock again, and Michaelis stood twisting the leash in his hand.
“Maybe you got some friend that I could telephone for, George?”
This was a forlorn hope — he was almost sure that Wilson had no friend: there was not enough of him for his wife. He was glad a little later when he noticed a change in the room, a blue quickening by the window, and realized that dawn wasn’t far off. About five o’clock it was blue enough outside to snap off the light.
Wilson’s glazed eyes turned out to the ashheaps, where small gray clouds took on fantastic shape and scurried here and there in the faint dawn wind.
“I spoke to her,” he muttered, after a long silence. “I told her she might fool me but she couldn’t fool God. I took her to the window.”— with an effort he got up and walked to the rear window and leaned with his face pressed against it ——” and I
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said ‘God knows what you’ve been doing, everything you’ve been doing. You may fool me, but you can’t fool God!’”
Standing behind him, Michaelis saw with a shock that he was looking at the eyes of Doctor T. J. Eckleburg, which had just emerged, pale and enormous, from the dissolving night.
“God sees everything,” repeated Wilson.
“That’s an advertisement,” Michaelis assured him. So- mething made him turn away from the window and look back into the room. But Wilson stood there a long time, his face close to the window pane, nodding into the twilight.
By six o’clock Michaelis was worn out, and grateful for the sound of a car stopping outside. It was one of the watchers of the night before who had promised to come back, so he cooked breakfast for three, which he and the other man ate together. Wilson was quieter now, and Michaelis went home to sleep; when he awoke four hours later and hurried back to the gar- age, Wilson was gone.
His movements — he was on foot all the time — were after- ward traced to Port Roosevelt and then to Gad’s Hill, where he bought a sandwich that he didn’t eat, and a cup of coffee. He must have been tired and walking slowly, for he didn’t reach Gad’s Hill until noon. Thus far there was no difficulty in ac- counting for his time — there were boys who had seen a man “acting sort of crazy,” and motorists at whom he stared oddly from the side of the road. Then for three hours he disappeared from view. The police, on the strength of what he said to Mi- chaelis, that he “had a way of finding out,” supposed that he spent that time going from garage to garage thereabout, in- quiring for a yellow car. On the other hand, no garage man who had seen him ever came forward, and perhaps he had an easier, surer way of finding out what he wanted to know. By half-past two he was in West Egg, where he asked someone the way to Gatsby’s house. So by that time he knew Gatsby’s name.
At two o’clock Gatsby put on his bathing-suit and left word with the butler that if any one phoned word was to be brought to him at the pool. He stopped at the garage for a pneumatic mattress that had amused his guests during the summer, and the chauffeur helped him pump it up. Then he gave instruc- tions that the open car wasn’t to be taken out under any
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circumstances — and this was strange, because the front right fender needed repair.
Gatsby shouldered the mattress and started for the pool. Once he stopped and shifted it a little, and the chauffeur asked him if he needed help, but he shook his head and in a moment disappeared among the yellowing trees.
No telephone message arrived, but the butler went without his sleep and waited for it until four o’clock — until long after there was any one to give it to if it came. I have an idea that Gatsby himself didn’t believe it would come, and perhaps he no longer cared. If that was true he must have felt that he had lost the old warm world, paid a high price for living too long with a single dream. He must have looked up at an unfamiliar sky through frightening leaves and shivered as he found what a grotesque thing a rose is and how raw the sunlight was upon the scarcely created grass. A new world, material without be- ing real, where poor ghosts, breathing dreams like air, drifted fortuitously about … like that ashen, fantastic figure gliding to- ward him through the amorphous trees.
The chauffeur — he was one of Wolfsheim’s proteges — heard the shots — afterward he could only say that he hadn’t thought anything much about them. I drove from the station directly to Gatsby’s house and my rushing anxiously up the front steps was the first thing that alarmed any one. But they knew then, I firmly believe. With scarcely a word said, four of us, the chauffeur, butler, gardener, and I, hurried down to the pool.
There was a faint, barely perceptible movement of the water as the fresh flow from one end urged its way toward the drain at the other. with little ripples that were hardly the shadows of waves, the laden mattress moved irregularly down the pool. A small gust of wind that scarcely corrugated the surface was enough to disturb its accidental course with its accidental bur- den. The touch of a cluster of leaves revolved it slowly, tracing, like the leg of compass, a thin red circle in the water.
It was after we started with Gatsby toward the house that the gardener saw Wilson’s body a little way off in the grass, and the holocaust was complete.
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9
Chapter
After two years I remember the rest of that day, and that night and the next day, only as an endless drill of police and photographers and newspaper men in and out of Gatsby’s front door. A rope stretched across the main gate and a police- man by it kept out the curious, but little boys soon discovered that they could enter through my yard, and there were always a few of them clustered open-mouthed about the pool. Someone with a positive manner, perhaps a detective, used the expression “madman.” as he bent over Wilson’s body that af- ternoon, and the adventitious authority of his voice set the key for the newspaper reports next morning.
Most of those reports were a nightmare — grotesque, cir- cumstantial, eager, and untrue. When Michaelis’s testimony at the inquest brought to light Wilson’s suspicions of his wife I thought the whole tale would shortly be served up in racy pas- quinade — but Catherine, who might have said anything, didn’t say a word. She showed a surprising amount of character about it too — looked at the coroner with determined eyes un- der that corrected brow of hers, and swore that her sister had never seen Gatsby, that her sister was completely happy with her husband, that her sister had been into no mischief whatever. She convinced herself of it, and cried into her handkerchief, as if the very suggestion was more than she could endure. So Wilson was reduced to a man “deranged by grief.” in order that the case might remain in its simplist form. And it rested there.
But all this part of it seemed remote and unessential. I found myself on Gatsby’s side, and alone. From the moment I tele- phoned news of the catastrophe to West Egg village, every sur- mise about him, and every practical question, was referred to me. At first I was surprised and confused; then, as he lay in his house and didn’t move or breathe or speak, hour upon hour, it
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grew upon me that I was responsible, because no one else was interested — interested, I mean, with that intense personal in- terest to which every one has some vague right at the end.
I called up Daisy half an hour after we found him, called her instinctively and without hesitation. But she and Tom had gone away early that afternoon, and taken baggage with them.
“Left no address?”
“No.”
“Say when they’d be back?”
“No.”
“Any idea where they are? How I could reach them?”
“I don’t know. Can’t say.”
I wanted to get somebody for him. I wanted to go into the
room where he lay and reassure him: “I’ll get somebody for you, Gatsby. Don’t worry. Just trust me and I’ll get somebody for you ——”
Meyer Wolfsheim’s name wasn’t in the phone book. The but- ler gave me his office address on Broadway, and I called In- formation, but by the time I had the number it was long after five, and no one answered the phone.
“Will you ring again?”
“I’ve rung them three times.”
“It’s very important.”
“Sorry. I’m afraid no one’s there.”
I went back to the drawing-room and thought for an instant
that they were chance visitors, all these official people who suddenly filled it. But, as they drew back the sheet and looked at Gatsby with unmoved eyes, his protest continued in my brain:
“Look here, old sport, you’ve got to get somebody for me. You’ve got to try hard. I can’t go through this alone.”
Some one started to ask me questions, but I broke away and going up-stairs looked hastily through the unlocked parts of his desk — he’d never told me definitely that his parents were dead. But there was nothing — only the picture of Dan Cody, a token of forgotten violence, staring down from the wall.
Next morning I sent the butler to New York with a letter to Wolfsheim, which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next train. That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure he’d start when he saw the newspapers,
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just as I was sure there’d be a wire from Daisy before noon — but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfsheim arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfsheim’s answer I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all.
DEAR MR. CARRAWAY. This has been one of the most ter- rible shocks of my life to me I hardly can believe it that it is true at all. Such a mad act as that man did should make us all think. I cannot come down now as I am tied up in some very important business and cannot get mixed up in this thing now. If there is anything I can do a little later let me know in a letter by Edgar. I hardly know where I am when I hear about a thing like this and am completely knocked down and out.
Yours truly MEYER WOLFSHIEM
and then hasty addenda beneath:
Let me know about the funeral etc. do not know his family at
all.
When the phone rang that afternoon and Long Distance said
Chicago was calling I thought this would be Daisy at last. But the connection came through as a man’s voice, very thin and far away.
“This is Slagle speaking … ”
“Yes?” The name was unfamiliar.
“Hell of a note, isn’t it? Get my wire?”
“There haven’t been any wires.”
“Young Parke’s in trouble,” he said rapidly. “They picked him
up when he handed the bonds over the counter. They got a cir- cular from New York giving ’em the numbers just five minutes before. What d’you know about that, hey? You never can tell in these hick towns ——”
“Hello!” I interrupted breathlessly. “Look here — this isn’t Mr. Gatsby. Mr. Gatsby’s dead.”
There was a long silence on the other end of the wire, fol- lowed by an exclamation … then a quick squawk as the connec- tion was broken.
I think it was on the third day that a telegram signed Henry C. Gatz arrived from a town in Minnesota. It said only that the sender was leaving immediately and to postpone the funeral until he came.
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It was Gatsby’s father, a solemn old man, very helpless and dismayed, bundled up in a long cheap ulster against the warm September day. His eyes leaked continuously with excitement, and when I took the bag and umbrella from his hands he began to pull so incessantly at his sparse gray beard that I had diffi- culty in getting off his coat. He was on the point of collapse, so I took him into the music room and made him sit down while I sent for something to eat. But he wouldn’t eat, and the glass of milk spilled from his trembling hand.
“I saw it in the Chicago newspaper,” he said. “It was all in the Chicago newspaper. I started right away.”
“I didn’t know how to reach you.” His eyes, seeing nothing, moved ceaselessly about the room.
“It was a madman,” he said. “He must have been mad.” “Wouldn’t you like some coffee?” I urged him.
“I don’t want anything. I’m all right now, Mr.——” “Carraway.”
“Well, I’m all right now. Where have they got Jimmy?” I took him into the drawing-room, where his son lay, and left him there. Some little boys had come up on the steps and were looking into the hall; when I told them who had arrived, they went reluctantly away.
After a little while Mr. Gatz opened the door and came out, his mouth ajar, his face flushed slightly, his eyes leaking isol- ated and unpunctual tears. He had reached an age where death no longer has the quality of ghastly surprise, and when he looked around him now for the first time and saw the height and splendor of the hall and the great rooms opening out from it into other rooms, his grief began to be mixed with an awed pride. I helped him to a bedroom up-stairs; while he took off his coat and vest I told him that all arrangements had been de- ferred until he came.
“I didn’t know what you’d want, Mr. Gatsby ——”
“Gatz is my name.”
“— Mr. Gatz. I thought you might want to take the body
West.”
He shook his head.
“Jimmy always liked it better down East. He rose up to his
position in the East. Were you a friend of my boy’s, Mr.—?” “We were close friends.”
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“He had a big future before him, you know. He was only a young man, but he had a lot of brain power here.”
He touched his head impressively, and I nodded.
“If he’d of lived, he’d of been a great man. A man like James J. Hill. He’d of helped build up the country.”
“That’s true,” I said, uncomfortably.
He fumbled at the embroidered coverlet, trying to take it from the bed, and lay down stiffly — was instantly asleep.
That night an obviously frightened person called up, and de- manded to know who I was before he would give his name.
“This is Mr. Carraway,” I said.
“Oh!” He sounded relieved. “This is Klipspringer.” I was re- lieved too, for that seemed to promise another friend at Gatsby’s grave. I didn’t want it to be in the papers and draw a sightseeing crowd, so I’d been calling up a few people myself. They were hard to find.
“The funeral’s to-morrow,” I said. “Three o’clock, here at the house. I wish you’d tell anybody who’d be interested.”
“Oh, I will,” he broke out hastily. “Of course I’m not likely to see anybody, but if I do.”
His tone made me suspicious.
“Of course you’ll be there yourself.”
“Well, I’ll certainly try. What I called up about is ——”
“Wait a minute,” I interrupted. “How about saying you’ll
come?”
“Well, the fact is — the truth of the matter is that I’m staying
with some people up here in Greenwich, and they rather ex- pect me to be with them to-morrow. In fact, there’s a sort of picnic or something. Of course I’ll do my very best to get away.”
I ejaculated an unrestrained “Huh!” and he must have heard me, for he went on nervously:
“What I called up about was a pair of shoes I left there. Iwon- der if it’d be too much trouble to have the butler send them on. You see, they’re tennis shoes, and I’m sort of helpless without them. My address is care of B. F.——”
I didn’t hear the rest of the name, because I hung up the receiver.
After that I felt a certain shame for Gatsby — one gentleman to whom I telephoned implied that he had got what he
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deserved. However, that was my fault, for he was one of those who used to sneer most bitterly at Gatsby on the courage of Gatsby’s liquor, and I should have known better than to call him.
The morning of the funeral I went up to New York to see Meyer Wolfsheim; I couldn’t seem to reach him any other way. The door that I pushed open, on the advice of an elevator boy, was marked “The Swastika Holding Company,” and at first there didn’t seem to be any one inside. But when I’d shouted “hello.” several times in vain, an argument broke out behind a partition, and presently a lovely Jewess appeared at an interior door and scrutinized me with black hostile eyes.
“Nobody’s in,” she said. “Mr. Wolfsheim’s gone to Chicago.”
The first part of this was obviously untrue, for someone had begun to whistle “The Rosary,” tunelessly, inside.
“Please say that Mr. Carraway wants to see him.”
“I can’t get him back from Chicago, can I?”
At this moment a voice, unmistakably Wolfsheim’s, called
“Stella!” from the other side of the door.
“Leave your name on the desk,” she said quickly. “I’ll give it
to him when he gets back.”
“But I know he’s there.”
She took a step toward me and began to slide her hands in-
dignantly up and down her hips.
“You young men think you can force your way in here any
time,” she scolded. “We’re getting sickantired of it. When I say he’s in Chicago, he’s in Chicago.”
I mentioned Gatsby.
“Oh — h!” She looked at me over again. “Will you just — What was your name?”
She vanished. In a moment Meyer Wolfsheim stood solemnly in the doorway, holding out both hands. He drew me into his office, remarking in a reverent voice that it was a sad time for all of us, and offered me a cigar.
“My memory goes back to when I first met him,” he said. “A young major just out of the army and covered over with medals he got in the war. He was so hard up he had to keep on wear- ing his uniform because he couldn’t buy some regular clothes. First time I saw him was when he come into Winebrenner’s poolroom at Forty-third Street and asked for a job. He hadn’t
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eat anything for a couple of days. ‘come on have some lunch with me,’ I sid. He ate more than four dollars’ worth of food in half an hour.”
“Did you start him in business?” I inquired.
“Start him! I made him.”
“Oh.”
“I raised him up out of nothing, right out of the gutter. I saw
right away he was a fine-appearing, gentlemanly young man, and when he told me he was at Oggsford I knew I could use him good. I got him to join up in the American Legion and he used to stand high there. Right off he did some work for a cli- ent of mine up to Albany. We were so thick like that in everything.”— he held up two bulbous fingers ——” always together.”
I wondered if this partnership had included the World’s Ser- ies transaction in 1919.
“Now he’s dead,” I said after a moment. “You were his closest friend, so I know you’ll want to come to his funeral this afternoon.”
“I’d like to come.”
“Well, come then.”
The hair in his nostrils quivered slightly, and as he shook his
head his eyes filled with tears.
“I can’t do it — I can’t get mixed up in it,” he said.
“There’s nothing to get mixed up in. It’s all over now.”
