Chapter 15 Chapter Fourteen

The brakes were replaced, the clogging of the radiator hose unclogged, the pistons turned, and other repairs and improvements, all paid for by the unromantic but prudent Papa Humbert, so that the late Mrs. Humbert Your car is completely new when it hits a new road. We promised Beardsley School, the excellent old Beardsley School, to come back as soon as my Hollywood contract expired (I hinted that the creative Humbert had been hired for a film based on "existentialism"). chief consultant on films on the subject; at the time, existentialism was in full swing).In fact, I'm thinking about crossing the Mexican border--I'm a lot braver now than I was last year--and thinking about life with my little concubine, who's now sixty inches tall and weighs ninety pounds.We dug out travel books and maps.She looked up the route with great interest.

Is it because of her acting experience that she has grown up a lot, she has abandoned the boredom of a girl, and she is so cute and eager to explore rich realities?As we left Professor Chelm's bewildered house and sped down Main Street toward the four-lane highway, I experienced the strange dreamlight of a bleak but warm Sunday morning. My lover wore a black and white striped padded gown, a stylish blue hat, white socks, and brown moccasins, which did not quite match a large, beautifully cut basket gem on a silver chain at the neck of the jade: I Give her the gift of spring.We passed the "Xinxing Hotel", she smiled. "Your idea for a penny," I said, and she immediately held out her palm, and at that moment the red light came on, and I had to put on the brakes quickly, and as I was coming to a stop, another car pulled up slowly. On one side, a striking face, a strong, lean young woman (where have I seen her?), with a haughty expression and brown hair hanging down the shoulders, greeted Luo with a "cough"--two Turning back towards me, he said with great emotion and enthusiasm (recognized!) and emphasized a few words:

"What a disgrace to take Dolly away from an act--you should have heard that the author gave her a big compliment after that rehearsal--" "Green light, idiot," Lowe said in a low voice, waving a bracelet Arms, a beautiful farewell, Joan of Arc (a play we saw at the local theater) jerked past us and turned onto "Campus Street." "Who is it? Vermont or La Permeyer?" "No - Edusa Gold - the lady who tutored us." "I don't mean her. Who the hell made up that play?" "Oh! Yes, of course. An old woman named Clare or something, I guess. There's a lot of them."

"She complimented you?" "Complimented my eyes--she kissed my pure brow"--my darling imitated that playful new look--perhaps it had something to do with her theatrical performances--which she later became fond of. "You're a funny little thing, Lolita," I said—something like that. "Naturally, I'm overjoyed that you gave up your ridiculous stage presence. But strangely enough, you drop everything just as it culminates. Oh, Lolita, be careful with your renunciation.I remember you gave up Ramsdale for the camp and the camp for the drive.I could list other sudden transformations of yours.You should be cautious, some things should never be given up.You should be steadfast.You should try to be nice to me, Lolita.

You should also watch your diet.The circumference of your thigh, you know, can't be more than seventeen and a half inches.Any more and it should be scary (I'm kidding her, of course).We set off now to start a happy journey.I remember--" I remember as a child in Europe, looking greedily at a map of North America, the "Appalachian Mountains" stretching from Alabama to New Brunswick, the entire region it spans - Tennessee, Virginia , Pennsylvania, New York, Vermont, New Hampshire and Maine, in my imagination, it is like a huge Switzerland or even Tibet, with green peaks, jade folds and giant pines, and the mountain people who immigrated here, wearing shiny bear skins, and The red fan hidden under the arbor.It is frightening to see now that all that has evaporated into a small suburban meadow and a huge smoky incinerator.Farewell, Appalachia!From there, we went through Ohio, the three "I" states, and Nebraska -- ah, the first air of the West!Our journey was very leisurely. It took more than a week to reach the Continental Divide Gas, and she strongly demanded to see the ritual dance that marks the opening of the "Magic Cave" in all seasons; then it took at least three weeks to reach El Suciton, a western state. a jewel in the sea, and she was eager to climb the red reef there.A popular movie star recently jumped from there after a drunken quarrel with her boyfriend.

