This Side of Paradise F. Scott Fitzgerald (mini ebook reader .txt) đ
- Author: F. Scott Fitzgerald
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Suddenly a strange sound fell on his ears. It was a song, in a low, husky voice, a girlâs voice, and whoever was singing was very close to him. A year before he might have laughed, or trembled; but in his restless mood he only stood and listened while the words sank into his consciousness:
âLes sanglots longs
Des violons
De lâautomne
Blessent mon cĆur
Dâune langueur
Monotone.â
The lightning split the sky, but the song went on without a quaver. The girl was evidently in the field and the voice seemed to come vaguely from a haystack about twenty feet in front of him.
Then it ceased: ceased and began again in a weird chant that soared and hung and fell and blended with the rain:
âTout suffocant
Et blĂȘme quand
Sonne lâheure
Je me souviens
Des jours anciens
Et je pleure.â ââ âŠâ
âWho the devil is there in Ramilly County,â muttered Amory aloud, âwho would deliver Verlaine in an extemporaneous tune to a soaking haystack?â
âSomebodyâs there!â cried the voice unalarmed. âWho are you?â âManfred, St. Christopher, or Queen Victoria?â
âIâm Don Juan!â Amory shouted on impulse, raising his voice above the noise of the rain and the wind.
A delighted shriek came from the haystack.
âI know who you areâ âyouâre the blond boy that likes âUlalumeââ âI recognize your voice.â
âHow do I get up?â he cried from the foot of the haystack, whither he had arrived, dripping wet. A head appeared over the edgeâ âit was so dark that Amory could just make out a patch of damp hair and two eyes that gleamed like a catâs.
âRun back!â came the voice, âand jump and Iâll catch your handâ âno, not thereâ âon the other side.â
He followed directions and as he sprawled up the side, knee-deep in hay, a small, white hand reached out, gripped his, and helped him onto the top.
âHere you are, Juan,â cried she of the damp hair. âDo you mind if I drop the Don?â
âYouâve got a thumb like mine!â he exclaimed.
âAnd youâre holding my hand, which is dangerous without seeing my face.â He dropped it quickly.
As if in answer to his prayers came a flash of lightning and he looked eagerly at her who stood beside him on the soggy haystack, ten feet above the ground. But she had covered her face and he saw nothing but a slender figure, dark, damp, bobbed hair, and the small white hands with the thumbs that bent back like his.
âSit down,â she suggested politely, as the dark closed in on them. âIf youâll sit opposite me in this hollow you can have half of the raincoat, which I was using as a waterproof tent until you so rudely interrupted me.â
âI was asked,â Amory said joyfully; âyou asked meâ âyou know you did.â
âDon Juan always manages that,â she said, laughing, âbut I shanât call you that any more, because youâve got reddish hair. Instead you can recite âUlalumeâ and Iâll be Psyche, your soul.â
Amory flushed, happily invisible under the curtain of wind and rain. They were sitting opposite each other in a slight hollow in the hay with the raincoat spread over most of them, and the rain doing for the rest. Amory was trying desperately to see Psyche, but the lightning refused to flash again, and he waited impatiently. Good Lord! supposing she wasnât beautifulâ âsupposing she was forty and pedanticâ âheavens! Suppose, only suppose, she was mad. But he knew the last was unworthy. Here had Providence sent a girl to amuse him just as it sent Benvenuto Cellini men to murder, and he was wondering if she was mad, just because she exactly filled his mood.
âIâm not,â she said.
âNot what?â
âNot mad. I didnât think you were mad when I first saw you, so it isnât fair that you should think so of me.â
âHow on earthâ ââ
As long as they knew each other Eleanor and Amory could be âon a subjectâ and stop talking with the definite thought of it in their heads, yet ten minutes later speak aloud and find that their minds had followed the same channels and led them each to a parallel idea, an idea that others would have found absolutely unconnected with the first.
âTell me,â he demanded, leaning forward eagerly, âhow do you know about âUlalumeââ âhow did you know the color of my hair? Whatâs your name? What were you doing here? Tell me all at once!â
Suddenly the lightning flashed in with a leap of overreaching light and he saw Eleanor, and looked for the first time into those eyes of hers. Oh, she was magnificentâ âpale skin, the color of marble in starlight, slender brows, and eyes that glittered green as emeralds in the blinding glare. She was a witch, of perhaps nineteen, he judged, alert and dreamy and with the telltale white line over her upper lip that was a weakness and a delight. He sank back with a gasp against the wall of hay.
âNow youâve seen me,â she said calmly, âand I suppose youâre about to say that my green eyes are burning into your brain.â
âWhat color is your hair?â he asked intently. âItâs bobbed, isnât it?â
âYes, itâs bobbed. I donât know what color it is,â she answered, musing, âso many men have asked me. Itâs medium, I supposeâ âNo one ever looks long at my hair. Iâve got beautiful eyes, though, havenât I. I donât care what you say, I have beautiful eyes.â
âAnswer my question, Madeline.â
âDonât remember them allâ âbesides my name isnât Madeline, itâs Eleanor.â
âI might have guessed it. You look like Eleanorâ âyou have that Eleanor look. You know what I mean.â
There was a silence as they listened to the rain.
âItâs going down my neck, fellow lunatic,â she offered finally.
âAnswer my questions.â
âWellâ âname of Savage, Eleanor; live in big old house mile down road; nearest living relation to be notified, grandfatherâ âRamilly Savage; height, five feet four inches; number
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