PART II 13 page

teeth to get him off. There was noise rising in the street, shouts, the sound of a bell. The room

itself had fast become an inferno, and I did see in one clear blast of light Claudia battling the

fledgling vampire. He seemed unable to close his hands on her, like a clumsy human after a bird.

I remember rolling over and over with Lestat in the flames, feeling the suffocating heat in my

face, seeing the flames above his back when I rolled under him. And then Claudia rose up out of

the confusion and was striking at him over and over with the poker until his grip broke and I

scrambled loose from him. I saw the poker coming down again and again on him and could hear

the snarls rising from Claudia in time with the poker, like the stress of an unconscious animal.

Lestat was holding his hand, his face a grimace of pain. And there, sprawled on the smoldering

carpet, lay the other one, blood flowing from his head.

"What happened then is not clear to me. I think I grabbed the poker from her and gave him one

fine blow with it to the side of the head. I remember that he seemed unstoppable, invulnerable to

the blows. The heat, by this time, was singeing my clothes, had caught Claudia's gossamer gown,

so that I grabbed her up and ran down the passage trying to stifle the flames with my body. I

remember taking off my coat and beating at the flames in the open air, and men rushing up the

stairs and past me. A great crowd swelled from the passage into the courtyard, and someone

stood on the sloped roof of the brick kitchen. I had Claudia in my arms now and was rushing past

them all, oblivious to the questions, thrusting a shoulder through them, making them divide. And

then I was free with her, hearing her pant and sob in my ear, running blindly down the Rue

Royale, down the first narrow street, running and running until there was no sound but the sound

of my running. And her breath. And we stood there, the man and the child, scorched and aching,

and breathing deep in the quiet of night."

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PART II

All night long I stood on the deck of the French ship Mariana, watching the gangplanks. The

long levee was crowded, and parties lasted late in the lavish staterooms, the decks rumbling with

passengers and guests. But finally, as the hours moved toward dawn, the parties were over one

by one, and carriages left the narrow riverfront streets. A few late passengers came aboard, a

couple lingered for hours at the rail nearby. But Lestat and his apprentice, if they survived the

fire (and I was convinced that they had) did not find their way to the ship. Our luggage had left

the flat that day; and if anything had remained to let them know our destination, I was sure it had

been destroyed. Yet still I watched. Claudia sat securely locked in our stateroom, her eyes fixed

on the porthole. But Lestat did not come.

"Finally, as I'd hoped, the commotion of putting out commenced before daylight. A few people

waved from the pier and the grassy hump of the levee as the great ship began first to shiver, then

to jerk violently to one side, and then to slide out in one great majestic motion into the current of the Mississippi.

"The lights of New Orleans grew small and dim until there appeared behind us only a pale

phosphorescence against the lightening clouds. I was fatigued beyond my worst memory, yet I

stood on the deck for as long as I could see that fight, knowing that I might never see it again. In

moments we were carried downstream past the piers of Freniere and Pointe du Lac and then, as I

could see the great wall of cottonwood and cypress growing green out of the darkness along the

shore, I knew it was almost morning. Too perilously close.

"And as I put the key into the lock of the cabin I felt the greatest exhaustion perhaps that I'd ever known. Never in all the years I'd lived in our select family had I known the fear I'd experienced

tonight, the vulnerability, the sheer terror. And there was to be no sudden relief from it. No

sudden sense of safety. Only that relief which weariness at last imposes, when neither mind nor

body can endure the terror any longer. For though Lestat was now miles away from us, he had in

his resurrection awakened in me a tangle of complex fears which I could not escape. Even as

Claudia said to me, 'We're safe, Louis, safe,' and I whispered the word yes to her, I could see

Lestat hanging in the doorway, see those bulbous eyes, that scarred flesh. How had he come

back, how had he triumphed over death? How could any creature have survived that shriveled

ruin he'd become? Whatever the answer, what did it mean---not only for him, but for Claudia, for

me? Safe from him we were, but safe from ourselves?

"The ship was struck by a strange 'fever.' It was amazingly clean of vermin, however, though

occasionally their bodies might be found, weightless and dry, as if the creatures had been dead

for days. Yet there was this fever. It struck a passenger first in the form of weakness and a

soreness about the throat; occasionally there were marks there, and occasionally the marks were

someplace else; or sometimes there were no recognizable marks at all, though an old wound was

reopened and painful again. And sometimes the passenger who fell to sleeping more and more as

the voyage progressed and the fever progressed died in his sleep. So there were burials at sea on

several occasions as we crossed the Atlantic. Naturally afraid of fever, I shunned the passengers,

did not wish to join them in the smoking room, get to know their stories, hear their dreams and

expectations. I took my 'meals' alone. But Claudia liked to watch the passengers, to stand on

deck and see them come and go in the early evening, to say softly to me later as I sat at the

porthole, 'I think she'll fall prey...'