“When a man gets killed I never like to get mixed up in it in
any way. I keep out. When I was a young man it was different — if a friend of mine died, no matter how, I stuck with them to the end. You may think that’s sentimental, but I mean it — to the bitter end.”
I saw that for some reason of his own he was determined not to come, so I stood up.
“Are you a college man?” he inquired suddenly.
For a moment I thought he was going to suggest a “gonneg- tion,” but he only nodded and shook my hand.
“Let us learn to show our friendship for a man when he is alive and not after he is dead,” he suggested. “After that my own rule is to let everything alone.”
When I left his office the sky had turned dark and I got back to West Egg in a drizzle. After changing my clothes I went next
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door and found Mr. Gatz walking up and down excitedly in the hall. His pride in his son and in his son’s possessions was con- tinually increasing and now he had something to show me.
“Jimmy sent me this picture.” He took out his wallet with trembling fingers. “Look there.”
It was a photograph of the house, cracked in the corners and dirty with many hands. He pointed out every detail to me eagerly. “Look there!” and then sought admiration from my eyes. He had shown it so often that I think it was more real to him now than the house itself.
“Jimmy sent it to me. I think it’s a very pretty picture. It shows up well.”
“Very well. Had you seen him lately?”
“He come out to see me two years ago and bought me the house I live in now. Of course we was broke up when he run off from home, but I see now there was a reason for it. He knew he had a big future in front of him. And ever since he made a success he was very generous with me.” He seemed reluctant to put away the picture, held it for another minute, lingeringly, before my eyes. Then he returned the wallet and pulled from his pocket a ragged old copy of a book called HOPALONG CASSIDY.
“Look here, this is a book he had when he was a boy. It just shows you.”
He opened it at the back cover and turned it around for me to see. On the last fly-leaf was printed the word SCHEDULE, and the date September 12, 1906. and underneath:
Rise from bed … … … … … . 6.00 A.M. Dumbbell exercise and wall-scaling … … 6.15-6.30 ” Study electricity, etc … … … … 7.15-8.15 ” Work … … … … … … … 8.30-4.30 P.M. Baseball and sports … … … … . 4.30-5.00 ” Practice elocu- tion, poise and how to attain it 5.00-6.00 ” Study needed inven-
tions … … … . . 7.00-9.00 ”
GENERAL RESOLVES No wasting time at Shafters or [a
name, indecipherable] No more smokeing or chewing Bath every other day Read one improving book or magazine per week Save $5.00 {crossed out} $3.00 per week Be better to parents
“I come across this book by accident,” said the old man. “It just shows you, don’t it?”
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“It just shows you.”
“Jimmy was bound to get ahead. He always had some re- solves like this or something. Do you notice what he’s got about improving his mind? He was always great for that. He told me I et like a hog once, and I beat him for it.”
He was reluctant to close the book, reading each item aloud and then looking eagerly at me. I think he rather expected me to copy down the list for my own use.
A little before three the Lutheran minister arrived from Flushing, and I began to look involuntarily out the windows for other cars. So did Gatsby’s father. And as the time passed and the servants came in and stood waiting in the hall, his eyes began to blink anxiously, and he spoke of the rain in a worried, uncertain way. The minister glanced several times at his watch, so I took him aside and asked him to wait for half an hour. But it wasn’t any use. Nobody came.
About five o’clock our procession of three cars reached the cemetery and stopped in a thick drizzle beside the gate — first a motor hearse, horribly black and wet, then Mr. Gatz and the minister and I in the limousine, and a little later four or five servants and the postman from West Egg in Gatsby’s station wagon, all wet to the skin. As we started through the gate into the cemetery I heard a car stop and then the sound of someone splashing after us over the soggy ground. I looked around. It was the man with owl-eyed glasses whom I had found marvel- ling over Gatsby’s books in the library one night three months before.
I’d never seen him since then. I don’t know how he knew about the funeral, or even his name. The rain poured down his thick glasses, and he took them off and wiped them to see the protecting canvas unrolled from Gatsby’s grave.
I tried to think about Gatsby then for a moment, but he was already too far away, and I could only remember, without re- sentment, that Daisy hadn’t sent a message or a flower. Dimly I heard someone murmur, “Blessed are the dead that the rain falls on,” and then the owl-eyed man said “Amen to that,” in a brave voice.
We straggled down quickly through the rain to the cars. Owl- eyes spoke to me by the gate.
“I couldn’t get to the house,” he remarked.
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“Neither could anybody else.”
“Go on!” He started. “Why, my God! they used to go there by the hundreds.” He took off his glasses and wiped them again, outside and in.
“The poor son-of-a-bitch,” he said.
One of my most vivid memories is of coming back West from prep school and later from college at Christmas time. Those who went farther than Chicago would gather in the old dim Union Station at six o’clock of a December evening, with a few Chicago friends, already caught up into their own holiday gayeties, to bid them a hasty good-by. I remember the fur coats of the girls returning from Miss This-or-that’s and the chatter of frozen breath and the hands waving overhead as we caught sight of old acquaintances, and the matchings of invitations: “Are you going to the Ordways’? the Herseys’? the Schultzes’?” and the long green tickets clasped tight in our gloved hands. And last the murky yellow cars of the Chicago, Milwaukee and St. Paul railroad looking cheerful as Christmas itself on the tracks beside the gate.
When we pulled out into the winter night and the real snow, our snow, began to stretch out beside us and twinkle against the windows, and the dim lights of small Wisconsin stations moved by, a sharp wild brace came suddenly into the air. We drew in deep breaths of it as we walked back from dinner through the cold vestibules, unutterably aware of our identity with this country for one strange hour, before we melted indis- tinguishably into it again.
That’s my Middle West — not the wheat or the prairies or the lost Swede towns, but the thrilling returning trains of my youth, and the street lamps and sleigh bells in the frosty dark and the shadows of holly wreaths thrown by lighted windows on the snow. I am part of that, a little solemn with the feel of those long winters, a little complacent from growing up in the Carraway house in a city where dwellings are still called through decades by a family’s name. I see now that this has been a story of the West, after all — Tom and Gatsby, Daisy and Jordan and I, were all Westerners, and perhaps we pos- sessed some deficiency in common which made us subtly un- adaptable to Eastern life.
134
Even when the East excited me most, even when I was most keenly aware of its superiority to the bored, sprawling, swollen towns beyond the Ohio, with their interminable inquisitions which spared only the children and the very old — even then it had always for me a quality of distortion. West Egg, especially, still figures in my more fantastic dreams. I see it as a night scene by El Greco: a hundred houses, at once conventional and grotesque, crouching under a sullen, overhanging sky and a lustreless moon. In the foreground four solemn men in dress suits are walking along the sidewalk with a stretcher on which lies a drunken woman in a white evening dress. Her hand, which dangles over the side, sparkles cold with jewels. Gravely the men turn in at a house — the wrong house. But no one knows the woman’s name, and no one cares.
After Gatsby’s death the East was haunted for me like that, distorted beyond my eyes’ power of correction. So when the blue smoke of brittle leaves was in the air and the wind blew the wet laundry stiff on the line I decided to come back home.
There was one thing to be done before I left, an awkward, unpleasant thing that perhaps had better have been let alone. But I wanted to leave things in order and not just trust that ob- liging and indifferent sea to sweep my refuse away. I saw Jordan Baker and talked over and around what had happened to us together, and what had happened afterward to me, and she lay perfectly still, listening, in a big chair.
She was dressed to play golf, and I remember thinking she looked like a good illustration, her chin raised a little jauntily, her hair the color of an autumn leaf, her face the same brown tint as the fingerless glove on her knee. When I had finished she told me without comment that she was engaged to another man. I doubted that, though there were several she could have married at a nod of her head, but I pretended to be surprised. For just a minute I wondered if I wasn’t making a mistake, then I thought it all over again quickly and got up to say good-bye.
“Nevertheless you did throw me over,” said Jordan suddenly. “You threw me over on the telephone. I don’t give a damn about you now, but it was a new experience for me, and I felt a little dizzy for a while.”
We shook hands.
135
“Oh, and do you remember.”— she added ——” a conversa- tion we had once about driving a car?”
“Why — not exactly.”
“You said a bad driver was only safe until she met another bad driver? Well, I met another bad driver, didn’t I? I mean it was careless of me to make such a wrong guess. I thought you were rather an honest, straightforward person. I thought it was your secret pride.”
“I’m thirty,” I said. “I’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor.”
She didn’t answer. Angry, and half in love with her, and tre- mendously sorry, I turned away.
One afternoon late in October I saw Tom Buchanan. He was walking ahead of me along Fifth Avenue in his alert, aggressive way, his hands out a little from his body as if to fight off inter- ference, his head moving sharply here and there, adapting it- self to his restless eyes. Just as I slowed up to avoid overtaking him he stopped and began frowning into the windows of a jew- elry store. Suddenly he saw me and walked back, holding out his hand.
“What’s the matter, Nick? Do you object to shaking hands with me?”
“Yes. You know what I think of you.”
“You’re crazy, Nick,” he said quickly. “Crazy as hell. I don’t know what’s the matter with you.”
“Tom,” I inquired, “what did you say to Wilson that after- noon?” He stared at me without a word, and I knew I had guessed right about those missing hours. I started to turn away, but he took a step after me and grabbed my arm.
“I told him the truth,” he said. “He came to the door while we were getting ready to leave, and when I sent down word that we weren’t in he tried to force his way up-stairs. He was crazy enough to kill me if I hadn’t told him who owned the car. His hand was on a revolver in his pocket every minute he was in the house ——” He broke off defiantly. “What if I did tell him? That fellow had it coming to him. He threw dust into your eyes just like he did in Daisy’s, but he was a tough one. He ran over Myrtle like you’d run over a dog and never even stopped his car.”
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There was nothing I could say, except the one unutterable fact that it wasn’t true.
“And if you think I didn’t have my share of suffering — look here, when I went to give up that flat and saw that damn box of dog biscuits sitting there on the sideboard, I sat down and cried like a baby. By God it was awful ——”
I couldn’t forgive him or like him, but I saw that what he had done was, to him, entirely justified. It was all very careless and confused. They were careless people, Tom and Daisy — they smashed up things and creatures and then retreated back into their money or their vast carelessness, or whatever it was that kept them together, and let other people clean up the mess they had made… .
I shook hands with him; it seemed silly not to, for I felt sud- denly as though I were talking to a child. Then he went into the jewelry store to buy a pearl necklace — or perhaps only a pair of cuff buttons — rid of my provincial squeamishness forever.
Gatsby’s house was still empty when I left — the grass on his lawn had grown as long as mine. One of the taxi drivers in the village never took a fare past the entrance gate without stop- ping for a minute and pointing inside; perhaps it was he who drove Daisy and Gatsby over to East Egg the night of the acci- dent, and perhaps he had made a story about it all his own. I didn’t want to hear it and I avoided him when I got off the train.
I spent my Saturday nights in New York because those gleaming, dazzling parties of his were with me so vividly that I could still hear the music and the laughter, faint and incessant, from his garden, and the cars going up and down his drive. One night I did hear a material car there, and saw its lights stop at his front steps. But I didn’t investigate. Probably it was some final guest who had been away at the ends of the earth and didn’t know that the party was over.
On the last night, with my trunk packed and my car sold to the grocer, I went over and looked at that huge incoherent fail- ure of a house once more. On the white steps an obscene word, scrawled by some boy with a piece of brick, stood out clearly in the moonlight, and I erased it, drawing my shoe raspingly along the stone. Then I wandered down to the beach and sprawled out on the sand.
137
Most of the big shore places were closed now and there were hardly any lights except the shadowy, moving glow of a ferry- boat across the Sound. And as the moon rose higher the ines- sential houses began to melt away until gradually I became aware of the old island here that flowered once for Dutch sail- ors’ eyes — a fresh, green breast of the new world. Its van- ished trees, the trees that had made way for Gatsby’s house, had once pandered in whispers to the last and greatest of all human dreams; for a transitory enchanted moment man must have held his breath in the presence of this continent, com- pelled into an aesthetic contemplation he neither understood nor desired, face to face for the last time in history with something commensurate to his capacity for wonder.
And as I sat there brooding on the old, unknown world, I thought of Gatsby’s wonder when he first picked out the green light at the end of Daisy’s dock. He had come a long way to this blue lawn, and his dream must have seemed so close that he could hardly fail to grasp it. He did not know that it was already behind him, somewhere back in that vast obscurity beyond the city, where the dark fields of the republic rolled on under the night.
Gatsby believed in the green light, the orgastic future that year by year recedes before us. It eluded us then, but that’s no matter — to-morrow we will run faster, stretch out our arms farther… . And one fine morning ——
So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back cease- lessly into the past.
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2/5
Whoa, it’s a forum signature. Ain’t that cool?
I’m waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
"Radioactive"
Whoa, oh, oh
Whoa, oh, oh
Whoa, oh, oh
Whoa
I'm waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
I'm breathing in the chemicals
[Inhale, exhale]
I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus
This is it, the apocalypse
Whoa oh
I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
Enough to make my system blow
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive
I raise my flag and dye my clothes
It's a revolution, I suppose
We're painted red to fit right in
Whoa oh
I'm breaking in, shaping up, then checking out on the prison bus
This is it, the apocalypse
Whoa oh
I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
Enough to make my system blow
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive
All systems go, the sun hasn't died
Deep in my bones, straight from inside
I'm waking up, I feel it in my bones
Enough to make my system blow
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Welcome to the new age, to the new age
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive
Whoa, oh, oh, oh, oh, whoa, oh, oh, oh, I'm radioactive, radioactive
We the People of the United States, in Order to form a more perfect Union, establish Justice, insure domestic Tranquility, provide for the common defence, promote the general Welfare, and secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity, do ordain and establish this Constitution for the United States of America.
The Constitutional Convention
Article I
Section 1: Congress
All legislative Powers herein granted shall be vested in a Congress of the United States, which shall consist of a Senate and House of Representatives.
Section 2: The House of Representatives
The House of Representatives shall be composed of Members chosen every second Year by the People of the several States, and the Electors in each State shall have the Qualifications requisite for Electors of the most numerous Branch of the State Legislature.
No Person shall be a Representative who shall not have attained to the Age of twenty five Years, and been seven Years a Citizen of the United States, and who shall not, when elected, be an Inhabitant of that State in which he shall be chosen.
Representatives and direct Taxes shall be apportioned among the several States which may be included within this Union, according to their respective Numbers, which shall be determined by adding to the whole Number of free Persons, including those bound to Service for a Term of Years, and excluding Indians not taxed, three fifths of all other Persons. The actual Enumeration shall be made within three Years after the first Meeting of the Congress of the United States, and within every subsequent Term of ten Years, in such Manner as they shall by Law direct.The number of Representatives shall not exceed one for every thirty Thousand, but each State shall have at Least one Representative; and until such enumeration shall be made, the State of New Hampshire shall be entitled to chuse three, Massachusetts eight, Rhode-Island and Providence Plantations one, Connecticut five, New-York six, New Jersey four, Pennsylvania eight, Delaware one, Maryland six, Virginia ten, North Carolina five, South Carolina five, and Georgia three.
When vacancies happen in the Representation from any State, the Executive Authority thereof shall issue Writs of Election to fill such Vacancies.
The House of Representatives shall chuse their Speaker and other Officers;and shall have the sole Power of Impeachment.
Section 3: The Senate
The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each State, chosen by the Legislature thereof, for six Years; and each Senator shall have one Vote.
