When, 

in the middle of the twentieth

century, Van started to
reconstruct his deepest past, he soon
noticed that such details
of his infancy as really mattered (for the
special purpose the
reconstruction pursued) could be best
treated, could not seldom
31.05 be only treated, when reappearing at
various later stages of his
boyhood and youth, as sudden
juxtapositions that revived the
part while vivifying the whole. This is
why his first love
has precedence here over his first bad
hurt or bad dream.
He had just turned thirteen. He had
never before left the
31.10 comforts of the paternal roof. He had
never before realized
that such "comforts" might not be taken
for granted, only
occurring in some introductory ready-
made metaphor in a
book about a boy and a school. A few
blocks from the school-
grounds, a widow, Mrs. Tapirov, who
was French but spoke
31.15 English with a Russian accent, had
a shop of objets d'art and
more or less antique furniture. He
visited it on a bright winter
day. Crystal vases with crimson
roses and golden-brown asters
were set here and there in the fore part
of the shop — on a gilt-
wood console, on a lacquered chest, on
the shelf of a cabinet,
31.20 or simply along the carpeted steps
leading to the next floor
where great wardrobes and flashy
dressers semi-encircled a
[ 31 ]

singular company of harps. He satisfied

himself that those
flowers were artificial and thought it
puzzling that such imita-
tions always pander so exclusively to
the eye instead of also
copying the damp fat feel of live petal
and leaf. When he
32.05 called next day for the
object (unremembered now, eighty
years
later) that he wanted repaired or
duplicated, it was not ready or
had not been obtained. In passing, he
touched a half-opened rose
and was cheated of the sterile texture
his fingertips had expected
when cool life kissed them with pouting
lips. "My daughter,"
32.10 said Mrs. Tapirov, who saw his
surprise, "always puts a bunch
of real ones among the fake pour
attraper le client. You drew
the joker." As he was leaving she came
in, a schoolgirl in a
gray coat with brown shoulder-length
ringlets and a pretty face.
On another occasion (for a certain part
of the thing — a frame,
32.15 perhaps — took an infinite time to heal
or else the entire article
proved to be unobtainable after all) he
saw her curled up with
 her schoolbooks in an armchair — a
domestic item among those
for sale. He never spoke to her. He
loved her madly. It must
have lasted at least one term.
32.20 That was love, normal and mysterious.
Less mysterious and
considerably more grotesque were the
passions which several
generations of schoolmasters had failed
to eradicate, and which
as late as 1883 still enjoyed an
unparalleled vogue at Riverlane.
Every dormitory had its catamite. One
hysterical lad from
32.25 Upsala, cross-eyed, loose-lipped, with
almost abnormally awk-
ward limbs, but with a wonderfully
tender skin texture and
the round creamy charms of Bronzino’s
Cupid (the big one,
whom a delighted satyr discovers in a
lady’s bower), was
much prized and tortured by a group of
foreign boys, mostly
32.30 Greek and English, led by Cheshire, the
rugby ace; and partly
out of bravado, partly out of curiosity,
Van surmounted his
disgust and coldly watched their rough
orgies. Soon, however,
he abandoned this surrogate for a more
natural though equally
heartless divertissement.
[ 32 ]

The aging woman who sold barley

sugar and Lucky Louse
magazines in the corner shop, which by
 tradition was not
strictly out of bounds, happened to hire
a young helper, and
Cheshire, the son of a thrifty
lord, quickly ascertained that
33.05 this fat little wench could be had for a
Russian green dollar.
Van was one of the first to avail himself
of her favors. These
were granted in semi-darkness, among
crates and sacks at the
back of the shop after hours. The fact of
his having told her
he was sixteen and a libertine instead of
fourteen and a virgin
33.10 proved a source of embarrassment to
our hell-raker when
he tried to bluster his inexperience into
quick action but only
succeeded in spilling on the welcome
mat what she would have
gladly helped him to take
indoors. Things went better six
minutes later, after Cheshire
and Zographos were through; but
33.15 only at the next mating party did Van
really begin to enjoy her
gentleness, her soft sweet grip and
hearty joggle. He knew she
was nothing but a fubsy pig-
pink whorelet and would elbow
her face away when she attempted to
kiss him after he had
finished and was checking with one
quick hand, as he had