"I would put the book down and look out the porthole, feeling the gentle rocking of the sea,

seeing the stars, more clear and brilliant than they had ever been on land, dipping down to touch

the waves. It seemed at moments, when I sat alone in the dark stateroom, that the sky had come

down to meet the sea and that some great secret was to be revealed in that meeting, some great

gulf miraculously closed forever. But who was to make this revelation when the sky and sea

became indistinguishable and neither any longer was chaos? God? Or Satan? It struck me

suddenly what consolation it would be to know Satan, to look upon his face, no matter how

terrible that countenance was, to know that I belonged to him totally, and thus put to rest forever

the torment of this ignorance. To step through some veil that would forever separate me from all

that I called human nature.

"I felt the ship moving closer and closer to this sec ret. There was no visible end to the

firmament; it closed about us with breathtaking beauty and silence. But then the words put to rest

became horrible. Because there would be no rest in damnation, could be no rest; and what was

this torment compared to the restless fires of hell? The sea rocking beneath those constant stars--

-those stars themselves---what had this to do with Satan? And those images which sound so

static to us in childhood when we are all so taken up with mortal frenzy that we can scarce

imagine them desirable: seraphim gazing forever upon the face of God---and the face of God

itself---this was rest eternal, of which this gentle, cradling sea was only the faintest promise.

"But even in these moments, when the ship slept and all the world slept, neither heaven nor hell seemed more than a tormenting fancy. To know, to believe, in one or the other... that was

perhaps the only salvation for which I could dream.

"Claudia, with Lestat's liking for light, lit the lamps when she rose. She had a marvelous pack of playing cards, acquired from a lady on board; the picture cards were in the fashion of Marie

Antoinette, and the backs of the cards bore gold fleurs-de-lis on gleaming violet. She played a

game of solitaire in which the cards made the numbers of a clock. And she asked me until I

finally began to answer her, how Lestat had accomplished it. She was no longer shaken. If she

remembered her screams in the fire she did not care to dwell on them. If she remembered that,

before the fire, she had wept real tears in my arms, it made no change in her; she was, as always

in the past, a person of little indecision, a person for whom habitual quiet did not mean anxiety

or regret.

" 'We should have burned him,' she said. 'We were fools to think from his appear ance that he was dead.'

" 'But how could he have survived?' I asked her. 'You saw him, you know what became of him.' I

had no taste for it, really. I would have gladly pushed it to the back of my mind, but my mind

would not allow me to. And it was she who gave me the answers now, for the dialogue was

really with herself. 'Suppose, though, he had ceased to fight us,' she explained, 'that he was still

living, locked in that helpless dried corpse, conscious and calculating...'

" 'Conscious in that state!' I whispered.

" 'And suppose, when he reached the swamp waters and heard the sounds of our carriage going

away, that he had strength enough to propel those limbs to move. There were creatures all

around him in the dark. I saw him once rip the head of a small garden lizard and watch the blood

run down into a glass. Can you imagine the tenacity of the will to live in him, his hands groping

in that water for anything that moved?'

" 'The will to live? Tenacity?' I murmured. 'Suppose it was something else...'

" 'And then, when he'd felt the resuscitation of his strength, just enough perhaps to have

sustained him to the road, somewhere along that road he found someone. Perhaps he crouched,

waiting for a passing carriage; perhaps he crept, gathering still what blood he could until he came

to the shacks of those immigrants or those scattered country houses. And what a spectacle he

must have been!' She gazed at the hanging lamp, her eyes narrow, her voice muted, without

emotion. 'And then what did he do? It's clear to me. If he could not have gotten back to New

Orleans in time, he could most definitely have reached the Old Bayou cemetery. The charity

hospital feeds it fresh coffins every day. And I can see him clawing his way through the moist

earth for such a coffin, dumping the fresh contents out in the swamps, and securing himself until

the next nightfall in that shallow grave where no manner of man would be wont to disturb him.

Yes... that is what he did, I'm certain.'

"I thought of this for a long time, picturing it, seeing that it must have happened. And then I

heard her add thoughtfully, as she laid down her card and looked at the oval face of a white-

coiffed king, 'I could have done it.

" 'And why do you look that way at me?' she asked, gathering up her cards, her small fingers

struggling to make a neat pack of them and then to shuffle them.

