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Next morning I sent the butler to New York with a letter to Wolfsheim, which asked for information and urged him to come out on the next train. That request seemed superfluous when I wrote it. I was sure he'd start when he saw the newspapers, just as I was sure a there'd be a wire from Daisy before noon—but neither a wire nor Mr. Wolfsheim arrived; no one arrived except more police and photographers and newspaper men. When the butler brought back Wolfsheim's answer I began to have a feeling of defiance, of scornful solidarity between Gatsby and me against them all. (9.20)
After Gatsby's death, Nick realizes just how alone Gatsby is. What's weird is he begins to identify with Gatsby, as though they're suddenly BFFs. We bet Gatsby would have appreciated that; too bad it's too late now.
After a little while Mr. Gatz opened the door and came out, his mouth ajar, his face flushed slightly, his eyes leaking isolated and unpunctual tears. He had reached an age where death no longer has the quality of ghastly surprise, and when he looked around him now for the first time and saw the height and splendor of the hall and the great rooms opening out from it into other rooms, his grief began to be mixed with an awed pride. (9.40)
How weird is this description of Gatsby's dad? He's "leaking isolated" tears, as if he can't quite process that his son is dead—or that this mansion belonged to his kid.
A little before three the Lutheran minister arrived from Flushing, and I began to look involuntarily out the windows for other cars. So did Gatsby's father. And as the time passed and the servants came in and stood waiting in the hall, his eyes began to blink anxiously, and he spoke of the rain in a worried, uncertain way. The minister glanced several times at his watch, so I took him aside and asked him to wait for half an hour. But it wasn't any use. Nobody came. (9.113)
Everyone dies alone—and some of us are buried alone, or almost alone. Besides the owl-eyed man, Nick, and Gatsby's dad, no one comes to the funeral. Is it the rain? Or is the heartless, selfish crowd who was happy to come to the feast but won't come to the funeral?