We were welcomed again by the discreet motel with an inscription such as: "We want you to feel at home. All facilities have been carefully inspected for your arrival. License number has been registered. Please conserve hot water. We reserve the right to evict any Bawang guest without notice. Do not flush the toilet Throw any waste here. Thank you. Please take good care of me. Manager again: We send the best people in the world to our customers." We paid ten dollars for a double room to live in these horrible places, and swarms of flies lined up outside the doors with no screen curtains, and then swarmed in triumphantly.

Our ex's ashes are still in the ashtray, there is a woman's hair on the pillow, and the sound of people hanging clothes in the closet can be heard next door, and the hook is cleverly nailed to the crossbar with a loop of thread to prevent theft. Also, the biggest insult is that the painting above the double bed also looks like a twin couple.I also noticed a change in the business fashion of yesteryear.The Jupiters tended to coalesce, gradually forming the Grand Hotel, which (she wasn't interested in, but the reader might be) added a second floor, a lounge was widened, the cars were all moved into a public garage, The motel was restored into an immaculate old fashioned inn.

I now caution readers not to laugh at me and my trance.For him and for me, past destinies are easy to explain now; but believe me, the destinies in the making are not one of those fantastic and arcane stories where you just have to keep an eye on the clues.When I was young I read a French detective story in which the clues were actually written in italics; but that was not the McPheter way--even if one does learn to spot obscure hints. For example: I will not swear that not once before or at the beginning of our journey in the Midwest did she attempt to get information from, or make contact with, one or more strangers.We stopped at a gas station, right under the Pegasus sign, and she slid out of the seat and into the back of the car, and I was bending over under the upturned hood to watch the mechanics work, For a moment, the front cover blocked her.I wanted to be compassionate, so I just shook my head kindly, despite her sternness. She said that all these were forbidden places, because I obviously felt that those toilets-and telephones-had mysterious reasons, both My fate is responsible for capturing the key points.

We all have this destiny—a landscape of representations for one thing, a number for another—chosen by God to draw our attention to certain events of special significance. Note: For example, John always stutters; Joan's heart always seems to be broken. Well--my car was done, and I had moved it out of the air pump to make way for a lift truck--when her increasing disappearance began to press on me in the gray wind, My heart is heavy.Not for the first time, nor for the last, I stared at the gas station with a restless, uncomfortable look, which seemed startling, like staring at a countryman and finding myself in the trap of a helpless traveler. In sight: that green trash can, those very black and very white tires for sale, those beautiful gas tanks, that water jug ​​with assorted beverages, four, five, seven thrown in like unfinished The bottle in the wooden sanctuary of the crossword puzzle frame, and the worm walking patiently on the inner wall of the office window.

The radio music was coming through the open door, and because its rhythm was out of sync with the heaving, swaying, and other movements of the wind blowing the vegetables, it made one think that it was an old scenery film where the scenery went its own way, and the piano or The violin follows the score completely, disregarding the quivering flowers and swaying branches.Charlotte's last sobs vibrated incongruously through me just as Lolita's skirt fluttered against the rhythm and she spun out of a totally unexpected direction.Seeing that the toilet here was occupied, she walked across the street to the "Poseidon" sign.They say they are proud of their toilets, which are as clean as home.They also said that these prepaid postcards are for your criticism.There is no soap.Nothing at all.

