Nanowrimo - 17

He’s full of anecdotes and old tales, this one. Regularly he opens an exceptionally ornate copy of the Bible to expound upon his version of events. It’s fascinating and hilarious, really. And I guess it’s only fair as he was around for most of it. He’ll read the Sermon on the Mount and annotate with completely different translation. “None of these translations truly capture what Yeshua was saying. Pity there weren’t more scribes back in that time. What ever did he expect by expounding like this before a mass of illiterate bumpkins! The fig trees would have been a better audience. It was all much more, well, active, than it has been translated here. Such a pity that those lovely words have been reduced to this scabby text so easily abused in order to keep the masses poor. Tsk! Tsk!”

He reads the story of the feeding of the five thousand. “Well, 4,999, actually. I fed too!”

“How did you manage to know Jesus?”

“Yeshua, my dear. Jesus is what they called him when the story got to Greece and cross pollinated with Zoroastrianism. ‘Cross’ pollinated… ha ha ha! But any how I was a bit bored with Babylon after a couple hundred years and a few armies marching through the place to reshuffle the rulership. Really if one never dies one simply cannot expect to stay in one place. People start asking questions. So, every 30 years or so I would move on. I followed the Babylonian trade routes Eastward to Arabia and on into Egypt. And then for some awful reason I got stuck in Palestine. I had perhaps followed some prey onto a ship and got carried away. But the place was simply horrible. The fighting was constant. Always there were thefts and attacks from zealots – a real viper’s nest. What on earth the Romans wanted from such a dry little land full of religious fanatics I will never know. But I had learned some Hebrew in Babylon from the slaves and retained a basic sense of their leanings. So, I did very well for myself. Then, this MAN began roaming the countryside making the most fantastic statements. There had been Hillel before him, but Hillel didn’t preach and gather the same quantities of attention as this new one did. Yeshua. Yeshua ben David. All manner of stories about him were told in the streets; that he was Elisha returned, that he was a new king from the line of David come to free the people from Rome, that he was the anointed of God. I had to find him out. There weren’t paintings of such a man like there would be now. And the only news was word of mouth. I wandered all about listening to rumors of where he would be. Finally, I was on the road to Bethany, hot an parched, when I came upon a group of simple travelers resting under an olive tree. I decided to stop, too, to see if they knew where I could find the man Yeshua. But I could not ask. As soon as I approached them this simple man welcomed me and, I just knew. He did not look so special. But something about his face shone. Something about him spoke to me in my heart and I could feel my heart sing back. He welcomed me to the gathering like no human had ever welcomed me. I could not help but to follow him!”

“Oh, but the following he drew troubled the Romans. They’d had more problems with zealots in Palestine than gnats on a summer night in the swamps of the Nile. It’s such a pity, his words are so poetic and sweet. But no one listened to his words, they just wanted a king and freedom and from their need he was killed. His apostles had all been approached with the possibility of betrayal. All of them. And that sweet life was sold off for such a tiny amount of money simply because one of them thought he would force Yeshua to show his power ascend to the throne. They weren’t concerned about souls at all. They wanted to be knights to a king! Such selfishness! What a pity indeed. Even more of a pity how lost is his truth and twisted are his words.”

Zoltan flips languidly through his hand-scripted, illuminated Latin Holy writ. “How did you get this Bible?” I ask. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen. I’ve never once come upon one that was entirely scripted out in such a beautiful way.”

“Hmm. It’s from before the printing press. I’d imagine that you wouldn’t have seen one such as this, you’re so young. Agnoletti, a once born living as a Monk in the Neapolitan countryside created it. We helped each other evade the superstitious mobs that roamed Europe during the Black Death hunting for the demon culprit, and this was a gift of brotherhood. And really, if one is a monk and once born, there’s all the time in the world to paint a Bible!”

“How long did it take him?”

“Oh, about 150 years. Lovely, just lovely.”

“Yes.” I rest back from the stand where the book is on display. “I still don’t understand. I’ve heard so many stories that we should have cold skin and fear daylight. That we should sleep with the dead and rise every night to kill. Are you sure I’m one such as you?”

Zoltan maintained an expert talent for expressing himself with eyebrow motion. He now crooked them at me and considered me archly for a while before answering. “I can tell you what you are for decades, child. You will not understand the truth of my words until you have had your own experience.” Turning back to the Bible to admire some lettering in Matthew’s gospel he continued. “What you describe is the folklore of a vampire. This does not come from reality at all but rather it rises straight from mortal’s fears of death. The monster you describe is their imagining, don’t enrobe yourself in this false reality. You are clearly not cold and clammy – why our skin is most sanguine. We don’t hide by day, although many prefer the comfort of night because the antics of mortals in sunlight can be quite offensive to our tender emotions. Clearly we do not sleep in coffins, nor do we feed every night. We are natural as any human, feeding off the life concentrated in another being’s flesh. We just happen to prefer humans as our diet and, well, we don’t die.”