" 'But you do believe... that had we burned his remains he would have died?' I asked.

" 'Of course I believe it. If there is nothing to rise, there is nothing to rise. What are you driving at?' She was dealing out the cards now, dealing a hand for me on the small oak table. I looked at

the cards, but I did not touch them.

" 'I don't know...' I whispered to her. 'Only that perhaps there was no will to live, no tenacity...

because very simply there was no need of either.'

"Her eyes gazed at me steadily, giving no hint of her thoughts or that she understood mine.

" 'Because perhaps he was incapable of dying... perhaps he is, and we are... truly immortal?'

"For a longtime she sat there looking at me.

" 'Consciousness in that state...' I finally added, as I looked away from her. 'If it were so, then mightn't there be consciousness in any other? Fire, sunlight... what does it matter?'

" 'Louis,' she said, her voice soft. 'You're afraid. You don't stand en garde against fear. You don't understand the danger of fear itself. We'll know these answers when we find those who can tell

us, those who've possessed knowledge for centuries, for however long creatures such as

ourselves have walked the earth. That knowledge was our birthright, and he deprived us. He

earned his death.'

" 'But he didn't die...' I said.

" 'He's dead,' she said. 'No one could have escaped that house unless they'd run with us, at our very side. No. He's dead, and so is that trembling aesthete, his friend. Consciousness, what does

it matter?'

"She gathered up the cards and put them aside, gesturing for me to hand her the books from the

table beside the bunk, those books which she'd unpacked immediately on board, the few select

records of vampire lore which she'd taken to be her guides. They included no wild romances

from England, no stories of Edgar Allan Poe, no fancy. Only those few accounts of the vampires

of eastern Europe, which had become for her a sort of Bible. In those countries indeed they did

burn the remains of the vampire when they found him, and the heart was staked and the head

severed. She would read these now for hours, these ancient books which had been read and

reread before they ever found their way across the Atlantic; they were travelers' tales, the

accounts of priests and scholars. And she would plan our trip, not with the need of any pen or

paper, only in her mind. A trip that would take us at once away from the glittering capitals of

Europe towards the Black Sea, where we would dock at Varna and begin that search in the rural

countryside of the Carpathians.

"For me it was a grim prospect, bound as I was to it, for there were longings in me for other

places and other knowledge which Claudia did not begin to comprehend. Seeds of these longings

had been planted in me years ago, seeds which came to bitter flower as our ship passed through

the Straits of Gibraltar and into the waters of the Mediterranean Sea.

"I wanted those waters to be blue. And they were not. They were the nighttime waters, and how I

suffered then, straining to remember the seas that a young man's untutored senses had taken for

granted, that an undisciplined memory had let slip away for eternity. The Mediterranean was

black, black off the coast of Italy, black off the coast of Greece, black always, black when in the

small cold hours before dawn, as even Claudia slept, weary of her books and the meager fare that

caution allowed her vampire hunger, I lowered a lantern down, down through the rising vapor

until the fire blazed right over the lapping waters; and nothing came to light on that heaving

surface but the light itself, the reflection of that beam traveling constant with me, a steady eye

which seemed to fix on me from the depths and say, 'Louis, your quest is for darkness only. This

sea is not your sea. The myths of men are not your myths. Men's treasures are not yours.'

"But oh, how the quest for the Old World vampires filled me with bitterness in those moments, a

bitterness I could all but taste, as if the very air had lost its freshness. For what secrets, what

truths had those monstrous creatures of night to give us? What, of necessity, must be their

terrible limits, if indeed we were to find them at all? What can the damned really say to the

damned?

"I never stepped ashore at Piraeus. Yet in my mind I roamed the Acropolis at Athens, watching

the moon rise through the open roof of the Parthenon, measuring my height by the grandeur of

those columns, walking the streets of those Greeks who died at Marathon, listening to the sound

of wind in the ancient olives. These were the monuments of men who could not die, not the

stones of the living dead; here the secrets that had endured the passage of time, which I had only

dimly begun to understand. And yet nothing turned me from our quest and nothing could turn

me, but over and over, committed as I was, I pondered the great risk of our questions, the risk of

any question that is truthfully asked; for the answer must carry an incalculable price, a tragic

danger. Who knew that better than I, who had presided over the death of my own body, seeing

all I called human wither and die only to form an unbreakable chain which held me fast to this

world yet made me forever its exile, a specter with a beating heart?

