Nocturnes (18 page)

As cold Earth wanderers never
knew.”

He replaced the book and turned to face the stunned, and all too weary, old
men.

“And now, Isaac, I will finish the fourth act. As I read the words on that piece of paper I pulled from Lessa’s
shirt…”

Evan shot from his chair, startled back to reality by Julian’s
words.

“What nonsense is this? What is he saying? He mentions your wife’s name so casually and you sit there as though he was discussing the weather! What bold madness is
this?”

Isaac started to speak but Julian waved his reply aside with one of his own.

“I am afraid that I cannot tolerate any interruptions from you, Reverend. Your timing is most unfortunate. I am no longer surprised by the shifting circumstances of this matter. But the hour is already late, and this must be concluded tonight. Now, you will sit quietly and absorb what you can or I will be forced to restrain you in one of the other rooms. It is your
choice.”

Evan hesitated for just a moment, then started for the door, speaking over his shoulder as he walked.

“I will not be a party to this lunacy! I am concerned for your safety, Isaac. As
you
should be. I am going for the
police.”

The vampire reached the door ahead of the ailing priest. He stood there calmly, waiting for Evan’s next move. Evan stopped in his tracks, considering. He didn’t have to ponder for long, as Julian’s next monologue assured them all of the priest’s
participation.

“In the early days of the Church’s mission, the priests and clerics would wander the known world at their own peril. This required great courage and commitment to their cause. Or maybe it just required a blind loyalty to some fantasy of a well-reward afterlife. Either way, they managed to learn a few survival techniques as they went along. If they became ill, for example, there was nothing for them but whatever they could gather from the fields and the hedgerows in which they found themselves. Things have changed dramatically since then. You must have an excellent healthcare plan. Is that not so,
Father?”

“What on earth are you going on about, man?” Evan shot a desperate glance at Isaac, who could only shrug his shoulders. This was strictly Julian’s
show.

“What I am ‘going on about,’ good Padre, is the fact that we are tending to the business of eternal life here this evening. But you have brought the stink of death upon us. You come here out of some secondary concern, some habitual regard for an old friend, yet it is I who am trying to steer him toward the divine. What place do you have here? The rot consuming you is more than just a cancer. Despite that, I suspect that you too have some role to play. Yes. In fact, it may just be that you
need
to be here, as we do. That fresh wound on your wrist is proof enough, I imagine. Now return to your seat, Father, while I attempt to pry open that mind you are trying so hard to seal away from the miracles of the
world.”

Evan was floored. This man knew he was dying. He looked again at Isaac, who walked over and placed a hand upon his shoulder.

“Why haven’t you told me, Evan? How long have you known
this?”

Julian interrupted them again.

“There is no time now. You will have to deal with these revelations later,
gentlemen.”

He ushered them back to their seats, refilled their glasses like an attentive host, and
resumed.

“As I was saying. While reading those words…it was as though I were hearing a voice come to me from some far place, as one hears sounds traveling great distances over still waters. It was the voice of my dear, lost Clara reading the words from the page. I knew then that she really was waiting, just as your Lessa waits for you. So. Once again, we return to that envelope and its sacred contents. But you will never gaze upon them if you refuse me this regrettable, but necessary,
request.”

The three of them stared blankly at one another, each waiting for the others to act.

“Evan,” Isaac spoke softly. “You have to help me with this. I cannot do it
alone.”

“I will be damned
first!”

Evan leaped from his chair and stalked the room like a caged lion. Julian had a sudden epiphany. His words froze the priest like a January pond.

“Father, I am Catholic. I request your prayers and the sacrament of the Last
Rites.”

The priest whirled, stuttering a choked reply.

“That’s impossible!
You’re…you…”

“I was baptized some six hundred years
ago.”

He watched Evan’s eyes widen to the size of watery moons,
then…

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been several centuries since my last
confession.”

Evan staggered towards him, grabbed his arm, and led him off to an adjoining room, slamming the door behind
them.

Isaac walked numbly back to the bar, poured preposterously, and eyed the envelope that lay just six feet away. What was the proof that would finally give him peace? He started for the envelope, stopped, and returned to the bar. It was time to finally exercise some of the faith that had directed this entire drama. It was time to take things in their season.

After half an hour had passed, Isaac realized that the two men might be absent for some time. He moved back to the couch and stretched out. He pondered the contents of Julian’s envelope and a wan little smile teased the corners of his mouth. He allowed himself to appreciate the long-lost joy of it…a simple and heartfelt smile. In ten minutes he was fast
asleep.

