Describing Gradus’s day in New York, Kinbote (in VN’s novel Pale Fire, 1962, Shade’s mad commentator who imagines that he is Charles the Beloved, the last self-exiled king of Zembla) mentions Nikita Khrushchyov's visit to Zembla and "quotes" the Soviet leader's words "Vï nazïvaete sebya zemblerami, a ya vas nazïvayu zemlyakami (You call yourselves Zemblans and I call you fellow countrymen!):"
He began with the day's copy of The New York Times. His lips moving like wrestling worms, he read about all kinds of things. Hrushchov (whom they spelled "Khrushchev") had abruptly put off a visit to Scandinavia and was to visit Zembla instead (here I tune in: "Vï nazïvaete sebya zemblerami, you call yourselves Zemblans, a ya vas nazïvayu zemlyakami, and I call you fellow countrymen!" Laughter and applause.) The United States was about to launch its first atom-driven merchant ship (just to annoy the Ruskers, of course. J. G.). Last night in Newark, an apartment house at 555 South Street was hit by a thunderbolt that smashed a TV set and injured two people watching an actress lost in a violent studio storm (those tormented spirits are terrible! C. X. K. teste J. S.). The Rachel Jewelry Company in Brooklyn advertised in agate type for a jewelry polisher who "must have experience on costume jewelry (oh, Degré had!). The Helman brothers said they had assisted in the negotiations for the placement of a sizable note: "$11, 000, 000, Decker Glass Manufacturing Company, Inc., note due July 1, 1979," and Gradus, grown young again, reread this twice, with the background gray thought, perhaps, that he would be sixty-four four days after that (no comment). On another bench he found a Monday issue of the same newspaper. During a visit to a museum in Whitehorse (Gradus kicked at a pigeon that came too near), the Queen of England walked to a corner of the White Animals Room, removed her right glove and, with her back turned to several evidently observant people, rubbed her forehead and one of her eyes. A pro-Red revolt had erupted in Iraq. Asked about the Soviet exhibition at the New York Coliseum, Carl Sandburg, a poet, replied, and I quote: "They make their appeal on the highest of intellectual levels." A hack reviewer of new books for tourists, reviewing his own tour through Norway, said that the fjords were too famous to need (his) description, and that all Scandinavians loved flowers. And at a picnic for international children a Zemblan moppet cried to her Japanese friend: Ufgut, ufgut, velkam ut Semblerland! (Adieu, adieu, till we meet in Zembla!) I confess it has been a wonderful game - this looking up in the WUL of various ephemerides over the shadow of a padded shoulder. (note to Line 949)
In VN's novel Zashchita Luzhina ("The Luzhin Defense," 1930) a late passerby in Berlin turns to his woman companion to say approvingly ‘'zemlyachki shumyat (fellow countrymen celebrating):”
А затем, когда все сидели за большим столом, у него было такое же чувство, как когда приходишь домой после заутрени, и ждет тебя масленый баран с золотыми рогами, окорок, девственно ровная пасха, за которую хочется приняться раньше всего, минуя ветчину и яйца. Было жарко и шумно, за столом сидело много людей, бывших, вероятно, и в церкви,-- ничего, ничего, пусть побудут до поры, до времени... Лужина глядела на мужа, на кудрю, на прекрасно сшитый фрак, на кривую полуулыбку, с которой он приветствовал блюда. Ее мать, щедро напудренная, в очень открытом спереди платье, показывавшем, как в старые времена, тесную выемку между ее приподнятых, екатерининских грудей, держалась молодцом и даже говорила зятю "ты", так что Лужин некоторое время не понимал, к кому она обращается. Он выпил всего два бокала шампанского, и волнами стала находить на него приятная сонливость. Вышли на улицу. Черная, ветреная ночь мягко ударила его в грудь, не защищенную недоразвитым фрачным жилетом, и жена попросила запахнуть пальто. Ее отец, весь вечер улыбавшийся и поднимавший бокал каким-то особенным образом -- молча, до уровня глаз,-- манера, перенятая у одного дипломата, говорившего очень изящно "скоуль",-- теперь все так же улыбаясь одними глазами, поднимал в знак прощания блестящую при свете фонаря связку дверных ключей. Мать, придерживая на плече горностаевую накидку, старалась не смотреть на спину Лужина, влезавшего в автомобиль. Гости, все немного пьяные, прощались с хозяевами и друг с другом и, деликатно посмеиваясь, окружали автомобиль, который наконец тронулся, и тогда кто-то заорал "ура", и поздний прохожий, обратившись к спутнице, одобрительно заметил: "Землячки шумят".