"The sea lulled me to bad dreams, to sharp remembrances. A winter night in New Orleans when

I wandered through the St. Louis cemetery and saw my sister, old and bent, a bouquet of white

roses in her arms, the thorns carefully bound in an old parchment, her gray head bowed, her steps

carrying her steadily along through the perilous dark to the grave where the stone of her brother

Louis was set, side by side with that of his younger brother. Louis, who had died in the fire of

Pointe du Lac leaving a generous legacy to a godchild and namesake she never knew. Those

flowers were for Louis, as if it had not been half a century since his death, as if her memory, like

Louis's memory, left her no peace. Sorrow sharpened her ashen beauty, sorrow bent her narrow

back. And what I would not have given, as I watched her, to touch her silver hair, to whisper

love to her, if love would not have loosed on her remaining years a horror worse than grief. I left

her with grief. Over and over and over.

"And I dreamed now too much. I dreamed too long, in the prison of this ship, in the prison of my body, attuned as it was to the rise of every sun as no mortal body had ever been. And my heart

beat faster for the mountains of eastern Europe, finally, beat faster for the one hope that

somewhere we might find in that primitive countryside the answer to why under God this

suffering was allowed to exist why under God it was allowed to begin, and how under God it

might be ended. I had not the courage to end it, I knew, without that answer. And in time the

waters of the Mediterranean became, in fact, the waters of the Black Sea"

The vampire sighed. The boy was resting on his elbow, his face cradled in his right palm; and his

avid expression was incongruous with the redness of his eyes.

"Do you think I'm playing with you?" the vampire asked, his fine dark eyebrows knitted for an instant.

"No," the boy said quickly. "I know better than to ask you any more questions. You'll tell me everything in your own time." And his mouth settled, and he looked at the vampire as though he

were ready for him to begin again.

There was a sound then from far off. It came from somewhere in the old Victorian building

around them, the first such sound they'd heard. The boy looked up towards the hallway door. It

was as if he'd forgotten the building existed. Someone walked heavily on the old boards. But the

vampire was undisturbed. He looked away as if he were again disengaging himself from the

present.

"That village. I can't tell you the name of it; the name's gone. I remember it was miles from the coast, however, and we'd been traveling alone by carriage. And such a carriage! It was Claudia's

doing, that carriage, and I should have expected it; but then, things are always taking me

unawares. From the first moment we arrived in Varna, I had perceived certain changes in her

which made me at once aware she was Lestat's daughter as well as my own. From me she had

learned the value of money, but from Lestat she had inherited a passion for spending it; and she

wasn't to leave without the most luxurious black coach we could manage, outfitted with leather

seats that might have accommodated a band of travelers, let alone a man and a child who used

the magnificent compartment only for the transportation of an ornately carved oak chest. To the

back were strapped two trunks of the finest clothes the shops there could provide; and we went

speeding along, those light enormous wheels and fine springs carrying that bulk with a

frightening ease over the mountain roads. There was a thrill to that when there was nothing else

in this strange country, those horses at a gallop and the gentle listing of that carriage.

"And it was strange country. Lonely, dark, as rural country is always dark, its castles and ruins often obscured when the moon passed behind the clouds, so that I felt an anxiety during those

hours I'd never quite experienced in New Orleans. And the people themselves were no relief. We

were naked and lost in their tiny hamlets, and conscious always that amongst them we were in

grave danger.

"Never in New Orleans had the kill to be disguised. The ravages of fever, plague, crime---these

things competed with us always there, and outdid us. But here we had to go to great lengths to

make the kill unnoticed. Because these simple country people, who might have found the

crowded streets of New Orleans terrifying, believed completely that the dead did walk and did

drink the blood of the living. They knew our names: vampire, devil. And we, who were on the

lookout for the slightest rumor, wanted under no circumstances to create rumor ourselves.

"We traveled alone and fast and lavishly amongst them, struggling to be safe within our

ostentation, finding talk of vampires all too cheap by the inn fires, where, my daughter sleeping

peacefully against my chest, I invariably found someone amongst the peasants or guests who

spoke enough German or, at times, even French to discuss with me the familiar legends.

"But finally we came to that village which was to be the turning point in our travels. I savor

nothing about that journey, not the freshness of the air, the coolness of the nights. I don't talk of it without a vague tremor even now.

"We had been at a farmhouse the night before, and so no news prepared us---only the desolate

appearance of the place: because it wasn't late when we reached it, not late enough for all the

shutters of the little street to be bolted or for a darkened lantern to be swinging from the broad

archway of the inn.

"Refuse was collected in the doorways. And there were other signs that something was wrong. A

small box of withered flowers beneath a shuttered shop window. A barrel rolling back and forth

in the center of the inn yard. The place had the aspect of a town under siege by the plague.

