“But an IQ test doesn’t really capture everything, does it? People from the North and South—it feels like we’re from different worlds. I don’t think your test gave me much room to show what I’m actually good at.”
The man swallowed his first reaction and then said, “I can assure you that is merely coincidental. There are several nuances to account for when transitioning Southern boys to the Northern system.”
“I know,” I said dismissively. “Lots of people think we are naturally more stupid.”
“Well, we don’t—Idon’t. You’ve got a friend in me, Nick. But if you want to be taken seriously, I do believe you cheapen your own cause by using noise to solve your problem.”
My problem, sir? Clearly, it’s the problem of everybody in New York!I bit my words. I wasn’t violent. It was the police that were violent.
“The protest was peaceful,” I said. “The police brought the violence.”
“Well, as I understand it, some of the boys were destroying property.”
“Those weresigns, not people,” I told him, my tone becoming more hostile.
“You must have been a boy when W. E. B. Du Bois organized his silent march to protest lynchings,” Gatsby said, his voice quieter now. “It was a powerful sight that started a national conversation about finding a peaceful solution to tough problems.”
“I respect Du Bois very much,” I said. “And so did my father. But Du Bois’s march—did it bring any of the victims back? Or are the victims still dead?”
Gatsby went silent, and I nearly bit my lip.
Pa’s words roared through my mind.Peaceful protest comes from the right question but the wrong solution. The white man’s insistence on peaceful protest is a silencing ploy. He should know better than anyone that when you want something, you must take it.
Gatsby would tune me out if I spoke with the blazing energy of my father, so I said nothing else. But I did stand up, to show how ready I was to walk out. I watched Mr. Gatsby in silent annoyance, waiting for him to speak again.
“Nick, I have a Colored son,” he said, gently.
Do you want a trophy?
“I’ve seen the way they’ve raised the bar for him,” he went on. “And for you, it must be worse—I can’t imagine—but you must be strategic about the way you get your message across.”
“I arrived in this city with nothing but a sack of change,” I said. “So I know about the bar; I’ve seen so much of it at West Egg,oddly. You should know about prejudice, sir. Your wife left the U.S. because of it.”
His face froze like an older Colored man’s would, if you’d disrespected him. “What do you know about my wife?” he hissed.
“I... I’ve been spending time with your son, sir. He’s a friend to me. One of the only friends I’ve made at West Egg.”
“And he’s told you details about our family. What else has he told you?” He seemed nervous, like he had something to hide.
I’d revealed too much about my relationship with his son. All I could do was keep going and stand on my own side. “Not very much, but we understand each other. I’d never want to do anything that would put him in danger.”
“I don’t want you to put him in danger, either,” Mr. Gatsby said. “An arrest is a bad look for our family and a bad look for his future. I don’t blame you for this, Nick. I can let it go this once, but our family doesn’t do things like this. With my son, I would advise you to tread carefully.”
I knew then that I’d blown my chances of being a good person in his eyes. Gatsby believed that tolerance could turn bad people good and even deter them from being bad. But that to me sounded like being good and silent and waiting for justice to fall in my lap. We did not see eye to eye.
In that drawing room, under the gilded domed ceiling, I realized that all of this was beautiful—and owned by a man with a forgiving mindset for oppression.
He wanted me to stay away from Jay, but there was no way I would do that. And what Jay’s father didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
The conversation with Gatsby had left me feeling like I was running out of air. I didn’t like the way he delivered his message, with that polite tone as if he were above anger.
When I stepped out of his study, Jay was waiting in the hallway to guide me to his bathroom to clean up, where we walked in silence.
“Everything go okay in there?” he asked.
I hesitated, stopping to stare at the estate, which stretched from Jay’s open balcony doors to Long Island Sound, with its calm, glistening waters dappled by lights on the horizon. “Yeah,” I said finally, choosing to keep my true thoughts in. “Of course.”
Jay nodded. “I’m sorry if he was stiff,” he said quietly. “He can be like that.”
