Rafael arrived from school with sagging bags and face after he'd
heard that there are no easter-bunnies, mere figments
of imagination...
His mother confirmed the awful rumours
with a nod.
He then turned to her with rage and
tears: - " Why!!! You are my mother! How could you do this to me?
Couldn't you just re-invent them?"
Nabokov's mother invited him to treasure perceptions
and memories, to guard in his heart the small details and events
linked to his life in Russia, almost as if they' become ..Fabergé
eggs? A transparent marble with a shimmering auroral spiral inside?
(SO)
The same theme arises in LATH, or only apparently
so. "Harlequins" are much more than mere recollected events and landscapes, no?