In mid-December, the ABC publishing house is releasing a collection of short stories by the classic of American literature, Francis Scott Fitzgerald, entitled “More Than Just a House.” The book includes about 30 works written and published in magazines in the 1910-1930s. They are published in Russian for the first time. "Lenta.ru" presents the first part of the story "From a Clean Slate", first published on the pages of the American magazine "The Saturday Evening Post" in July 1931, translated by Elena Petrova.

From scratch

It was the first warm day when it was possible to have a meal in the open air in the Bois de Boulogne: flowering branches of chestnuts bent over the tables, shamelessly dipping into oil and wine. Julia Ross tasted a little of both with bread, and then listened to the splashing of large goldfish in the pool and the chirping of sparrow wings over the vacant table. Everything here was as before: the waiters with professional faces, and the tenacious, big-eyed French women in high heels, and Phil Hoffman, whose heart trembled on the tines of his fork, and the unusually interesting young man who had just stepped out onto the terrace.

...The distance is hidden in the blue;
The plants are doubly happy:
Fresh breath of damp soil... (Percy Shelley. Stanzas written in despondency near Naples. Translated by A. Parina)

Julia secretly trembled, but controlled herself: she did not jump up, did not shout: “Ah, ah, ah! Wow!”, didn’t push the head waiter into the lily pond. Remaining seated, as befits a well-bred girl of twenty-one, she trembled, but secretly.

Phil stood up, napkin in hand.
- Hello, Dick!
- Hello, Phil!

This was the handsome man; Phil took a couple steps forward and they started talking away from Julia.
- ...saw Carter and Kitty in Spain...
- ...transferred to Bremen...
-...that's why I was going...
The young man followed the head waiter, and Phil returned to his seat.
- Who is this? - she demanded.
- So, one acquaintance, Dick Ragland.
“I’ve never met anyone more beautiful.”
“Yes, he’s good,” Phil agreed without any enthusiasm.
- Good? Yes, he is an archangel, a mountain lion, he would have eaten it. Why didn't you introduce him to me?
“Because there is no American in Paris with a worse reputation than his.”
- Nonsense, he is definitely being slandered. All this is pure speculation, the machinations of a crowd of jealous husbands, whose wives glanced in his direction. Why, this young man was not involved in anything, except that he led a cavalry charge and saved drowning children.
“But the fact remains: he is not accepted anywhere; and not because of one specific case, but because of thousands.
- What kind of cases?
- Variety. Drunkenness, women, prisons, scandals, a fatal accident, laziness, worthless...
“I don’t believe a single word,” said Julia. “Oh my God, he’s damn attractive.” Yes, you yourself, talking with him, clearly thought about the same thing.
“Let’s say,” he admitted reluctantly. “Like many alcoholics, he has a certain charm. I would indulge in my vices quietly, but no. As soon as you treat him like a human being, introduce him into society, he will certainly pour a bowl of soup on the back of the mistress of the house, kiss the servants and pass out in the dog kennel. But he went too far. I annoyed everyone, there are no more well-wishers left.
“I stayed,” said Julia.

What remained was Julia, who had a little more merit than was required—at times she was even upset by her advantages. For everything that is given beyond pretty appearance, you have to pay: in other words, those qualities that could replace beauty become burdensome when they accompany it. One radiant look from Julia’s brown eyes was more than enough, but added to it was the reflection of an inquisitive mind; an infallible instinct for any absurdity overshadowed the soft relief of her lips, and her chiseled figure would have looked even more charming in a relaxed and spectacular pose, but Julia, fulfilling her father’s strict orders, always kept her back.

A couple of times she met ideal young people to match herself, “bringing gifts,” but they gave the impression of inert subjects, incapable of further development. At the same time, she noticed that large-scale people at the beginning of their journey are angular and prickly, but due to her youth she refused to take this into account. So, sitting opposite was this arrogant, narcissistic Phil Hoffman, but he promised to become a brilliant lawyer, and besides, he followed her to Paris without hesitation. Phil was no worse than anyone else, except that he thought too much of himself, being the son of the police chief.
“I leave for London this evening and sail home on Wednesday,” he said. - You will spend the whole summer in Europe, where
some womanizer, who will be replaced by another in a couple of weeks, will whisper all sorts of vulgarities in your ear.
“When you answer for such jokes, then you can be taken seriously,” said Julia. - To atone for your guilt, be so kind as to introduce this Ragland to me.
“But I only have three hours left!” - he protested.
“I gave you three whole days in the hope that you would take the right tone.” At least out of politeness, invite your friend to our table for a cup of coffee.

When Dick Ragland joined them, Julia let out a slight sigh of satisfaction. This young man was distinguished by excellent proportions, an even tan, blond hair, and a spiritual face. He spoke quietly, but passionately, with light notes of reckless, as it might seem, despair; under his gaze Julia felt like a beauty. For half an hour, their phrases sweetly dissolved in the aromas of violets, snowdrops and forget-me-nots, and her interest in him grew with every minute. She was even happy when Phil said:
— I almost forgot: I still need to get my English visa. Contrary to common sense, I will have to leave you, two foolish lovebirds, alone. Come to the Saint-Lazare station at five to see me off, okay?

He looked at Julia, hoping to hear: “I’m with you.” She knew that she had no reason to be alone with a stranger, but he seemed to be able to make her laugh, and she had not often laughed out loud lately, so she said:
“I’ll stay a little, it’s so nice here, it’s fresh like spring.”
When Phil left, Dick Ragland suggested ordering what he called “fin champagne.”
“I heard you have a bad reputation,” she said.
- Just a nightmare. Nobody wants to appear in public with me. Would you like me to glue on my fake mustache?
“How strange,” she continued. “Aren’t you the one cutting off all the ends?” You know, before introducing you, Phil had to warn me. And I could refuse.
- But they didn’t refuse - why?
- Because I was attracted by your appearance, but your reputation upset me.
A blank expression appeared on his face; Julia understood: this phrase had been heard so often that it no longer touched him.
“But it’s none of my business,” she said hastily.

