CHAPTER EIGHT

The Yellow Car

Only one person saw the car accident clearly. It was the owner of the café next to the garage; his name was Michaelis. He told the story to the police when they came.

Michaelis had walked over to the garage a little bit after five and he found George Wilson there sitting in his office. Mr Wilson was really sick, and his face was pale white. Michaelis suggested that he go rest, but Wilson refused. Then Michaelis heard a terrible noise upstairs.

"I've locked my wife in the bedroom," explained Wilson. "I'm going to keep her there for two days, and then we're going to move west."

Michaelis was quite shocked; he had been the Wilsons' neighbor for five years. He knew that Wilson was not the kind of man who would lock his wife in a room. So Michaelis asked Wilson what had happened, but Wilson wouldn't talk, so Michaelis went back to his café.

At about seven o'clock Michaelis heard Mrs Wilson's voice yelling loudly in the garage. A minute later she ran out into the road, shouting and shaking her hand in the air.

Two cars were coming down the road, one was moving east and the other was moving west. One of the cars didn't stop and it hit Myrtle Wilson. The car then kept moving and disappeared around the next corner. The other car, the one going west, stopped, and the driver ran over to where Mrs Wilson lay in the road, her blood was mixing with the dirt in the road. She was already dead.

When we drove by later we saw a crowd of people outside of the garage. "It must be an accident!" said Tom. "Let's go and look." He stopped his car, and we all jumped out. We could hear the sound of crying coming from inside and we saw that all of the people inside had serious faces.

"There has been some terrible trouble here," said Tom excitedly.

He pushed violently through the crowd and Jordan and I followed him.

Mrs Wilson's body was lying on a table. A policeman stood next to it; he was writing down names in a black book. Wilson was standing in the door of his office and crying.

Tom asked the policeman, "What happened?"

"A car hit her. She was killed instantly. She ran out into the road and the driver didn't even stop his car.

"It was a big, yellow car," said Michaelis.

Mr Wilson heard this. "I know what kind of car it was, you don't have to tell me!"

When Tom heard this he walked over to Mr Wilson and said, "Listen to me. I just arrived here from New York. I was bringing my car here to sell you. That yellow car I was driving before wasn't mine—do you understand?" He then picked up Wilson, and pulled him into the office and put him down in a chair.

"We should leave," Tom whispered to me. We pushed our way outside and out to the car.

As Tom sped towards East Egg I saw that he was crying.

"That Gatsby is a coward!" he cried. "He didn't even stop his car after he hit her."

We quickly arrived at the Buchanans' house.

"Daisy's at home," said Tom, looking up at three windows with light in them. He then turned to me. "Sorry, I should have driven you to West Egg. I'll call a taxi for you."

Jordan grasped my hand and asked me if I would come inside with her, but I refused. I was feeling ill and I wanted to be alone. I was sick of looking at these people, and now that included Jordan also. She could see my feelings in my face, so she turned around sharply and ran into the house. I began walking down the road.

A moment later I heard somebody say my name, and I saw Gatsby hiding behind a tree.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"I'm just standing here, young fellow." He looked up at the sky and then asked, "On the way home did you see any problems on the road?"

"Yes." I said.

He paused for a moment. "Was she killed?"

"Yes." I nodded my head.

"I thought we killed her; I told Daisy that she was probably dead. The best thing is to hear all of the shock at once. Daisy was very brave about it." Gatsby spoke as if the effect of the accident on Daisy was more important than the death of a person.

"I went back to West Egg quickly," he went on, "and I left my car in the garage. I don't think anybody saw the accident."

I was so angry at him that I didn't tell him that he had been seen.

"Who was the woman?" he asked.

"She and her husband own the garage. Her name was Myrtle Wilson. How did it happen?"

Gatsby thought for a moment and then began to speak. "Well, I tried to turn the wheel but—" He then paused, and suddenly I guessed the truth.

"You weren't driving!" I said. "Was Daisy driving?"

"Yes, she was," he said after a moment. "But I'll tell everyone that I was driving of course. When we left New York she was very nervous and upset, and she thought that a drive would help her become calm. Daisy was driving fast and this woman jumped out into the street just as a car was coming the other way. It seemed like the woman wanted to speak to us. Maybe she thought that she knew us. Daisy turned the wheel away from the woman, but then she was afraid of hitting the other car, so she quickly turned the wheel back. I felt us hit the woman and I tried to make Daisy stop, but she wouldn't.

"She'll be fine tomorrow," he continued. "I'm worried that Tom might try to hurt her so I am going to wait here."

"Tom won't hurt her." I said. "Tom isn't even thinking about Daisy. How long do you plan to wait?"

"I'll wait until they go to bed."

I stared at Daisy's house; there were three lighted windows downstairs. "Wait here for a minute," I said. "I'll go see if there's any trouble inside."

I walked silently through the yard and looked into the window.

Daisy and Tom were both sitting at the kitchen table; they were eating a plate of cold chicken and drinking two bottles of beer. Tom was talking, and sometimes Daisy nodded her head. They weren't happy and yet they didn't seem unhappy either. It looked like they were planning something together.

As I went back to tell Gatsby I heard my taxi coming.

"It's quiet there. Come back to West Egg and get some sleep."

"No, I'll wait until Daisy goes to bed. Good night, young fellow."

I got into the taxi and left Gatsby there watching the house, watching nothing.

(end of section)