Immediately after they shall be assembled in Consequence of the first Election, they shall be divided as equally as may be into three Classes. The Seats of the Senators of the first Class shall be vacated at the Expiration of the second Year, of the second Class at the Expiration of the fourth Year, and of the third Class at the Expiration of the sixth Year, so that one third may be chosen every second Year; and if Vacancies happen by Resignation, or otherwise, during the Recess of the Legislature of any State, the Executive thereof may make temporary Appointments until the next Meeting of the Legislature, which shall then fill such Vacancies.
No Person shall be a Senator who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty Years, and been nine Years a Citizen of the United States, and who shall not, when elected, be an Inhabitant of that State for which he shall be chosen.
The Vice President of the United States shall be President of the Senate, but shall have no Vote, unless they be equally divided.
The Senate shall chuse their other Officers, and also a President pro tempore, in the Absence of the Vice President, or when he shall exercise the Office of President of the United States.
The Senate shall have the sole Power to try all Impeachments. When sitting for that Purpose, they shall be on Oath or Affirmation. When the President of the United States is tried, the Chief Justice shall preside: And no Person shall be convicted without the Concurrence of two thirds of the Members present.
Judgment in Cases of Impeachment shall not extend further than to removal from Office, and disqualification to hold and enjoy any Office of honor, Trust or Profit under the United States: but the Party convicted shall nevertheless be liable and subject to Indictment, Trial, Judgment and Punishment, according to Law.
Section 4: Elections
The Times, Places and Manner of holding Elections for Senators and Representatives, shall be prescribed in each State by the Legislature thereof; but the Congress may at any time by Law make or alter such Regulations, except as to the Places of chusing Senators.
The Congress shall assemble at least once in every Year, and such Meeting shall be on the first Monday in December, unless they shall by Law appoint a different Day.
Section 5: Powers and Duties of Congress
Each House shall be the Judge of the Elections, Returns and Qualifications of its own Members,and a Majority of each shall constitute a Quorum to do Business; but a smaller Number may adjourn from day to day, and may be authorized to compel the Attendance of absent Members, in such Manner, and under such Penalties as each House may provide.
Each House may determine the Rules of its Proceedings, punish its Members for disorderly Behaviour, and, with the Concurrence of two thirds, expel a Member.
Each House shall keep a Journal of its Proceedings, and from time to time publish the same, excepting such Parts as may in their Judgment require Secrecy; and the Yeas and Nays of the Members of either House on any question shall, at the Desire of one fifth of those Present, be entered on the Journal.
Neither House, during the Session of Congress, shall, without the Consent of the other, adjourn for more than three days, nor to any other Place than that in which the two Houses shall be sitting.
Section 6: Rights and Disabilities of Members
The Senators and Representatives shall receive a Compensation for their Services, to be ascertained by Law, and paid out of the Treasury of the United States.They shall in all Cases, except Treason, Felony and Breach of the Peace, be privileged from Arrest during their Attendance at the Session of their respective Houses, and in going to and returning from the same; and for any Speech or Debate in either House, they shall not be questioned in any other Place.
No Senator or Representative shall, during the Time for which he was elected, be appointed to any civil Office under the Authority of the United States, which shall have been created, or the Emoluments whereof shall have been encreased during such time; and no Person holding any Office under the United States, shall be a Member of either House during his Continuance in Office.
Section 7: Legislative Process
All Bills for raising Revenue shall originate in the House of Representatives; but the Senate may propose or concur with Amendments as on other Bills.
Every Bill which shall have passed the House of Representatives and the Senate, shall, before it become a Law, be presented to the President of the United States; If he approve he shall sign it, but if not he shall return it, with his Objections to that House in which it shall have originated, who shall enter the Objections at large on their Journal, and proceed to reconsider it. If after such Reconsideration two thirds of that House shall agree to pass the Bill, it shall be sent, together with the Objections, to the other House, by which it shall likewise be reconsidered, and if approved by two thirds of that House, it shall become a Law. But in all such Cases the Votes of both Houses shall be determined by Yeas and Nays, and the Names of the Persons voting for and against the Bill shall be entered on the Journal of each House respectively. If any Bill shall not be returned by the President within ten Days (Sundays excepted) after it shall have been presented to him, the Same shall be a Law, in like Manner as if he had signed it, unless the Congress by their Adjournment prevent its Return, in which Case it shall not be a Law.
Every Order, Resolution, or Vote to which the Concurrence of the Senate and House of Representatives may be necessary (except on a question of Adjournment) shall be presented to the President of the United States; and before the Same shall take Effect, shall be approved by him, or being disapproved by him, shall be repassed by two thirds of the Senate and House of Representatives, according to the Rules and Limitations prescribed in the Case of a Bill.
Section 8: Powers of Congress
The Congress shall have Power To lay and collect Taxes, Duties, Imposts and Excises, to pay the Debts and provide for the common Defence and general Welfare of the United States; but all Duties, Imposts and Excises shall be uniform throughout the United States;
To borrow Money on the credit of the United States;
To regulate Commerce with foreign Nations, and among the several States, and with the Indian Tribes;
To establish a uniform Rule of Naturalization, and uniform Laws on the subject of Bankruptcies throughout the United States;
To coin Money, regulate the Value thereof, and of foreign Coin, and fix the Standard of Weights and Measures;
To provide for the Punishment of counterfeiting the Securities and current Coin of the United States;
To establish Post Offices and post Roads;
To promote the Progress of Science and useful Arts, by securing for limited Times to Authors and Inventors the exclusive Right to their respective Writings and Discoveries;
To constitute Tribunals inferior to the supreme Court;
To define and punish Piracies and Felonies committed on the high Seas, and Offenses against the Law of Nations;
To declare War, grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal, and make Rules concerning Captures on Land and Water;
To raise and support Armies, but no Appropriation of Money to that Use shall be for a longer Term than two Years;
To provide and maintain a Navy;
To make Rules for the Government and Regulation of the land and naval Forces;
To provide for calling forth the Militia to execute the Laws of the Union, suppress Insurrections and repel Invasions;
To provide for organizing, arming, and disciplining, the Militia, and for governing such Part of them as may be employed in the Service of the United States, reserving to the States respectively, the Appointment of the Officers, and the Authority of training the Militia according to the discipline prescribed by Congress;
To exercise exclusive Legislation in all Cases whatsoever, over such District (not exceeding ten Miles square) as may, by Cession of particular States, and the Acceptance of Congress, become the Seat of the Government of the United States, and to exercise like Authority over all Places purchased by the Consent of the Legislature of the State in which the Same shall be, for the Erection of Forts, Magazines, Arsenals, dock-Yards and other needful Buildings;-And
To make all Laws which shall be necessary and proper for carrying into Execution the foregoing Powers, and all other Powers vested by this Constitution in the Government of the United States, or in any Department or Officer thereof.
Section 9: Powers Denied Congress
The Migration or Importation of such Persons as any of the States now existing shall think proper to admit, shall not be prohibited by the Congress prior to the Year one thousand eight hundred and eight, but a Tax or duty may be imposed on such Importation, not exceeding ten dollars for each Person.
The Privilege of the Writ of Habeas Corpus shall not be suspended, unless when in Cases of Rebellion or Invasion the public Safety may require it.
No Bill of Attainder or ex post facto Law shall be passed.
No Capitation, or other direct, Tax shall be laid, unless in Proportion to the Census or Enumeration herein before directed to be taken.
No Tax or Duty shall be laid on Articles exported from any State.
No Preference shall be given by any Regulation of Commerce or Revenue to the Ports of one State over those of another: nor shall Vessels bound to, or from, one State, be obliged to enter, clear, or pay Duties in another.
No Money shall be drawn from the Treasury, but in Consequence of Appropriations made by Law; and a regular Statement and Account of the Receipts and Expenditures of all public Money shall be published from time to time.
No Title of Nobility shall be granted by the United States: And no Person holding any Office of Profit or Trust under them, shall, without the Consent of the Congress, accept of any present, Emolument, Office, or Title, of any kind whatever, from any King, Prince, or foreign State.
Section 10: Powers Denied to the States
No State shall enter into any Treaty, Alliance, or Confederation; grant Letters of Marque and Reprisal; coin Money; emit Bills of Credit; make any Thing but gold and silver Coin a Tender in Payment of Debts; pass any Bill of Attainder, ex post facto Law, or Law impairing the Obligation of Contracts, or grant any Title of Nobility.
No State shall, without the Consent of the Congress, lay any Imposts or Duties on Imports or Exports, except what may be absolutely necessary for executing it's inspection Laws: and the net Produce of all Duties and Imposts, laid by any State on Imports or Exports, shall be for the Use of the Treasury of the United States; and all such Laws shall be subject to the Revision and Controul of the Congress.
No State shall, without the Consent of Congress, lay any Duty of Tonnage, keep Troops, or Ships of War in time of Peace, enter into any Agreement or Compact with another State, or with a foreign Power, or engage in War, unless actually invaded, or in such imminent Danger as will not admit of delay.
Article II
Section 1
The executive Power shall be vested in a President of the United States of America.
He shall hold his Office during the Term of four Years, and, together with the Vice President, chosen for the same Term, be elected, as follows:
Each State shall appoint, in such Manner as the Legislature thereof may direct, a Number of Electors, equal to the whole Number of Senators and Representatives to which the State may be entitled in the Congress: but no Senator or Representative, or Person holding an Office of Trust or Profit under the United States, shall be appointed an Elector.
The Electors shall meet in their respective States, and vote by Ballot for two Persons, of whom one at least shall not be an Inhabitant of the same State with themselves. And they shall make a List of all the Persons voted for, and of the Number of Votes for each; which List they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to the Seat of the Government of the United States, directed to the President of the Senate. The President of the Senate shall, in the Presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the Certificates, and the Votes shall then be counted. The Person having the greatest Number of Votes shall be the President, if such Number be a Majority of the whole Number of Electors appointed; and if there be more than one who have such Majority, and have an equal Number of Votes, then the House of Representatives shall immediately chuse by Ballot one of them for President; and if no Person have a Majority, then from the five highest on the List the said House shall in like Manner chuse the President. But in chusing the President, the Votes shall be taken by States, the Representation from each State having one Vote; A quorum for this Purpose shall consist of a Member or Members from two thirds of the States, and a Majority of all the States shall be necessary to a Choice. In every Case, after the Choice of the President, the Person having the greatest Number of Votes of the Electors shall be the Vice President. But if there should remain two or more who have equal Votes, the Senate shall chuse from them by Ballot the Vice President.
The Congress may determine the Time of chusing the Electors, and the Day on which they shall give their Votes; which Day shall be the same throughout the United States.
No Person except a natural born Citizen, or a Citizen of the United States, at the time of the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be eligible to the Office of President; neither shall any person be eligible to that Office who shall not have attained to the Age of thirty five Years, and been fourteen Years a Resident within the United States.
In Case of the Removal of the President from Office, or of his Death, Resignation, or Inability to discharge the Powers and Duties of the said Office, the Same shall devolve on the Vice President, and the Congress may by Law provide for the Case of Removal, Death, Resignation or Inability, both of the President and Vice President, declaring what Officer shall then act as President, and such Officer shall act accordingly, until the Disability be removed, or a President shall be elected.
The President shall, at stated Times, receive for his Services, a Compensation, which shall neither be increased nor diminished during the Period for which he shall have been elected, and he shall not receive within that Period any other Emolument from the United States, or any of them.
Before he enter on the Execution of his Office, he shall take the following Oath or Affirmation:—"I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my Ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States."
Section 2
The President shall be Commander in Chief of the Army and Navy of the United States, and of the Militia of the several States, when called into the actual Service of the United States; he may require the Opinion, in writing, of the principal Officer in each of the executive Departments, upon any Subject relating to the Duties of their respective Offices, and he shall have Power to grant Reprieves and Pardons for Offenses against the United States, except in Cases of Impeachment.
He shall have Power, by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, to make Treaties, provided two thirds of the Senators present concur; and he shall nominate, and by and with the Advice and Consent of the Senate, shall appoint Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls, Judges of the supreme Court, and all other Officers of the United States, whose Appointments are not herein otherwise provided for, and which shall be established by Law: but the Congress may by Law vest the Appointment of such inferior Officers, as they think proper, in the President alone, in the Courts of Law, or in the Heads of Departments.
The President shall have Power to fill up all Vacancies that may happen during the Recess of the Senate, by granting Commissions which shall expire at the End of their next Session.
Section 3
He shall from time to time give to the Congress Information of the State of the Union, and recommend to their Consideration such Measures as he shall judge necessary and expedient; he may, on extraordinary Occasions, convene both Houses, or either of them, and in Case of Disagreement between them, with Respect to the Time of Adjournment, he may adjourn them to such Time as he shall think proper; he shall receive Ambassadors and other public Ministers; he shall take Care that the Laws be faithfully executed, and shall Commission all the Officers of the United States.
Section 4
The President, Vice President and all civil Officers of the United States, shall be removed from Office on Impeachment for, and Conviction of, Treason, Bribery, or other high Crimes and Misdemeanors.
Article III
Section 1
The judicial Power of the United States, shall be vested in one supreme Court, and in such inferior Courts as the Congress may from time to time ordain and establish. The Judges, both of the supreme and inferior Courts, shall hold their Offices during good Behaviour, and shall, at stated Times, receive for their Services, a Compensation, which shall not be diminished during their Continuance in Office.
Section 2
The judicial Power shall extend to all Cases, in Law and Equity, arising under this Constitution, the Laws of the United States, and Treaties made, or which shall be made, under their Authority;to all Cases affecting Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls;to all Cases of admiralty and maritime Jurisdiction;to Controversies to which the United States shall be a Party;to Controversies between two or more States;between a State and Citizens of another State;between Citizens of different States;—between Citizens of the same State claiming Lands under Grants of different States, and between a State, or the Citizens thereof, and foreign States, Citizens or Subjects.
In all Cases affecting Ambassadors, other public Ministers and Consuls, and those in which a State shall be Party, the supreme Court shall have original Jurisdiction. In all the other Cases before mentioned, the supreme Court shall have appellate Jurisdiction, both as to Law and Fact, with such Exceptions, and under such Regulations as the Congress shall make.
The Trial of all Crimes, except in Cases of Impeachment; shall be by Jury; and such Trial shall be held in the State where the said Crimes shall have been committed; but when not committed within any State, the Trial shall be at such Place or Places as the Congress may by Law have directed.
Section 3
Treason against the United States, shall consist only in levying War against them, or in adhering to their Enemies, giving them Aid and Comfort. No Person shall be convicted of Treason unless on the Testimony of two Witnesses to the same overt Act, or on Confession in open Court.
The Congress shall have Power to declare the Punishment of Treason, but no Attainder of Treason shall work Corruption of Blood, or Forfeiture except during the Life of the Person attainted.
Article IV
Section 1
Full Faith and Credit shall be given in each State to the public Acts, Records, and judicial Proceedings of every other State. And the Congress may by general Laws prescribe the Manner in which such Acts, Records and Proceedings shall be proved, and the Effect thereof.
Section 2
The Citizens of each State shall be entitled to all Privileges and Immunities of Citizens in the several States.
A Person charged in any State with Treason, Felony, or other Crime, who shall flee from Justice, and be found in another State, shall on Demand of the executive Authority of the State from which he fled, be delivered up, to be removed to the State having Jurisdiction of the Crime.
