EAST OF THE MOUNTAIN

Then they were in another place. A hospital, I think it was. But not a hospital such as you would know. This was an older sort of place. There was a big room, like a long narrow excercise room, or a gymnasium. The floor was some kind of a smooth, shiny concrete. And white painted metal beds lined the walls. I would guess that the room was about fifty feet high. It had windows, long skinny ones, up near the top. They had no curtains, for there was no other light. Sarah and Jonathon walked down the center aisle, looking at the people in the beds. Women were there to take care of them. They brought them soup, or bread or maybe a little piece of halvah (sesame-honey candy). We heard Ukranian and German and Yiddish and Polish. I don't know. I think there were some other languages too. Maybe Gypsy? Maybe Hungarian? Romanian, I know, because it sounds like Italian. And I don't think I heard that. Maybe in another ward.

Sarah asked the rabbi. She said - What is this place?.........He said - This place? This place is a reception hall. They bring them here. The new ones I mean.........Are they dead? - inquirered Jonathon.....Dead, live, sick, healthy. What's the difference? - said the rabbi. They are in the spirit. Do you want to know that? Yes, they are in the spirit. And they need help. So we help them. Look at you. Look at you two. What are you? No, don't tell me. It does not matter. I can say to you that some of them are in comas. Some are tettering on the brink. What readers of worldly books call 'a near death experience.' Them, we send back. They're not supposed to remember - he smiled. But some go back with 'souvenirs.' The ones with comas, if we have the room, we let them in.

If this is heaven, why aren't things a bit more commodious? - asked Jonathon.......If this is heaven - said the rabbi, why do they have to be?...........So they walked and they looked. The hall went on and on. Some beds held men. Some held women. Some held children. And the nurses crooned sweet songs to them. They filled their  souls with tales of better times to come. They brought them beautiful flowers and gave them fragrant nectars to drink. Jonathon stopped and stared. He knew the woman in that bed. He knew her. And she knew him, for a loving smile slowly spread upon her care-worn face........Mama? - he whispered........Yoni, my Yoni - she said......He knelt to hug her and they cried.......

Sarah asked the rabbi how it was possible for Jonathon to encounter his mother in this place, when she had been dead for almost a thousand years. He told her not to bother herself with unimportant details like time. He told her that in this place one heartbeat was the same as an eon and twentyone forevers were equal to a sigh.....It happened that as this 'day' progressed, each of them celebrated reunion with loved ones. And all past problems were reconciled. But was  this the time for eternal reunion? No, it was not. So they parted for a while, secure in the knowledge that God never forgets......... As they left that blessed place, they witnessed something else. Certain individuals 'levitated' up through their covers, drifting toward the ceiling, until finally disappearing in a shaft of warm, gold light streaming in through the windows......They watched, transfixed. In anticipation of questions yet to come, the rabbi said - Do you know that moving picture so popular on Earth these days, the one with Jimmy Stewart? The one about a wonderful life?.......Yes - they said........But the old man just smiled, as he shuffled along and added - Well, everytime the light shines, a 'nephish' (soul) learns to fly.

Soon they were back in the dim, panelled study, seated at one end of the long, oaken table. The rabbi said - What did you learn here? What  did you learn from the reconciliation of the dead and the remembrance of your time as the Golem and your wonderful reunions?.......Jonathon inhaled and answered - I  don't know......But you do know - said the rabbi.....I'm not sure - said Jonathon.......This time, the spiritual teacher just gave him an indulgent look.....Jonathon went on - But it all seems so simple. Is it really that simple?.........The rabbi smiled at Sarah and said - He asks if it is simple. Do you think it's simple?......She nodded........The rabbi said - See? She knows....Love each other. Forgive past wrongs. For some of those you killed at the gates of the ghetto were young boys forced there by their fathers........Jonathon sighed............The rabbi said - That's what comes from building fences, the tragedy of hatered.. None were made to bear a yoke like that. Then he gave them each a kiss of benediction and led them to the door. He said a prayer and they left.......