He woke to the gentle prodding of his old friend’s hand.

“Wake up, Isaac. It is very, very late and we have work to do. I believe we have the will of God to attend
to.”

He rose and looked at the clock on the mantle. Three hours had passed. Julian stood in the doorway, composed as always. Isaac looked at Evan for some
explanation.

“It is too fantastic. But I have no further doubts. There is a credibility that one cannot manufacture from reading history or listening to ancient tales at a grandfather’s knee. The authentic wisdom of experience shines forth like a beacon of honest expression. This man has lived what he claims he has. His suffering is not a thing of fabrication. It cannot be argued with. Now, having said all that, I have not a clue as to how we should
proceed.”

Both men turned their attention to the vampire. Julian shrugged with feigned indifference and walked to the opposite corner, where Isaac’s cat broom stood like a ready sentry. He picked it up and snapped it over his thigh, creating a jagged weapon. He handed it to Isaac, who was trembling noticeably.

“Isaac, you asked me some time ago if I had any dreams left. I have one that is similar to your own: you are aware of it. But I have another. It would never be a dream for mortal humans, who have learned to take the sun for granted. I dream of the way the new morning changes from dark shades to the subtle colors of light…then becomes the full expression of the day.

“After all this has been done, you will be full of posthumous gratitude for what I have given you. But I need your compassionate best intentions now, not later. Please,” he whispered. “Don’t give me time to
reconsider.”

“Wait!” Father Connor rushed suddenly from the room and into the kitchen. He returned after several minutes with a bottle of Chambertin and a loaf of bread. He cleared the envelope and other debris from Isaac’s table, arranged the bread and the wine, and offered the communal prayer. Then he summoned Julian for his final Communion.

“The body and blood of
Christ.”

Julian wiped abrupt tears from his eyes. He thanked the priest without words and returned to where Isaac stood, waiting with a somber expression. The two men
embraced.

Julian stood back, took the jagged end of the stake and placed it over his heart before whispering his last
words.

“You send me to my rest and to my peace. You send me to my
love.”

Isaac set his jaw and whispered a prayer of his own. Then, with closed eyes, he leaned forward, pushing his weight against the paper-light essence of Julian’s withered frame. He heard a small sigh, pressed harder still, then fell forward onto the floor. Julian was gone.

Evan rushed to help him to his feet. The two men stared into the empty place that Julian had occupied just moments before. The universe rolled around them. Nothing would ever seem ordinary again.

“He seemed to suffer very little…” Evan announced in a reverent awe. “Then he was gone.
Just…gone…”

Evan poured another drink for them, and they stood before the picture window, staring out at the fading night, both too numb to speak. Gradually, the night gave way to the reassuring sun and the sapphire darkness surrendered to the pearl-blue genesis of the new day. To Isaac, it was the first new day in more than fifty years. The past had been fractured and cast away. He raised his glass to the liberated vampire and took a long, appreciative taste of his own difference.

Suddenly, he remembered that there was more. He bolted back to the table and found the envelope lying beside it on the floor. He grabbed it with fumbling hands that seemed foreign and uncertain. Unable to complete the simple task, he handed it to Evan, who opened it carefully at the sealed edges then handed the piece of paper to his abruptly-sober friend. Isaac sat down and began to read Lessa’s last poem.

In middle day the dark storm came.

It caught us in the field where lovers
lay.

We smelled it behind the
trees,

You rose to leave,
but

“Stay,” I breathed.

Wind took the
word,

But you had
heard

And
fell

With the first kiss of
sky

To catch my hair. I
sighed,

“Eden was never
tame.”

You cried, “We lost

This with the
Garden.”

I tried to feel the
same,

But rain, and rain, was
falling

To wash it green
again.

The tempest raged

And called our
names

“Come home!” for
we

Have loved this
way

Eternally.

He read the poem a dozen times, and then a dozen times more, his heart bursting like Chinese rockets with every line. Each time he read it, he was overwhelmed with a deeper and newer meaning. The tears flowing from his eyes threatened to stain the precious words, so he reluctantly handed it to Evan Connor. After a long while, he handed it back to Isaac, muttering simply, “My
God.”

