Chapter 12 Chapter Eleven

With impetuous curiosity she entered my world, the scorched, dark Humbert's domain; Show disgust.She no longer trembles at my touch, and all I get for my pain is a piercing "What do you think you're doing?" Make up random things, and disdain the wonderlands and wonderlands I proposed.Imagine, between Humberg and Humbert, she would -- with a cold but certain, eternal -- leap at the former.There is nothing so cruel and cruel as an adored child.Did I mention that dairy I went to not too long ago?Coincidentally, its name is "Queen of Indifference". I smiled sadly and dubbed her "my cold princess".She couldn't comprehend this wise joke.

Oh, reader, please don't glar at me, I don't mean to show the effect of my failure to find ways to be happy.The reader should understand that the enchanted traveler is far from being happy both in the possession of a nymphet and in her enslavement. that is the truth.For there is no supreme happiness in the world that can compare to caressing a nymphet.That kind of bliss and joy is unique, and it belongs to another plane of feeling.In spite of our quarrels, in spite of her vulgarity, in spite of her faultfinding, in spite of all her changes of color, in spite of all the vileness and danger and hopelessness of it all, I am still intoxicated in the heaven of my choice - the sky of which is filled with hellfire the colors of the world—but still heaven.

The psychiatrist who was in charge of my case - by this point I believe Dr. Humbert has driven him into a delusional state - frankly urged me to take my Lolita to the seaside, where at last I would find the fulfillment of my lifelong desire , to completely get rid of the "subconscious" troubles of the unfinished romance with the young Miss Li in childhood. Well, comrade, let me tell you, I do want to find a beach, although I must admit that by the time we reach that gray mirage, my traveling companions have given me so much pleasure in finding "Kingdom by the Sea" , "Purified Riviera" and so on, far from being subconscious impulses, have become intellectual pursuits of purely theoretical spiritual enjoyment.The angels know everything, and the heavens do what they want.A visit to a lively cove on the Atlantic coast is completely derailed by bad weather.Overcast skies, muddy waves, misty yet tangible fog—but what else could keep me from the fresh glamor of my Riviera romance, the sapphire-colored chances and rose-colored chance encounters?A pair of subtropical coasts in the bay, although the location is very hidden, there are still young poisonous beasts peeping in and then falling, and the hurricane will inevitably be swept away.Finally, on a beach in California opposite the phantom of the Pacific Ocean, I happened to encounter some ridiculous mysteries in a cave, and heard the screams of a large group of Girl Scouts taking their first sea bath, hidden behind dead trees on the next beach. Like a wet blanket, the gravel is hard and sticky, Luo has goosebumps all over her body, and she grinds her teeth and trembles. For the first time in my life, I have no desire for her like I do for manatees.My learned readers may take heart if I tell them that even if we find a shore of harmony there, it will be too late, for my real liberation has already happened; then, actually, When Annabelle Haze, alias Dolores Lee, alias Lolita.Gold-brown, on my knees, with head thrown up, appeared to me on that inferior verandah, a contrived, unrealistic, yet quite satisfactory seaside arrangement (although there was nothing but a second-rate lake next to it. no good).

There are so many of these particular sensations that, if they are not natural, they are influenced by modern psychiatry.Finally, I left - Lolita, who was leading me, left - the seashore that is neither too bleak when lonely, nor too bustling when excited.But whenever I think of the European parks that haunt me hopelessly, I think I'm still fascinated by the great outdoors, and longing to find the right open-air venues, despite the pain I've had in them.In this, too, I am still thwarted.The disappointment I'm going to register now (I gently escalate my story to one of continuous adventure and horror that penetrates my desires) doesn't in any way detract from the fact that the film is lyrical, epic, tragic, but definitely not The American wilderness with an arcadia quality.They are beautiful, heartrendingly beautiful wildernesses, with that innocence and unsung obstinate quality that my paint-toy-bright Swiss villages and my celebrated Alps have long since lost.On the flat meadow halfway up the mountain; on the moss of the cave spring, by the nearby pure stream, on the log bench under the original oak tree, in so many huts in so many beech forests, countless lovers hugged, kissed.