No Person held to Service or Labour in one State, under the Laws thereof, escaping into another, shall, in Consequence of any Law or Regulation therein, be discharged from such Service or Labour, but shall be delivered up on Claim of the Party to whom such Service or Labour may be due.
Section 3
New States may be admitted by the Congress into this Union; but no new State shall be formed or erected within the Jurisdiction of any other State; nor any State be formed by the Junction of two or more States, or Parts of States, without the Consent of the Legislatures of the States concerned as well as of the Congress.
The Congress shall have Power to dispose of and make all needful Rules and Regulations respecting the Territory or other Property belonging to the United States; and nothing in this Constitution shall be so construed as to Prejudice any Claims of the United States, or of any particular State.
Section 4
The United States shall guarantee to every State in this Union a Republican Form of Government, and shall protect each of them against Invasion; and on Application of the Legislature, or of the Executive (when the Legislature cannot be convened) against domestic Violence.
Article V
The Congress, whenever two thirds of both Houses shall deem it necessary, shall propose Amendments to this Constitution, or, on the Application of the Legislatures of two thirds of the several States, shall call a Convention for proposing Amendments, which, in either Case, shall be valid to all Intents and Purposes, as Part of this Constitution, when ratified by the Legislatures of three fourths of the several States, or by Conventions in three fourths thereof, as the one or the other Mode of Ratification may be proposed by the Congress; Provided that no Amendment which may be made prior to the Year One thousand eight hundred and eight shall in any Manner affect the first and fourth Clauses in the Ninth Section of the first Article; and that no State, without its Consent, shall be deprived of its equal Suffrage in the Senate.
Article VI
All Debts contracted and Engagements entered into, before the Adoption of this Constitution, shall be as valid against the United States under this Constitution, as under the Confederation.
This Constitution, and the Laws of the United States which shall be made in Pursuance thereof; and all Treaties made, or which shall be made, under the Authority of the United States, shall be the supreme Law of the Land; and the Judges in every State shall be bound thereby, any Thing in the Constitution or Laws of any State to the Contrary notwithstanding.
The Senators and Representatives before mentioned, and the Members of the several State Legislatures, and all executive and judicial Officers, both of the United States and of the several States, shall be bound by Oath or Affirmation, to support this Constitution; but no religious Test shall ever be required as a Qualification to any Office or public Trust under the United States.
Article VII
The Ratification of the Conventions of nine States, shall be sufficient for the Establishment of this Constitution between the States so ratifying the Same.
First Amendment
Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.
Second Amendment
A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.
Third Amendment
No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.
Fourth Amendment
The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, shall not be violated, and no Warrants shall issue, but upon probable cause, supported by Oath or affirmation, and particularly describing the place to be searched, and the persons or things to be seized.
Fifth Amendment
No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless on a presentment or indictment of a Grand Jury, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb; nor shall be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation.
Sixth Amendment
In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence.
Seventh Amendment
In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be preserved, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise reexamined in any Court of the United States, than according to the rules of the common law.
Eighth Amendment
Excessive bail shall not be required, nor excessive fines imposed, nor cruel and unusual punishments inflicted.
Ninth Amendment
The enumeration in the Constitution, of certain rights, shall not be construed to deny or disparage others retained by the people.
10th Amendment
The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved to the States respectively, or to the people.
11th Amendment
The Judicial power of the United States shall not be construed to extend to any suit in law or equity, commenced or prosecuted against one of the United States by Citizens of another State, or by Citizens or Subjects of any Foreign State.
12th Amendment
The Electors shall meet in their respective states and vote by ballot for President and Vice-President, one of whom, at least, shall not be an inhabitant of the same state with themselves; they shall name in their ballots the person voted for as President, and in distinct ballots the person voted for as Vice-President, and they shall make distinct lists of all persons voted for as President, and of all persons voted for as Vice-President, and of the number of votes for each, which lists they shall sign and certify, and transmit sealed to the seat of the government of the United States, directed to the President of the Senate; — The President of the Senate shall, in the presence of the Senate and House of Representatives, open all the certificates and the votes shall then be counted; — The person having the greatest number of votes for President, shall be the President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of Electors appointed; and if no person have such majority, then from the persons having the highest numbers not exceeding three on the list of those voted for as President, the House of Representatives shall choose immediately, by ballot, the President. But in choosing the President, the votes shall be taken by states, the representation from each state having one vote; a quorum for this purpose shall consist of a member or members from two-thirds of the states, and a majority of all the states shall be necessary to a choice. And if the House of Representatives shall not choose a President whenever the right of choice shall devolve upon them, before the fourth day of March next following, then the Vice-President shall act as President, as in case of the death or other constitutional disability of the President.— The person having the greatest number of votes as Vice-President, shall be the Vice-President, if such number be a majority of the whole number of Electors appointed, and if no person have a majority, then from the two highest numbers on the list, the Senate shall choose the Vice-President; a quorum for the purpose shall consist of two-thirds of the whole number of Senators, and a majority of the whole number shall be necessary to a choice. But no person constitutionally ineligible to the office of President shall be eligible to that of Vice-President of the United States.
13th Amendment
Section 1
Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as a punishment for crime whereof the party shall have been duly convicted, shall exist within the United States, or any place subject to their jurisdiction.
Section 2
Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
14th Amendment
Section 1
All persons born or naturalized in the United States, and subject to the jurisdiction thereof, are citizens of the United States and of the State wherein they reside. No State shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privileges or immunities of citizens of the United States; nor shall any State deprive any person of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law; nor deny to any person within its jurisdiction the equal protection of the laws.
Section 2
Representatives shall be apportioned among the several States according to their respective numbers, counting the whole number of persons in each State, excluding Indians not taxed. But when the right to vote at any election for the choice of electors for President and Vice-President of the United States, Representatives in Congress, the Executive and Judicial officers of a State, or the members of the Legislature thereof, is denied to any of the male inhabitants of such State, being twenty-one years of age, and citizens of the United States, or in any way abridged, except for participation in rebellion, or other crime, the basis of representation therein shall be reduced in the proportion which the number of such male citizens shall bear to the whole number of male citizens twenty-one years of age in such State.
Section 3
No person shall be a Senator or Representative in Congress, or elector of President and Vice-President, or hold any office, civil or military, under the United States, or under any State, who, having previously taken an oath, as a member of Congress, or as an officer of the United States, or as a member of any State legislature, or as an executive or judicial officer of any State, to support the Constitution of the United States, shall have engaged in insurrection or rebellion against the same, or given aid or comfort to the enemies thereof. But Congress may by a vote of two-thirds of each House, remove such disability.
Section 4
The validity of the public debt of the United States, authorized by law, including debts incurred for payment of pensions and bounties for services in suppressing insurrection or rebellion, shall not be questioned. But neither the United States nor any State shall assume or pay any debt or obligation incurred in aid of insurrection or rebellion against the United States, or any claim for the loss or emancipation of any slave; but all such debts, obligations and claims shall be held illegal and void.
Section 5
The Congress shall have the power to enforce, by appropriate legislation, the provisions of this article.
15th Amendment
Section 1
The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of race, color, or previous condition of servitude.
Section 2
The Congress shall have the power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
16th Amendment
The Congress shall have power to lay and collect taxes on incomes, from whatever source derived, without apportionment among the several States, and without regard to any census or enumeration.
17th Amendment
The Senate of the United States shall be composed of two Senators from each State, elected by the people thereof, for six years; and each Senator shall have one vote. The electors in each State shall have the qualifications requisite for electors of the most numerous branch of the State legislatures.
When vacancies happen in the representation of any State in the Senate, the executive authority of such State shall issue writs of election to fill such vacancies: Provided, That the legislature of any State may empower the executive thereof to make temporary appointments until the people fill the vacancies by election as the legislature may direct.
This amendment shall not be so construed as to affect the election or term of any Senator chosen before it becomes valid as part of the Constitution.
18th Amendment
Section 1
After one year from the ratification of this article the manufacture, sale, or transportation of intoxicating liquors within, the importation thereof into, or the exportation thereof from the United States and all territory subject to the jurisdiction thereof for beverage purposes is hereby prohibited.
Section 2
The Congress and the several States shall have concurrent power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
Section 3
This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of the several States, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the States by the Congress.
19th Amendment
The right of citizens of the United States to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of sex.
Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
20th Amendment
Section 1
The terms of the President and the Vice President shall end at noon on the 20th day of January, and the terms of Senators and Representatives at noon on the 3d day of January, of the years in which such terms would have ended if this article had not been ratified; and the terms of their successors shall then begin.
Section 2
The Congress shall assemble at least once in every year, and such meeting shall begin at noon on the 3d day of January, unless they shall by law appoint a different day.
Section 3
If, at the time fixed for the beginning of the term of the President, the President elect shall have died, the Vice President elect shall become President. If a President shall not have been chosen before the time fixed for the beginning of his term, or if the President elect shall have failed to qualify, then the Vice President elect shall act as President until a President shall have qualified; and the Congress may by law provide for the case wherein neither a President elect nor a Vice President shall have qualified, declaring who shall then act as President, or the manner in which one who is to act shall be selected, and such person shall act accordingly until a President or Vice President shall have qualified.
Section 4
The Congress may by law provide for the case of the death of any of the persons from whom the House of Representatives may choose a President whenever the right of choice shall have devolved upon them, and for the case of the death of any of the persons from whom the Senate may choose a Vice President whenever the right of choice shall have devolved upon them.
Section 5
Sections 1 and 2 shall take effect on the 15th day of October following the ratification of this article.
Section 6
This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several States within seven years from the date of its submission.
21st Amendment
Section 1
The eighteenth article of amendment to the Constitution of the United States is hereby repealed.
Section 2
The transportation or importation into any State, Territory, or Possession of the United States for delivery or use therein of intoxicating liquors, in violation of the laws thereof, is hereby prohibited.
Section 3
This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by conventions in the several States, as provided in the Constitution, within seven years from the date of the submission hereof to the States by the Congress.
22nd Amendment
Section 1
No person shall be elected to the office of the President more than twice, and no person who has held the office of President, or acted as President, for more than two years of a term to which some other person was elected President shall be elected to the office of President more than once. But this Article shall not apply to any person holding the office of President when this Article was proposed by Congress, and shall not prevent any person who may be holding the office of President, or acting as President, during the term within which this Article becomes operative from holding the office of President or acting as President during the remainder of such term.
Section 2
This article shall be inoperative unless it shall have been ratified as an amendment to the Constitution by the legislatures of three-fourths of the several States within seven years from the date of its submission to the States by the Congress.
23rd Amendment
Section 1
The District constituting the seat of Government of the United States shall appoint in such manner as Congress may direct:
A number of electors of President and Vice President equal to the whole number of Senators and Representatives in Congress to which the District would be entitled if it were a State, but in no event more than the least populous State; they shall be in addition to those appointed by the States, but they shall be considered, for the purposes of the election of President and Vice President, to be electors appointed by a State; and they shall meet in the District and perform such duties as provided by the twelfth article of amendment.
Section 2
The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
24th Amendment
Section 1
The right of citizens of the United States to vote in any primary or other election for President or Vice President, for electors for President or Vice President, or for Senator or Representative in Congress, shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or any State by reason of failure to pay poll tax or other tax.
Section 2
The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
25th Amendment
Section 1
In case of the removal of the President from office or of his death or resignation, the Vice President shall become President.
Section 2
Whenever there is a vacancy in the office of the Vice President, the President shall nominate a Vice President who shall take office upon confirmation by a majority vote of both Houses of Congress.
Section 3
Whenever the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that he is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, and until he transmits to them a written declaration to the contrary, such powers and duties shall be discharged by the Vice President as Acting President.
Section 4
Whenever the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive departments or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall immediately assume the powers and duties of the office as Acting President.
Thereafter, when the President transmits to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives his written declaration that no inability exists, he shall resume the powers and duties of his office unless the Vice President and a majority of either the principal officers of the executive department or of such other body as Congress may by law provide, transmit within four days to the President pro tempore of the Senate and the Speaker of the House of Representatives their written declaration that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office. Thereupon Congress shall decide the issue, assembling within forty-eight hours for that purpose if not in session. If the Congress, within twenty-one days after receipt of the latter written declaration, or, if Congress is not in session, within twenty-one days after Congress is required to assemble, determines by two-thirds vote of both Houses that the President is unable to discharge the powers and duties of his office, the Vice President shall continue to discharge the same as Acting President; otherwise, the President shall resume the powers and duties of his office.
26th Amendment
Section 1
The right of citizens of the United States, who are eighteen years of age or older, to vote shall not be denied or abridged by the United States or by any State on account of age.
Section 2
The Congress shall have power to enforce this article by appropriate legislation.
27th Amendment
No law, varying the compensation for the services of the Senators and Representatives, shall take effect, until an election of representatives shall have intervened.
3/5
Whoa, it’s a forum signature. Ain’t that cool?
I’m waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
Dawn FM
This part I do alone
I'll take my lead
I'll take my lead on this road
And I need something (something) to hold (to hold)
Make me believe in make-beliefs
'Cause after the light, is it dark?
Is it dark all alone?
All alone
You are now listening to 103.5 Dawn FM
You've been in the dark for way too long
It's time to walk into the light
And accept your fate with open arms
Scared? Don't worry
We'll be there to hold your hand and guide you through this painless transition
But what's the rush?
Just relax and enjoy another hour of commercial (free yourself) music on 103.5 Dawn FM
Stay tuned
103.5 Dawn FM
Gasoline
It's 5 AM my time again
I've soakin' up the moon, can't sleep
It's 5 AM my time again
I'm calling and you know it's me
I'm pushing myself further
I'm just tryna feel my heartbeat beat (beat)
I wrap my hands around your neck
You love it when I always squeeze
It's 5 AM, I'm high again
And you can see that I'm in pain
I've fallen into emptiness
I want you 'cause we're both insane
I'm staring into the abyss
I'm looking at myself again
I'm dozing off to R.E.M.
I'm trying not to lose my faith
And I love it when you watch me sleep
You spin me 'round so I can breathe
It's only safe for you and me
I know you won't let me OD
And if I finally die in peace
Just wrap my body in these sheets
And pour out the gasoline
It don't mean much to me
It's 5 AM, I'm nihilist
I know there's nothing after this (after this)
Obsessing over aftermaths
Apocalypse and hopelessness (hopelessness)
The only thing I understand
Is zero sum of tenderness (tenderness)
Oh, baby, please just hold me close
Make me believe there's more to live
Around, around, around, around we go
In this game called life, we are not free
And I love it when you watch me sleep
You spin me 'round so I can breathe
It's only safe for you and me (don't let me go)
I know you won't let me OD (don't you let me go)
And if I finally die in peace (ooh yeah)
Just wrap my body in these sheets
And pour out the gasoline
It don't mean much to me
How Do I Make You Love Me?
We're going back in time
I'd like to see you try
Unpacking thoughts through tunnels in your mind
I'll fix you mushroom tea
And cross the restless sea
Release yourself to escape reality
It doesn't phase you
I need a breakthrough
I only want what's right in front of me
It's quite unusual
Seeking approval
Begging for it desperately
I said
How do I make you love me?
How do I make you fall for me?
How do I make you want me
And make it last eternally?
How do I make you love me? (Ooh)
How do I make you fall for me?
How do I make you want me? (Ooh)
And make it last eternally?
I can see the real you, girl
You don't have to hide
Forget 'bout what your daddy said
I'll teach you how to shine
And all the things you tolerated, made you cold inside
But I can light you up again like embers of a fire
It doesn't phase you
I need a breakthrough
I only want what's right in front of me
It's quite unusual
Seeking approval
Begging for it desperately
I said
How do I make you love me? (Make you love me)
How do I make you fall for me? (How do I make you fall?)