Julia did not realize that the new acquaintance, turning out to be an outcast, only intrigued her even more: not because of his unbridled antics - to her, very far from such things, unbridled antics seemed like a kind of abstraction - but because of their result, which was complete loneliness . A primitive craving for a native awakened in her
from another tribe, from other lands, where laws unknown to her for half an hour reign, because he promised something unexpected: he promised her an adventure.
“I’ll tell you what,” he began casually. — On the fifth day of June, when I turned twenty-eight, I decided to quit. I'm no longer interested in getting drunk. And I'm not one of those few who drinks heavily.
-Are you sure you can quit?
“My words do not differ from my deeds.” Plus I'm heading back to New York and getting to work.
“I’m surprised at how happy I am about this.” “The statement turned out to be quite risky, but Julia did not back down.
— Another “fin-champagne”? - Dick suggested. - So that your joy does not fade.
— Will you continue in the same spirit until your birthday?
- It’s possible. I will celebrate my birthday on board the Olympic, in the middle of the ocean.
- I'm going to take the same flight! - she exclaimed.
“So you will see the magical transformation with your own eyes.” I can perform this number in a passenger concert.

The waiters were clearing tables. Julia knew that she had to go, but she couldn’t leave him to be sad alone under the mask of a smile. She had a maternal desire to encourage him with words, to strengthen him in a serious decision.
- Tell me why you started drinking too much. Probably for some unclear reason, unknown even to you?
- Oh no, it’s crystal clear to me how it all started.

While he was talking, another hour disappeared into thin air. As a seventeen-year-old boy, he went to war, and when he returned, the life of a Princeton freshman who tried on the black academic cap seemed rather insipid to him. Then he transferred to Boston Technological University, and from there he went abroad and entered the School of Fine Arts
arts; That's when he fell into history.
“When I started having money, I discovered that after drinking a couple of drinks, I became more relaxed and attracted people’s sympathy; it turned my head. Soon I was carried away, and I, wanting to please everyone, was no longer limited to a couple of glasses. He drank himself into unconsciousness, quarreled with, counting, all his friends, and then got involved with a crazy company and became even more uninhibited. But some kind of arrogance began to speak up in me, and one day the question arose: “What am I actually doing among this rabble?” I was reminded of this. When the taxi I was riding in hit a man to death, all the blame was placed on me. It is clear that the case was fabricated, but the story ended up in the newspapers, and I became known as a murderer, although the court did not find any guilt on my part. For five years now, I have had such fame that mothers run to hide their daughters if they see me in the same hotel.

The waiter was hovering impatiently nearby, and Julia looked at her watch:
- God, we have to see Phil off at five. We sat here all day.
They hurried to the Saint-Lazare station; Dick asked:
— Will it be possible to see you again or is it better not to?
Julia held his long gaze. His face, warm cheeks, straight posture did not in any way remind of riotous antics.
“I’m always in good shape at lunchtime,” he added, as if sick.
“I’m not worried,” she laughed. “You can pick me up the day after tomorrow and invite me to lunch.”

At the station they flew up the stairs, but saw only the tail of the Golden Arrow, rushing towards the English Channel. Julia was tormented by remorse: after all, it was for her that Phil had come all this way.

In her aunt's apartment, where Julia lived in Paris, she decided to atone for her guilt and began to write a letter to Phil, but Dick Ragland kept intruding into her thoughts. By morning the impressions of his attractiveness had faded somewhat; Julia was about to send him a note about the impossibility of further meetings. But he trusted her, and she herself pushed him to do so. On the appointed day, she was waiting for him at half past twelve.

Auntie had guests; so that she would not inadvertently spill the beans, Julia hid her plans from her, although it seemed strange to her to go on a date with a person whose name should not be mentioned in public. Dick was late, and she sat on pins and needles in the hallway, listening to the meaningless hubbub coming from the dining room. At one o'clock in the afternoon the bell rang and Julia opened the door.

A complete stranger stood on the threshold. His deathly pale face was shaved roughly, the soft hat pulled down on his head looked like a flattened flatbread, the collar of his shirt was dark with staleness, and his tie had slipped somewhere to one side. But when Julia recognized him as Dick Ragland, she was struck by one change that eclipsed all others: the expression on his face. This face turned into a continuous stretched grin: glassy eyes tried to hide behind heavy eyelids, a limp upper lip revealed a row of teeth, and the chin shook like a prop from which paraffin had leaked: this physiognomy both expressed and inspired disgust.

“Hello,” he mumbled.
She recoiled for a moment, but then the silence that fell in the dining room, caused by the silence in the hallway, reached the threshold, and Julia literally pushed the guest onto the landing, jumped out after her and slammed the door behind her.
- Ugh! - she gasped, still not recovering from the shock.
— I haven’t been home for days. Hung out at a party...

Disgusted, she spun him around by the elbow and led him, stumbling, down the stairs, past the concierge's wife, who was staring curiously at them from her glass-enclosed booth. Finally they came out onto the sunlit Rue Guynemer.

Against the backdrop of the spring Luxembourg Gardens, which were green on the other side of the street, Dick looked even uglier. Julia felt scared, she looked around in desperation in search of a taxi, but the car that turned the corner of Rue Vaugirard did not stop.
-Where should we go for lunch? - he squeezed out.
-You're not in lunch shape. Is it really not clear? You need to get home and go to bed.
- I'm fine. I’ll get over my hangover and I’ll be like glass.

“Yes, he is an archangel, a mountain lion”