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But I do, I thought. I felt his fingers on the back of my hand. I was looking beyond him, back over my brief past -- the theater, my fairy -- tale fantasies. I felt paralyzed in sadness.
"What you feel is loneliness and monstrousness," he said. "And you're impulsive and defiant. "
"True. "
"But what would it matter to reveal anything to anyone? No one can forgive. No one can redeem. It's a childish illusion to think so. Reveal yourself and be destroyed, and what have you done? The Savage Garden would swallow your remains in pure vitality and silence. Where is there justice or understanding?"
I nodded.
I felt his hand close on mine. He rose slowly to his feet, and I stood up, reluctantly but compliantly.
"It's late," he said gently. His eyes were soft with compassion. "We've talked enough for now. And I must go down to my people. There's trouble in the nearby village, as I feared there would be. And it will take what time I have until dawn, and then more tomorrow evening. It may well be after midnight tomorrow before we can talk-"
He was distracted again, and he lowered his head and listened.
"Yes, I have to go," he said. And we embraced lightly and very comfortably.
And though I wanted to go with him and see what happened in the village -- how he would conduct his affairs there -- I wanted just as much to seek my rooms and look at the sea and finally sleep.
"You'll be hungry when you rise," he said. "I'll have a victim for you. Be patient till I come. "
"Yes, of course . . . "
"And while you wait for me tomorrow," he said, "do as you like in the house. The old scrolls are in the cases in the library. You may look at them. Wander all the rooms. Only the sanctuary of Those Who Must Be Kept should not be approached. You must not go down the stairs alone. "
I nodded.
I waited to ask him one thing more. When would he hunt? When would he drink? His blood had sustained me for two nights, maybe more. But whose blood sustained him? Had he taken a victim earlier? Would he hunt now? I had a growing suspicion that he no longer needed the blood as much as I did. That, like Those Who Must Be Kept, he had begun to drink less and less. And I wanted desperately to know if this was true.
But he was leaving me. The village was definitely calling him. He went out onto the terrace and then he disappeared. For a moment I thought he had gone to the right or left beyond the doors. Then I came to the doors and saw the terrace was empty. I went to the rail and I looked down and I saw the speck of color that was his frock coat against the rocks far below.
And so we have all this to look forward to, I thought: that we may not need the blood, that our faces will gradually lose all human expression, that we can move objects with the strength of our minds, that we can all but fly. That some night thousands of years hence we may sit in utter silence as Those Who Must Be Kept are sitting now? How often tonight had Marius looked like them? How long did he sit without moving when no one was here?
And what would half a century mean to him, during which time I was to live out that one mortal life far across the sea?
I turned away and went back through the house to th
e bedchamber I'd been given. And I sat looking at the sea and the sky until the light started to come. When I opened the little hiding place of the sarcophagus, there were fresh flowers there. I put on the golden mask headdress and the gloves and I lay down in the stone coffin, and I could still smell the flowers as I closed my eyes.
The fearful moment was coming. The loss of consciousness. And on the edge of dream, I heard a woman laugh. She laughed lightly and long as though she were very happy and in the midst of conversation, and just before I went into darkness, I saw her white throat as she bent her head back.
Chapter 14
14
When I opened my eyes I had an idea. It came full blown to me, and it immediately obsessed me so that I was scarcely conscious of the thirst I felt, of the sting in my veins.
"Vanity," I whispered. But it had an alluring beauty to it, the idea.
No, forget about it. Marius said to stay away from the sanctuary, and besides he will be back at midnight and then you can present the idea to him. And he can . . . what? Sadly shake his head.
I came out in the house and all was as it had been the night before, candles burning, windows open to the soft spectacle of the dying light. It didn't seem possible that I would leave here soon. And that I would never come back to it, that he himself would vacate this extraordinary place.
I felt sorrowful and miserable, And then there was the idea.
Not to do it in his presence, but silently and secretly so that I did not feel foolish, to go all alone.
No. Don't do it. After all, it won't do any good. Nothing will happen when you do it.