As they walked through the narrow, winding, cobbled ghetto streets, Jonathon remarked - He never told us his name. Sarah attached little meaning to that. But as they approached a man coming toward them, Jonathon said - Excuse me, sir. What is the name of the rabbi in that synagogue?.....The man barely slowed down. But he answered - Aaron, his name is Aaron.....Then he turned and added - But he's not a rabbi.....Jonathon laughed. Sarah said - What's so funny?........He said - That blessing. That little thing he whispered when we left.....It's what the First Priest of Zion (mistakenly called 'high priest') always said...and it's called Aaron's prayer, after the first one so ordained....... She sqeezed his hand........

Suddenly the sheltering byways of the ghetto were gone. They were following a path leading down from a mountain in the northern part of Spain and  continuing  into the sunny meadow below.......eastward toward the rising sun...

.

JONATHON STEPS INTO THE BREECH

The old rabbi said - Would you like to continue, my boy?.......And Jonathon went on. He quietly explained - I remembered the blind hatred of the Crusaders. I saw what they did. They almost burned me alive. If it wasn't for 'Papa,' I'd be dust. Oh, I survived the fire (he looks around). A prayer house much like this one. But my lungs were gone. I could hardly breathe. If Johannan hadn't pushed me under the stone 'bima' (Scriptural reading table) I would have endured the flames...like all the others. You know, death in a fire, oblivion, does not always come quick. The heart continues to beat for quite a while. I did not want those of this city to face that. Now you must understand that as a traveller, these events could have transpired without my knowledge. True, I may have heard of them after the fact. But a wealthy, young Castilian gentleman, an 'hidalgo' (gentry or noble) frequents loftier surroundings. I had letters of credit forwarded to ranking Bohemian bankers. My English 'familiars' were worth every 'pound.' But my mind was not a purely human mind. And I felt things. I heard things. So I wandered into the ghetto  and the rougher environs nearby. That's how I learned of the massacre yet to come. That's how I found you, rabbi, the Maharal, the revered Biblical scholar of Prague, the man who verged on sainthood. You did not know I was there. Sometimes I'd sublimate through the walls while you were studying or planning a Sabbath sermon. It was late. It was always late....(the rabbi nodded).....I'd fade into the shadows and listen. To your mind, I mean. A vampire can do those things. I saw the tears. I knew your pain. You would never have attemped that. You would never have resorted to such quasi-Kabbalistic conjuring. ...(the rabbi is truly pained).....But what choice did you have? So the tragically comic ramblings of an ignorant eavesdropper, the spell of an idiot based on half remembered gossip took hold of you. I saw you shape that thing. I saw you dig the clay and mix the dust. I saw you search for the proper vellum and write the blessed letters. And I knew it had to work. So when the clay remained clay. When the dust remained dust, I stepped forward . Do you remember what I said?................You said, 'Fear not. Your petition has been heard. I am here to keep you safe.' I asked who sent you and you said Michael the Archangel. And............And what, rabbi? - said Jonathon........Then I fainted dead away - mumbled the graybeard.

The important men of the ghetto heard the good news. They dressed their heavenly-vampiric-golem-champion in the garments of a Maccabean (2nd century b.c.e. Judaen warrior) captain, the short kilt, the sleeveless tunic, the silver breastplate, a rolled head scarf round his brow. Quite dashing, I must say. and we disembodied spirits see a lot. Someone ran to fetch an old tarnished iron sword. They gave it to their newly minted defender. To Jonathon, I mean. But he put it down and said - I fight with other tools. Then they asked God to bless him yet again. I presume Michael the Archangel's recommendation was not good enough. Each man hid his family the best he could, picked up whatever was at hand (clubs, sticks, knives and the like) and formed 'ranks' behind their miraculous leader.

First they heard the rumbling. Then they heard the singing and laughing and cat calls and curses. Company was coming. Their neighbors were here to kill them. What a fitting end to a day of prayer and celebration. But prayer meant little to men like these and to be fair, even the true priests and bishops up in The Cathedral, spirited away all religious valuables, including themselves. God would decide. Let Him judge the outcome. Well maybe, after a fashion, He did.

