Friday, April 29, 2011


Sarah and Jonathon made their way through the interior of  Spain. Sometimes one guide would lead them, sometimes another. All were laconic and silent. And they walked, as if on Pilgrimage, for in all actuality, they were. Each morning they the two vampires and their 'handler' found refuge in a different cave. It's odd how little a life-eater really needs. Mansionettes in Chestnut Hill are completely superfluous. Hard packed dirt floors are enough. One night, they had dreams. They had visions. Jonathon discreetly stole away to cull his target. Sarah did the same. He drained a heartless weapons dealer. She delicately killed a remorseless poisoner who was just about to slip the 'juice' to husband number three.That's how it was, until they left the flat, semi-arid plains and towns of the table lands and began to climb up hill.

'Africa starts south of The Pyrennes.' The Romans believed that. So did the Moors. And when you look at the dry, severe landscapes, or explore the picturesque, thick-walled peasant towns it seems true. Vultures wheel overhead, jackal-like foxes scrape for voles and ageless strains of cattle low in the dusty distance. But our two miraculous beings travelled in the opposite direction. That mountainous barrier was their destination. Was this planned?  No, not really. But in the life of a vampire, what is? Sometimes the guide for this part of the journey would hum old Basque songs. sometimes he would not. Sarah asked him the name of their destination. He just shrugged and laughed. Jonathon tried to read things in the wind. He tried to squeeze into the mind of he who led them. He attempted to finesse his way beneath the skulls of sleeping townsmen,  the better to search for clues. Yet clues were not  forthcoming.

One night, Sarah asked the guide if it would be alright if they tried to sublimate the rest of the way. It's not that she was tired. Vampires may know boredom. They may know ennui. But they never grow truly fatigued. When the guide realized she was speaking to him, he uttered one word - No....And then he just kept going. So did they. Sometimes, during the bright time, during the day, they would find solace in each other's embrace. A cave may not offer much, not even privacy, for through it all, the guide would just sit there, leaning against the undulating wall, eyes closed, humming to himself. But he did not care.

After a time there came a night when small things started to change. The air grew dry and cool. The ground less hard and bare. Bright eyed rabbits watched them pass in the moonlight, as night doves whispered their names. Strange voices called out to them. Yet did they, or was that but a delusion? The latest guide, this time a woman, spoke a bit. She said - Listen at first and draw it in. Sit quietly and learn. Sing the songs the 'teachers' sing. And smell the wands (incense tappers) that burn......... But that was all she said. The way grew steeper after that. At least she gave them cheap, new, canvas tennis shoes. And they were grateful. So they climbed. Jonathon thought of his long dead mortal family. While Sarah thought of him........

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