Laughter in the Dark by Vladimir Nabokov & John Banville

Author:Vladimir Nabokov & John Banville [Nabokov, Vladimir & Banville, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fiction, Literary, Classics
ISBN: 9780811216746
Google: 4uj1Dy_P_YQC
Amazon: 0679724508
Publisher: New Directions
Published: 1960-11-14T16:00:00+00:00

19

PAUL gazed after her and the rolls of fat over his collar grew the color of beetroot. Despite the sweetness of his nature, he would not have minded doing to Margot what she suggested doing to him. He wondered who her companion might be, and where Albinus was; he felt sure that that gentleman must be somewhere about, and the thought that the child might suddenly see him was intolerable. He was much relieved when the whistle blew and he could escape with Irma.

They reached home. She looked tired, and in response to her mother’s questions about the match only nodded, smiling that faint mysterious smile which was her most charming peculiarity.

“It’s amazing the way they dash about on the ice,” said Paul.

Elisabeth looked at him thoughtfully and then turned to her daughter. “Time for bed, time for bed,” she said.

“Oh, no,” entreated Irma sleepily.

“Goodness, it’s nearly midnight, you’ve never been up so late.”

“Tell me, Paul,” said Elisabeth, when Irma was safely tucked up, “I’ve a feeling that something happened. I was so restless while you were away. Paul, tell me!”

“But I’ve nothing to tell,” he said, growing very red in the face.

“You didn’t meet anyone?” she ventured. “You really didn’t?”

“What put such an idea into your head?” he muttered, thoroughly disconcerted by the almost telepathic sensibility which Elisabeth had developed since the separation from her husband.

“I’m always fearing it,” she whispered, slowly bending her head.

The next morning Elisabeth was roused by the nurse who came into the room with a thermometer in her hand.

“Irma’s ill, ma’am,” she said briskly. “Her temperature is up to a hundred and one.”

“A hundred and one,” echoed Elisabeth, and she suddenly thought: “That’s why I was so uneasy yesterday.”

She sprang out of bed and flew into the nursery. Irma was lying on her back, staring up at the ceiling with glistening eyes.

“A fisherman and a boat,” she said, pointing up at the ceiling on which the rays of the bedside lamp cast a sort of pattern. It was quite early and snowing.

“Does your throat hurt, my pet?” asked Elisabeth, still struggling with her dressing-gown. Then she bent anxiously over the child’s pointed little face.

“My God, how hot her forehead is!” she exclaimed, stroking back the fine pale hair from Irma’s brow.

“And one, two, three, four reeds,” said Irma softly, still looking up.

“We’d better ring up the doctor,” said Elisabeth.

“Oh, there’s no need for that, ma’am,” said the nurse. “I’ll give her some hot tea with lemon and a nice aspirin. Everybody’s got the ’flu now.”

Elisabeth knocked at Paul’s door. He was shaving and with the lather still on his cheeks he went to Irma’s room. Paul often cut himself when he shaved, even with the safety razor—and now a bright red patch was spreading through the froth on his chin.

“Strawberries and whipped cream,” said Irma softly as he bent over her.

The doctor arrived toward evening, seated himself on the edge of Irma’s bed and, with his eyes fixed on a corner of the room, began to count her pulse-beats.

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