And afterwards, when everyone was sitting at the big table, he had the same feeling you get when you come home after matins to the festive table with its gilt-homed ram made of butter, a ham, and a virgin-smooth pyramid of paschal cottage cheese that you want to start on right away, bypassing the ham and eggs. It was hot and noisy, and lots of people were sitting at table who must have been in churc h as well— never mind, never mind, let thern stay a while for the time being. . . . Mrs. Luzhin looked at her husband, at his curl, at his beautifully tailored dress suit and at the crooked half-smile with which he greeted the courses. Her mother, liberally powdered and wearing a very low dress that showed, as in the old days, the tight groove between her raised, eighteenth-century breasts, was bearing up heroically and even used the familiar second person singular "ty'') to her son in-law so that at first Luzhin did not realize to wdiom she was speaking. He drank two glasses of champagne in all and a pleasant drow- siness began to come over him in waves. They went out onto the street. The black, wdndy night struck him softly on the breast, which was unprotected by his underdeveloped dress waistcoat, and his wife requested him to button up his overcoat. Her lather, who had been smiling the whole evening and silently raising his glass in some special way— until it was level with his eyes— a mannerism he had adopted from a certain diplomat who used to say "skoul" very elegantly— now raised a bunch of door keys, glinting in the lamplight, as a mark of farewell, still smiling with his eyes alone. Her mother, with an ermine wrap on her shoulders, tried not to look at Luzhin’s back as he climbed into the taxicab. The guests, all a little drunk, took leave of their hosts and one another md laughing discreetly surrounded the car, which finally moved off, and then someone yelled “hurrah” and a late passerby, turning to his woman companion, remarked approvingly: ‘'zemlyachki shumyat—fellow countrymen celebrating.” (Chapter Eleven)
Luzhin's mother-in-law uses the familiar second person singular ty ("thou") addressing her son-in-law. The odd dark word (that Kinbote superstitiously cannot write out) used by Kinbote's black gardener with regard to Gradus (Shade's murderer who is Kinbote's double) must be "thou:"
Some neighbor's! The poet had seen my gardener many times, and this vagueness I can only assign to his desire (noticeable elsewhere in his handling of names, etc.) to give a certain poetical patina, the bloom of remoteness, to familiar figures and things - although it is just possible he might have mistaken him in the broken light for a stranger working for a stranger. This gifted gardener I discovered by chance one idle spring day. when I was slowly wending my way home after a maddening and embarrassing experience at the college indoor swimming pool. He stood at the top of a green ladder attending to the sick branch of a grateful tree in one of the most famous avenues in Appalachia. His red flannel shirt lay on the grass. We conversed, a little shyly, he above, I below. I was pleasantly surprised at his being able to refer all his patients to their proper habitats. It was spring, and we were alone in that admirable colonnade of trees which visitors from England have photographed from end to end. I can enumerate here only a few kinds of those trees: Jove's stout oak and two others: the thunder-cloven from Britain, the knotty-entrailed from a Mediterranean island; a weather-fending line (now lime), a phoenix (now date palm), a pine and a cedar (Cedrus), all insular; a Venetian sycamore tree (Acer); two willows, the green, likewise from Venice, the hoar-leaved from Denmark; a midsummer elm, its barky fingers enringed with ivy; a midsummer mulberry, its shade inviting to tarry; and a clown's sad cypress from Illyria.
He had worked for two years as a male nurse in a hospital for Negroes in Maryland. He was hard up. He wanted to study landscaping, botany and French ("to read in the original Baudelaire and Dumas"). I promised him some financial assistance. He started to work at my place the very next day. He was awfully nice and pathetic, and all that, but a little too talkative and completely impotent which I found discouraging. Otherwise he was a strong strapping fellow, and I hugely enjoyed the aesthetic pleasure of watching him buoyantly struggle with earth and turf or delicately manipulate bulbs, or lay out the flagged path which may or may not be a nice surprise for my landlord, when he safely returns from England (where I hope no bloodthirsty maniacs are stalking him!). How I longed to have him (my gardener, not my landlord) wear a great big turban, and shalwars, and an ankle bracelet. I would certainly have him attired according to the old romanticist notion of a Moorish prince, had I been a northern king – or rather had I still been a king (exile becomes a bad habit). You will chide me, my modest man, for writing so much about you in this note, but I feel I must pay you this tribute. After all, you saved my life. You and I were the last people who saw John Shade alive, and you admitted afterwards to a strange premonition which made you interrupt your work as you noticed us from the shrubbery walking toward the porch where stood – (Superstitiously I cannot write out the odd dark word you employed.) (note to Line 998)