No criticism. That day, or maybe the next, we had a tediously long journey through a field of crops, and we came to a friendly little town, where we stayed in "Chestnut Park"--comfortable log cabins, greens of Weshshed, apple trees, An old-fashioned swing--and a vast expanse of sunset, but the weary kid couldn't care less.She asked to pass by Kasbeam, because it was only thirty miles from her home; and I found her listless in the mornings that followed, unwilling to see the pavement where she had played hopscotch some five years before.I was terribly afraid of that side road, for obvious reasons; though we had made an agreement not to make ourselves too conspicuous in any way--just stay in the car and not visit old friends.My relief at her abandoning the project was spoiled by the thought that if she had sensed that I was totally resistant to nostalgia for Pisky, as I had been last year, she would not have given up so easily.I breathed out and made it clear, and she sighed too, complaining of discomfort.She wanted to stay in bed, at least until tea time, with a pile of magazines around.After she felt better, she suggested that I still continue westward.I should say she was mild and frail, and desperate for some fresh fruit, so I decided to go to Kasbeam and buy her a nice picnic lunch.Our cottage was on a wooded hill, and from the window we could see the country road running down through the neat chestnut trees, and branching like forked hair as it reached the pretty town.In the pure morning, the town looked as clear as a small toy.Also clear is a dwarf-like girl on a beetle-like bicycle, a dog slightly out of proportion; equally clear are the pilgrims and mules, the waxy roads and Blue mountains, red villains.I have a European penchant for walking around when I can do without it, so I sauntered down, only to meet the girl on the bike—a plain buxom girl with braids and a St. Bernard the Great, with pansy-rimmed eye sockets.In Kaspim, an elderly barber gave me a sloppy haircut: he babbled about his son playing baseball, spit on my neck at every burst Every once in a while, I wipe his glasses with my big scarf, or stop his trembling scissors to cut some faded newspaper, so I can't concentrate.I was horrified to find him pointing to a photograph among a pile of old wine on a bookshelf, a robust young ball holder who had been dead for thirty years. I drank a tasteless cup of coffee, bought a bunch of bananas for my monkey, and spent another ten minutes or so wandering the deli.At least an hour and a half later, the Puritan, determined to go home, reappeared on the detour leading to "Chestnut Castle". The girl I saw on the way into town was now carrying a linen cloth to help a freak whose huge head and stubby body reminded me of "Bertoldo" in Italian low comedy.They were cleaning the cottage, which consisted of about a dozen "chestnut canopies," pleasantly divided among the lush greenery.It was midday, and with the last whistle of the screen doors, most of the cabins were free of their occupants.A very old, almost mummy-like elderly couple, wearing very fashionable clothes, was climbing out of the hood of a neighboring car: while the other had a red hood protruding like a piece of cod; Closer to our cabin, a muscular, dark-haired, blue-eyed handsome man was loading a pocket refrigerator into a station wagon.He grinned meaningfully at me like a sheep as I passed.On the open grass opposite, in the shade of dense trees with dense foliage, the old acquaintance St. Bernard dog is guarding the bicycle of the hostess, and a young woman nearby, with a maternal attitude, puts a heart The ecstatic baby rocked softly on a swing, and a jealous boy of two or three was pushing the bars back and forth in vain boredom; at last he succeeded in knocking himself down, four Lying sprawled on the grass and yelling, but his mother continued to smile gently, without looking at any of the children present.The reason why I recall these details so vividly is probably because I reviewed them only a few minutes later; besides, my mind has been on the alert ever since that terrible night at Beardsley.The good feeling simmering in my walks, I don't want it to change--but it is transformed by the early summer breeze around my bare neck; Small pieces of juicy food, even comfortable servings of food that I buy (my heart's general capacity doesn't allow me to lift that much) shift.But even though my sad heart seemed to beat sweetly, to quote old Ronza, I felt the melancholy of love when I reached the cottage where I left my Dolores. To my astonishment, she was up, sitting on the edge of the bed in slacks and a T-shirt, looking at me as if she couldn't place me.The frank, soft shape of her small breasts stood out from under her thin, soft blouse without being traced, and the exposure irritated me.She had not washed yet; but her mouth, though smudged, was fresh; her two rows of