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.Tall, pale, starved a bit.Black hair short.Green eyes very soft.Graceful walk of one who does not like to make noise, or make a fuss,or be seen.Plain black clothes, clothes like the Jews in New Yorkwho had gathered outside the cathedral, watching the whole spectacle,and like the Amish who had come by train, plain and simple,like the expression on his face."Come home with me," he said.Such a human voice.So kind."There's time to come here and reflect.Wouldn't you rather behome, in the Quarter, amongst our things?"If anything in the world could have truly comforted me, he wouldhave been the thing with just the beguiling tilt of his narrow heador the way that he kept looking at me, protecting me obviously with aconfidential calm from what he must have feared for me, and for him,and perhaps for all of us.My old familiar gentleman friend, my tender enduring pupil, educatedas truly by Victorian ways of courtesy as ever by me in the waysof being a monster.What if Memnoch had called upon him? Whydidn't Memnoch do that!"What have I done?" I asked."Was it the will of God?""I don't know," he said.He laid his soft hand on mine.His slowvoice was a balm to my nerves."Come home.I've listened for hours,to the radio, to the television, to the story of the angel of the nightwho brought the Veil.The Angel's tattered clothes have been givenover to the hands of priests and scientists.Dora is laying on hands.The Veil has made cures.People are pouring into New York from allover the world.I'm glad you're back.I want you here.""Did I serve God? Is that possible? A God I still hate?""I haven't heard your tale," he said."Will you tell me?" Just thatdirect, without emotion."Or is it too much of an agony to say it allagain?""Let David write it down,".I said."From memory." I tapped mytemple."We have such good memories.I think some of the otherscan remember things that never actually happened." I looked around."Where are we? Oh, my God, I forgot.We're inthe chapel.There's the angel with the basin in its hands, and thatCrucifix, that was there already."How stiff and lifeless it looked, how unlike the shining Veil."Do they show the Veil on the evening news?""Over and over." He smiled.No mockery.Only love."What did you think, Louis, when you saw the Veil?""That it was the Christ I once believed in.That it was the Son ofGod I knew when I was a boy and this was swampland." His voice waspatient."Come home.Let's go.There are.things in this place.""Are there?""Spirits? Ghosts?" He didn't seem afraid."They're small, but Ifeel them, and you know, Lestat, I don't have your powers." Againcame his smile."So you must know.Don't you feel them?"I shut my eyes.Or, rather, my eye.I heard a strange sound likemany, many children walking in ranks."I think they're singing thetimes tables.""And what are those?" Louis asked.He squeezed my arm,bending close."Lestat, what are the times tables?""Oh, you know, the way they used to teach them multiplication inthose days, they must have sung it in the classrooms, two times twomakes four, two times three makes six, two times four makes eight.isn't that how it goes.They're singing it."I stopped.Someone was there, in the vestibule, right outside thechapel, between the doors to the hall and the doors to the chapel, inthe very shadows where I had hidden from Dora.It was one of our kind.It had to be.And it was old, very old.Icould feel the power.Someone was there who was so ancient thatonly Memnoch and God Incarnate would have understood, or.Louis, maybe, Louis, if he believed his memories, his brief glimpses,his brief shattering experiences with the very ancient, perhaps.Still, he wasn't afraid.He was watching me, on guard, but basicallyfearless. "Come on, I'm not standing in dread of it!" I said.And I walkedtowards it.I had the two sacks of books slung over my right shoulder,the fabric tight in my left hand.That allowed my right hand to befree.And my right eye.I still had that.Who was this visitor?"That's David there," said Louis in a simple placating voice, as ifto say, See? You have nothing to worry about."No, next to him.Look, look more deeply into the blackness.See,the figure of a woman, so white, so hard, she might as well be a statuein this place?"Maharet!" I said."I am here, Lestat," she said.I laughed."And wasn't that the answer of Isaiah when the Lord called? 