Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov

27

Still  in  Parkington. Finally,  I  did achieve an  hour's  slumberfromwhich I was aroused by gratuitous and horribly exhausting congresswith a small hairy hermaphrodite, a total stranger. By then it was sixin the morning, and it suddenly occurred to me it might be a goodthing to arrive at the camp earlier than I had said. From Parkington Ihad still a hundred miles to go, and there would be more than that tothe Hazy Hills and Briceland. If I had said I would come for Dolly inthe  afternoon, it was  only  because my  fancy insisted on  mercifulnight falling as  soon as possible upon my  impatience. But  now Iforesaw all kinds of misunderstandings and was all a-jitter lest delaymight give her  the  opportunity of  some idle telephone call  toRamsdale. However, when at 9.30a.m. I attempted to start, I wasconfronted by a dead battery, and noon was nigh when at last I leftParkington.I reached my destination around half past two; parked my car in apine grove where a  green-shirted, redheaded impish lad stoodthrowing horseshoes in sullen solitude; was laconically directed byhim to an office in a stucco cottage; in a dying state, had to endurefor  several minutes the  inquisitive commiseration of  the  campmistress, a sluttish worn out female with rusty hair. Dolly she saidwas all packed and ready to go. She knew her mother was sick butnot critically. Would Mr. Haze, I mean, Mr. Humbert, care to meet thecamp counselors? Or look at the cabins where the girls live? Eachdedicated to  a  Disney creature? Or  visit  the  Lodge? Or  shouldCharlie be sent over to fetch her? The girls were just finishing fixingthe Dining Room for a dance. (And perhaps afterwards she wouldsay to somebody or other: "The poor guy looked like his own ghost.")Let me retain for a moment that scene in all its trivial and fatefuldetail: hag Holmes writing out a receipt, scratching her head, pullinga drawer out of her desk, pouring change into my impatient palm,then neatly spreading a banknote over it with a bright "... and five!";photographs of girl-children; some gaudy moth or butterfly, still alive,safely pinned to the wall ("nature study"); the framed diploma of the camp's dietitian; my trembling hands; a card produced by efficientHolmes with a report of Dolly Haze's behavior for July ("fair to good;keen on swimming and boating"); a sound of trees and birds, and mypounding heart... I was standing with my back to the open door, andthen I felt the blood rush to my head as I heart her respiration andvoice behind me.  She arrived dragging and  bumping her heavysuitcase. "Hi!" she said, and stood still, looking at me with sly, gladeyes, her  soft  lips  parted in  a  slightly foolish but  wonderfullyendearing smile.She was thinner and taller, and for a second it seemed to me herface was less pretty than the mental imprint I had cherished for morethan a  month: her  cheeks looked hollowed and  too  much lentigocamouflaged her  rosy rustic  features; and  that  first  impression (avery narrow human interval between two tiger heartbeats) carried theclear implication that all widower Humbert had to do, wanted to do,or would do, was to give this wan-looking though sun-colored littleorphan au yeux battus(and even those plumbaceous umbrae underher  eyes bore freckles) a  sound education, a  healthy and  happygirlhood, a clean home, nice girl-friends of her age among whom (ifthe fates deigned to repay me) I might find, perhaps, a pretty littleMagdlein  for  Herr Doktor  Humbert alone. But  "in  a  wink," as  theGermans say, the angelic line of conduct was erased, and I overtookmy prey (time moves ahead of our fancies!), and she was my Lolitaagainin fact, more of my Lolita than ever. I let my hand rest on herwarm auburn head and took up  her  bag. She  was  all  rose andhoney, dressed in her brightest gingham, with a pattern of little redapples, and her arms and legs were of a deep golden brown, withscratches like tiny dotted lines of coagulated rubies, and the ribbedcuffs of her white socks were turned down at the remembered level,and because of her childish gait, or because I had memorized her asalways wearing heelless shoes, her saddle oxfords looked somehowtoo  large and  too high-heeled for  her.  Good-bye, Camp Q,  merryCamp Q. Good-bye, plain unwholesome food, good-bye Charlie boy.In the hot car she settled down beside me, slapped a prompt fly onher  lovely knee; then, her  mouth working violently on  a  piece of  chewing gum, she rapidly cranked down the window on her side andsettled back again. We sped through the striped and speckled forest.