How do I make you want me
And make it last eternally?
How do I make you love me? (Ooh)
How do I make you fall for me?
How do I make you want me? (Ooh)
And make it last eternally?
Take My Breath (Extended Version)
I saw the fire in your eyes
I saw the fire when I look into your eyes
You tell me things you wanna try, uh
I know temptation is the devil in disguise
You risk it all to feel alive, oh yeah
You're offering yourself to me like sacrifice
You said you do this all the time
Tell me you love me if I bring you to the light
It's like a dream what she feels with me
She loves to be on the edge
Her fantasy is okay with me
Then suddenly, baby says
Take my breath away
And make it last forever, babe
Do it now or never, babe, uh
Take my breath away
Nobody does it better, babe
Bring me close to
Want me to hold onto you tight
You pull me closer, I feel the heat between your thighs (uh, say)
You're way too young to end your life (huh)
Girl, I don't wanna be the one who pays the price
Ooh, it's like a dream what she feels with me
She loves to be on the edge
Her fantasy is okay with me
Then suddenly, baby says
Take my breath away
And make it last forever, babe
Do it now or never, babe, uh
Take my breath away
Nobody does it better, babe
Bring me close to heaven, babe, uh
Take my breath
Oh, oh-ooh
And they'll see me (yeah)
Oh-ooh, ooh (yeah)
Oh-oh, oh-oh
Oh-oh, oh-oh
Oh-oh, oh-oh
Oh-oh
Take my breath away (take my breath, my breath away)
And make it last forever, babe
Do it now or never, babe, uh
Take my breath away (take my breath, my breath away)
Nobody does it better, babe
Bring me close to heaven, babe (oh)
Take my breath (take my breath, my breath away)
(Nobody)
Take my breath (take my breath, my breath away)
Nobody does it better, babe (better)
Bring me close to heaven, babe, uh
Take my breath
Sacrifice
I was born in a city
Where the winter nights don't ever sleep
So this life's always with me
The ice inside my veins will never bleed
My, ooh
My, ooh
Uh, every time you try to fix me
I know you'll never find that missing piece
When you cry and say you miss me
I'll lie and tell you that I'll never leave
But I sacrificed (sacrificed)
Your love for more of the night (of the night)
I try to put up a fight (up a fight)
Can't tie me down (down)
I don't wanna sacrifice
For your love, I try
I don't wanna sacrifice
But I love my time
My, ooh
My, ooh
I hold you through the toughest parts
When you feel like it's the end
'Cause life is still worth living
Yeah, this life is still worth living
I can break you down and pick you up
And fuck like we are friends
But don't be catching feelings
Don't be out here catching feelings 'cause
I sacrificed (sacrificed)
Your love for more of the night (of the night)
I try to put up a fight (up a fight)
Can't tie me down (down)
I don't wanna sacrifice
For your love, I try
I don't wanna sacrifice
But I love my time
I don't wanna sacrifice
For your love, I try
I don't wanna sacrifice
But I love my time
Oh, baby
I hope you know that I, I tried
Oh, baby (baby)
I hope you know I love my time, oh
I don't wanna sacrifice
I don't wanna, I try (hey)
I don't wanna sacrifice
But I love my, my time
My, ooh
My, ooh
A Tale by Quincy
Looking back now, I didn't know what it was supposed to be
And, and it's like raising kids, man
If you weren't raised, you don't know how to raise, you know?
I just did the best that I could with them because
They know fucking well I love them
But I didn't do the best I could
I didn't know what the fuck I was doing
I didn't
I will never forget watching my mother get put in a straightjacket
And taken out of my home when I was only seven years old
She was diagnosed with Dementia praecox and put in a mental institution
Leaving my daddy alone with me and my little brother Lloyd
I later had an evil stepmother who further cemented the idea that I didn't need a mother
Growing up without one had long lasting impressions
I didn't fully understand until much later in life
It bled into my relationships with family
And those I had become romantically involved with
Whenever I got too close to a woman, I would cut her off
Part of that was vindictive and partially based on fear
But it was also totally subconscious
Looking back is a bitch, isn't it?
Out of Time
Yeah, yeah
The last few months, I've been working on me, baby
There's so much trauma in my life
I've been so cold to the ones who loved me, baby
I look back now and I realize
And I remember when I held you
You begged me with your drowning eyes to stay
And I regret I didn't tell you
Now I can't keep you from loving him
You made up your mind, uh
Say I love you, girl, but I'm out of time
Say I'm there for you, but I'm out of time
Say that I'll care for you, but I'm out of time
Said I'm too late to make you mine, out of time, ah
If he mess up just a little
Baby, you know my line
If you don't trust him a little
Then come right back, girl, come right back
Give me one chance, just a little
Baby, I'll treat you right
And I'll love you like I should've loved you all the time
And I remember when I held you (held you, baby)
You begged me with your drowning eyes to stay (never again, baby)
And I regret I didn't tell you
Now I can't keep you from loving him
You made up your mind, uh
Say I love you, girl, but I'm out of time
Say I'm there for you, but I'm out of time
Say that I'll care for you, but I'm out of time
Said I'm too late to make you mine, out of time, ah
Ooh, singing (out of time)
Said I had you to myself
But I'm (out of time)
Say that I'll care for you, but I'm out of time
But I'm too late to make you mine, out of time
(Out of time)
(Out of time)
Don't you dare touch that dial
Because like the song says, you are out of time
You're almost there, but don't panic
There's still more music to come
Before you're completely engulfed in the blissful embrace of that little light you see in the distance
Soon you'll be healed, forgiven and refreshed
Free from all trauma, pain, guilt, and shame
You may even forget your own name
But before you dwell in that house forever
Here's thirty minutes of easy listening to some slow tracks
On 103.5 Dawn FM
Here We Go… Again
Strike a pose with my kinfolk
Front page of the billboards
Suit and tie and cigar smokes
Macallan shots 'til it burn throats
We still celebratin' Super Bowl
Catalog lookin' legendary
Ring froze like it's February
XO, that's a mercenary
A quarter bill' on an off year
Used to sing on lofts
But now we cruising on a yacht, we clear, yeah
Said you wanted your boyfriend jealous with a couple pics
And you didn't expect to fall for me once you got this dick
The city dark, city dangerous
Your girlfriend's tryna pair you with somebody more famous
But instead you ended up with someone so basic, faceless
Someone to take your pictures and frame it
And my new girl, she a movie star
My new girl, she a movie star
I loved her right, make her scream like Neve Campbell
But when I make her laugh, swear it cures my depressing thoughts
'Cause, baby girl, she a movie star
Baby girl, she a movie star
I told myself that I'd never fall
But here we go again
Ooh
Here we go again
Life's a dream
'Cause it's never what it seems
But you'd rather love and lost with tears
Than never love at all
So here we go again
Although this love is strong to me
Some things can change, go wrong with me
We don't know how it's gonna be
Forever is too long to me
We don't need the government involved because we like to touch
We don't need no damn religion tellin' us that we in love
But if we did crash down the road, spendin' lawyer fees up
Pen and pack gon' save my ass if these feelings freeze up
You gon' sign this prenup
You gon' sign this prenup
You gon' sign this prenup
You gon' sign this prenup
Ooh
Here we go again
Life's a dream
'Cause it's never what it seems
But you'd rather love and lost with tears
Than never love at all
So here we go again
The number one station to free your soul (free your soul)
Dawn 103.5
Best Friends
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Oh, oh, oh
Hey
Yeah, yeah, yeah, uh
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Oh, what we got
Baby, what we got is secure
Been a part of toxic love
It tore us apart
Things you want, I'm not looking for
You're my best friend now
You're my best friend now
Oh, I don't want to be responsible
For your heart if we fall
'Cause I'll get clumsy and tear it apart
I love you so
But we can't get close
You're my best friend now
You're my best friend now
Oh, I love it when we [DATA EXPUNGED]
And I would never burn you
I could never hurt you
If we do it like that
Don't try to take it further
Focus on the friendship
Get a little sidetracked
Catching little feelings
Thought we had arrangements
Thought you weren't like that
Yeah, I thought you weren't like that
[CHORUS EXPUNGED]
Oh, what we got (oh yeah)
Baby, what we got is secure
Been a part of toxic love
It tore us apart
Things you want, I'm not looking for (I'm not searching)
You're my best friend now (oh, baby)
You're my best friend now
Oh, I don't want to be responsible
For your heart if we fall (oh no)
'Cause I'll get clumsy and tear it apart
I love you so (oh yeah)
But we can't get close
You're my best friend now (best friend now)
You're my best friend now (best friend now)
Dawn FM (radio)
Is There Someone Else?
I know that you're hiding something from me
That's been close to your heart
And I felt it creeping up everyday
Baby, right from the start
I know that look you give when we're fighting (fighting)
We're fighting (fighting)
'Cause I used to be the one who was lying (lying)
Oh, lying (lying)
Oh, is there someone else or not?
'Cause I wanna keep you close
I don't wanna lose my spot
'Cause I need to know
If you're hurting him, or you're hurting me
If I ain't with you, I don't wanna be
Is there someone else or not?
Ooh, or not
I don't deserve someone loyal to me
Don't you think I see?
And I don't want to be a prisoner to who I used to be
I swear I changed my ways for the better, the better
'Cause I wanna be with you forever, forever
Oh, is there someone else or not?
'Cause I wanna keep you close
I don't wanna lose my spot
'Cause I need to know
If you're hurting him, or you're hurting me
If I ain't with you, I don't wanna be
Is there someone else or not?
Ooh, or not
Ooh, whoa, yeah, hey
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Whoa, whoa, whoa, hey
Starry Eyes
I only met you in my dreams before
When I was young and alone in the world
You were there when I needed someone
To call my girl
And now you're my reality
And I wanna feel you close
But you're defeated, baby
Broken, hurtin', sufferin' from a shattered soul
Oh, whoa, a shattered soul
Oh, oh-oh
Let me be there, let me be there for your heart
Let me be there, I can be there until you're whole
You weren't touched by a man in so long
'Cause the last time it was way too strong
Let me be there, let me be there for your heart
Let me love you, let me love you like you need
And I'll make it, make it my responsibility
I'll be there every step of the way, uh
I'll get you back on your feet
Let me love you, let me love you like you need
And you can kick me, kick me to the curb
It's okay, babe, I promise that I felt worse
Back then I was starry eyed
And now I'm so cynical
Baby, break me, kick me to the curb, oh
Mm-mm
Every Angel Is Terrifying
Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' order?
Even if they pressed me against their heart, I'd be consumed
For beauty is the terror we endure, while we stand and wonder, we're annihilated
Every angel is terrifying
Intense, graphic, sexy, euphoric
Provocative, edgy, thought-provoking
Technically and visually stunning
A compelling work of science fiction
A suspenseful exposé
Cinema like you've never seen it before
The exotic, bizarre and beautiful world of "After Life"
And this is your invitation to enter
Critics say "After Life" makes your current life look like a total comatose snooze fest
It's action-packed
The future of everyone's fate
Nigel and Frank call it a, —ing classic
Arthur Fleminger says, "I can't keep my eyes off the screen"
"After Life" can be yours for only .95 with a subscription when you order the
"Best of Your Current Life" Collection Series
You will enter a world beyond your imagination
A future out of control
And an experience you will never forget
(Don't say we didn't warn you)
The wait is over
Call 1-800-414-4444
That's 1-800-444-4444 now
To order "After Life"
.95 plus
(Now)
To order "After Life"
Plus .79 shipping and handling
Now
Don't Break My Heart
Ooh (I'm paralyzed)
Ooh
Ooh (let's go)
I see you drowning in the purple lights
Diamonds shining bright
I see every ice on you
You snatch my soul, I'm crucified
I feel paralyzed
I'm so mesmerized by you (by you)
But I know you're right for me, ecstasy
I keep coming back for more
I think that you would die for me, destiny
And this time I know for sure
Just don't break my heart (don't break my heart)
Don't let me down, please
Don't you break my heart (don't break my heart)
I don't know if I can take it anymore
Take it anymore, take it anymore
I can't take another heart break or I'll end it all
And the girl I used to love
We broke up in the club
And I almost died in the discotheque
And now, I know she wasn't right for me, enemy
I kept coming back for more
I'd rather you would die for me, destiny
And this time I know for sure
Just don't break my heart (don't break my heart)
Don't let me down, please
Don't you break my heart (don't break my heart)
I don't know if I can take it anymore
Don't break my heart (don't you, don't you)
I'm falling apart already
Don't you break my heart (don't you, don't you)
I don't know if I can take it anymore
I believe the liquor's talking
I just need the room to stop and
I could be the one you want
Just as long as you don't break my heart
[DATA EXPUNGED]
Just don't break my heart (don't break my heart)
Don't let me down, please
Don't you break my heart (don't break my heart)
I don't know if I can take it anymore
Don't break my heart (don't you, don't you)
I'm falling apart already
Don't you break my heart (don't you, don't you)
I don't know if I can take it anymore
Ooh
Ooh
Ooh
I Heard You're Married
[SONG EXPUNGED]
Less Than Zero
Remember I was your hero, yeah
I'd wear your heart like a symbol
I couldn't save you from my darkest truth of all
I know
I'll always be less than zero
Oh yeah
You tried your best with me, I know
I couldn't face you with my darkest truth of all
Oh
'Cause I can't get it out of my head
And no, I can't shake this feeling that crawls in my bed
I try to hide it, but I know you know me
I try to fight it, but I'd rather be free
Oh, oh
Oh yeah
Can we meet in the middle?
Oh yeah
'Cause you were just like me before
Now you'd rather leave me
Than to watch me die in your arms
Oh, whoa
But I can't get it out of my head
No, I can't shake this feeling that crawls in my bed
I try to hide it, but I know you know me
I try to fight it, but I'd rather be free
Oh, whoa
I can't get it out of my head
No, I can't shake this feeling that crawls in my bed
I try to hide it, but I know you know me (know me)
I try to fight it, but I'd rather be free (be free)
Yeah
I'll always be less than zero
You tried your best with me, I know
Phantom Regret by Jim
You're tuned to Dawn FM
The middle of nowhere on your dial
So sit back and unpack
You may be here awhile
Now that all future plans have been postponed
And it's time to look back on the things you thought you owned
Do you remember them well?
Were you high or just stoned?
And how many grudges did you take to your grave?
When you weren't liked or followed, how did you behave?
Was it often a dissonant chord you were strumming?
Were you ever in tune with the song life was humming?
If pain's living on when your body's long gone
And your phantom regret hasn't let it go yet
You may not have died in the way that you must
All specters are haunted by their own lack of trust
When you're all out of time, there's nothing but space
No hunting, no gathering
No nations, no race
And Heaven is closer than those tears on your face
When the purple rain falls
We're all bathed in its grace
Heaven's for those who let go of regret
And you have to wait here when you're not all there yet
But you could be there by the end of this song
Where The Weeknd's so good and he plays all week long
Bang a gong, get it on
And if your broken heart's heavy when you step on the scale
You'll be lighter than air when they pull back the veil
Consider the flowers, they don't try to look right
They just open their petals and turn to the light
Are you listening real close?
Heaven's not that, it's this
It's the depth of this moment
You don't reach for bliss
God knows life is chaos
But He made one thing true
You gotta unwind your mind
Train your soul to align
And dance 'til you find that divine boogaloo
In other words
You gotta be Heaven to see Heaven
May peace be with you.