'I amhere, Lord'?""Yes," she said.Her voice was barely audible, but clear andcleaned by time, all the thickness of the flesh long gone from it.I drew closer, moving out of the chapel proper and into the littlevestibule.David stood beside her, like her anointed Second inCommand, as if he would have done her will in an instant, and she theeldest, well, almost the eldest, the Eve of Us, the Mother of Us All, orthe only Mother who remained, and now as I looked at her, Iremembered the awful truth again, about her eyes, that when she washuman, they had blinded her, and the eyes through which she lookednow were always borrowed, human.Bleeding in her head, human eyes, lifted from someone dead oralive, I couldn't know, and put into her sockets to thrive on her vam-piric blood as long as they could.But how weary they seemed in herbeautiful face.What had Jesse said? She is made of alabaster.Andalabaster is a stone through which light can pass."I won't take a human eye," I said under my breath.She said nothing.She had not come to judge, to recommend.Why had she come? What did she want?"You want to hear the tale too?""Your gentle English friend says that it happened as you described it.He says the songs they sing on the televisions are true; thatyou are the Angel of the Night, and you brought her the Veil, andthat he was there, and he heard you tell.""I am no angel! I never meant to give her the Veil! I took the Veilas proof.I took the Veil because."My voice had broken."Because why?" she asked."Because Christ gave it to me!" I whispered."He said, 'Take it,'and I did."I wept.And she waited.Patient, solemn.Louis waited.Davidwaited.Finally I stopped."Write down every word, David, if you write it, every ambiguousword, you hear me? I won't write it myself.I won't.Well, maybe.if I don't think you're getting it exactly right, I'll write it, I'll write itone time through.What do you want? Why have you come? No, Iwon't write it.Why are you here, Maharet, why have you shownyourself to me? Why have you come to the Beast's new castle, forwhat? Answer me."She said nothing.Her long, pale-red hair went down to her waist.She wore some simple fashion that could pass unnoticed in manylands, a long, loose coat, belted around her tiny waist, a skirt thatcovered the tops of her small boots.The blood scent of the humaneyes in her head was strong.And blazing in her head, these dead eyeslooked ghastly to me, unsupportable."I won't take a human eye!" I said.But I had said that before.WasI being arrogant or insolent? She was so powerful."I won't take ahuman life," I said.That had been what I meant [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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.Tall, pale, starved a bit.Black hair short.Green eyes very soft.Graceful walk of one who does not like to make noise, or make a fuss,or be seen.Plain black clothes, clothes like the Jews in New Yorkwho had gathered outside the cathedral, watching the whole spectacle,and like the Amish who had come by train, plain and simple,like the expression on his face."Come home with me," he said.Such a human voice.So kind."There's time to come here and reflect.Wouldn't you rather behome, in the Quarter, amongst our things?"If anything in the world could have truly comforted me, he wouldhave been the thing with just the beguiling tilt of his narrow heador the way that he kept looking at me, protecting me obviously with aconfidential calm from what he must have feared for me, and for him,and perhaps for all of us.My old familiar gentleman friend, my tender enduring pupil, educatedas truly by Victorian ways of courtesy as ever by me in the waysof being a monster.What if Memnoch had called upon him? Whydidn't Memnoch do that!"What have I done?" I asked."Was it the will of God?""I don't know," he said.He laid his soft hand on mine.His slowvoice was a balm to my nerves."Come home.I've listened for hours,to the radio, to the television, to the story of the angel of the nightwho brought the Veil.The Angel's tattered clothes have been givenover to the hands of priests and scientists.Dora is laying on hands.The Veil has made cures.People are pouring into New York from allover the world.I'm glad you're back.I want you here.""Did I serve God? Is that possible? A God I still hate?""I haven't heard your tale," he said."Will you tell me?" Just thatdirect, without emotion."Or is it too much of an agony to say it allagain?""Let David write it down,".I said."From memory." I tapped mytemple."We have such good memories.I think some of the otherscan remember things that never actually happened." I looked around."Where are we? Oh, my God, I forgot.We're inthe chapel.There's the angel with the basin in its hands, and thatCrucifix, that was there already."How stiff and lifeless it looked, how unlike the shining Veil."Do they show the Veil on the evening news?""Over and over." He smiled.No mockery.Only love."What did you think, Louis, when you saw the Veil?""That it was the Christ I once