Isaac had no words to express the power, and the confidence of that power, rushing over him, wave upon wave…Fear? Anger? What were they now? What had they ever really been? Lessa had always known it. It had taken a long time, but her final lesson had persisted and found him right there at home, in his own heart…the home she had never
vacated.

He moved toward the kitchen, patting Evan on the shoulder.

“I’ll make some coffee, Evan. And you can tell me about this secret you’ve been carrying. Then we’ll discuss how we’re going to beat it. After that, I’ll tell you about Joan of
Arc.

Chapter Twenty

I
saac’s eyes fluttered open. Slowly, at first…oh-so-slowly. Shafts of sunlight extended like golden columns from the tops of the shutters down to the old, wood floors. The only movement, so subtle as to defy gravity, were the dust particles that hovered there in the sunbeams, before falling softly…softer than snow…to the floor.

It was Sunday morning. Isaac stretched his arms over his head, turned back the bed covers, and placed his feet on the warm planks of the sun-washed floor. Sunday. Spring-time. He could hear the birds in the eves outside his bedroom window.

He dressed in grey wool trousers, a white shirt, and a blue paisley tie, over which he buttoned a black Scottish cardigan. He grabbed a hat at the door. Stepping out into the morning light, the cobalt sky seemed like a freshly starched shirt adorned by the bright boutineer of the sun. He walked toward the distant spires, his steps light, lively. Life, in all its facets, called out from the leaf-glad trees and the swing-set-joys of the corner park. He was on his way to church, to see an old friend once more.

Along the way he paused to converse with neighbors, some of them moving in his direction. But mostly he indulged his thoughts…his vibrant imagination…and the possibilities of life. Isaac could not conjure even the vaguest memories of his once-heavy heart.

So much darkness, and so many shadows. He had had to navigate them all. But there had always been a beacon of light there for him. Death camps and ghettos, what power had they held, after all? All that former fear, his pent-up hatred, even the foul self-loathing, had vanished like the mortal husk of Julian’s weary frame. And what moved into their place was what Evan had often spoke of. That deep and abiding love. That liberation that had eluded him almost to the end.

All the characters in his life-drama had fulfilled their roles. In retrospect, their roles had been perfect and necessary…and all played out with impeccable timing. They had all been “right.” Patrik, his courage and disapproving but enduring loyalty. Evan, his steadfast friendship, his mentoring…the very essence of the confidant and the tireless ally. Julian, and his deeply important lessons on how the longevity of grief may well be the proof-positive that love is, truly, eternal. Ageless, timeless, history in the moment…Julian. The eternal guardian of the sacred flame. Willing to carry the burden of grief for centuries if it meant even the possibility of holding his Clara again.

But more “right” than all of them had been Lessa. Her faith was hardly a faith at all. It was a certainty. While all the rest of them, including most of all himself, had struggled with faith on an
intellectual
level—and always against the backdrop of personal loss and tragedy—Lessa had
known
that love is above and beyond the darkest deeds of man’s malformed heart. To her, it had been like sitting in a darkened theater, watching the images of the film flicker and move, shadows and light, the roles of the characters…and the tensions of the good guy versus the bad guy, the betrayals, the violence, and the melodrama…all of it seemed so real up there, spread out across the canvas of the big screen, that it could drag you in so deeply you might laugh in parts and shed genuine tears in others. But finally the lights come up, and you stretch your legs and walk right back out into the sunlight, the terrors and the intrigues of the film already a fading memory. What you had experienced wasn’t any more real than your imagination.

Only a handful of people in the history of the world had been able to live life from that liberating perspective. Just before the Buddha became enlightened while sitting in the forest, his senses were assailed by the demons of lust and violence. Much like Jesus, who would have similar experiences in the desert five hundred years later, he was offered the world, and then threatened with torturous death if he refused it. In the midst of the onslaught, he reached his hand down to touch the Earth. “This alone is real,” he said. And the incessant drama of the mind was defeated, forever. In essence, the Buddha got up and left the theater. This was the wisdom that they had all come to see before the final curtain came down. He was eternally grateful for the lesson.

He had arrived at the church. There were many, many people present…all come to show love and gratitude that had
also
once been in doubt. But no longer. He removed his hat, anointed and crossed himself, and entered the hall.

The old man stood at the rear of a long, solemn line. Up ahead, over the shoulders and bowed heads of the faithful, he could see the muted, mahogany resting place of his dear, devoted friend, Evan Connor. He took one step forward, and paused. One step forward, closer to
salvation.

The
End