The Tale of the Body Thief (10 page)

“Would have happened anyway, Lestat,” he said finally. “There are reasons why I’m no longer so good at being the Superior General. Would have happened anyway, I’m relatively certain of that.”

“Explain it to me. I thought you were in the very womb of the order, that it was your life.”

He shook his head. “I was always an unlikely candidate for the Talamasca. I’ve mentioned how I spent my youth in India. I could have lived my life that way. I’m no scholar in the conventional sense, never was. Nevertheless I
am
like Faust in the play. I’m old, and I haven’t cracked the secrets of the universe. Not at all. I thought I had when I was young. The first time I saw … a vision. The first time I knew a witch, the first time I heard the voice of a spirit, the first time I called up a spirit and made it do my bidding. I thought I had! But that was nothing. Those are earthbound things … earthbound mysteries. Or mysteries I’ll never solve, at any rate.”

He paused, as if he wanted to say something more, something in particular. But then he merely lifted the glass and drank almost absently, and this time without the grimace, for that obviously had been for the first drink of the night. He stared at the glass, and refilled it from the decanter.

I hated it that I couldn’t read his thoughts, that I caught not the slightest flickering emanations behind his words.

“You know why I became a member of the Talamasca?” he asked. “It had nothing to do with scholarship at all. Never dreamed I’d be
confined to the Motherhouse, wading through papers, and typing files into the computer, and sending faxes off all over the world. Nothing like that at all. It started with another hunting expedition, a new frontier, so to speak, a trip to far-off Brazil. That’s where I discovered the occult, you might say, in the little crooked streets of old Rio, and it seemed every bit as exciting and dangerous as my old tiger hunts had ever been. That’s what drew me—the danger. And how I came to be so far from it, I don’t know.”

I didn’t reply, but something came clear to me, that there was obviously a danger in his knowing me. He must have liked the danger. I had thought he was possessed of a scholar’s naïveté about it, but now this didn’t seem to be the case.

“Yes,” he said at once, his eyes growing wide as he smiled. “Exactly. Although I can’t honestly believe you’d ever harm me.”

“Don’t deceive yourself,” I said suddenly. “And you do, you know. You commit the old sin. You believe in what you see. I am not what you see.”

“How so?”

“Ah, come now. I look like an angel, but I’m not. The old rules of nature encompass many creatures like me. We’re beautiful like the diamond-backed snake, or the striped tiger, yet we’re merciless killers. You do let your eyes deceive you. But I don’t want to quarrel with you. Tell me this story. What happened in Rio? I’m eager to know.”

A little sadness came over me as I spoke these words. I wanted to say, if I cannot have you as my vampire companion, then let me know you as a mortal. It thrilled me, softly and palpably, that we sat there together, as we did.

“All right,” he said, “you’ve made your point and I acknowledge it. Drawing close to you years ago in the auditorium where you were singing, seeing you the very first time you came to me—it did have the dark lure of danger. And that you tempt me with your offer—that, too, is dangerous, for I am only human, as we both know.”

I sat back, a little happier, lifting my leg and digging my heel into the leather seat of the old chair. “I like people to be a little afraid of me,” I said with a shrug. “But what happened in Rio?”

“I came full in the face of the religion of the spirits,” he said. “Candomble. You know the word?”

Again I gave a little shrug. “Heard it once or twice,” I said. “I’ll go there sometime, maybe soon.” I thought in a flash of the big cities
of South America, of her rain forests, and of the Amazon. Yes, I had quite an appetite for such an adventure, and the despair that had carried me down into the Gobi seemed very far away. I was glad I was still alive, and quietly I refused to be ashamed.

“Oh, if I could see Rio again,” he said softly, more to himself than to me. “Of course, she isn’t what she was in those days. She’s a world of skyscrapers now and big luxury hotels. But I would love to see that curving shoreline again, to see Sugar Loaf Mountain, and the statue of Christ atop Corcovado. I don’t believe there is a more dazzling piece of geography on earth. Why did I let so many years go by without returning to Rio?”

“Why can’t you go anytime that you wish?” I asked. I felt a strong protectiveness for him suddenly. “Surely that bunch of monks in London can’t keep you from going. Besides, you’re the boss.”

He laughed in the most gentlemanly manner. “No, they wouldn’t stop me,” he said. “It’s whether or not I have the stamina, both mental and physical. But that’s quite beside the point here, I wanted to tell you what happened. Or perhaps it is the point, I don’t know.”

