The Great Gatsby intervention Kimberly Bowman
“All right,” I said, “I’m glad it’s a girl. And I hope she’ll be a fool – that’s the best thing a girl can be in this world, a beautiful little fool.”
Her voice faltered, in attempt to stifle any coherent thought she was to say. It changed, losing some of its mellifluous charm, replaced by a certain wistful emptiness, as if she’d felt the burden of the world heavy upon her shoulders. Her once purposeful frame lost some of its will to support her, and she leaned on the railing as if it was a crutch. She gazed into the endless night, confiding to it all her secrets. ‘Why, I was happy once, you know,’ she said as if in a trance, ‘I was perfectly gay.’
I stood, waiting for her to continue.
In a feigned attempt at extemporizing while composing herself, she cried, ‘Why Nick, haven’t I ever told you about Louisville?’
‘No, you haven’t mentioned it.’
‘’It’s a darling place you see. When I was young we use to have these lovely little parities. ’She clung desperately onto her sting of thought. ‘We- mother and I would host them and all, the soldiers would come and we’d dance and dance till our feet were sore and we couldn’t possibly dance anymore.’ She paused then added softly, ‘Tom- well Tom has never been one for dancing. ’
She raised her sad eyes to mine and looked at me with such intensity that forced me to glance away uncomfortably. Her eyes bore through mine, trying to speak an ineffable truth, hopelessly begging me to understand. After what seemed like an eternity in the span of a few seconds, I regained the courage to face her. By then she withdrew her gaze from me and instead turned to the colossal mansion across the bay. Her eyes were filled with an incomprehensible longing.
‘Do you think I’m beautiful Nick?’ She implored with urgency.
‘Well, I -’
‘Let me tell you something about beauty. I think people need beauty to keep the world going. It’s as simple as that. Beautiful things, beautiful places, beautiful people are the only things anyone every cares about nowadays. ’ She stated this with religious conviction, believing it to be a universal truth.
‘You know what all those beautiful things have in common Nick? ’ She waited for my answer, but not wanting to upset her train of thought, I didn’t give one.
‘They’re untouched by the world.’ She looked to me, thoughtfully. ‘People, well, their beauty is a bit different.’ She weaved her delicate fingers through the soft tendrils of her hair, and the evening breeze fitfully moved it about her face. ‘Oh, I simply can’t wrap my finger around it Niki, they’re just so foolishly innocent.’ She cried, an enormous sigh escaped her lips and mingled with the tangy evening air, leaving her slightly deflated.
‘’I’m not beautiful anymore Nick. I’ll admit that I was, once. But, now I’m just horridly cynical.’ She said with scorn. ‘You can’t be beautiful if you know things. I’m convinced this is true. Intelligence, it does something to a person’s face, everyone can see- It turns such beautiful features into something absolutely grotesque. Because, you can tell that they know things, that their once pretty little heads are full of all sorts of secrets. Look at all those brilliant people, why they aren’t half attractive! They-‘
‘Daisy listen to yourself. You can tell me you believe all this nonsense.’
‘But Nick! I do, oh I really do! If I were beautiful I wouldn’t be thinking this way, I’d be a perfect a dear. You’d absolutely adore me. ’ She shot me a playful smirk that radiated like the sun but as quick as it came, it was instantly replaced by a conflicted smile, one that encompassed all the pleasures and sorrows of the universe.
Her meretricious philosophy about the world was just a verification of the now empty shell of Daisy Buchanan. Where vitality once coursed through her veins, now all it left was a trace, a shadow of what she used to be. The realisation of this terrified me, yet left me in a state of disgusted awe. She was stronger than she realised. For keeping up the façade of happiness must’ve of been a strenuous task.
I looked at Daisy and saw her emptiness, her longing but underneath it all she was still the golden girl who could afford the constant theatrics she performed. And I felt sorry for her.
A gentle murmur from inside the house broke the long held silence. A faint conversation between Tom and Miss Baker had arisen and it brought us back to reality. The night appeared untouched, and held no remembrance or sympathy to Daisy’s confessions. The wind continued moving with incessant energy, while lovingly ruffling the leaves of the bushes in the vicinity, waking the sleeping insects and urging them to song. It quieted with Daisy’s intake of breath.
‘You see I think everything’s terrible anyhow,’ she went on in a convinced way. ‘Everybody thinks so-the most advanced people. And I know. I’ve been everywhere and seen everything and done everything.’