teeth gleamed like wine-soaked ivory or a piece of pink crystal.She sat there with her hands clasped in her lap, dreamily flushed with cruelty, which was none of my business anyway. I dropped the heavy paper bag in my hand with a plop, and stood still, staring at her bare ankles in sandals, then at her stunned body, and then at her sinful feet. "You're out," I said (sandals full of sand). "I just got up," she replied, catching my drooping eyes, adding, "Going out for a second. Wanted to see if you were back." She noticed the banana and twisted toward the table to free herself. What special doubts could I have?Not a trace of it—but the mud, her dazed eyes, and the unique warmth that emanates from her!I didn't say anything.I looked out towards the road, winding so clearly in the window frame...anyone who would betray my trust would find it a marvelous vista.Lo whetted her appetite and devoted herself to her fruit.Suddenly I remembered the ingratiating smirk of the guy next door.I rushed out quickly.All the cars were gone except his station wagon; his pregnant wife was getting in with the baby and another child who wasn't much wanted. "What's the matter, where are you going?" Luo called from the corridor. I didn't say anything.I push her soft back into the room.I stripped off her shirt and the rest of her clothes, I pulled off her sandals.Frantically I searched for the shadow of her infidelity; but the smells I inquired were so delicate that they were practically indistinguishable from the fantasies of a madman. Big Fool Gaston likes to give gifts in his prim way--gifts are little extras, or so primly he thinks they are.One night he found my chess box broken, and the next morning he and one of his lads brought me a steel box; the lid was of a very fine oriental design, and could be locked without fail.A single glance was enough to convince me that it was some cheap money-box, bought in Algiers or elsewhere, and used for an unknown purpose.It seemed too big for my clumsy pawn, but I kept it—used it for an entirely different purpose. I vaguely felt that I was caught in some kind of fateful web, and in order to break it, I decided--despite Lo's warm face--to spend another night in the "Chestnut Garden"; Lo was still fast asleep (mouth open, expressing irritated amazement at the strange and abnormal life we ​​had hastily arranged for her), while I checked the "money box" and found that the treasures were still safe and sound. satisfy.Inside was a pocket automatic pistol, snugly wrapped in a white woolen scarf: 0.32 caliber, eight rounds in a clip, less than one-ninth of Lolita's height, walnut The butt, with a layer of blue paint on the outermost side. I inherited this from the late Harold Haze, and it comes with a 1938 instruction booklet which says, "Especially for home, vehicle, and personal use." It It just sits there, ready to serve one or more people, loaded with fire and the trigger is on the safe side so it doesn't go off.We must remember that the pistol is not a Freudian symbol of the primordial paternal forelimb. I'm glad I own it -- even more glad I learned to use it two years ago in the pine forest around Mirror Lake where Charlotte and I swam.I used to roam in the backwoods with Farrow, he was a phenomenal shooter, and he shot a chirping bird with his .38, although I must say, not getting enough evidence back for that - -only- a little iridescent feathers.A former policeman named Krestowski, who shot and killed two fugitives in his twenties, joined us in hunting a small woodpecker - not at all What a coincidence.Between these two experts, I am of course a novice, and I was never able to take aim at anything, except that I later wounded a squirrel when I came out by myself. "You just lie here," I whispered to my lithe little confidant, and drank it a gin. Readers should now forget about "Chestnut Tree" and "Colt Revolver" and continue with us westward.The next few days were rainstorms--perhaps only one rainstorm across the country from which we couldn't escape, as we couldn't escape Detective Trapp: for it was during these days," said Azt gram red convertible" came to me more important than Lo's lover affair. strangeness!I get jealous of every male I meet on the road - weird!How I misunderstood the meaning of bad luck, perhaps I was completely calmed by Lo's humble behavior in winter, but anyway, even a big fool, to assume that another Humbert is carrying Jupiter The pyrotechnics greedily stalk Humbert and Humbert's nymphets, and follow them across the vast and barren plain, is as stupid as it gets.I thus surmised that the Red Yak, which followed us carefully and at a distance, mile after mile, was manned by a detective hired by some busybody to spy on Humbert What Humbert did to his little stepdaughter.Since this happened during thunder and lightning, I was hallucinating. Maybe even worse than hallucinations.I don't know what she or he, or