NABOKOV Vladimir - Pale Fire

aubles and bits of nacre became microscopic soldiers swarming in desperate battle.
He woke up with a crimp in the neck at the first full cowbell of dawn, found his host
outside, in a damp corner consigned to the humble needs of nature, and bade the good
grunter (mountain farmer) show him the shortest way to the pass. "I'll rouse lazy
Garh," said the farmer.
A rude staircase led up to a loft. The farmer placed his gnarled hand on the gnarled
balustrade and directed toward the upper darkness a guttural call: "Garh! Garh!"
Although given to both sexes, the name is, strictly speaking, a masculine one, and the
King expected to see emerge from the loft a bare-kneed mountain lad like a tawny
angel. Instead there appeared a disheveled young hussy wearing only a man's shirt
that came down to her pink shins and an oversized pair of brogues. A moment later, as
in a transformation act, she reappeared, her yellow hair still hanging lank and loose,
but the dirty shirt replaced by a dirty pullover, and her legs sheathed in corduroy pants.
She was told to conduct the stranger to a spot from which he could easily reach the
pass. A sleepy and sullen expression blurred whatever appeal her snub-nosed round
face might have had for the local shepherds; but she complied readily enough with her
father's wish. His wife was crooning an ancient song as she busied herself with pot
and pan.
Before leaving, the King asked his host, whose name was Griff, to accept an old gold
piece he chanced to have in his pocket, the only money he possessed. Griff vigorously
refused and, still remonstrating, started the laborious business of unlocking and
unbolting two or three heavy doors. The King glanced at the old woman, received a
wink of approval, and put the muted ducat on the mantelpiece, next to a violet
seashell against which was propped a color print representing an elegant guardsman
with his bare-shouldered wife - Karl the Beloved, as he was twenty odd years before,
and his young queen, an angry young virgin with coal-black hair and ice-blue eyes.
The stars had just faded. He followed the girl and a happy sheepdog up the overgrown
trail that glistened with the ruby dew in the theatrical light of an alpine dawn. The
very air seemed tinted and glazed. A sepulchral chill emanated from the sheer cliff
along which the trail ascended; but on the opposite precipitous side, here and there
between the tops of fir trees growing below, gossamer gleams of sunlight were
beginning to weave patterns of warmth. At the next turning this warmth enveloped the
fugitive, and a black butterfly came dancing down a pebbly rake. The path narrowed
still more and gradually deteriorated amidst a jumble of boulders. The girl pointed to
the slopes beyond it. He nodded. "Now go home," he said. "I shall rest here and then
continue alone."
He sank down on the grass near a patch of matted elfinwood and inhaled the bright air.
The panting dog lay down at his feet. Garb smiled for the first time. Zemblan
mountain girls are as a rule mere mechanisms of haphazard lust, and Garh was no
exception. As soon as she had. settled beside him, she bent over and pulled over and
off her tousled head the thick gray sweater, revealing her naked back and blancmange
breasts, and flooded her embarrassed companion with ail the acridity of ungroomed
womanhood. She was about to proceed with her stripping but he stopped her with a
gesture and got up. He thanked her for all her kindness. He patted the innocent dog;
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