EN + ES
Escuchar
27
El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 2, Página 1
About
halfway
between
West
Egg
and
New
York,
the
road
abruptly
joins
the
railroad
and
runs
alongside
it
for
a
short
distance,
avoiding
a
bleak
area
of
land.
This
is
a
valley
of
ashes—a
bizarre
place
where
ashes
rise
like
crops
into
ridges
and
hills
and
distorted
gardens;
where
ashes
form
houses,
chimneys,
and
smoke,
and
finally,
with
great
effort,
become
ash-grey
men
who
move
dimly,
already
crumbling
in
the
dusty
air.
Occasionally,
a
line
of
grey
cars
creeps
along
an
invisible
track,
emits
a
horrible
creak,
and
stops,
and
immediately
the
ash-grey
men
swarm
with
heavy
spades,
stirring
up
an
impenetrable
cloud
that
hides
their
mysterious
work
from
view.
But
above
the
grey
land
and
the
endless
drifting
of
bleak
dust,
you
notice,
after
a
moment,
the
eyes
of
Doctor
T.
J.
Eckleburg.
The
eyes
of
Doctor
T.
J.
Eckleburg
are
large
and
blue—their
retinas
are
a
yard
high.
They
stare
out
from
no
face,
but
from
a
pair
of
enormous
yellow
glasses
that
hang
over
a
nonexistent
nose.
Apparently,
some
whimsical
eye
doctor
put
them
there
to
boost
his
business
in
Queens,
and
then
either
fell
into
eternal
blindness
himself
or
forgot
about
them
and
moved
away.
Yet
his
eyes,
slightly
faded
by
many
unpainted
days
under
the
sun
and
rain,
watch
over
the
solemn
dumping
ground.
The
valley
of
ashes
is
bordered
on
one
side
by
a
small,
dirty
river,
and
when
the
drawbridge
is
raised
to
let
barges
pass,
passengers
on
waiting
trains
can
gaze
at
the
dreary
scene
for
up
to
half
an
hour.
There
is
always
at
least
a
minute's
stop
there,
and
it
was
because
of
this
that
I
first
met
Tom
Buchanan’s
mistress.
The
fact
that
he
had
a
mistress
was
known
wherever
he
was.
His
acquaintances
disliked
that
he
appeared
in
popular
cafés
with
her
and,
leaving
her
at
a
table,
wandered
around
chatting
with
anyone
he
knew.
Although
I
was
curious
to
see
her,
I
didn’t
want
to
meet
her—but
I
did.
I
went
to
New
York
with
Tom
on
the
train
one
afternoon,
and
when
we
stopped
by
the
ash-heaps,
he
jumped
up,
grabbed
my
elbow,
and
practically
dragged
me
out
of
the
car.
“We’re
getting
off,”
he
insisted.
“I
want
you
to
meet
my
girl.”
I
think
he’d
had
quite
a
bit
to
drink
at
lunch,
and
his
insistence
on
my
company
was
almost
aggressive.
The
arrogant
assumption
was
that
I
had
nothing
better
to
do
on
a
Sunday
afternoon.
||
||
El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana