The Pursued Man

A writing assignment for English 12 where I had to write in the style of Fitzgerald accompanying an alluded-to situation in The Great Gatsby.

Mr. Blue had once been an extraordinary man. As he said to me one Autumn day, ‘If one could bottle and sell happiness on the market, the government would ban it’. Such was the manifest of the drug business. If Mr. Blue had not been so careless, I would likely still be his underling. Instead, he went and got himself shot in the colonies far east. As I’ve been incessantly warned, the Hong Kong tongs react rarely in kind to betrayals.

I was acutely aware that, under alternative circumstances, my life would be utterly indistinguishable to the labouring men that worked for me: the sweating, dirt-faced smugglers that risked their lives for an undeniably meager payment. It was the wealthy, pursued men like Mr. Blue that introduced me to insiders. I had had known Mr. Blue for only a year when I met a Mr. Meyer Wolfsheim on a hot afternoon in a Cuban villa. The Jewish man had been in the business for longer than I could even comprehend --- all too often, ringleaders within the drug business were bitten off before they could peak.

The day was tropical, the humidity hugged my cheeks as I strolled with Blue to the public balcony. Marbled tables sparkled under wide-leafed plants that I couldn’t name. The climate was hotter than any New York day. The clusters of visitors had mostly left for a midday siesta, and Blue and I met Wolfsheim in a secluded corner of the patio. The grey-faced Jew granted us a half-smile as he rose in welcome, motioning for us to take a seat at the cool slab of a table. Blue and Wolfsheim engaged each other in hushed voices, uttering names I didn’t recognise, telling of countries I had only read about. Finally, Wolfsheim turned his brown-eyed gaze to me, and looked me up and down. When he opened his mouth, I believed truly that I was a small insect that had made the fatal mistake of landing under his leather-soled shoes. I was small, insignificant compared to this monolithic giant in the drug business. In contrast to how I felt, I was about to be decidedly received into the lurid trade of narcotics, as though I had passed a rite of passage in Blue and Wolfsheim’s eyes.

Meyer Wolfsheim leaned back in his plastic lounger and pushed his gold-rimmed spectacles farther up the large bridge of his nose.

“So, Mr. Gatsby,” he began, in a thick Ashkenazi accent. “You think you’re worth my time?”

I gathered my confidence and sat up straighter, fixing my posture as I had been taught so many years ago.

“Absolutely, sir,” I replied.

Author's Note

I did this in like 15 minutes so the flow of words may not be entirely smooth

Reviews

[Salem Gray]

Really neat little story! I'm a big fan of The Great Gatsby, and I could clearly see Jay Gatsby in this story. I think you captured the essence of the early 20th century really well. There's definitely some Fitzgerald-esque tone to this. Great job!

[Amaranta]

Thanks so much!!