both, put in my drink, but one night I was sure someone knocked on our door, and I opened it and saw two things - one was me. , naked, and the other is a man illuminated by white light in the rainy dark night, wearing a grimace mask with protruding frontal bones, like an ugly detective in a joke.He let out a deep, strange laugh, and then hurried away.I staggered back into the house and fell asleep again, and even to this day I'm not sure if the visit was a drug-induced dream: I've studied Trapp's form of humor carefully, and it might be more believable. An example of .Oh cruel and merciless!I imagined that some people were making money making this whole fad of ghost and goofy masks.Didn't I see the two boys rummaging through the bathroom of the depot the next morning wearing a mask with "jawbone protrusion"?I suspect.Maybe it's all just a coincidence -- due to atmospheric conditions, I think. As a murderer with keen senses but no complete, systematic memory, I can't tell you, ladies and gentlemen, the exact day when I first became sure that the red convertible was following us.But I do remember the day I saw the driver of the car clearly for the first time.I was plodding along in the pouring rain one afternoon, staring at the swaying red ghost in my rear mirror until the rain eased to a patter and then the wind stopped and the rain stopped.Amidst the rustling sound, the sun squeezed out of the clouds and sprinkled on the highway.I needed a new pair of sunglasses and stopped at a supply station.What happened then was disease, it was cancer, it was impotence, so I can only ignore the fact that even our quiet follower, who also changed his mind, stopped at a coffee shop not far behind us Or by the tavern, where there's this stupid sign, Bastel: deceitful place.Noticing that my car needs were met, I went inside again to buy sunglasses and pay for gas. While I was signing a traveler's check, and wondering where I was, I chanced to glance out of the side window and beheld a horrific sight.Luo leaned out of the car and was talking hurriedly to a broad-backed, balding man in a gray-yellow jacket and dark brown trousers, and gestured with one hand up and down. Only she said This is the only way to behave when the serious part wants to emphasize something.What almost knocked me out was- how should I put it? -- was her eloquent familiarity, as if they had known each other for a long time -- well, it must have been many, many weeks.I saw him scratch his face, nod, then turn around and get back in his convertible.The man was broad-shouldered and thick-chested, about my age, and resembling one of my father's cousins ​​in Switzerland, Gustave Trapp - the same smooth, sun-bathed face, plump than mine, a little black Mustache, a small mouth like decaying cherry.By the time I got back to the car, Lolita was looking at a road map. "What did the man ask you, Lo?" "Man? Oh, that. Oh, yes. Oh, I don't know. He asked me if I had a map. Got lost, I guess." We continued on our way, and I said: "Listen, Lo. I don't know if you're lying, and I don't know if you're crazy, and I don't give a damn right now; but that man has been following us all day, and his car was gone yesterday." Stopped at the motel, I figured he must be the police. You know very well what will happen to us if the police find out.Now I want to know exactly what he asked you and what you told him. " she laughed. "If he's really a cop," she said sharply, but illogically, "the worst thing we could do is tell him we're scared. Leave him alone, Dad." "Did he ask you where we were? " "Oh, he knows." (taunting me). "Anyway," I said, surrendering, "I've seen his face. He's not pretty, and he looks very much like a relative of mine named Trapp." "Maybe he's Trapp. If I were you—oh, look, nines turned into a thousand. When I was little," she went on unexpectedly, "I always wanted When the car is reversed, they will stop and change back to a few nines." It was the first time, I think, that she spoke naturally of her pre-Humbert childhood; acting, perhaps, had taught her the trick; But the next day, like a fatal illness after the medicine and hope wear off, the pain returns, and behind us, the shiny red brute reappears.Traffic was light on the freeway that day; no one overtook; no one tried to squeeze into our humble blue car and its haughty red shadow—the space between the two cars, as if commanded by a spell, was full of A realm of malicious laughter and magic, its barometer-like precision and stability are almost aesthetic.The driver behind me, with his broad shoulders and Trappist mustache, looked like a display mannequin, his convertible moving as if connected to us by an invisible silver cord. On the old broken car.Our machines are often not as strong as his brilliantly painted ones, so I don't want to win in speed at all. Horse of the night, run slowly, O lightly, nightmare!We climbed up the long slope