Chapter 26 Chapter Twenty-Five

You might think that now that all obstacles have been removed and there is nothing but a prospect of exhilarating, boundless joy, I must settle down and let out a sigh of relief. Eh bien, pas du tout!Instead of being warmed by the light of the smiling "opportunity," I was haunted by all sorts of purely moral doubts and fears.Would it be strange, for example, that Lo was never allowed to attend the celebrations and funerals of her immediate family?You remember - we didn't have her at our wedding.Or, another thing: Even if Coincidence's long hairy arm stretched out to kill an innocent woman, wouldn't Coincidence ignore what its other arm was doing in one savage moment, prematurely How about handing Lo a letter of condolence?True, only the Ramsdale Journal reported the accident--neither the Parkington Chronicle nor the Crimacques Herald; Camp Quay was in another state, and local reports of death Not as interesting as the news from the federal government; but I still can't help but imagine that Lori Haze already knows the bad news somehow, and that as I'm driving to pick her up, she's being picked up by someone I don't know. The friend drove back to Ramsdale.And more troubling than all these speculations and worries is the fact that Humbert Humbert, a brand new American citizen of unknown European origin, has not yet adopted any of the daughters of his late wife (twelve years and seven months) steps of the legal guardian.Dare I take these steps?Whenever I imagine myself naked, before the pitiless gaze of customary law, surrounded by incomprehensible decrees, I cannot help shivering.

My plan is a marvel of primitive art: I'm going to race to Camp Que at lightning speed, tell Lolita her mother is going to undergo a major operation in one of my imaginary hospitals, and then keep on talking with my sleepy nymphet. From one inn to another, her mother's condition improved day by day, but in the end she died.But as I drove toward camp, I felt more and more anxious.Thinking I might not find Lolita there—or, on the contrary, find a panicked Lolita screaming and clamoring for a friend of theirs: not the Farlows, thank God—she almost Don't know them yet - but are there a few others I haven't considered?I can't bear to think about it.Finally, I decided to make a long-distance call, just as I had pretended to be a few days ago.It was raining hard, and I pulled over at a turnoff in the muddy suburbs of Parkington, where one of the poor roads bypassed the city and led to the road that went over the hills to Lake Cremarks and Camp Quay.I snapped the ignition off and sat in the car for a while, getting ready for the phone call, all the while staring out at the shower, the flooded sidewalk, and a fire hydrant.It was an ugly thing indeed, painted thick with silver and red, and the red pipes sticking out of its crank let the rain varnish them, and the rain dripped like bright red blood on its silvery whiteness. on the chain.No wonder it's taboo to park next to these horrific, mutilated and broken things.So I drove the car to a gas station.When the coin finally dropped satisfactorily, and a personal voice responded to me, something unexpected was waiting to be told by my camp hostess Holmes, Lori Monday (today is Wednesday) has gone hiking with her group in the mountains and is expected to be back fairly late in the day.I'll go back tomorrow, what's going on - I didn't go into details, I just said that her mother was sent to the hospital, and her condition was quite serious, but don't tell the child about this, let her be prepared, tomorrow Leave with me this afternoon.The two voices then parted in a burst of ardent greetings; and all my coins rolled back into my hand with a winning crackle from some freak mechanical defect; I was a little disappointed at having to postpone my happiness, but it almost made me laugh.You may think, since I, as I am now, made up that little expedition before I heard anything about it, then these sudden coin rolls, this sudden refund, are not worth the money in McPheter's In my heart, I don't know if it has something to do with that kind of fiction.

What's the next step?I drove into the commercial center of Parkington, and the weather had cleared up all afternoon, and the wet town looked as if silver and mirrors had been used to buy some nice clothes for Lo.Goodness, Humbert had a passion for plaid fabrics, brightly colored cottons, trims, puffed short sleeves, soft pleats, fitted bodices and skirts with very wide hemlines , what a crazy purchase it prompted him to make!Oh, Lolita, you're my girl as Vie was Poe's, and Bea was Dante's; what little girl doesn't like to spin around in a round skirt and shorts?Is there anything special I have in mind?Many charming voices asked me.bathing suit?We have swimwear in all colors.Dreamy pink, frosty water green, penis head mauve, tulip's bright red, oolaia's black.How about sportswear?What about petticoats?No petticoats.Lo and I both hate petticoats.

