Laughter in the Dark by Vladimir Nabokov, John Banville Read Free Book Online Page A

returned—with the books—she had not found the address, and no wonder! The nightmare grew wilder. He suggested going to the theater that night, but Elisabeth said she was tired. At supper he was so busy straining his ears for any suspicious rustle that he did not notice what he was eating (cold beef, in fact, with pickles). Paul kept on looking round, giving out little coughs, or humming—if only, thought Albinus, the meddlesome fool would remain in his place and not potter about. But there was another dreadful possibility: the children might start romping through all the rooms; and he dared not go and lock the door of the library; that might lead to unimaginablecomplications. Thank God, Irma’s little friend soon left, and Irma was popped to bed. But the tension remained. He felt as if they all—Elisabeth, Paul, the maid and himself—were sprawling over the whole place instead of keeping huddled together, as they should, in order to give Margot a chance of slipping out; if, indeed, she had that intention.
    At length, at about eleven o’clock, Paul left. As usual, Frieda chained and bolted the door. Now Margot could not get out!
    “I’m awfully sleepy,” said Albinus to his wife and yawned nervously, and then could not stop yawning. They went to bed. In the house all was silent. Elisabeth was just about to turn out the light.
    “You get to sleep,” he said. “I think I’ll go and read a bit.”
    She smiled drowsily, heedless of his inconsistency. “Don’t wake me up when you come,” she murmured.
    Everything was too quiet to be natural. It seemed as if the silence was rising, rising—would suddenly brim over and break into laughter. He had slipped out of bed, and in his nightsuit and felt slippers was walking noiselessly down the passage. Strange: all dread had gone. The nightmarehad melted into the keen, sweet sensation of absolute freedom, peculiar to sinful dreams.
    Albinus undid the neck of his pyjamas as he crept along. He was trembling all over. “In a moment—in a moment she will be mine,” he thought. Softly he opened the door of the library and turned on the softly shaded light.
    “Margot, you mad little thing,” he whispered feverishly.
    But it was only a scarlet silk cushion which he himself had brought there a few days ago, to crouch on while consulting Nonnenmacher’s
History of Art
—ten volumes, folio.

7
    M ARGOT informed her landlady that she would soon be leaving. It was all going splendidly. In his flat she had realized the soundness of her admirer’s wealth. Also, to judge by the photograph on his bed table, his wife was not at all as she had imagined her—a large stately woman with a grim expression and a grip of iron; on the contrary, she seemed a quiet, vague sort of creature who could be got out of the way without much trouble.
    And she quite liked Albinus: he was a well-groomed gentleman smelling of talcum powder and good tobacco. Of course, she could not hope for a repetition of the ecstasy of her first love affair. And she would not let herself think of Miller, of his chalk-white hollow cheeks, unkempt black hair and long skilful hands.
    Albinus could soothe her and allay her fever—like those cool plantain leaves which it is so comfortingto apply to an inflamed spot. Then there was something else. He was not only well-to-do, but also belonged to a world which afforded easy access to the stage and the films. Often, behind her locked door, she would make all sorts of wonderful faces for the benefit of her dressing-chest mirror or recoil before the barrel of an imaginary revolver. And it seemed to her that she simpered and sneered as well as any screen actress.
    After a thorough and painstaking search she found quite a pretty suite of rooms in a very good neighborhood. Albinus was so upset after her visit that she felt sorry for him and made no further difficulty about taking the fat wad of notes which he crammed into her bag during their evening walk. Moreover, she let him