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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 7, Página 52
It
was
seven
o'clock
when
we
got
into
the
coupé
with
him
and
headed
for
Long
Island.
Tom
talked
endlessly,
celebrating
and
laughing,
but
his
voice
felt
as
distant
from
Jordan
and
me
as
the
foreign
noise
on
the
street
or
the
roar
of
the
elevated
train
above.
Human
sympathy
has
its
limits,
and
we
were
content
to
let
their
tragic
arguments
fade
with
the
city
lights
behind.
Thirty—the
promise
of
a
lonely
decade,
a
dwindling
list
of
single
men
to
know,
a
shrinking
briefcase
of
enthusiasm,
thinning
hair.
But
there
was
Jordan
beside
me,
who,
unlike
Daisy,
was
too
wise
to
carry
forgotten
dreams
from
age
to
age.
As
we
crossed
the
dark
bridge,
her
pale
face
rested
lazily
against
my
coat's
shoulder,
and
the
daunting
stroke
of
thirty
faded
away
with
the
comforting
pressure
of
her
hand.
So
we
drove
on
toward
death
through
the
cooling
twilight.
The
young
Greek,
Michaelis,
who
ran
the
coffee
shop
beside
the
ash-heaps,
was
the
main
witness
at
the
inquest.
He
had
slept
through
the
heat
until
after
five,
when
he
wandered
to
the
garage
and
found
George
Wilson
sick
in
his
office—truly
sick,
as
pale
as
his
own
pale
hair
and
shaking
all
over.
Michaelis
advised
him
to
go
to
bed,
but
Wilson
refused,
saying
he’d
miss
a
lot
of
business
if
he
did.
While
his
neighbor
tried
to
persuade
him,
a
loud
noise
broke
out
overhead.
"I've
got
my
wife
locked
in
up
there,"
Wilson
explained
calmly.
"She's
staying
there
till
the
day
after
tomorrow,
and
then
we're
moving
away."
Michaelis
was
shocked;
they
had
been
neighbors
for
four
years,
and
Wilson
had
never
seemed
capable
of
such
a
statement.
Usually,
he
was
one
of
those
worn-out
men:
when
he
wasn't
working,
he
sat
in
a
chair
in
the
doorway
and
stared
at
the
people
and
cars
passing
by.
When
anyone
spoke
to
him,
he
always
laughed
in
a
pleasant,
colorless
way.
He
was
his
wife's
man,
not
his
own.
Naturally,
Michaelis
tried
to
find
out
what
had
happened,
but
Wilson
wouldn't
say
a
word—instead,
he
began
casting
curious,
suspicious
glances
at
his
visitor
and
asking
what
he'd
been
doing
at
certain
times
on
certain
days.
Just
as
Michaelis
was
getting
uneasy,
some
workmen
passed
the
door
heading
to
his
restaurant,
and
Michaelis
took
the
opportunity
to
leave,
intending
to
return
later.
But
he
didn't.
He
supposed
he
forgot,
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,
downstairs
in
the
garage.
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El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana