PART III 9 page

stifled my senses. And, in so doing, gave myself over to my grief.

"But that was short.

"When the cold, gray winter sun had set the next night, I was awake, feeling the tingling

numbness leave me soon, as it does in winter, feeling the dark, living things that inhabited the

coffin scurrying around me, fleeing my resurrection. I emerged slowly under the faint moon,

savoring the coldness, the utter smoothness of the marble slab I shifted to escape. And,

wandering out of the graves and out of the cemetery, I went over a plan in my mind, a plan on

which I was willing to gamble my life with the powerful freedom of a being who truly does not

care for that life, who has the extraordinary strength of being willing to die.

"In a kitchen garden I saw something, something that had only been vague in my thoughts until I

had my hands on it. It was a small scythe, its sharp curved blade still caked with green weeds

from the last mowing. And once I'd wiped it clean and run my finger along the sharp blade, it

was as if my plan came clear to me and I could move fast to my other errands: the getting of a

carriage and a driver who could do my bidding for days---dazzled by the cash I gave him and the

promises of more; the removing of my chest from the Hotel Saint-Gabriel to the inside of that

carriage; and the procuring of all the other things which I needed. And then there were the long

hours of the night, when I could pretend to drink with my driver and talk with him and obtain his

expensive cooperation in driving me at dawn from Paris to Fontainebleau. I slept within the

carriage, where my delicate health required I not be disturbed under any circumstances---this

privacy being so important that I was more than willing to add a generous sum to the amount I

was already paying him simply for his not touching even the door handle of the carriage until I

emerged from it.

"And when I was convinced he was in agreement and quite drank enough to be oblivious to

almost everything but the gathering up of the reins for the journey for Fountainebleau, we drove

slowly, cautiously, into the street of the Theatre des Vampires and waited some distance away

for the sky to begin to grow light.

"The theater was shut up and locked against the coming day. I crept towards it when the air and

the light told me I had at most fifteen minutes to execute my plan. I knew that, closeted far

within, the vampires of the theater were in their coffins already. And that even if one late

vampire lingered on the verge of going to bed, he would not hear these first preparations.

Quickly I put pieces of wood against the bolted doors. Quickly I drove in the nails, which then

locked these doors from the outside. A passer-by took some note of what I did but went on,

believing me perhaps to be boarding up the establishment with the authority of the owner. I

didn't know. I did know, however, that before I was finished I might encounter those ticket -

sellers, those ushers, those men who swept up after, and might well remain inside to guard the

vampires in their daily sleep.

"It was of those men I was thinking as I led the carriage up to Armand's alley and left it there, taking with me two small barrels of kerosene to Armand's door.

"The key admitted me easily as I'd hoped, and once inside the lower passage, I opened the door

of his cell to find he was not there. The coffin was gone. In fact, everything was gone but the

furnishings, including the dead boy's enclosed bed. Hastily I opened one barrel and, rolling the

other before me towards the stairs, I hurried along, splashing the exposed beams with kerosene

and flinging it on the wooden doors of the other cells. The smell of it was strong, stronger and

more powerful than any sound I might have made to alert anyone. And, though I stood stark still

at the stairs with the barrels and the scythe, listening, I heard nothing, nothing of those guards I

presumed to be there, nothing of the vampires themselves. And clutching the handle of the

scythe I ventured slowly upwards until I stood in the door of the ballroom. No one was there to

see me splash the kerosene on the horsehair chairs or on the draperies or to see me hesitate just

for an instant at that doorway of the small yard where Madeleine and Claudia had been killed.

Oh, how I wanted to open that door. It so tempted me that for a minute I almost forgot my plan. I

almost dropped the barrels and turned the knob. But I could see the light through the cracks of

the old wood of the door. And I knew I had to go on. Madeleine and Claudia were not there.

They were dead. And what would I have done had I opened that doorway, had I been confronted

again with those remains, that matted, disheveled golden hair? There was no time, no purpose. I

was running through dark corridors I hadn't explored before, bathing old wooden doors with the

kerosene, certain that the vampires lay closeted within, rushing on cat feet into the theater itself, where a cold, gray light, seeping from the bolted front entrance, sped me on to fling a dark stain

across the great velvet stage curtain, the padded chairs, the draperies of the lobby doors.

"And finally the barrel was empty and thrown away, and I was pulling out the crude torch I'd

made, putting my match to its kerosene-drenched rags, and setting the chairs alight, the flames

licking their thick silk and padding as I ran towards the stage and sent the fire rushing up that

dark curtain into a cold, sucking draft.

"In seconds the theater blazed as with the light of day, and the whole frame of it seemed to creak and groan as the fire roared up the walls, licking the great proscenium arch, the plaster curlicues

of the overhanging boxes. But I had no time to admire it, to savor the smell and the sound of it,

the sight of the nooks and crannies coming to light in the fierce illumination that would soon

consume them. I was fleeing to the lower floor again, thrusting the torch into the horsehair couch

of the ballroom, into the curtains, into anything that would burn.

"Someone thundered on the boards above---in rooms I'd never seen. And then I heard the

unmistakable opening of a door. But it was too late, I told myself, gripping both the scythe and

the torch. The building was alight. They would be destroyed. I ran for the stairs, a distant cry

rising over the crackling and roaring of the flames, my torch scraping the kerosene-soaked rafters

above me, the flames enveloping the old wood, curling against the damp ceiling. It was

Santiago's cry, I was sure of it; and then, as I hit the lower floor, I saw him above, behind me,

coming down the stairs, the smoke filling the stairwell around him, his eyes watering, his throat

thickened with his choking, his hand out towards me as he stammered, 'You...you... damn you!'

And I froze, narrowing my eyes against the smoke, feeling the water rising in them, burning in

them, but never letting go of his image for an instant, the vampire using all his power now to fly

at me with such speed that he would become invisible. And as the dark thing that was his clothes

rushed down, I swung the scythe and saw it strike his neck and felt the weight of his neck and

saw him fall sideways, both hands reaching for the appalling wound. The air was full of cries, of

screams, and a white face loomed above Santiago, a mask of terror. Some other vampire ran

through the passage ahead of me towards that secret alleyway door. But I stood there poised,

staring at Santiago, seeing him rise despite the wound. And I swung the scythe again, catching

him easily. And there was no wound. Just two hands groping for a head that was no longer there.

"And the head, blood coursing from the torn neck, the eyes staring wild under the flaming

rafters, the dark silky hair matted and wet with blood, fell at my feet. I struck it hard with my

boot, I sent it flying along the passage. And I ran after it; the torch and the scythe thrown aside as my arms went up to protect me from the blaze of white light that flooded the stairs to the alley.

"The rain descended in shimmering needles into my eyes, eyes that squinted to see the dark

outline of the carriage flicker against the sky. The slumped driver straightened at my hoarse

command, his clumsy hand going instinctively for the whip, and the carriage lurched as I pulled

open the door, the horses driving forward fast as I grappled with the lid of the chest, my body

thrown roughly to one side, my burnt hands slipping down into the cold protecting silk, the lid

coming down into concealing darkness.

"The pace of the horses increased driving away from the corner of the burning building. Yet I

could still smell the smoke; it choked me; it burnt my eyes and my lungs, even as my hands were

burnt and my forehead was burnt from the first diffused light of the sun.

"But we were driving on, away from the smoke and the cries. We were leaving Paris. I had done

it. The Theatre des Vampires was burning to the ground.

"And as I felt my head fall back, I saw Claudia and Madeleine again in one another's arms in that grin yard, and I said to them softly, bending down to the soft heads of hair that glistened in the

candlelight, 'I couldn't take you away. I couldn't take you. But they will lie ruined and dead all

around you. If the fire doesn't consume them, it will be the sun. If they are not burnt out, then it

will be the people who will come to fight the fire who will find them and expose them to the

light of day. But I promise you, they will all die as you have died, everyone who was closeted

there this dawn will die. And they are the only deaths I have caused in my long life which are

both exquisite and good.

Two nights later I returned. I had to see that rain-flooded cellar where every brick was scorched,

crumbling, where a few skeletal rafters jabbed at the sky like stakes. Those monstrous murals

that once enclosed the ballroom were blasted fragments in the rubble, a painted face here, a patch

of angel's wing there, the only identifiable things that remained.

"With the evening newspapers, I pushed my way to the back of a crowded little theater cafe

across the street; and there, under the cover of the dim gas lamps and thick cigarsmoke, I read

the accounts of the holocaust. Few bodies were found in the burnt-out theater, but clothing and

costumes had been scattered everywhere, as though the famous vampire mummers had in fact

vacated the theater in haste long before the fire. In other words, only the younger vampire had

left their bones; the ancient ones had suffered total obliteration. No mention of an eye-witness or

a surviving victim. How could there have been?

"Yet something bothered me considerably. I did not fear any vampires who had escaped. I had

no desire to hunt them out if they had. That most of the crew had died I was certain. But why had

there been no human guards? I was certain Santiago had mentioned guards, and I'd supposed

them to be t he ushers and doormen who staffed the theater before the performance. And I had

even been prepared to encounter them with my scythe. But they had not been there. It was

strange. And my mind was not entirely comfortable with the strangeness.

"But, finally, when I put the papers aside and sat thinking these things over, the strangeness of it didn't matter. What mattered was that I was more utterly alone in the world than I had ever been

in all my life. That Claudia was gone beyond reprieve. And I had less reason to live than I'd ever

had, and less desire.

"And yet my sorrow did not overwhelm me, did not actually visit me, did not make of me the

wracked and desperate creature I might have expected to become. Perhaps it was not possible to

sustain the torment I'd experienced when I saw Claudia's burnt remains. Perhaps it was not

possible to know that and exist over any period of time. I wondered vaguely, as the hours passed,

as the smoke of the cafe grew thicker and the faded curtain of the little lamplit stage rose and

fell, and robust women sang there, the light glittering on their paste jewels, their rich, soft voices often plaintive, exquisitely sad---I wondered vaguely what it would be to feel this loss, this

outrage, and be justified in it, be deserving of sympathy, of solace. I would not have told my woe

to a living creature. My own tears meant nothing to me.

"Where to go then, if not to die? It was strange how the answer came to me. Strange how I

wandered out of the cafe then, circling the ruined theater, wandering finally towards the broad

Avenue Napoleon and following it towards the palace of the Louvre. It was as if that place called

to me, and yet I had never been inside its walls. I'd passed its long facade a thousand times,

wishing that I could live as a mortal man for one day to move through those many rooms and see

those many magnificent paintings. I was bent on it now, possessed only of some vague notion

that in works of art I could find some solace while bringing nothing of death to what was

inanimate and yet magnificently possessed of the spirit of life itself.

"Somewhere along the Avenue Napoleon, I heard the step behind me which I knew to be

Armand's. He was signaling, letting me know that he was near. Yet I did nothing other than slow

my pace and let him fall into step with me, and for a long time we walked, saying nothing. I

dared not look at him. Of course, I'd been thinking of him all the while, and how if we were men

and Claudia had been my love I might have fallen helpless in his arms finally, the need to share

some common grief so strong, so consuming. The dam threatened to break now; and yet it did

not break. I was numbed and I walked as one numbed.

" 'You know what I've done,' I said finally. We had turned off the avenue and I could see ahead

of me the long row of double columns on the facade of the Royal Museum. 'You removed your

coffin as I warned you.'

" 'Yes,' he answered. There was a sudden, unmistakable comfort in the sound of his voice. It

weakened me. But I was simply too remote from pain, too tired.

" 'And yet you are here with me now. Do you mean to avenge them?'

" 'No,' he said.

" 'They were your fellows, you were their leader,' I said. 'Yet you didn't warn them I was out for them, as I warned you?'

" 'No,' he said.

" 'But surely you despise me for it. Surely you respect some rule, some allegiance to your own

kind.'

" 'No,' he said softly.

"It was amazing to me how logical his response was, even though I couldn't explain it or

understand it.

"And something came clear to me out of the remote regions of my own relentless considerations.

'There were guards; there were those ushers who slept in the theater. Why weren't they there

when I entered? Why weren't they there to protect the sleeping vampires?'

" 'Because they were in my employ a nd I discharged them. I sent them away,' Armand said.

"I stopped. He showed no concern at my facing him, and as soon as our eyes met I wished the

world were not one black empty ruin of ashes and death. I wished it were fresh and beautiful,

and that we were both living and had love to give each other. 'You did this, knowing what I

planned to do?

" 'Yes,' he said.

" 'But you were their leader! They trusted you. They believed in you. They lived with you!' I

said. 'I don't understand you... why...?'

" 'Think of any answer you like,' he said calmly and sensitively, as if he didn't wish to bruise me with any accusation or disdain, but wanted me merely to consider this literally. 'I can think of

many. Think of the one you need and believe it. It's as likely as any other. I shall give you the

real reason for what I did, which is the least true: I was leaving Paris. The theater belonged to

me. So I discharged them.'

" 'But with what you knew...'

" 'I told you, it was the actual reason and it was the least true,' he said patiently.

" 'Would you destroy me as easily as you let them be destroyed?' I demanded.

" 'Why should I?' he asked.

" 'My God,' I whispered.

" 'You're much changed,' he said. 'But in a way, you are much the same.'

"I walked on for a while and then, before the entrance to the Louvre, I stopped. At first it seemed to me that its many windows were dark and silver with the moonlight and the thin rain. But then

I thought I saw a faint light moving within, as though a guard walked among the treasures. I

envied him completely. And I fixed my thoughts on him obdurately, that guard, calculating how

a vampire might get to him, how take his life and his lantern and his keys. The plan was

confusion. I was incapable of plans. I had made only one real plan in my life, and it was finished.

"And then finally I surrendered. I turned to Armand again and let my eyes penetrate his eyes, and let him draw close to me as if he meant to make me his victim, and I bowed my head and felt his

firm arm around my shoulder. And, remembering suddenly and keenly Claudia's words, what

were very nearly her last words---that admission that she knew that I could love Armand because

I had been able to love even her---those words struck me as rich and ironical, more filled with

meaning than she could have guessed.

" 'Yes,' I said softly to him, 'that is the crowning evil, that we can even go so far as to love each other, you and I. And who else would show us a particle of love, a particle of compassion or

mercy? Who else, knowing us as we know each other, could do anything but destroy us? Yet we

can love each other.'

"And for a long moment, he stood there looking at me, drawing nearer, his head gradually

inclining to one side, his lips parted as if he meant to speak. But then he only smiled and shook

his head gently to confess he didn't understand.

"But I wasn't thinking of him anymore. I had one of those rare moments when it seemed I

thought of nothing. My mind had no shape. I saw that the rain had stopped. I saw that the air was

clear and cold. That the street was luminous. And I wanted to enter the Louvre. I formed words

to tell Armand this, to ask him if he might help me do what was necessary to have the Louvre till

dawn.

"He thought it a very simple request. He said only he wondered why I had waited so long."

"We left Paris very soon after that. I told Armand that I wanted to return to the Mediterranean---

not to Greece, as I had so long dreamed. I wanted to go to Egypt. I wanted to see the desert there

and, more importantly, I wanted to see the pyramids and the graves of the kings. I wanted to

make contact with those grave-thieves who know more of the graves than do scholars, and I

wanted to go down into the graves yet unopened and see the kings as they were buried, see those

furnishings and works of art stored with them, and the paintings on their walls. Armand was

more than willing. And we took leave of Paris early one evening by carriage without the slightest

hint of ceremon y.

"I had done one thing which I should note. I had gone back to my rooms in the Hotel Saint-

Gabriel. It was my purpose to take up some things of Claudia and Madeleine and put them into

coffins and have graves prepared for them in the cemetery of Montmartre. I did not do this. I

stayed a short while in the rooms, where all was neat and put right by the staff, so that it seemed

Madeleine and Claudia might return at any time. Madeleine's embroidery ring lay with her

bundles of thread on a chair-side table. I looked at that and at everything else, and my task

seemed meaningless. So I left.

"But something had occurred to me there; or, rather, something I had already been aware of

merely became clearer. I had gone to the Louvre that night to lay down my soul, to find some

transcendent pleasure that would obliterate pain and make me utterly forget even myself. I'd been

upheld in this. As I stood on the sidewalk before the doors of the hotel waiting for the carriage

that would take me to meet Armand, I saw the people who walked there---the restless boulevard

crowd of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, the hawkers of papers, the carriers of luggage, the

drivers of carriages---all these in a new light. Before, all art had held for me the promise of a

deeper understanding of the human heart. Now the human heart meant nothing. I did not

denigrate it. I simply forgot it. The magnificent paintings of the Louvre were not for me

intimately connected with the hands that had painted them. They were cut loose and dead like

children turned to stone. Like Claudia, severed from her mother, preserved for decades in pearl

and hammered gold. Like Madeleine's dolls. And of course, like Claudia and Madeleine and

myself, they could all be reduced to ashes."

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Date: 2015-02-03; view: 621