Wednesday, January 7, 2015

The Vampire, Jonathon PREPARES TO RENEW HIS VOWS... 1/7/15


Because of the heart problem and all they rushed things. I didn't want to have a pit this time, but there's no way to get around it. You need a pit. It's SO pagan though (few seconds of silence). I don't like that part, but... I want my powers back. Am I weak? Should I just go on with whatever physical life I have left in this body and be done with it?.... What a joke. As if I'm going to do that. I'm not gonna do that. Sarah and I will trade the blood, do all the ancillary things... and I'll be back. Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea, will be night-folk again. I don't feel like I ever stopped. These weird, incongruous months are but an interlude, like that bathroom, orange aid, candy break they give you in the theater.

We're having it in the tunnels. Baylah set it up. I wanted to go. I'm the one they're used to. The mole-folk know me, especially Aura and Sylvia, the mole king's daughters. But considering the heart ailment, they thought it might be too much. 

Let me reintroduce the mole-folk for those who may not know. Beneath the network of subway tunnels lie another network of subway tunnels. But the deeper level was never completed nor used. Many large cities have superfluous subway tunnels... S.S.T.'s they call them, zig-zag webs of partially finished infrastructure hidden in the dark. Some stops have Jazz Era restrooms with trickles of water and storage closets filled with hard, dry, soap powder. You know how those hand dispensers used to work? Station Number Five (they never named them) has a big, deep, rectangular shaft in the corner, originally meant for electrical generators, or some other piece of machinery. But the metal goods were never hooked up. So, waa-laa... there goes our pit... twelve feet square and fifteen feet deep. You'll see what happens down there. I'm not proud of it, but it is necessary. 

Oh, let me tell you more about the mole-folk, before I forget. During The Great Depression, poor, homeless persons discovered the unused tunnels. One by one they tricked down there and after a bit they had a culture. Raised mushrooms along virgin tracks. You know, after a few generations, common rats become something akin to domesticated rabbits. Not that they look like rabbits. But if you clean them up in the weak stream from the Jazz Era restrooms and use boards from never sat on benches to make fences you have a ready made protein supply. Works the same way with pigeons. Then you get 'almost' chickens. I think they grow some sort of tuber for starch. They render the fat from the rats and pigeons for candles. Some never come to the surface. Others return on a regular basis to find things, like pilfered wallets. They use the money for basics, like underwear, tampons and clothes. Everybody wears jeans, t-shirts and sweat-shirts. Keep it simple.... white socks and canvas sneakers. Some sinks got enough pressure for washing. That's how they stay clean. Once in a while they bring back toys and books from the dollar stores for the kids.... 

I used to frequent those tunnels. Cool summer sponge baths in old zinc tubs with Aura and Sylvia. Mole-folk have big, reflective eyes, the better to catch every photon.... They have pale complexions too. Whatever color their people were when they lived up in the light, down here they fade. Life in the flickering shadows will do that.

I prepare for the transformation, paying special attention to my skin, for how it is now is how it will be forever. A barber from one of the best town clubs is here to attend me, leaving just the right amount of stubble for an angular, interesting look. My long, dark, wavy hair gets a trim. He calls it a 'shape up.' I'm clean, fit and ready. Please excuse the superficiality. Don't think all the other feelings are not there. This is just how I cope. 

Will the mortals go? Will Edith and Billy be there?... No, only vampires can see it. That's just how it is. Look, it's shocking. What do you think goes on inn that pit? Some of you know. I'm aware of that. Some of you have been here since the beginning. Some of you know everything. It's like The Truman Show, but we're used to it.

(tears up)

Let me be serious, though. I just want to be quiet. I just want to sit here. I just want to think. Alright, I want to pray. But I didn't want to say anything. I didn't want to offend anybody, because some of you aren't 'into' that.

Baylah's getting the girls (why am I telling you this?). One for 'First Food' and one for something else..... I'm going through all this again. (trembles) And when it's done, I'll keep my vows... 'Not the Shepherd, but the sheepdog'... 'Cull the wicked. Help the worthy live.'....

Soon the phone will ring and I'll leave. And when I return, I'll be different.....

Not so much 'different,' as restored.

Everything happens for a reason...


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1 comment:

John L. Harmon said...

I want a Jazz era restroom...or at least be able to use one sometime!