4/5
Whoa, it’s a forum signature. Ain’t that cool?
I’m waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
to close off this crit, I guessed the Heardle song in 1 second today.
5/5
Whoa, it’s a forum signature. Ain’t that cool?
I’m waking up to ash and dust
I wipe my brow and I sweat my rust
i appreciate your kind words and your mean ones as well. i have unfortunately not been able to recover and am in a hospitable area for sick people (known as 'hospital') getting treatment. please visit me, thank you.
There are roads,
a samurai must travel…
these guys should just publish an entire novel in the comment section and see how it goes
anyway, -1
(account deleted) 05 Aug 2022 22:25
[[module rate]]
"If you're not careful and you noclip out of reality in the wrong areas, you'll end up in the Backrooms, where it's nothing but the stink of old moist carpet, the madness of mono-yellow, the endless background noise of fluorescent lights at maximum hum-buzz, and approximateIy six hundred million square miles of randomly segmented empty rooms to be trapped in.
God save you if you hear something wandering around nearby, because it sure as hell has heard you…"
[[include :backrooms-wiki:component:level-class
|class=1
]]
[[include component:image-block
name=Thebackrooms.jpg|
caption=The first picture ever taken of Level 0.
]]
Level 0 is the 1st Level of the Backrooms, and the first Level many encounter.
Description:
Level 0 is a non-linear space, resembling the back rooms of a retail outlet. Similar to its previous form, all rooms in Level 0 appear uniform and share superficial features such as yellowed wallpaper, damp carpet, and inconsistently placed fluorescent lighting. However, no two rooms within the Level are identical.
The installed lighting flickers inconsistently and hums at a constant frequency. This buzzing is notably louder and more obtrusive than ordinary fluorescent humming, and examination of the fixtures to determine the source has been inconclusive. The substance saturating the carpet cannot be consistently identified. It is not water, nor is it safe to consume.1
Linear space in Level 0 is altered drastically; it is possible to walk in a straight line and return to the starting point, and retracing your steps will result in a different set of rooms appearing than the ones already passed through. Due to this, and the visual similarity between rooms, consistent navigation is extremely difficult. Devices such as compasses and GPS locators fail to function within the Level, and radio communications are distorted and unreliable.
Level 0 is entirely still and devoid of life. Despite the fact that it is the primary entrance to the Backrooms, contact with other wanderers within the Level has never been reported. Presumably, a great number of people have died before exiting, the most likely causes being dehydration, starvation, and psychological trauma due to sensory deprivation and isolation. However, no corpses have been reported from these hypothetical deaths. Attempting to enter Level 0 in a group will result in the separation of the group until the Level is exited.
Hallucinations are common in Level 0, the most common being:
- Humming from the lighting increasing to a deafening volume, then abruptly silencing.
- The appearance of doors.
- The appearance of stairs.
- Acute déjà vu.
- Human-like speech resembling no known language.
- Movement in peripheral vision resembling insects crawling underneath the wallpaper, which disappears once the wall is observed directly.
- Insect-like chittering.
According to analysis, the CO2 levels within Level 0 are rising at a steady rate. The significance of this is unknown.
Entities:
No Entities are known to exist within the Level, including other humans. If you see, hear, or encounter what you believe to be another wanderer, it is not a human.
Entrances And Exits:
Entrances
Accidental no-clipping out of the bounds of reality is the most consistent way of accessing Level 0, and, by extension, The Backrooms. See the 'Basics of the Backrooms' guide for more information.
The Fortresses of Level 283 rarely contain wooden doors that smell of mold; entering these doors will lead to Level 0.
Exits
Exiting Level 0 is only possible by noclipping, which will always result in entry to Level 1. As newcomers to Level 0 are often unfamiliar with the mechanics of the Backrooms, it is necessary to keep your bearings and adapt quickly to the environment in order to exit.
Entrance to the Manila Room is rare, but possible by walking a great distance in any direction. Unlike Level 0, wanderers can meet freely in the Manila Room, but the room is a dead end. Rather, it functions as a rendezvous room for wanderers who survive the trek.
Additionally, documentation from The M.E.G. can be found in the Manila Room, assisting newcomers in survival and escape. Instructions on how to noclip can be found in [DATA MISSING]
Original Backrooms concept from this post on 4chan
This entry was adapted by Reddit user u/Deveyerr, and rewritten by etoisle
hi it is me aaron92
(account deleted), 05 Aug 2022 22:25
Readers crit for this article
9-10/10 = Excellent!
7-8/10 = Good!
5-6/10 = Ok.
3-4/10 = Bad.
1-2/10 = Terrible…
0/10 = Awful…
TL;DR: This article sucks so bad that I literally throw up.
Creativity: 0/10
It's pretty unoriginal and frankly garbage in its current form. Why the fuck would do write an article about this shit? This cliche has been done at least 4857834784374879 times on this site. This alone is enough to warrant a ban against you.
Expansion on the idea: -7/10
The best I could compare this article to is a singular stick pointing up into the sky. There is NO, and I mean NO expansion on this idea. You could have like 97 branches hanging from that aforementioned stick, but NO, you decided to be a little bitch and not expand on ANYTHING.
Intrigue: -32/10
The entire time I was reading this, I just felt like exiting this page immediately because of how little intrigue there was. This article has as much plot intrigue as a fucking trash can sitting on Monday afternoon at 2 pm. That's me being generous.
Worldbuilding: -634/10
Since no expansion was made on this article, I would not have much to say here other than, "disgusting."
General Writing:
Execution: -3657/10
You honestly write like a 4-year-old. This is a fucking professional database, not some primary school where you could taint the entire area with fucking garbage everywhere. Maybe being a little more mature around here would help your case.
SPaG: -673827454/10
EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW WHAT IS THIS SHIT????????????? SPELLING ERRORS AFTER SPELLING ERRORS. WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK THIS IS?
Structuring and formatting: -7497837438732676573684972843/10
WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT FORMATTING AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
Conclusion: You're now Banned permanently from this wiki. You may no longer, write, post, vote, or comment on this site.
by far the best crit i have seen yet, i agree wholeheartedly
Finding the Forgotten, Mending the Found.
Hello yes thanks for your criticism I am typing with my nose because my hands have been blow off by your critique and my cat is on my laptop e3 3j 3 j3br ddjjrrjrjrjr thank you senieebe eidjsjebe r for your time
There are roads,
a samurai must travel…
PART 1
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margin:1rem 0;
background:#c7c089;
border-radius:0.6rem;
box-shadow: 0px 0px 3px;
border: 1.75px solid #d6ce92;
box-sizing:border-box;
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[[/module]]
To: M.E.G. Teams (All), ten.gem|enavailema#ten.gem|enavailema
From: ten.gem|ahcterts#ten.gem|ahcterts
Subject: Congratulations!
Date: 9/13/1993
Hello there everyone! I am messaging each of you to congratulate each of us, whether they be new or old, on our official one year anniversary on founding The M.E.G. We may be small now, however, the project at hand has been very successful. Currently, documentation is difficult, however, with all hope, we can persevere forward with the project at hand and help protect everyone! I'd especially like to thank Overseer-B and her hard work documenting all the data we currently have within our database.
Right now, our database is quite small, and we only have 3 leaders at the current moment. We feel this discrepancy would be more formalized should we have a 4th overseer on our end. For this reason, we are currently looking for a 4th overseer. We are still quite small, however, if you believe you hold the capabilities of becoming an overseer, please let us know! We are in definite lack of anyone with experience in exploration, so anyone in that field is invited to apply.
In other news, as of recently, reports have been coming in for Level 18, and we are hoping to focus our efforts in finding more information about Entities rumored to be within those areas. Reports of exits have been rumored to be from the so-called Entity within that Level, but these rumors are unconfirmed. For now, we will continue documenting there. In the meantime, we are in need of researchers for the Databirth project. If you have experience exploring in areas which alter memories, we would love to have you.
Other then that, happy 1 year anniversary to our group! I hope you are all well, and you all deserve a break. We will not be hosting any work for tomorrow in order to let you all rest.
Overseer-A: Stretch
M.E.G.: Bettering Humanity
To: Stretch Zimals
From: Amelia Vane
Subject: Found a document which may interest you.
Date: 9/24/1993
3 Files Attached
Recently, I have uncovered a specific document which may interest your colleagues. Please review the following document and discuss with The Council immediately.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
M.E.G: OVERSEER-D
VANESSA TSIGIRDA
Last Known Location:
Vanessa can be found throughout many areas within The Backrooms, so defining a concrete place for her to be is rather difficult. Vanessa is noted to spend large amounts of time on the following Levels.
Description:
Overseer-D, otherwise known as Vanessa is a female of asian descent. She has talent in exploration, and she has a natural talent for documentation regarding any information about The Backrooms. She has admitted to having ADHD, however, this does not seem to affect her on any expeditions. Vanessa holds a natural position of leadership, and has lead multiple dangerous expeditions to complete success. Her natural talent at developing and uploading data, exploring around The Backrooms, and overall morale and skill has proven her to be an invaluable asset around The M.E.G. Outpost.
Currently in need of updating, awaiting M.E.G. Official.
Behaviours:
Currently in need of updating, awaiting M.E.G. Official.
To: ten.gem|3adrigistnav#ten.gem|3adrigistnav
From: ten.gem|ahcterts#ten.gem|ahcterts
Subject: Welcome to the team!
Date: 9/23/1993
1 File Attached
After extensive discussion with Kat and Cynthia, we have decided that you are more than fit to be on The M.E.G.: Team-Overseer. Attached you will find relevant information regarding your new position on the Overseer Council. We would like to congratulate you on this amazing feat: it's not everyday we get a new overseer! Please view this file quickly, as it will expire within 1 day. Once more, congratulations on this new position, and we hope you are doing well!
Overseer-A: Stretch
M.E.G.: Bettering Humanity
Welcome
Welcome to your new position as an overseer for The M.E.G.! You are likely new to this, so this document will be giving you a brief overview about your new responsibilities as an overseer. We would like you to view this document carefully, as it contains multiple necessary points for withstanding the role you have undertaken.
1. You will no longer need to worry about any past relations. Right now, we want you to focus on this new role you have chosen to undertake, so we will have to prohibit you from seeing anyone other then the people you need to see. You are to spend your time within you quarters attending you standard task as an overseer, and you are to only leave to lead expeditions or conduct research. We do not want this to come off as harsh, however, you must be aware that we are incapable of allowing anything to happen to our top researchers. Please do not view this as a bad thing, we would like for you to know we do this for you!
2. Do not abuse your newfound power. You will likely consider using your new power you have acquired to push out decisions and overrule votes. However, we cannot allow our reputation to be tarnished. We must not let anyone find out our secrets (see point 3). For this reason, we cannot give people reason to tarnish our bases in any ways. This includes abuse of power, so you are to refrain from going against the norm for any reason.
3. We cannot let anyone know about the secrets we hold. We currently have the exit to The Backrooms under protection by Overseer-C, however, we musn't let anyone reach the exit to The Backrooms. This may be a lot for you to take in. "There's an exit?" You may be wondering, however, we would like for you to drop this thought for now. We have to protect the people within The Backrooms, and we shall do this by any means necessary. For more information about the exit, see below.
Why can't we leave?
The Backrooms is a safe haven, protected from the war and terror spreading throughout The Frontrooms. We cannot recover The Frontrooms. They have been destroyed by means we currently do not hold information on. We know that a catastrophic event occurred which caused this through unknown means, however, we currently have no way of pinpointing these means (hence the name "unknown"). We do know that this event caused an exit to emerge within Level 18, and have been working hard to pinpoint the source of this exit. For now, however, we cannot allow people to make it to The Frontrooms. This may change in the near future, however, we cannot be certain of this change.
Now, you may be wondering "how do you know The Frontrooms is in shambles?" Well, we have actually nearly sent someone to The Frontrooms, however, the reports of these events are still currently in shambles, and as such, we cannot give an accurate detriment. Despite this, we can still give information based on what we know. Certain tablets have depicted the events of an extraterrestrial being capable of sending people to The Frontrooms, so contact was nearly established by your predecessor. Unfortunately, ve is currently unable to be contacted. As such, all attempts to get to The Frontrooms were halted.
After doing extensive research into how these events occurred, multiple discoveries were made revolving around this event. The first discovery was rather minor when compared to other things. The discovery in particular was a filter-like Entity. This Entity was described within the runes we recovered as "A great being designed to capture the essence of repreival. It was designed to ensure no one got to powerful within their stay within The Backrooms." This filter is still largely in research, however, we have confirmed two things. One: We cannot allow our leadership to grow to great, and we must limit ourselves to four overseers. Two: We must not allow our innovations to spread to wide. Should the filter learn of our secrets, and how we have an exit, it will crack down on out goals and destroy the exit. Should the exit be usable, and The Frontrooms war should end, we could use this exit to return home. However, in the meantime, we cannot allow any innovations to be widespread. Efforts have been put in place to mitigate the effects of different leaders within The Backrooms, such as Backrooms Robotics, who have been noted to be making questionable discoveries.
The second discovery is still largely considered to be a hoax, however, it has relevance to this situation, so it will be listed. An ultra-powerful being can be formed in very rare occasions. These occasions require super-powerful Entities within The Backrooms to be fused together into a single Entity, which has been given the codename "Tiyezerk." Tiyezerk can take many forms, which largely depends on which Entities are fused together. Depending on the Entities used in the fusion, Tiyezerk can be metaphysical, or it could corporeal. Tiyezerk can hold extreme knowledge, or Tiyezerk could simply be an unstoppable brute. It is all dependent on the way Tiyezerk is formed. Numerous forms of this super-Entity have been reported, however, they dominate different corners of The Backrooms within solitude. Under no circumstances can we allow three Tiyezerk's to fuse together, as the event is known to be catastrophic. The results are currently unknown, however, it is near-confirmed that the event would end The Backrooms as we know it.
The final discovery we made was the most catastrophic, and revolved heavily on the runes uncovered on the first expedition of Level 18. These runes were inert until brought to a Vivamaster, who spent three days and three nights activating the runes. This Vivamaster, named Orvera, has been confirmed dead due to the event, and all information tracing their disappearance has been destroyed, with the exception of their P.O.I file. However, Orvera gave us some valuable information about The Frontrooms. Those runes in particular depicted the events which occurred within The Frontrooms at the immediate moment. The runes gave us detailed information about the war between goddesses within the stars. The current state is Nucleartopic1, and shows no sign of stopping. The entire Frontrooms may collapse as we know it due to this event, so we cannot allow people to exit. We are protecting them, however, more importantly, we need to protect ourselves.
The runes stated that should any exit be used to exit The Backrooms, the runes would self-destruct, and any events within The Frontrooms would immediately transfer to The Backrooms as a result. We cannot allow this to happen. The M.E.G.'s number one goal has always been to protect humanity, and no matter how much we wish to escape, we cannot allow ourselves to risk the lives of everyone with The Backrooms. For these reasons, we must stay within The Backrooms, and live our lives as we see fit. This may occur for eons, and our universe may collapse many, many times before we can leave. However, this is the only thing we can do. We must protect humanity, no matter the cost.
All these events are events The M.E.G. works tirelessly to mitigate, and as such, we mustn't allow anyone to get into these situations. We must protect the people.
With that, you're done! We hope this information helps you with your goal at protecting humanity! If you have any questions, simply read the document again. We cannot repeat this information. Do not record this information anywhere else. This file was decrypt itself in one day.