But in the American wilderness, open-air lovers will find it hard to indulge the oldest of sins and pastimes.Harmful plants burned his sweetheart's ass, unnamed insects stung his buttocks; sharp things on the forest floor pierced his knees, insects stung hers again, and there were endless rustling sounds of wild snakes in the boundless surroundings-- If you want me to say, it is a half-extinct dragon! --and crab-like wildflower-seeds in the dreadful turf, as if garters wrapped their black stockings and muddy white stockings. I am exaggerating a bit.One summer noon, just below the treeline, when extremely dark flowers (delphiniums, as I like to call them) crowded the banks of a boisterous mountain stream, Lolita and I actually found a different world. Isolated romantically, about a hundred feet from the intersection where we parked the car.It was as if no one had ever stepped on this hillside.The last living pine tree clings to a breathing hole above a boulder.A woodchuck honked at me and shrank back.I spread out the oilcloth for Lo, and the dried and wrinkled flowers made a series of slight crackling sounds underneath.Venus has come and gone.The jagged cliffs that crowned the slopes and a great tangle of shrubs that spread beneath our feet seemed to protect us from the sun as well as humans.Ah, I hadn't noticed a side road winding its way through shrubs and boulders a few feet away.

It was here that we were nearer to being discovered than ever before; no doubt this experience has forever curbed my longing for country romance. I remember her weeping in my arms at the end of the copulation, all over;--this year, the storms of tears of modesty after every fit of temper had been so frequent in her, or what an astonishing year it would have been envy.No sooner had I withdrawn some foolish promise than she had forced me to make when I felt the urge, and she was lying on the floor crying, pinching my loving hand, and I was smiling happily, but the cruel, The unbelievable, unbearable and, I suppose, permanent horror, is still a black spot in my blue impulse at the moment; as we lie thus, something happens, and my poor heart nearly knocks out , I saw two strange and beautiful children, with dark, unmoving eyes, a faun and an elf, whose identical straight black hair and bloodless cheeks suggested that they were siblings, if not twins.They bent down to look at us with their mouths wide open, both of them were wearing blue uniforms covered with mountain flowers.I hastily pulled out the oilcloth to cover my shame--at the same time, in the bushes a few steps away, something like a polka-dotted ball rolled and transformed into a fat lady with short black hair and gradually raised her body , mechanically adding a wild lily to her bouquet, she peered at us from behind her lovely sapphire child.

My consciousness was disturbed at this time. I knew that I was a brave person, but I didn't know it these days. I just remember that I was shocked by my own cruelty.With the kind that in the worst of situations (what mad longing and hatred make the cub's shins tremble, and what black stars pierce the tamer's heart!) Whispering orders to a sweaty, unhinged, shivering, disciplined animal, I got Lo to his feet, and we walked away with dignity, not so, so, with dignity and ran to the car.Behind the car parked a handsome station wagon, a handsome Assyrian with a blue and black mustache, very nice gentleman, in a silk shirt and purple slacks, probably the fat botanist's Husband:

Husband, is preoccupied with taking pictures of the signposts.The road sign said about 10,000 feet high, and I couldn't breathe; we rattled and sped into the car, Lo still struggling with her disheveled clothes, cursing at me in the language I Never dreamed that a girl would know about it, let alone use it. There were other unpleasant surprises as well.For example, once in a movie theater.Lo was still enthusiastic about movies at the time (it had waned during her sophomore year in high school).We've had a hell of a time, oh, I don't know, we had a hundred and fifty or two hundred programs for the tour that year, and during the more frequent movie-watching sessions, most of the newsreels we I have watched it six times, because the main screen of this kind of movie changes once a week, and it always follows us from one city to another.Her favorite movie categories are, in this order: musical pieces, low society films, and westerns.In the first kind of film, real singers and dancers live unreal stage careers in a world of anti-melancholy screens, where death and truth are taboo and white-haired yet naive and deliberately The surviving father, always at first disapproving of his daughter's fascination with movies, always ends up cheering his divine ideal on fabled Broadway.Lower-class films show a divided society: heroic journalists murdered, phone bills run into the billions, villains chased by sick but fearless cops in an atmosphere of bad marksmanship but brutality Screaming around the sewers and shops (less homework I'm going to give them).Finally, there is the red-brown scenery in western movies, those red-faced, blue-eyed wild riders and serious, beautiful school teachers appear in "Roaring Canyon", horses roaring, galloping spectacularly, pistols poking through trembling windows Glass, giant fists knocking back and forth, dusty old-fashioned furniture turned into strange piles, tables used as weapons, proper somersaults, hands with sharp weapons groping for fallen steel sheets The hunting knife, the hog-like grunt, the expert fist-to-jaw punch, the belly kick, and the flying instruments; just after the bleeding pain that sent Hercules to the hospital (I should know by now left), there’s nothing left to act but the reinvigorated hero embracing his resplendent frontier bride, bronzed cheeks still bruised.I remember seeing an afternoon play in a stuffy little theater full of kids and the smell of fried popcorn.The moon is yellow, hanging over the head of the male singer wearing a scarf, his figure is reflected on his strings, his feet stand on a pine tree, and I unconsciously put my arm around Luo's shoulders, my cheeks shifted. To her temple, when the two horny thugs behind us started muttering the most suspicious thing - I don't know if I got it right, but I realized what I was doing and pulled back Warm hands, of course, everything that was performed afterwards seemed to me like a thick fog.