“You have the means to go to Brazil if you want to?”

“Oh, yes, that has never been an issue. My father was a clever man when it came to money. As a consequence I’ve never had to give it much thought.”

“I’d put the money in your hands if you didn’t have it.”

He gave me one of his warmest, most tolerant smiles. “I’m old,” he said, “I’m lonely, and something of a fool, as any man must be if he has any wisdom at all. But I’m not poor, thank heaven.”

“So what happened to you in Brazil? How did it begin?”

He started to speak, then fell silent.

“You really mean to remain here? To listen to what I have to say?”

“Yes,” I said immediately. “Please.” I realized I wanted nothing more in all the world. I had not a single plan or ambition in my heart, not a thought for anything else but being here with him. The simplicity of it stunned me somewhat.

Still he seemed reluctant to confide in me. Then a subtle change came over him, a sort of relaxation, a yielding perhaps.

Finally he began.

“It was after the Second World War,” he said. “The India of my boyhood was gone, simply gone. And besides, I was hungry for new places. I got up a hunting expedition with my friends for the Amazon
jungles. I was obsessed with the prospect of the Amazon jungles. We were after the great South American jaguar—” He gestured to the spotted skin of a cat I had not noticed before, mounted upon a stand in a corner of the room. “How I wanted to track that cat.”

“Seems that you did.”

“Not immediately,” he said with a short ironic laugh. “We decided to preface our expedition with a nice luxurious holiday in Rio, a couple of weeks to roam Copacabana Beach, and all the old colonial sites—the monasteries, churches, and so forth. And understand, the center of the city was different in that time, a warren of little narrow streets, and wonderful old architecture! I was so eager for it, for the sheer alien quality of it! That’s what sends us Englishmen into the tropics. We have to get away from all this propriety, this tradition—and immerse ourselves in some seemingly savage culture which we can never tame or really understand.”

His whole manner was changing as he spoke; he was becoming even more vigorous and energetic, eyes brightening and words flowing more quickly in that crisp British accent, which I so loved.

“Well, the city itself surpassed all expectations, of course. Yet it was nothing as entrancing as the people. The people in Brazil are like no people I’ve ever seen. For one thing, they’re exceptionally beautiful, and though everyone agrees on this point, no one knows why. No, I’m quite serious,” he said, when he saw me smile. “Perhaps it’s the blending of Portuguese and African, and then toss in the Indian blood. I honestly can’t say. The fact is, they are extraordinarily attractive and they have extremely sensuous voices. Why, you could fall in love with their voices, you could end up kissing their voices; and the music, the bossa nova, that’s their language all right.”

“You should have stayed there.”

“Oh, no!” he said, taking another quick sip of the Scotch. “Well, to continue. I developed a passion, shall we say, for this boy, Carlos, the very first week. I was absolutely swept away; all we did was drink and make love for days and nights on end in my suite in the Palace Hotel. Quite truly obscene.”

“Your friends waited?”

“No, laid down the law. Come with us now, or we leave you. But it was perfectly fine with them if Carlos came along.” He made a little gesture with his right hand. “Ah, these were all sophisticated gentlemen, of course.”

“Of course.”

“But the decision to take Carlos proved to be a dreadful mistake. His mother was a Candomble priestess, though I hadn’t the slightest idea of it. She didn’t want her boy going off into the Amazon jungles. She wanted him going to school. She sent the spirits after me.”

He paused, looking at me, perhaps trying to gauge my reaction.

“That must have been wonderful fun,” I said.

“They pummeled me in the darkness. They picked up the bed off the floor and dumped me out! They turned the taps in the shower so that I was nearly scalded. They filled my teacups with urine. After a full seven days, I thought I was going out of my mind. I’d gone from annoyance and incredulity to sheer terror. Dishes flew off the table in front of me. Bells rang in my ears. Bottles went crashing from the shelves. Wherever I went, I saw dark-faced individuals watching me.”

“You knew it was this woman?”

“Not at first. But Carlos finally broke down and confessed everything. His mother didn’t intend to remove the curse until I left. Well, I left that very night.