The guide I rely on in these matters is an anthropometric note written by Lo's mother on her twelfth birthday (readers remember the book "Know Your Child").I feel Charlotte has gained an inch here and a pound there from ulterior motives of jealousy and disgust; but since the nymphet has undoubtedly grown a little in the last seven months , I think I can safely take most of the measurements I took in January: hips, twenty-nine inches; thighs (just below the gluteal groove), seventeen inches; calf and neck circumference, eleven inches; Chest, 27 inches; upper arm, 8 inches; waist, 23 inches; height, 57 inches; weight, 78 pounds; build, slender; IQ: 121; appendix present, Thank goodness.

In addition to these measurements, I could of course imagine Lolita with vivid hallucinations; once or twice her hairy head rested on my body, exactly at the level of my heart, so that I was careful to press the exact spot on my breastbone where the pain was, and I actually felt the weight of her warm body sitting on my lap (so, in a sense, I was always "with Lolita"). stay together", as a woman "carries a child"), and it was not surprising to find out later that my calculations were more or less correct.Besides, I had also studied a midsummer catalogue, so I scrutinized all kinds of beautiful goods with a rather expert air: sneakers, sneakers, suede lasts for crumpled suede shoes .The painted, black-clad girl who served all these urgent needs of mine translated parental learning and precise descriptions into commercial euphemisms like "petite."The other, much older woman, was dressed all in white, with powdered powder makeup; she seemed particularly impressed by my knowledge of teenage fashion.Perhaps, I had a petite mistress; so when they showed me a dress with two "pretty" pockets on the front, I deliberately asked a childish masculine question, which ended up making them laugh and use Demonstrate how the zipper on the back of the dress works by doing it.Then I had a lot of fun with all kinds of shorts and underpants—fantastic little Lolitas dancing and falling over the counter like daisies.I sealed the deal by ordering a pair of neat cotton pajama pants in the popular hawker style.Humbert this popular peddler.

In those big shops there was a sort of mythical, enchanted atmosphere.According to the ad, a working woman can shop for everything from the office to a date, and her little sister can dream of the day when she'll impress her male classmates sitting in the back of the classroom with a wool sweater. for excitement.Life-size snub-nosed plastic figures of children, with dun, light green, brown dotted, faun-like faces, floated around me.I found myself the only customer in that rather eerie place, walking like a fish in a sea-green aquarium.I felt strange thoughts forming in the minds of the listless ladies who accompanied me from counter to counter, from ledge to seaweed; The hand fell into the transparent water.I bought a nice little travel bag, put my purchases in it, and went to the nearest hotel, quite satisfied with my day.

Somehow, as I shopped so fastidiously about that quiet, poetic afternoon, I was reminded of the hotel or inn with the catchy name "The Possessed Hunter," in Charlotte, shortly before my freedom. This hotel or inn was mentioned to me by chance.With the help of a guidebook, I found it in the secluded town of Bryceland, a four-hour drive from Bryceland to Lowe's camp.I could have made a phone call, but fearing that my voice might get out of hand and speak some hesitant, hoarse, and very poor English, I decided to send a telegram to book a double room for tomorrow night.What a funny, clumsy, indecisive Prince Charming I am!Some of my readers would laugh at me if I told them I was at a loss in drafting the words for that telegram!How should I write: Humbert and Daughter?Hemberg and the youngest daughter?Humberg and underage girls?Hemberg and kids?This hilarious mistake—the “dig” at the end—eventually got out, perhaps an echo of my hesitant telepathy.

Then, on a cozy summer night, I pondered the aphrodisiacs I had with me!Oh, miserly Hemberg!Wasn't he an "obsessed hunter" as he brooded over his magical box of ammunition?Should he try one of these purple capsules in order to fight off the ghost of insomnia?Altogether, there were forty or forty nights where a weak little person slept next to my throbbing body.Can I deprive myself of one of these nights so that I can sleep now?Of course not: every tiny plum, every tiny planetarium with its living stardust, is too precious.Oh, let me be sad and sad for a while!I'm so tired of cynicism.