and rolled down the slope, paying attention to the speed limit on the side of the road, letting the slow children pass, and redrawing a black line on the yellow road like a sweep.No matter how we drive or where we drive, that enchanted gap remains the same, a sideline in geometry, that borderline of fungal grass.All the way I've been fascinated by the hidden flames on my right: her happy eyes, her burning cheeks. A traffic policeman caught in a nightmare at an intersection—in a factory town at four-thirty—could just break the spell by the hand of chance.He beckoned to me, then cut my shadow with the same gesture.Twenty cars cut in between us, and I stepped on the gas and turned nimbly down a narrow path.A sparrow flew down with a large piece of bread, only to be caught by another, which took its bread. It took a few more horrendous blocks and a few more soothing winding paths before I finally returned to the highway, when our shadows disappeared. Lo scoffed at this, saying, "If he's who you think he is, how stupid it would be to let him slip." "I have other plans now," I said. "You should - ah - stop them - ah - keep in touch with that man, dear father," said Lo, sarcastically. "Hey, you're mean," she added in her original voice. We passed a dreadful night in the stinking inn, where the rain raged above us, and a kind of prehistoric thunder rumbled over our heads. "I'm not a lady, and I don't like thunder," said Lo, whose fear of thunderstorms gave me some sympathetic comfort. We had breakfast in the 1001 public cafeteria. "Judging from the figure at the far end," I said, "Fat Face is here. "Dear father," said Lo, "your humor makes you laugh out loud." As I say this, we've been driving through sagebrush farms, and for a day or two it's been a nice day (I'm so stupid, everything's fine, the discomfort is just a gust of wind blowing away quickly), and at this point, the hills The land has gradually turned into a real mountain, and we arrived at Gas in time. Oh disaster!Chaos ensues, she misreads a date in the travel book, and the magic cave ritual is over!She was very brave about it, I should admit--fortunately we found a summer theater very active in Strange Gas, and naturally drove towards it on a fine evening in mid-June.I really can't tell you the plot of the play we saw.It's normal, no doubt, the lighting effects are exciting and the leading lady is unimpressive.The only detail that pleases me is the seven slightly dull but beautifully attired little goddesses with bare limbs--seven youthful girls covered in colorful tulle, who are all recruited from the local area (according to the audience This can be judged by the bursts of excited sounds one after another), which is intended to symbolize a rainbow of life. In the last scene, the rainbow has been swaying and disappearing behind multiple curtains as if troubled.I remember thinking that this idea of ​​coloring children is Claire Quilty and Vivian, and Dark Bloom copied a chapter from a James Joyce novel where there are two The colors are pretty cute and annoying - the orange one is doing little tricks the whole time, and the emerald one, as soon as her eyes adjust to the blackness in the back of the theater, smiles at her mother or her protector, and we're heavy sitting in the middle of the theater. As soon as the whole play was over, applause—the sound our nerves couldn’t bear—came from all around me, and I began to pull and push Luo to the exit, under a natural and sentimental impulse , eager to lead her back to our blue neon-lit cabin in the drowsy, starry night: Nature, I always say, is spoiled by what she sees.Dori-Lo, however, was left behind, in a rosy daze, her eyes narrowed in pleasure, her attention drowning out her other senses, so deep, her slender hands clapping mechanically still Can't close at all during the action.I've seen it happen with kids before, but, God, this was a special kid, her eyes twinkled like myopia on the receding stage; A man's evening dress, the bare shoulders of a tall, hawk-faced, dark-haired woman. "You beast, you broke my wrist again," whispered Lolita as she got into the car. "I'm so damn sorry, my darling, my UV darling," I said, failing to grab her elbow, and I added, to change the subject -- change the direction of fate, oh god, oh god : "Vivian is such a woman. I'm sure we saw her yesterday in that communal mess. " "Sometimes," said Lo, "you're astonishingly stupid. First, Vivian is the author and Claire is the woman. Second, she's forty, married, and black." "I suppose," I teased her, "that Quilty was your old flame back in the days when sweet old Ramsay loved me instead of you." "What?" Luo resisted, moving his body. "The fat dentist? You must be confusing me with some loyal little man." So I wondered how those faithful little people could forget everything, everything, when we old lovers still cherished every inch of their beauty so dearly.