“I came back to London, exhausted and half mad. But it didn’t do any good. They came with me. Same things started to happen right here in Talbot Manor. Doors slamming, furniture moving, the bells ringing all the time in the servants’ pantry belowstairs. Everyone was going mad. And my mother—my mother had been more or less of a spiritualist, always running to various mediums all over London. She brought in the Talamasca. I told them the whole story, and they started explaining Candomble and spiritism to me.”

“They exorcised the demons?”

“No. But after about a week’s intense study in the library of the Motherhouse and extensive interviews with the few members who had been to Rio, I was able to get the demons under control myself. Everyone was quite surprised. Then when I decided to go back to Brazil, I astonished them. They warned me this priestess was plenty powerful enough to kill me.

“ ‘That’s exactly it,’ I said to them. ‘I want that sort of power myself. I’m going to become her pupil. She’s going to teach me.’ They begged me not to go. I told them I’d give them a written report on my return. You can understand how I felt. I’d seen the work of these invisible entities. I’d felt them touch me. I’d seen objects hurtling through the air. I thought the great world of the invisible was opening
up to me. I
had
to go there. Why, nothing could have discouraged me from it. Nothing at all.”

“Yes, I see,” I said. “It
was
as exciting as hunting big game.”

“Precisely.” He shook his head. “Those were the days. I suppose I thought if the war hadn’t killed me, nothing could kill me.” He drifted off suddenly, into his memories, locking me out.

“You confronted the woman?”

He nodded.

“Confronted her and impressed her, and then bribed her beyond her wildest dreams. I told her I wanted to become her apprentice. I swore on my knees to her that I wanted to learn, that I wouldn’t leave until I’d penetrated the mystery, and learned all that I could.” He gave a little laugh. “I’m not sure this woman had ever encountered an anthropologist, even an amateur, and I suppose that is what I might have been called. Whatever, I stayed a year in Rio. And believe you me, that was the most remarkable year of my life. I only left Rio finally, because I knew if I didn’t, I never would. David Talbot the Englishman would have been no more.”

“You learned how to summon the spirits?”

He nodded. Again, he was remembering, seeing images I couldn’t see. He was troubled, faintly sad. “I wrote it all down,” he said finally. “It’s in the files at the Motherhouse. Many, many have read the story over the years.”

“Never tempted to publish it?”

“Can’t do it. It’s part of being in the Talamasca. We never publish outside.”

“You’re afraid you’ve wasted your life, aren’t you?”

“No. I’m not, really … Though what I said earlier is true. I haven’t cracked the secrets of the universe. I’ve never even passed the point I reached in Brazil. Oh, there were shocking revelations afterwards. I remember the first night I read the files on the vampires, how incredulous I was, and then those strange moments when I went down into the vaults and picked through the evidence. But in the end it was like Candomble. I only penetrated so far.”

“Believe me, I know. David, the world is meant to remain a mystery. If there is any explanation, we are not meant to hit upon it, of that much I’m sure.”

“I think you’re right,” he said sadly.

“And I think you’re more afraid of death than you will admit.
You’ve taken a stubborn tack with me, a moral one, and I don’t blame you. Maybe you’re old enough and wise enough to really know you don’t want to be one of us. But don’t go talking about death as if it’s going to give you answers. I suspect death is awful. You just stop and there’s no more life, and no more chance to know anything at all.”

“No. I can’t agree with you there, Lestat,” he said. “I simply can’t.” He was gazing at the tiger again, and then he said, “Somebody formed the fearful symmetry, Lestat. Somebody had to. The tiger and the lamb … it couldn’t have happened all by itself.”

I shook my head. “More intelligence went into the creation of that old poem, David, than ever went into the creation of the world. You sound like an Episcopalian. But I know what you’re saying. I’ve thought it from time to time myself. Stupidly simple. There has to be something
to
all this. There has to be! So many missing pieces. The more you consider it, the more atheists begin to sound like religious fanatics. But I think it’s a delusion. It is all process and nothing more.”

“Missing pieces, Lestat. Of course! Imagine for a moment that I made a robot, a perfect replica of myself. Imagine I gave him all the encyclopedias of information that I could—you know, programmed it into his computer brain. Well, it would only be a matter of time before he’d come to me, and say, ‘David, where’s the rest of it? The explanation! How did it all start? Why did you leave out the explanation for why there was ever a big bang in the first place, or what precisely happened when the minerals and other inert compounds suddenly evolved into organic cells? What about the great gap in the fossil record?’ ”