"But even as I was setting Claudia down on the packed earth beside the carriage, I saw the crack of light beneath the inn door. 'Put the hood of your cape up,' she said quickly. 'They're coming.'

Someone inside was pulling back the latch.

"At first all I saw was the light behind the figure in the very narrow margin she allowed. Then

the light from the carriage lanterns glinted in her eye.

" 'A room for the night!' I said in German. 'And my horses need tending, badly!'

" 'The night's no time for traveling...' she said to me in a peculiar, flat voice. 'And with a child.'

As she said this, I noticed others in the room behind her. I could hear their murmurings and see

the flickering of a fire. From what I could see there were mostly peasants gathered around it,

except for one man who was dressed much like myself in a tailored coat, with an overcoat over

his shoulders; but his clothes were neglected and shabby. His red hair gleamed in the firelight.

He was a foreigner, like ourselves, and he was the only one not looking at us. His head wagged

slightly as if he were drunk.

" 'My daughter's tired,' I said to the woman. 'we've no place to stay but here.' And now I took

Claudia into my arms. She turned her face towards me, and I heard her whisper, 'Louis, the

garlic, the crucifix above the door.'

"I had not seen these things. It was a small crucifix, with the body of Christ in bronze fixed to the wood, and the garlic was wreathed around it, a fresh garland entwined with an old one, in which

the buds were withered and dried. The woman's eye followed my eyes, and then she looked at

me sharply and I could see how exhausted she was, how red were her pupils, and how the hand

which clutched at the shawl at her breast trembled. Her black hair was completely disheveled. I

pressed nearer until I was almost at the threshold, and she opened the door wide suddenly as if

she'd only just decided to let us in. She said a prayer as I passed her, I was sure of it, though I

couldn't understand the Slavic words.

"The small, low-beamed room was filled with people, men and women along the rough, paneled

walls, on benches and even on the floor. It was as if the entire village were gathered there. A

child slept in a woman's lap and another slept on the staircase, bundled in blankets, his knees

tucked in against one step, his arms making a pillow for his head on the next. And everywhere

there was the garlic hanging from nails and hooks, along with the cooking pots and flagons. The

fire was the only light, and it threw distorting shadows on the still faces as they watched us.

"No one motioned for us to sit or offered us anything, and finally the woman told me in German

I might take the horses into the stable if I liked. She was staring at me with those slightly wild,

red-rimmed eyes, and then her face softened. She told me she'd stand at the inn door for me with

a lantern, but I must hurry and leave the child here.

"But something else had distracted me, a scent I detected beneath the heavy fragrance of burning wood and the wine. It was the scent of death. I could feel Claudia's hand press my chest, and I

saw her tiny finger pointing to a door at the foot of the stairs. The scent came from there.

"The woman had a cup of wine waiting when I returned, and a bowl of broth. I sat down, Claudia

on my knee, her head turned away from the fire towards that mysterious door. All eyes were

fixed on us as before, except for the foreigner. I could see his profile now clearly. He was much

younger than I'd thought, his haggard appearance stemming from emotion. He had a lean but

very pleasant face actually, his light, freckled skin making him seem like a boy. His wide, blue

eyes were fixed on the fire as though he were talking to it, and his eyelashes and eyebrows were

golden in the light, which gave him a very innocent, open expression. But he was miserable,

disturbed, drunk. Suddenly he turned to me, and I saw he'd been crying. 'Do you speak English?'

he said, his voice booming in the silence.

" 'Yes, I do,' I said to him. And he glanced at the others, triumphantly. They stared at him stonily.

" 'You speak English!' he cried, his lips stretching into a bitter smile, his eyes moving around the ceiling and then fixing on mine. 'Get out of this country,' he said. 'Get out of it now. Take your

carriage, your horses, drive them till they drop, but get out of it!' Then his shoulders convulsed as if he were sick. He put his hand to his mouth. The woman who stood against the wall now, her

arms folded over her soiled apron, said calmly in German, 'At dawn you can go. At dawn.'

" 'But what is it?' I whispered to her; and then I looked to him. He was watching me, his eyes

glassy and red. No one spoke. A log fell heavily in the fire.

" 'Won't you tell me?' I asked the Englishman gently. He stood up. For a moment I thought he

was going to fall. He loomed over me, a much taller man than myself, his head pitching forward,

then backward, before he righted himself and put his hands on the edge of the table. His black

coat was stained with wine, and so was his shirt cuff. 'You want to see?' he gasped as he peered

into my eyes. 'Do you want to see for yourself?' There was a soft, pathetic tone to his voice as he

spoke these words.

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 640