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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 3, Página 1
Music
drifted
from
my
neighbor's
house
during
the
summer
nights.
In
his
blue
gardens,
men
and
girls
moved
like
moths
among
the
whispers,
champagne,
and
stars.
In
the
afternoon,
I
watched
his
guests
diving
from
the
raft
tower
or
sunbathing
on
the
hot
sand
while
his
two
motorboats
cut
through
the
Sound,
pulling
aquaplanes
over
waves
of
foam.
On
weekends,
his
Rolls-Royce
acted
like
a
bus,
taking
people
to
and
from
the
city
from
morning
until
late
at
night,
while
his
station
wagon
hurried
like
a
yellow
bug
to
meet
every
train.
On
Mondays,
eight
servants,
including
an
extra
gardener,
worked
all
day
with
mops,
brushes,
and
shears,
fixing
the
damage
from
the
night
before.
Every
Friday,
five
crates
of
oranges
and
lemons
arrived
from
a
New
York
fruit
shop—by
Monday,
these
same
fruits
left
his
back
door
in
a
pile
of
empty
halves.
There
was
a
machine
in
the
kitchen
that
could
squeeze
the
juice
from
two
hundred
oranges
in
half
an
hour
if
a
butler
pressed
a
button
two
hundred
times.
Every
two
weeks,
a
team
of
caterers
came
with
hundreds
of
feet
of
canvas
and
enough
colored
lights
to
make
Gatsby’s
large
garden
look
like
a
Christmas
tree.
On
buffet
tables,
shiny
hors-d'oeuvres
were
placed
next
to
spiced
baked
hams,
salads
with
colorful
designs,
pastry
pigs,
and
turkeys
cooked
to
a
deep
gold.
In
the
main
hall,
a
bar
with
a
real
brass
rail
was
set
up,
full
of
gins,
liquors,
and
cordials
so
old
that
most
female
guests
were
too
young
to
recognize
them.
By
seven
o'clock,
the
orchestra
arrived—not
just
a
small
band,
but
a
full
set
of
oboes,
trombones,
saxophones,
viols,
cornets,
piccolos,
and
drums.
The
last
swimmers
returned
from
the
beach
and
got
dressed
upstairs;
cars
from
New
York
were
parked
five
deep
in
the
driveway.
Already,
the
halls,
salons,
and
verandas
were
bright
with
primary
colors,
strange
new
hairstyles,
and
shawls
beyond
the
dreams
of
Castile.
The
bar
was
busy,
and
rounds
of
cocktails
floated
through
the
garden,
filling
the
air
with
chatter,
laughter,
forgotten
introductions,
and
enthusiastic
meetings
between
women
who
never
knew
each
other’s
names.
The
lights
grew
brighter
as
the
earth
moved
away
from
the
sun,
and
now
the
orchestra
played
lively
cocktail
music,
with
voices
rising
a
key
higher.
Laughter
became
easier
by
the
minute,
shared
generously,
released
at
a
cheerful
word.
Groups
changed
quickly,
grew
with
new
arrivals,
dissolved,
and
reformed
in
the
same
breath.
There
were
wanderers,
confident
girls
weaving
among
the
more
stable
guests,
becoming
the
center
of
a
group
for
a
joyful
moment,
then
moving
on
through
the
sea
of
faces,
voices,
and
colors
under
the
ever-changing
light.
Suddenly,
one
of
these
girls,
in
a
shimmering
dress,
grabbed
a
cocktail
for
courage
and,
moving
her
hands
like
a
dancer,
stepped
alone
onto
the
canvas
platform.
There
was
a
brief
silence;
the
orchestra
leader
changed
the
rhythm
for
her,
and
chatter
started
again
with
the
mistaken
news
that
she
was
Gilda
Gray’s
understudy
from
the
Follies.
The
party
had
truly
begun.
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El Gran Gatsby — B1 Inglés | Cuentana