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El Gran Gatsby
Capítulo 8, Página 19
Gatsby
carried
the
mattress
to
the
pool.
Once,
he
paused
to
adjust
it,
and
the
chauffeur
asked
if
he
needed
help,
but
he
shook
his
head
and
soon
disappeared
among
the
yellowing
trees.
No
telephone
message
came,
but
the
butler
stayed
awake,
waiting
until
four
o'clock—long
after
there
was
anyone
to
receive
it
if
it
did.
I
suspect
that
Gatsby
himself
doubted
it
would
come
and
maybe
he
no
longer
cared.
If
that
was
true,
he
must
have
felt
he
had
lost
the
comforting
world,
paying
dearly
for
living
too
long
with
a
single
dream.
He
must
have
looked
at
an
unfamiliar
sky
through
menacing
leaves
and
shivered,
realizing
how
strange
a
rose
is
and
how
harsh
the
sunlight
was
on
the
barely
formed
grass.
It
was
a
new
world,
material
yet
unreal,
where
sad
ghosts,
breathing
dreams
like
air,
drifted
aimlessly...
like
that
gray,
fantastic
figure
gliding
toward
him
through
the
shapeless
trees.
The
chauffeur—one
of
Wolfshiem’s
protégés—heard
the
shots
but
later
said
he
didn’t
think
much
of
them.
I
drove
straight
from
the
station
to
Gatsby’s
house
and
my
hurried
arrival
up
the
front
steps
was
the
first
thing
that
alarmed
anyone.
But
then
they
knew,
I’m
sure
of
it.
With
hardly
a
word,
four
of
us—the
chauffeur,
butler,
gardener,
and
I—rushed
down
to
the
pool.
There
was
a
faint,
barely
noticeable
movement
of
the
water
as
the
fresh
flow
from
one
end
made
its
way
to
the
drain
at
the
other.
With
little
ripples
that
were
hardly
shadows
of
waves,
the
loaded
mattress
drifted
irregularly
down
the
pool.
A
small
breeze
that
barely
ruffled
the
surface
was
enough
to
disturb
its
accidental
path
with
its
accidental
burden.
The
touch
of
a
cluster
of
leaves
turned
it
slowly,
tracing
a
thin
red
circle
in
the
water
like
the
leg
of
a
compass.
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
tragedy
was
complete.
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El Gran Gatsby — B2 Inglés | Cuentana