Another accident I recall has to do with a small town we passed through at night on our way home.About twenty miles out of town, I told her that the Beardsley school she was going to was a first-rate, uneducated school, and no modern nonsense, and Lo started a furious verbal war with me, begging, Insults, self-justifying puns, cruel slurs, and childish desperation all weave into an angry logic that provokes me to act like explanations.I was confused by her brusque words (nice job...I'd be an idiot if I was serious about you...stinky...you can't be my master...I despise you...blah blah) Driving through the sleeping city at fifty miles an hour, continuing to fly on the smooth highway, suddenly two cops spotlighted our car and told me to pull over.I shushed her and she was still yelling mechanically.The two squinted at her and me with malicious curiosity.

Suddenly, all over her face, she smiled sweetly at them in a way she'd never shown my fortitude; for, in a sense, Lo was even more afraid of the law than I was—like law enforcement. The officer-like policeman apologized to us, and we humbly walked slowly on the road. Her eyelids closed and trembled, pretending to be weak and weak. For this I have to make a serious confession.You'll laugh - somehow I actually never really understood what legal really was.Don't know even now. Oh, I know only a few bits and pieces, Alabama prohibits guardians from changing guardianship residences without court permission; Minnesota, I tip my hat to her, requires relatives to assume permanent protection and supervision of children under the age of fourteen , the court has no jurisdiction over this matter.Question: stepdad of a cute teenage baby, only been stepdad for a month, mature age, small independent property, just overly neurotic widower with a history behind him of living in Europe, a divorce and a few mental institutions , can he be regarded as a kinsman, and therefore automatically as a patron?If yes, should I and can I apply (how do I apply?) to the "Board of Welfare" with good reason, and have the court clerk investigate meek, suspicious me, and dangerous Dorothy Haze?Many books on marriage, rape, adoption, etc., which I have sinfully consulted in urban public libraries large and small, often do nothing other than imply that this situation is super custody of underage children .Pierre and Zapel, if I remember their names correctly, appear in a touching tome on legal marriage, and they completely ignore the situation of stepfathers of bereaved girls who are both The guardianship of the latter is beyond the control of the latter.My best friend, a naive spinster, unearthed for me a monograph on social services from a dusty storeroom with deep anguish (Chicago, 1936), which says : "There is no principle that every child must have a guardian; the courts are passive and only enter into conflict when the child is in obvious danger." However, several months passed before he received notice of hearing and took up a pair of happy wings; The tricks of a vicious boy, he had to let by law; then, at last, it was Dolores Haze's case.What followed was the hearing, a few questions from the bench, a few confident answers from the lawyer, a smile, a nod, a light drizzle outside, and the appointment was declared complete.But I still dare not.