Overseer-A: Stretch
M.E.G.: Bettering Humanity.
To: Amelia Vane
From: Stretch Zimals
Subject: re: Found a document which may interest you.
Date: 9/24/1993
Dear Amelia,
Our council has overlooked this information, and we have decided this is worthy of our immediate attention. Tiyezerk is currently our current focus, as we believe we have the information needed to construct this Entity. For now, however, we are currently discussing our plan forward with this newfound information.
In the meantime, we have overlooked the old data which you sent about TEM-0, and have decided we need more information on this immediately. TEM-0 is of our highest interest for now alongside Tiyezerk, so we would like to request more information. Furthermore, please send us the current rendition of Level 18 you can find, as we believe these runes are in need of more explanation.
Cheers,
Stretch Zimals - Head of Public Relations for The Morgana Council.
Take your risk
To: Stretch Zimals
From: Amelia Vane
Subject: Level 18 Rendition
Date: 9/24/1993
1 File Attached
Hello Stretch, thank you for reaching out in such a timely manner. Attached is the current rendition of Level 18. For now, we cannot send any more information regarding TEM-0, however, we will send you more information as soon as we can.
This information is not currently open to public eyes. Do not let anyone know about this, or the fact I sent it to you.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
[[include component:image-block
name=http://backrooms-sandbox.wikidot.com/local--files/yellowislol-entity-1/Stonehenge1|
caption=One of the Stonehenges within Level 18, near an unidentified area within Level 18.
]]
Level 18 is the 19th Level of The Backrooms. It resembles a field of ruins, each with various runes depicting various information, all of which varies widely.
Description:
Level 18 is a hilly area filled with grass, with different ruins scattered about. When wandering, the most common area you can find is fields of varying color, the grass commonly being shades of blue. This grass has the effect of varying Necropotency, allowing reviving of various corpses of Entities should they be killed on the grass. This effect is being tested on human corpses, however, this process has only resulted in Insanities forming from the corpses due to the rushed insanity effects. For this reason, Insanities are common within this Level.
When you continue to wonder on Level 18, you begin to encounter various ruins, all of which resemble The Stonehenges from The Frontrooms. These Stonehenges are built in a very irregular pattern, often forming various irregular shapes. Within the center of the ruins lies a single rune, which depicts various events throughout The Backrooms. These runes can vary widely, telling valuable information for The M.E.G., which cannot fall into the hands of any other groups. Examples of the runes lay as follows.
Within the end of the grove lies the forest which cannot be named.
Wander deeper into this forest and you'll hear a frog chirp.
Follow this chirp and you may discover the events which led to your demise.
The following rune was discovered by the late Gregita Maya, who initially discovered the rune during a first trip expedition through Level 18. Following these instructions, Gregita Maya ended up on Level -4, where she indeed heard a frog chirp. From there, she went missing, and no reports on her status have been found. For this reason, it is presumed that the runes within Level 18 fluctuate for each perceiver, and these runes may actively cause events to occur.
Within your home, you have always seen a small cat.
You never bothered to pick up this kitty.
What would happen if you did?
The following rune was discovered by Marian Varti, shortly after ve returned with Gregita Maya on the first trip expenditure into Level 18. Following the instructions from the document, ve went back to The Hub and proceeded to locate a small cheshire-like antique paperweight she let reside on her table stand. After picking up the cat, she found a missing note she received from her husband shortly before entering The Backrooms. The contents of said note are as follows.
I hope you have a nice day today. I'll make dinner for the kids. I love you.
A strange being, formed by deity 3.
Tiyezerk the jester, capable of terraforming his terrain around him.
Bring the 3 symbols together, make them fuse.
Do not bring three Tiyezerk's together, or face the guaranteed demise.
The preceding rune was the final rune located on the initial expenditure into Level 18, and was discovered by Vanessa Tsigarda. She proceeded to decipher the rune to tell the fate of Tiyezerk, and the process in which it is created. These files are currently available upon request.
Awaiting further input.
Colonies and Outpost:
M.E.G. Outpost 18A
This Outpost is comprised of 13 M.E.G. officials, including Overseer-D. This Outpost exist purely to go onto expenditures into Level 18 in order to organize information about the Level itself. This group is to be said to be designated within Level 6 on a recovery event in order to mask information about the current goal.
Entrances and Exits:
Entrances:
The only currently known entry into Level 18 is through entering the first corridor of Level 17, which leads to this Level. for this reason, this corridor is to be claimed as an entrance to Level 6, and is to be blocked off by multiple M.E.G. officials under the same muse.
Exits:
Exiting Level 18 can be done by going through the initial entrance into the Level, though certain runes transport you directly to Level 2.
To: Amelia Vane
From: Stretch Zimals
Subject: re: Level 18 Rendition
Date: 9/25/1993
Thank you for sending this to us, we are currently looking into entering Level 18 at this moment. In the meantime, please keep your eyes out for the PoI page, as that seems to be expanding the more they learn about this information. We cannot disclose how we know this at the moment, I hope you understand.
Cheers,
Stretch Zimals - Head of Public Relations for The Morgana Council
Take your risk
To: Stretch Zimals
From: Amelia Vane
Subject: What is this?
Date: 9/30/1993
1 File Atttached
Hello, I am contacting you to ask you what the fuck this file is. I have found it through sources I cannot lay down at the immediate moment, however, I need you to explain what the fuck this is.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
M.E.G. Report Breach: Level 18 - URGENT
Begin Log Time: 4:26 A.M.
Involved Parties: Team "Protect", Stretch Zimals
Event Log Summary: This event was recorded by a nearby camera within Level 17, which had its video feed cut out in order to reduce risk. The following is an audio log of the recent breach into Level 18
<BEGIN LOG>
Protect-A: Hello there Zimals, I see you have came to visit Level 17. What's the occasion?
Stretch Zimals: Hello there Patrick, I need to get through that door behind you.
Protect-A: Are you sure this is where you need to go? This door leads directly to Level 6.
Stretch Zimals lets out a gentle chuckle.
Stretch Zimals: I'm afraid I'm not going to Level 6.
Protect-A: This door leads directly to Level 6, so I don't think you know where this door leads.
Stretch Zimals: That door behind you leads to Level 18, which is where I need to go.
Protect-B: Now hold it right there-
Stretch Zimals: Do not bother with your awful lies, Zachary, I know the door leads there, and I am determined to get there.
Protect-B: Well, I'm sorry to break it to you, but we were ordered to attack and restrain anyone who attempted to get through this door. I have to formally ask you to turn around and leave before I am forced to attack you.
Stretch Zimals: You aren't down for a little game? Such a shame.
Stretch Zimals makes a sound similar to tsk'ing, and proceeds to walk towards Protect-E.
Stretch Zimals: I'm going to have to ask you to move or face dire consequences.
Protect-E: I have been given orders, and I will follow through with those orders until I die.
Stretch Zimals: Very well then.
Protect-E: What are yo-
Stretch Zimals proceeds to bite Protect-E's neck, causing Protect-E to lose all her memories.
Stretch Zimals: I need to get through that door, and you refused to move. You pay the consequences.
Protect-D: How- How did you- No. How dare you!
Stretch Zimals: Thank you for your compliance.
Protect-D lunges at Stretch Zimals, which leads to him losing all his memories via biting of neck.
Stretch Zimals: Any more?
Protect-A, Protect-B, and Protect-C all back away slowly.
Stretch Zimals: Good.
Stretch Zimals walks through the door to Level 18.
<END LOG>
The preceding has caused multiple questions tom arise within some of the members of Squadron Alpha, more specifically, how Stretch Zimals was aware of the entrance to Level 18. Currently, these claims are to be disputed, and all memories from Protect-A, Protect-B, and Protect-C have been altered to stay at the common claim that Protect-D and Protect-E glimpsed into Level 6 and saw an unknown Entity which immediately caused them to go insane. Reverse Amnesia Alchemy attempts are undergoing to recover Protect-D and Protect-E.
Currently, Squadron V is out attempting to locate and neutralize Stretch Zimals, largely due to the threat The Morgana Council may hold should they end up retrieving specific runes which support their goals. Stretch Zimals has been noted to hold major capabilities in the memory altering departments, so Squadron Alch-Test has been sent out to counter these effects. They have been armed with standard memory defense tools.
For these reasons, this document is currently visible to only overseers. As of now, this file has not been given to Overseer-D.
To: Amelia Vane
From: Stretch Zimals
Subject: re: What is this?
Date: 9/30/1993
1 File Attached
Hello, I would like to explain, however, I cannot at the moment. However, I have found a photograph which may interest you.
Stretch Zimals - Head of Public Relations for The Morgana Council.
Take your risk
To: Stretch Zimals
From: Amelia Vane
Subject: re: re: What is this?
Date: 10/1/1993
Thank you for sending me this. I will look into it shortly,
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
To: ten.rb|aitenrof#ten.rb|aitenrof
From: ten.gem|enavailema#ten.gem|enavailema
Subject: Rune Analysis
Date: 10/1/1993
1 File Attached
Hello, I need the following rune analyzed immediately by your team. Drop all project, this is of high urgency.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
To: ten.gem|enavailema#ten.gem|enavailema
From: ten.rb|aitenrof#ten.rb|aitenrof
Subject: re: Rune Analysis
Date: 10/28/1993
1 File Attached
Hello Amelia, we have analyzed the rune you have sent to us and concurred the following information from the rune. We hope this reaches you in a timely manner
Fortina Sorens
Alchemist and Scientist
Rune Analysis Log - Done by Team 1C-Omega in Sector 12
[[include component:image-block
name= http://backrooms-sandbox.wikidot.com/local--files/yellowislol-entity-1/Rune1.png|
caption=Initial image of the rune
]]
Rune Database Entry
Rune ID: KME-000-Exnm-Real-Booster
Authorized Response Level: High Value Classified
Description:
KME-000-Exnm-Real-Booster (KME-0) is a high value rune depicting the events of what should occur should Project TEM-0 be completed. More specifically, it goes into the exact processes needed to finish the Project, and exactly what fate should be suffered if Project TEM-0 is complete. KME-0 Claims that TEM-0 will be finished as a chip similar to that of a gambling, and will have a distinct letter "A" on both sides. Due to the ethereal power needed to generate TEM-0, the effect would leave a paranormal effect on The Morgana Council. More specifically, they will be magically entwined to believe the chip is made by an extranormal being and is meant to be given to the council as a gift from the heavens. For this reason, Project TEM-0 is suggested to be put on a temporary halt in order to further analyze the effects of KME-0. Currently, recovery of KME-0 is needed to analyze further.
To: ten.rb|aitenrof#ten.rb|aitenrof
From: ten.gem|enavailema#ten.gem|enavailema
Subject: re: re: Rune Analysis
Date: 10/28/1993
Thank you for sending this to me. I will be reaching out to my provider soon to get access to this rune for you to investigate more deeply. In the meantime, continue working on your standard projects
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
To: Stretch Zimals
From: Amelia Vane
Subject: PoI File Update
Date: 11/24/1993
1 File Attached
Attached is the latest rendition of Overseer-D's personnel file, it has information which may be noteworthy to you.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
[[include component:image-block
name=http://backrooms-sandbox.wikidot.com/local--files/yellowislol-entity-1/Vanessa|
caption=Picture illustrating Vanessa turned around.
]]
M.E.G: OVERSEER-D
VANESSA TSIGIRDA
Last Known Location:
Vanessa can be found throughout many areas within The Backrooms, so defining a concrete place for her to be is rather difficult. Vanessa is noted to spend large amounts of time on the following Levels.
Description:
Overseer-D, otherwise known as Vanessa is a female of asian descent. She has talent in exploration, and she has a natural talent for documentation regarding any information about The Backrooms. She has admitted to having ADHD, however, this does not seem to affect her on any expeditions. Vanessa holds a natural position of leadership, and has lead multiple dangerous expeditions to complete success. Her natural talent at developing and uploading data, exploring around The Backrooms, and overall morale and skill has proven her to be an invaluable asset around The M.E.G. Outpost.
Her most recent expedition has proven her to be a valuable asset in the destruction of all other groups within The Backrooms. Currently, she has successfully assassinated Knaffle MAX, and all information pertaining to them has been divided, currently undergoing complete deletion. For this reason, Vanessa has been put on project DESTROY, and her next target is currently Stretch Zimals. She has much experience in Crytomalchology2, and has yet to prove against The M.E.G.
Behaviours:
Vanessa is a highly sadistic individual, who shows no regard for human life. If she has been instructed to do something, she will follow through with what she was told. She is much more of a follower over a leader, however, she serves as a great leader for The M.E.G. Currently, testing is being undergone to see how she reacts to being ordered to do less humane things, such as torture and painful murder, as she has only euthanized people as of now.
Currently in need of updating, awaiting M.E.G. Official.
Interview Logs
Interview Log D-A1
Interview Log Begin Time: 7:34 P.M.
Interviewee: Vanessa Tsigirda, Overseer-D
Interviewer: Stretch, Overseer-A
Test Log Summary: The following interview log was done in order to see whether or not Vanessa would be a good fit for Team Squadron Torture, a team dedicated to torturing various P.O.I.'s in order to gain information about other P.O.I.'s before euthanizing them.
<BEGIN LOG>
Overseer-A: Testing, ah, there we go.
Overseer-D: Is it on now?
Overseer-A: Indeed it is, now we can begin.
Overseer-A shifts the recording device to be closer to Overseer-D.
Overseer-A: Okay, to begin, we would like to know what experience you have with exploration and capture of various P.O.I.'s. We are aware of your record, however, for the sake of having it here, I am required to have you state it here.
Overseer-D: I have extensive experience in capturing all types of P.O.I.'s, whether they be experts in memory modification, alchemy, science, or even just brutes with high strength. I can handle all types, whether they be weak or strong. I have yet to fail a mission, and have recently euthanized Knaffle MAX, which proves to be a feat in itself due to his capabilities in modification of memories. I have a strong feat towards brutes, as I am more than capable of taking them out.
Overseer-A: Very well, now, onto the next question. What interest do you have in Team Squadron Torture?
Overseer-D: I have always been interested in that field of exploration, and believe I am especially experienced in gaining information where it is needed. I have experience in slow, brutal pain, which has proven to always get the information I desire. I can also decipher various runes, and have been an essential tool in the capture of The Morgana Council, who have all been rather troublesome in terms of capture and euthanization. Currently, my team have been searching for Stretch Zimals, your doppelganger.
Overseer-A: I see. Final question for this interview, how do you feel about your recent position on Team Overseer?
Overseer-D: I believe that is rather evident, however, I will rehash it here. I have been overjoyed by this position, and have been working tirelessly to meet your standards of work.
Overseer-A: I see, that's all I need.
<END LOG>
Currently, Overseer-D seem somewhat fit for Team Squadron Torture. However, by a vote of 2 to 1, it has been decided we should get a second interview before deciding on a new position. For now, Overseer-D is to be informed that Overseer-B is incapable of voting yet, so no decision can be made. In the meantime, Overseer-B is not to be seen by Overseer-D, and no mention of Overseer-B faking her position is to be spread.
BREAKING NEWS: KNAFFLE MAX HAS BEEN CONFIRMED DEAD
MORGANA NEWS
Knaffle MAX has been confirmed dead as of November 25th, 1993. This was confirmed by Stretch Zimals, who is currently incapable of providing further input onto how this occurred. Stretch Zimals has advised all inhabitants of Level 777, as well as each member of The Morgana Council to keep an eye out for a blonde female in a red dress. For now, we will be hosting a ceremony for Knaffle MAX shortly, to celebrate his triumphant life in gambling.
