The Vampire Chronicles Collection - Anne Rice [30]
“The woman, Babette!” said the boy.
The vampire smiled. “Yes, I went to Babette. She lived now at Freniere with her young husband. I had enough time to load my coffin into the carriage and go to her.”
“But what about Lestat?”
The vampire sighed. “Lestat went with me. It was his intention to go on to New Orleans, and he was trying to persuade me to do just that. But when he saw I meant to hide at Freniere, he opted for that also. We might not have ever made it to New Orleans. It was growing light. Not so that mortal eyes would have seen it, but Lestat and I could see it.
“Now, as for Babette, I had visited her once again. As I told you, she had scandalized the coast by remaining alone on the plantation without a man in the house, without even an older woman. Babette’s greatest problem was that she might succeed financially only to suffer the isolation of social ostracism. She had such a sensibility that wealth itself meant nothing to her; family, a line … this meant something to Babette. Though she was able to hold the plantation together, the scandal was wearing on her. She was giving up inside. I came to her one night in the garden. Not permitting her to look on me, I told her in a most gentle voice that I was the same person she’d seen before. That I knew of her life and her suffering. ‘Don’t expect people to understand it,’ I told her. ‘They are fools. They want you to retire because of your brother’s death. They would use your life as if it were merely oil for a proper lamp. You must defy them, but you must defy them with purity and confidence.’ She was listening all the while in silence. I told her she was to give a ball for a cause. And the cause to be religious. She might pick a convent in New Orleans, any one, and plan for a philanthropic ball. She would invite her deceased mother’s dearest friends to be chaperones and she would do all of this with perfect confidence. Above all, perfect confidence. It was confidence and purity which were all-important.
“Well, Babette thought this to be a stroke of genius. ‘I don’t know what you are, and you will not tell me,’ she said. (This was true, I would not.) ‘But I can only think that you are an angel.’ And she begged to see my face. That is, she begged in the manner of such people as Babette, who are not given to truly begging anyone for anything. Not that Babette was proud. She was simply strong and honest, which in most cases makes begging … I see you want to ask me a question.” The vampire stopped.
“Oh, no,” said the boy, who had meant to hide it.
“But you mustn’t be afraid to ask me anything. If I held something too close …” And when the vampire said this his face darkened for an instant. He frowned, and as his brows drew together a small well appeared in the flesh of his forehead over his left brow, as though someone had pressed it with a finger. It gave him a peculiar look of deep distress. “If I held something too close for you to ask about it, I would not bring it up in the first place,” he said.
The boy found himself staring at the vampire’s eyes, at the eyelashes which were like fine black wires in the tender flesh of the lids.
“Ask me,” he said to the boy.
“Babette, the way you speak of her,” said the boy. “As if your feeling was special.”
“Did I give you the impression I could not feel?” asked the vampire.
“No, not at all. Obviously you felt for the old man. You stayed to comfort him when you were in danger. And what you felt for young Freniere when Lestat wanted to kill him … all this you explained. But I was wondering … did you have a special feeling for Babette? Was it feeling for Babette all along that caused you to protect Freniere?”
“You mean love,” said the vampire. “Why do you hesitate to say it?”
“Because you spoke of detachment,” said the boy.
“Do you think that angels are detached?” asked the vampire.
The boy thought for a moment. “Yes,” he said.
“But aren’t angels capable of love?” asked the vampire. “Don’t angels gaze upon the face of God with complete love?”
The boy thought