Pale Fire - Vladimir Nabokov [64]
Jane allowed me to copy out some of Hazel’s notes from a typescript based on jottings made on the spot:
10:14 P. M. Investigation commenced.
10:23. Scrappy and scrabbly sounds.
10:25. A roundlet of pale light, the size of a small doily; flitted across the dark walls, the boarded windows, and the floor; changed its place; lingered here and there, dancing up and down; seemed to wait in teasing play for evadable pounce. Gone.
10:37. Back again.
The notes continue for several pages but for obvious reasons I must renounce to give them verbatim in this commentary. There were long pauses and “scratches and scrapings” again, and returns of the luminous circlet. She spoke to it. If asked something that it found deliciously silly (“Are you a will-o-the-wisp?”) it would dash to and fro in ecstatic negation, and when it wanted to give a grave answer to a grave question (“Are you dead?”) would slowly ascend with an air of gathering altitude for a weighty affirmative drop. For brief periods of time it responded to the alphabet she recited by staying put until the right letter was called whereupon it gave a small jump of approval. But these jumps would get more and more listless, and after a couple of words had been slowly spelled out, the roundlet went limp like a tired child and finally crawled into a chink; out of which it suddenly flew with extravagant brio and started to spin around the walls in its eagerness to resume the game. The jumble of broken words and meaningless syllables which she managed at last to collect came out in her dutiful notes as a short line of simple letter-groups. I transcribe:
pada ata lane pad not ogo old wart alan ther tale feur far rant lant tal told
In her Remarks, the recorder states she had to recite the alphabet, or at least begin to recite it (there is a merciful preponderance of a’s) eighty times, but of these, seventeen yielded no results. Divisions based on such variable intervals cannot be but rather arbitrary; some of the balderdash may be recombined into other lexical units making no better sense (e.g., “war,” “talant,” “her,” “arrant,” etc.). The barn ghost seems to have expressed himself with the empasted difficulty of apoplexy or of a half-awakening from a half-dream slashed by a sword of light on the ceiling, a military disaster with cosmic consequences that cannot be phrased distinctly by the thick unwilling tongue. And in this case we too might wish to cut short a reader’s or bedfellow’s questions by sinking back into oblivion’s bliss—had not a diabolical force urged us to seek a secret design in the abracadabra,
812 Some kind of link-and-bobolink, some kind
813 Of correlated pattern in the game.
I abhor such games; they make my temples throb with abominable pain—but I have braved it and pored endlessly, with a commentator’s infinite patience and disgust, over the crippled syllables in Hazel’s report to find the least