believed in.That it was the Son ofGod I knew when I was a boy and this was swampland." His voice waspatient."Come home.Let's go.There are.things in this place.""Are there?""Spirits? Ghosts?" He didn't seem afraid."They're small, but Ifeel them, and you know, Lestat, I don't have your powers." Againcame his smile."So you must know.Don't you feel them?"I shut my eyes.Or, rather, my eye.I heard a strange sound likemany, many children walking in ranks."I think they're singing thetimes tables.""And what are those?" Louis asked.He squeezed my arm,bending close."Lestat, what are the times tables?""Oh, you know, the way they used to teach them multiplication inthose days, they must have sung it in the classrooms, two times twomakes four, two times three makes six, two times four makes eight.isn't that how it goes.They're singing it."I stopped.Someone was there, in the vestibule, right outside thechapel, between the doors to the hall and the doors to the chapel, inthe very shadows where I had hidden from Dora.It was one of our kind.It had to be.And it was old, very old.Icould feel the power.Someone was there who was so ancient thatonly Memnoch and God Incarnate would have understood, or.Louis, maybe, Louis, if he believed his memories, his brief glimpses,his brief shattering experiences with the very ancient, perhaps.Still, he wasn't afraid.He was watching me, on guard, but basicallyfearless. "Come on, I'm not standing in dread of it!" I said.And I walkedtowards it.I had the two sacks of books slung over my right shoulder,the fabric tight in my left hand.That allowed my right hand to befree.And my right eye.I still had that.Who was this visitor?"That's David there," said Louis in a simple placating voice, as ifto say, See? You have nothing to worry about."No, next to him.Look, look more deeply into the blackness.See,the figure of a woman, so white, so hard, she might as well be a statuein this place?"Maharet!" I said."I am here, Lestat," she said.I laughed."And wasn't that the answer of Isaiah when the Lord called? 'I amhere, Lord'?""Yes," she said.Her voice was barely audible, but clear andcleaned by time, all the thickness of the flesh long gone from it.I drew closer, moving out of the chapel proper and into the littlevestibule.David stood beside her, like her anointed Second inCommand, as if he would have done her will in an instant, and she theeldest, well, almost the eldest, the Eve of Us, the Mother of Us All, orthe only Mother who remained, and now as I looked at her, Iremembered the awful truth again, about her eyes, that when she washuman, they had blinded her, and the eyes through which she lookednow were always borrowed, human.Bleeding in her head, human eyes, lifted from someone dead oralive, I couldn't know, and put into her sockets to thrive on her vam-piric blood as long as they could.But how weary they seemed in herbeautiful face.What had Jesse said? She is made of alabaster.Andalabaster is a stone through which light can pass."I won't take a human eye," I said under my breath.She said nothing.She had not come to judge, to recommend.Why had she come? What did she want?"You want to hear the tale too?""Your gentle English friend says that it happened as you described it.He says the songs they sing on the televisions are true; thatyou are the Angel of the Night, and you brought her the Veil, andthat he was there, and he heard you tell.""I am no angel! I never meant to give her the Veil! I took the Veilas proof.I took the Veil because."My voice had broken."Because why?" she asked."Because Christ gave it to me!" I whispered."He said, 'Take it,'and I did."I wept.And she waited.Patient, solemn.Louis waited.Davidwaited.Finally I stopped."Write down every word, David, if you write it, every ambiguousword, you hear me? I won't write it myself.I won't.Well, maybe.if I don't think you're getting it exactly right, I'll write it, I'll write itone time through.What do you want? Why have you come? No, Iwon't write it.Why are you here, Maharet, why have you shownyourself to me? Why have you come to the Beast's new castle, forwhat? Answer me."She said nothing.Her long, pale-red hair went down to her waist.She wore some simple fashion that could pass unnoticed in manylands, a long, loose coat, belted around her tiny waist, a skirt thatcovered the tops of her small boots.The blood scent of the humaneyes in her head was strong.And blazing in her head, these dead eyeslooked ghastly to me, unsupportable."I won't take a human eye!" I said.But I had said that before.WasI being arrogant or insolent? She was so powerful."I won't take ahuman life," I said.That had been what I meant [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]