Stay away, be a mouse, curl up in your hole.The court is overly accommodating only in matters involving property: two greedy protectors, a robbed orphan, and a more greedy suspect.But with us, everything was in order, the property list was made, and her mother's modest fortune was untouched, waiting for Dolores Haze to grow up and inherit it.The best policy seems to be precisely to suppress any implementation of it.Otherwise, if I keep too silent, some talkative person, some "human rights organization" will get involved? Friend Farlow, a lawyer of sorts, should be able to give me some solid advice, but his time is completely taken up by Joan's cancer; he has no time for anything beyond what he's already committed to—specifically, looking after Charlotte's meager property was the compensation given by the court in installments after she fell to her death.I had convinced him in his heart that Dolores was my blood, and therefore he could not be expected to be anxious about my predicament.The reader should be able to infer by this point that I am a poor businessman; but neither ignorance nor laziness prevent me from getting professional advice elsewhere.What binds me is a bad feeling: I have become if I mess with fate at will and try to give reason to her fantasy nature, her nature will not survive, just like the empty temple on the top of the mountain in Eastern mythology The palace disappears as soon as its far-sighted owner asks its gatekeeper why the sliver of the setting sun is so clear between the black rocks and the horizon. I decided that once I got to Beardsley (where Beardsley Women's University is located) I would look for references I hadn't researched yet, such as Werner's paper "Guardianship in American Law" and some "American Children's Bureau publications".I also decided that it was better to let Lo do anything than spend her time in a bad manner.I could persuade her to do many things--a list of items that might stunn a professional educator; but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get her to read more than the so-called joke books or magazine stories written for American women. anything.Literature of any higher degree smelled school to her, and while she would have enjoyed The Girl Who Lost the Drain Hole or The Arabian Nights or Little Women in theory, she still Sure she couldn't pass her "sabbatical" with these learned readings. I now think what a mistake we made by not climbing over the Mexican border and moving east again and sending her to that private school in Beardsley.And at the time it was good to climb out, to hide in the subtropical paradise for years until I was able to get my little creole safely, because I must admit, I depended on my secretory tissues and nerve centers to get it Going from one pole of insanity to the other in the same day—from thinking about 1950 or so when I was desperately having to get rid of a teenage girl with dry labia—to thinking that with patience and luck, I might finally Can make her another nymphet, Lolita Second, with the blood I poured into her delicate veins, she will be eight or nine around 1960, when I'm still in the prime of life; indeed, I A telescope, mental or non-spiritual, is enough to discern in the distance in time an old man still young--a green decrepit perhaps? -- quirky, tender, drooling Humbert practices the art of being a grandfather to the uber-obsessed Lolita Third. During our days of roaming the country, I had no doubt that I was a ridiculous loser as Lolita's first father.I did my best; I read and re-read the unintentionally biblical title I bought for Lolita's thirteenth birthday; Bought a deluxe volume of Andersen's The Little Mermaid with very commercially "beautiful" illustrations.However, even in the best moments, like sitting and reading while it rains (Lo's eyes gliding from the window to her watch), or enjoying a quiet meal in a crowded restaurant, or playing childlike Poker games, or shopping, or quietly staring with other drivers and their children at smashed, blood-spattered cars, and a woman's shoe in a ditch (once we hit the road, Lo said: "That's exactly the kind of moccasin I was trying to describe to the fool in the shop"); in all these casual moments, I myself seemed in no way like the father, nor was she like the daughter.Perhaps it is the sense of guilt that renders us powerless to make the fake come true?Will this situation improve when there is a stable place to live in the future and female students can live a regular life? I chose Beardsley not only because of the quieter girls' schools there but also because of the women's college.I wanted to settle myself down and be able to attach to any patterned surface and mix my markings into it, so I thought of a guy I knew in the French department at Beardsley University; he was kind enough to use my textbook as his teaching materials, and asked me to give lectures more than once.I have no intention of doing so, because, as I have mentioned in these confessions, there is nothing that I rejoice in more than a floppy pelvis, thick calves, and the pathetic look of a co-ed girl in general. (from them I might imagine coffins of vulgar female flesh in which my nymphets were buried alive); but I did long for a label, a background, an image; and when it When it became clear, there was a reason, a very ridiculous reason, why old Gaston Godin's companions were especially safe. Finally, there is the matter of money.I'm on the verge of bankruptcy under the pressure of our happy travels.Yes, I'm sticking to cheap motels; but every now and then there's a posh, rowdy restaurant, or euphemistic urbanite's getaway to double our budget; Odds have increased again, such as the old Haze, which, though sound and faithful, is in need of repairs now and then.In one of the newspapers which the well-meaning prison authorities had allowed me to use for my confession, I found by chance a bar map of mine, from which I found some hastily jotted memorandums which helped me to make the following statistics.During the extravagant year from August 1947 to August 1948, board and lodging expenses were about 5,500 yuan, gasoline, engine oil and repair expenses were 1,234 yuan, and various other expenses. A similar amount was added to this additional expense; so in the 150 days of actual travel (we covered about 27,000 miles!) plus about 200 days of stops, my humble rentier spent eight About one thousand yuan, or better say ten thousand yuan, because as sloppy as I am, I must have forgotten a lot of items. We sailed east.My emotional satisfaction was more disrupted than stabilized, and she shone with a healthy glow, and a pair of ileal wreath-like ornaments around her neck were still as simple as a young man, although she gained another two inches in height and weight Eight pounds.We've been everywhere.Actually nothing.Today I always think that our long journey was nothing more than desecrating this charming, honest, dreamy, and vast country with a winding clay road. In retrospect, it was nothing to us. And a collection of her late-night cries—every night, every night—when I always pretended to be asleep.