Camera Logged 17: Splinter Quarters Exterior
[Overseer-D enters into the gates of The Splinter Quarters, and proceeds to briskly walk towards to door which enters into the main pantheon. From there, the camera quality dips for a moment, before going back up to see Overseer-D at the door. Overseer-D quickly opens the door and shuts the door behind her.]
Camera Logged 18: Splinter Quarters Main Hall
[Overseer-D proceeds to walk swiftly down the main hall of The Splinter Quarters, already seeming to be aware of the turns she has to make. She walks down the halls taking two lefts, then a right, then one final left before she emerges at a dead end. She walks directly up to the wall, then proceeds to mutter incomprehensible phrases, which causes a door to form. She walks through this door and closes it swiftly behind her.]
Camera Logged 193: Splinter-5's Office
[Overseer-D goes directly to the main desk within the office, and proceeds to open the drawer within the desk. Overseer-D proceeds to swiftly go through files, grabbing whatever looks as if it is related to any members of The Splinter.]
Camera Logged 17: Splinter Quarters Exterior
[Alexandria proceeds to walk directly towards the door to enter The Splinter Quarters. She walks through the door, and closes it behind her with a loud shut.]
Camera Logged 18: Splinter Quarters Main Hall
[Alexandria walks into the building and walks forward, taking her first left. She takes two lefts, one right, then one final left, before emerging at a single door. She walks through the door, closing and locking it behind her. When she locks it, it disappears from view.]
Camera Logged 19: Splinter-5's Office
[Alexandria walks into the room whilst Overseer-D is looking through files.]
Alexandria: Hello Vanessie, it's been a long time, hasn't it!
Overseer-D: Splinter-5, I see you must have known I was here. My only question is how?
Alexandria: You're such a party pooper, no wonder why the Partygoers don't like you~
Overseer-D: Shut your mouth. I have asked you a question, or do I need to stab you in the heart to get it out of you.
Alexandria: Oh hush, you know you should never talk to a friend like that.
Overseer-D: We are not "friends," and you better start answering questions before I make you answer questions.
Alexandria: Don't be rude. We have always been friends darling, we've known each other for years upon years.
[Overseer-D pulls out and cocks a standard firearm, and points it directly at Alexandria.]
Alexandria: Now now, we don't need to jump the gun. Don't you need to… get information out of me- aha!
[Alexandria proceeds to pull out and hold her Hermes Device, which she immediately charges up. The force of the charge causes the microphone within the camera to become fuzzy, and incapable of making out any sounds.]
[Overseer-D cocks her gun and aims directly at Alexandria, who is currently mid warp with the Hermes Device. Overseer-D ends up hitting the Hermes Device, which causes Alexandria to glitch out, eventually leading to her breaking apart mid-warp. This effect causes her remains to spread all across The Backrooms. After this, the audio turns back on]
Overseer-D: That was easy. Oh well.
[Overseer-D picks up the camera, which turned visible due to the microphone popping out during the warp.]
Overseer-D: That's nice.
[Overseer-D breaks the camera.]
To: Amelia Vane
From: Stretch Zimals
Subject: re: PoI File Update
Date: 12/28/1993
Apologies for the late reply, I was within Level 18 for quite some time. I have collected numerous runes, and as requested, have brought the rune I showed you before back with me. I would like to meet on the 31st, in order to give you this rune. Please meet me at 777's back alley, this has to be private. Both for my sake, and for yours.
Stretch Zimals - Head of Public Relations for The Morgana Council
Take your chance
To: Stretch Zimals
From: Amelia Vane
Subject: re: re: PoI File Update
Date: 12/29/1993
Very well then, I will plan accordingly. I will be bringing no others, so I expect a way back directly to Level -183. Thank you.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
Camera Log: Level 777 Alleyway
[Stretch Zimals proceeds to walk into the hallways, taking his time to avoid suspicion. The camera pans away from Stretch Zimals for a period of time, until it spans back to Stretch Zimals standing near a garbage chute bin. The camera spans away once more until it reaches the street, where a female can be seen observing Stretch Zimals.]
[The camera spans the other direction, and passes Stretch Zimals in the same position. The camera spans to the other end of the alley, where Amelia Vane can be seen briskly walking towards Stretch Zimals. They both converge, and Stretch Zimals can be seen speaking, to which Amelia Vanes replies. Before the camera spans away, Stretch Zimals can be seen giving a rune to Amelia Vane.]
[The camera spans to the unidentified figure, who begins briskly walking towards the duo. The camera spans slower then she walks, so the camera goes out of view for a moment. When the camera makes it back, Stretch Zimals can be seen holding back the unidentified figure, who is revealed to be Overseer-D. Amelia Vane is attempting to help through rune magic, but to no avail. Stretch Zimals can be seen screaming a phrase, to which Amelia Vane seems to be conflicted, eventually making the decision to follow through. Amelia Vane pulls out a second rune given by Stretch Zimals, and proceeds to disappear. Stretch Zimals can be seen nearly giving in, and before the camera spans away once more, he can be seen shedding a single tear.]
[When the camera spans back, Overseer-D can be seen slumping the body of Stretch Zimals over her shoulders, before eventually pulling out a single rune and disappearing alongside Amelia Vane. The entire alleyway goes silent once more. The camera spans away.]
To: ten.rb|aitenrof#ten.rb|aitenrof
From: ten.gem|enavailema#ten.gem|enavailema
Subject: Rune Acquired
Date: 1/1/1994
Hello, I have sent this to let you know I will be dropping off KME-000-Exnm-Real-Booster shortly to Sector A3-18 shortly. Good day to you.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
BREAKING NEWS: SECOND MORGANA COUNCIL MEMBER CONFIRMED DEAD, STRETCH ZIMALS
MORGANA NEWS
As of January 23rd, 1994, second council member Stretch Zimals has been confirmed deceased. The corpse was found by council member Edgar, who claims it was within the chambers of a M.E.G. Outpost. For this reason, we currently cannot trust any M.E.G. Officials. The aforementioned woman in a red dress has been confirmed to be a M.E.G. Official, though their status is unknown. We will be conducting the funeral of Stretch Zimals alongside Knaffle MAX. The current date estimated is March 17th, 1994.
To: Yellow
From: Amelia
Subject: Urgent: Entity 1 Database Entry Update.
1/27/1994
1 File Attached
Hello, I am reaching out to let you know I have found a file of interest within The M.E.G. Database. Please review this immediately, then reach back to me.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
[[collapsible show="CLASSIFIED, ENTITY 1, DO NOT OPEN" hide="Welcome, Overseer-A"]]
Entity 1 - "This is where our world ends"
Entity Number: 1
Habitat: Tri-Split QuadroMajority4
Description:
This is where our world ends is a series of runes depicting three separate high-power Entities within The Backrooms. This classification is split between all three of these Entities, all of which are depicted through these runes. The runes themself were located on Level 18, more specifically, The Crystal Depths. These runes were found deep within the oceans trenches, all three of which surrounded by high alchemaic properties and defenses. These defenses array, and cause conflicting dismays of alchemaic radiation, causing all area near these runes to be devoid of life, oftentimes glitching into different unidentified states.
Each rune depicts different events should they occur within The Backrooms, and all of them have been proven to be infused runes5. The runes all vary drastically, some of which may be false runes. However, due to the overwhelming processes they hold, alongside the difficulty it takes to get them, it is presumed that these runes hold true statements. For this reason, standard procedures are being carried out to prevent the events described from occurring.
Currently in need of updating, awaiting M.E.G. Official.
Discovery:
This is where the world ends was discovered by M.E.G. Team Compass Point "Vanessa" on a standard expedition into Level 18. These runes were each collectively discovered through standard procedural methods, however, the original intention was not to go into The Crystal Depths. The logs of recovery are as follows:
Awaiting Further Input
Rune A: The Legend of Tiyezerk:
Rune B: The Great Filter:
[[include component:image-block
name=http://backrooms-sandbox.wikidot.com/local--files/yellowislol-entity-1/Rune2.ong|
caption=Rune B
]]
Rune Archetype: Enbody-Esoteric
Rune Range: Kiloscopic
Rune Class: Protective-Informal (Formerly Catastrophe-Informal)
Rune Description:
Rune B is the designation given to a specific rune engraved onto a nippy candle.
Rune C: The Exit Curse:
Awaiting further input.
To: ten.gem|enavailema#ten.gem|enavailema
From: ten.rb|aitenrof#ten.rb|aitenrof
Subject: Rune Analysis
3/13/1994
1 File Attached
After extensive analysis, the following analysis has been produced. We hope this reaches you well.
Fortina Sorens
Alchemist and Scientist
Rune Analysis Log - Done by Team 1C-Omega in Sector 12
[[include component:image-block
name= http://backrooms-sandbox.wikidot.com/local--files/yellowislol-entity-1/Rune1.png|
caption=Initial image of the rune
]]
Rune Database Entry
Rune ID: 000-Exnm-Real-Booster A-C (KME-000-Exnm-Real-Booster-A, KME-000-Exnm-Real-Booster-B, and KMKB-000-Exnm-Real-Destruct)
Authorized Response Level: TOP SECRET
Description:
000-Exnm-Real-Booster A-C (000) is a top secret classified series of runes depicting the events of what should occur should Project TEM-0 be completed. The rune goes into complete detail of the events themself, describing the process in making TEM-0, how TEM-0 looks, and what TEM-0's exact fate is, cutting off at the end of TEM-0-Abduction. The events of description come in a chronological order, which will be described as follows.
[[placeholder, come back to this]]
Rune A: KME-000-Real-Booster-B (Underlying Rune)
This rune description came from the rune itself, more specifically, the runes body. The rock the rune was engraved on had been infused with standard alchemaic properties, however, it has been given a special infusion of depiction. Whenever the rune is knocked three times within a specific time period6, it reveals a single message, which is as follows:The chip above all else.
Praised for what it brings to all.
Requires three consecutive days of worship,
One single four A,
And the tool you never wished to use.
From this rune, we can depict that TEM-0 requires three days of consistent work, without sleep nor break. The Four-A described within the rune is presumed to be Project Hexcube from TEM-1, a future project which will not be undergone until the necessary outreach components have been met, likely 30 years. The single tool is presumed to be a human life, though this is currently largely unconfirmed. However, due to this rune giving an accurate depiction, progress for TEM-0 can be undergone much quicker, due to a base of what's needed left being established.
Rune B: KME-000-Exnm-Real-Booster-A (Depicted Rune)
This rune is the visual rune atop KME-000-Exnm-Real-Booster-B, and is depicted as a series of symbols, the most notable ones being the serpent of truth and the heart mark. This rune is fully visible, so standard decryption processes work to decrypt this rune. The contents, when deciphered, reveal the following information:1. TEM-0 is a circular disk, shaped in a manner similar to a poker chip. It is shaded red, with black marks in a chronological pattern on it. In the center on both sides of the chip lies the letter "A", painted on in a manner which is cursive and fancy.
2. TEM-0 is capable of causing nearly any event to happen, and is theorized to be capable of sending anyone the The Frontrooms. Likewise, it is also capable of brutal pain beyond any belief. TEM-0 is largely suspected to do this via ethereal networking within it, alongside its unique Nucleartopic core.
3. TEM-0 is capable of its capabilities through a unique type of choice, namely, gambling. TEM-0 is capable of being used in any gamble, though the specifics are largely unknown.
4. TEM-0, in its finished product, will be connected to "an almighty being." Currently, this is theorized to be a high-power Entity, however, this is largely unconfirmed, and given the information provided about TEM-0 through previous runescapes, it is presumed the Entity is much more powerful than this.
These events are largely connected to KMKB-000-Exnm-Real-Destruct, more specifically, points 1, 3, and 4. For this reason, it is presumed this rune was an inherent "maker" of KMKB-000-Exnm-Real-Destruct.
Rune C: KMKB-000-Exnm-Real-Destruct (Ethereal rune, aura-based)
This rune is a aura created directly by KME-000-Exnm-Real-Booster-A, and can only be depicted through sensitive Crypto Alchemaicography7. This field of decryption is largely untapped, so any information in this rune is subject to change. However, a standard base has been established. It is noteworthy that whilst in the aura of this rune, approximately 3 meters in radius, you will begin to feel much more inclined to steal any objects of worth from others. This ties into the rune itself, which is as follows:This rune is largely aura based, so no concrete wording can be defined, however, a brief summary of this rune is provided. This rune goes into the events which will occur immediately after TEM-0 hits its "completion" state. This state is described as the point in which TEM-0 is fully functional. This state cannot be "near-missed", as TEM-0 will not be capable of doing anything until it is complete. Once completed, it will be sought out by The Morgana Council, which is unavoidable.
After the thievery of TEM-0, an event shall occur, causing mass worship of TEM-0 through all that are involved in the robbery of TEM-0. This worship will be put to the point where they will view it above all others, and will treat it as if it is their "leader." Note that they do not view TEM-0 as their god in any way, simply view it as their leader. Because of this, it is presumed that TEM-0 will be seen as a human leader, in charge of overseeing everything, similar to a leader of a faction.
The third and final event to occur following TEM-0's capture is a person escaping to The Frontrooms. This is done through TEM-0, and as such, it is unknown who this person will be. The rune also indicates that this process will be non-voluntary, and will ultimately be due to the thieves ignorance.
These events are presumed to happen in a chronological order, and as such, are to be expected should TEM-0 be completed. For this reason, it is advised to gain a full understanding of TEM-0 before completing it.
Request have been sent out to contact The Rune Department of The B.N.T.G. in order to get a deeper look into Rune C, as well as gain more knowledge from a better perspective. These request have been denied.
Addenda: 000 Note
Deep within the rune, the following note was extracted. Origins of this note are unknown, and are presumed to have been put in during the rune-making process.
The chip is a beautiful thing. It cannot be completed, yet it has to be. I wanted to complete it, you probably did to. However, neither of us can. We are guaranteed to lose the chip, whether it be through the forces against us, or simply the runes will to have this occur. I was curious, I made this rune, and I have never regretted it more.
To: ten.rb|aitenrof#ten.rb|aitenrof
From: ten.gem|enavailema#ten.gem|enavailema
Subject: re: Rune Analysis
Date: 3/13/1994
1 File Attached
Thank you for analyzing the runes, this will be a major help with Project TEM-0. In the meantime, we are currently studying the effects of TEM-0 more deeply, however, it is noteworthy that we do have many spare Hexcubes for TEM-0, and the process of making them will not delay the project by much time. For this reason, we have decided to give Hexcube A-4 to the project itself.
Regarding the breach within The Morgana Council, I'm afraid they may not be capable of doing this breach. They currently only have 4 of their 6 members available to take any action. In terms of what I expect, I can only expect them to lose more numbers as they continue. In any case, I will be setting up strings in order to divert these effects from occurring. In the meantime, Yellow should be reaching out to you shortly.
Amelia Vane: Head of Project TEM-0
Innovation now into the future, one step at a time.
PART 1: END
[[/collapsible]]
~~~🐜Ant boi baby🐜~~~
huh, so that's how a full draft looks in the forums.
also ratio+l+your gay+partygoers outsold+sugondeez+backrooms author alert
~~~🐜Ant boi baby🐜~~~
i appreciate the critique but can you not be so kind next time??? i would like to be treated the same way you treat other authors's's's wprk and not me differently because we are BFFs (business friends forever)
There are roads,
a samurai must travel…