The Book of Sarah

We walked. We walked back to Philadelphia, to a new existence in our new tabernacle in the sky. I led the way. Sarah, Bob, Baylah and a Pow Wow woman named Rachel followed. She was the one who claimed to have a vampire Indian in her lineage. I sustained the two weak mortals with small infusions of my blood. The journey took about three nights. We could not travel by daylight for obvious reasons. The first day, we slept in a forgotten, old mine. On the second day, we found shelter in an abandoned chamber built to contain a sweet water, underground spring. It was a 'mikvah', or baptismal pool used by a late nineteenth century Orthodox Hebrew meeting house (synagogue means 'meeting house' after all). Central and southern New Jersey had a few such congregations comprised of poor, but industrious farmers and chicken ranchers. The people drifted off to the vast cities of the eastern seaboard long ago. But the blessed  water survived. The clean spring still ran true, a trickling, holy presence as we slept. And in the gloaming, when we awoke, I went down the rough, stone steps to bathe in its water. Sarah came with me. After a few moments, the others did too. We were preparing for a battle and we knew it. If this righteous ablusion could give us any help, so be it.. And with the setting of the sun, on the third night, we crossed the bridge and entered The City of Brotherly Love. Considering our rather frayed, woodland appearence, we could not rise up to our new abode, but instead found refuge with my homeless friends in their shadowy tunnels deep beneath the throbbing heart of Chinatown. I summoned an especially well connected 'familiar' of mine, a certain high profiled sports agent. No, not via the spirit, but through a stylish, little cell phone borrowed from one of my underground devotees. The 'mole people' do keep up. He arranged for us to shower and change into clean, stylish attire, in a shuttered, off season basketball clubhouse. When we were all presentable, when we once again looked 'human' , he ran us into Center City. We went up to the penthouse. Thank God it had its own private elevator. After 'oohing' and 'aahing' over the stellar views and peerless surroundings, the six of us settled in and took our ease among the tastful artwork and fine furnishings. The vampires among us, namely everyone save Sarah, that Pow Wow person and The Old Woman, had commodious accommodations fitted out with plush, nest-like sleeping cabinets, safe, dark, private places to dream away the day and hide from the desiccating light. They even came equipped with small, built-in, flat panel TV's hooked up to DVD players so we could take in our favorite programs. I don't know what the others watched. We had a library. But I stuck with my Andy Griffith Show classics. I find them to be spiritually  comforting. Yet that day, Aunt Bea seemed to gaze at me with a threatening look in her eyes. I saw hatred. I saw the feral face of our enemy. And it wasn't just her... Otis too. Bob watched Happy Days and apparently Fonzie gave him no such problems. Baylah didn't watch anything. She just went to sleep. Look, whatever comes, we will just have to face it, along with that guy from the floor covering place who's due here after sundown. Bamboo or cherry? Cherry or bamboo? What the hell do I care. I was born in Spain and we tend to go for the tile. But would the others ever listen to me? You get the tile. You throw on a few thick orientals and you're set. That's how my mother did it. And she came from class, let me tell you. Perhaps I will retreat to those times for a bit. Perhaps I will once again walk across the cool tiles of my youth. Why not, my dreams are very real.