“We never die?”

“No, indeed not. Never.”

“Not even if someone shot us with a musket or sliced us with a sword?”

“What in heaven’s name would you want someone to do that to you for? No! Not even then. We heal up too quickly.”

“There is absolutely nothing that will ever kill us?”

“Well,” he hesitates for a second, theatrically pondering the text before him. “There is one way. Just one way.” With this he closes the great, thick text. Grabs his candle announcing “that is enough talk for one night!” and he’s off to bed.

Daily the pronouncements and lessons continue. “Don’t ever fall in love with a mortal, it will only break your heart because they simply lack the sensitivity to understand you. And you never know when you’ll wake up hungry and feed from your mate by mistake.

“Never settle for animal blood, it will merely make you horribly sick. Sheep, I can tell you, are especially wretched.

“Trust your urge to feed. The urge is bigger than your solitary senses. It’s bigger than all of us; it’s what binds us and keeps our kind alive.

“Live a quiet life, avoid getting mixed up too much in human affairs unless you can extricate yourself in a timely way.

“Be choosy about who you feed upon. Someone who is very unhappy will deposit their unhappiness into you.

“Every thirty years or so, move on to a new location.”

“Are these things you know because you made the mistakes yourself?” I cannot resist the temptation to ask.

He pauses, of course, cocks his eyebrows, of course. “You do ask quite a lot of meddlesome questions for and Englishwoman! If you must know, yes, I have forced myself to feed upon an animal when I was worried that there wouldn’t be a suitable human and I did not trust the urge. It brought the gorge up for three days! I have encumbered myself in human affairs when the moment came that I thought someone with my talent for oratory and perspective would be of great service. I was greatly mistaken in this. Mortals do not truly wish to have great leaders because they are each incapable of being greatly led. And, if you must know, yes, I did fall in love. I fell deeply in love with an Egyptian woman so sweet and fair I could barely contain it in my heart. She couldn’t hope to reciprocate the magnitude of my emotions. Perhaps that is how I ended up on that boat to Palestine!”

Outside the world was tearing itself apart. The people were growing thin with famine from several bad growing years and the ravages of war. Nothing from the royal coffers was left to allay their lack. So the masses of starving people began to write angry flyers. Then they started to march. Then they started to revolt. And then they started to kill.

I have to confess that seeing the greatest and worst of French men and women ridden in shame to death at the guillotine gave me a slight sense of relief. Any of my former guilt over notions of my being a murderer faded away when I persistently watched as the again and again the blood stained blade rose into the air. Again and again it would fall with a “chop!” and crowds would yell and cheer as another gruesome visage was held aloft. In a sort of political poetry, those who commanded the killings eventually met the blade of their own accord.

“I don’t understand why you go must continually observe that insanity! I simply cannot stand such folly!” Zoltan exclaimed as I returned home one evening.

“It reassures me that I’m not so bad a soul to feast on these beasts.”

“BAH!” He retorts, fumbling with his robe and his cane.

“Have you seen it? This guillotine? It’s amazing how much less cruel this is than the torturous executions of the wheel or being drawn and quartered. The lack of shrieking is a great benefit.”

“That’s simply because they need to be fast about it! There’s a queue! It’s gastly I say!” Just then, as he’s shaking an expressive fist at me, Zoltan collapses to the ground. I rush over and attempt to lift his great weight up. I succeed only in pulling him onto my lap. In the light I can see that he is pale.

“My heavens! Are you ill? You are pale! What has happened to you?”

He pats my clutching hand in comfort. “Now now. This is just what happens, you know. I’ve been getting weaker and weaker and now it’s getting the better of me.”

It’s true, I had noticed that his skin, his features, were all aging quickly but was reluctant to mention such a thing. Now that I hold him close to support him, I see the extent of whitening hair and spotting skin. “What is making you weak? Are you sick? You said nothing could kill us!”

“Ahhh you were not listening. I said ONE thing could kill us.” He looks up at me with an exhausted expression. “And I have been doing that one thing. I haven’t fed. I haven’t fed in over fifty years. I can’t watch anymore, Ellie, one must die sometime. You can carry on what I’ve learned. But I simply cannot watch life anymore.”

His voice grows thin and he rests back in my arms more for comfort than support. I want to extort him to stop this nonsense and get back his strength. But I feel what he’s saying. If he would feed he lacked the strength to do so. I simply hold him close in my arms.