The ghetto was sealed in. Strong, gray rocks formed the walls. But the gate was weak and the guards were gone to take their own positions among the rabble. CRASH! The old beams trembled. BOOM! The bands began to snap and break., as iron shards of shrapnal  found their rest in human flesh. ROAR! The rotted wood fell dead. And those valiant 'knights' in the rear took care not to trample their brethren, as they streamed in through the breech.

Fortyeight cubits hence, the ghetto defenders stood. Ready to do what? They did not know. Though none would turn. And Jonathon? Well, lets just say that a vampire's heart can race with the best of them. And then there was silence. The enemy stopped, the better to study their prey. Some of them grinned. Others laughed. What an easy chore this would be. A piece of streudl.. Men slowly inched forward. Knives were drawn. Jaws were set. The 'divinely ordained' action would take place.

A heartbeat later, Jonathon had an epiphany. He remembered. A gutteral growl came up from his chest, as he raced toward them and SUBLIMATED into their midst. Now when a vampire transforms into that nebulous state, his 'particles of being' slice into living tissue  with a keenness like razors. And bloody pulp rained down into the dirt. Those yet untouched saw this. They pointed and pushed in a mad sramble, attempteing to fall   back. Some escaped. Many  did not. And the ghetto was left unmolested. Those in the marketplace whispered of what transpired. Men in the taverns drank in silence. But people in the narrow, winding streets of this  formerly defenseless quarter remembered and the legend of the Golem was born.

Funny, but when you think about it, Jonathon's original family name was ben Macabi, son of the Maccabees. The uniform was right. And if he had not been there, if this vampire had not stepped into the breech, the families that gave rise to Einstein and to Mahler and to Heine and yes, even to Wagner too,  would havve disappeared. Strange when you think about it like that...........

Yet what is the lesson in all of this? Look, you,ve been reading long enough. Go eat a cookie. Have a cold drink. We'll meet again (God willing) tomorrow..........

BOHEMIAN RAPSODY

I am so tired. I want to sit in front of the television and doze. It is me, wilkravitz. And I do not even know who is scurrying through my neurons. I cannot tell you who is squatting in my skull. But I will enscribe their tale. Hopefully, they will talk fast. And I will yet be able to nod off during The Larry David Show..

Jonathon and Sarah sat in an old dark study. Two or three sputtering candlles gave out a weak, none to steady light. The old man with the gray beard, the rabbi, was with them. He smiled indulgently to see a female at his table, even a vampire female. But he shook his head  said a prayer and began to speak. ... He said - Those around us were cruel back then, very cruel. It was no crime to kill one of our children, or defile any of our women or to destroy and mutilate the men. But the rulers of the city usually protected us. Not because they felt spiritually compelled to do so, but rather because we paid taxes. Why burn your own fields? Only this timme it was different. Occasional murders we were used to. Strangled toddlers, disemboweled mothers...We endured and we went on. Yet this individual lived for death. Not just any death. Our death. He commandeered a church. Was he a priest? Some said so. He claimed to be. Yet no proof was ever forthcoming. And he drew many followers. They rallied around, cheering every speech and spitting with red hot rage.

Now life was complicated...complicated for everyone. The Turks were on the march. Old Serbia fell. The lands of the Hellenes were absorbed. And storied Budapest kneeled at the foot oof the Purple Throne. Courtiers of the sultan were everywhere. And the word from Istanbul...was 'the word.'..We expected to be invaded at any time.. People were nervous. How could Bohemia prevail against such a foe? Would we (or those of us permitted to bear arms) die in battle?  Does slavery await us? You know many were kidnapped and sold off to the East over the cennturies. Many...countless. Fear gnawed at every heart. All felt helpless...And we of the ghetto were most helpless of all. Some of us did look to the Turks for salvation. They took in refugees from Inquisitional Spain and P:ortugal  after all. Both communities could agree on the Allah Ahkbar...the part about who was and who was not a thoroughly credentialed Heavenly spokesman was a bit problematic...But we could live with that. Their dietary laws and Sabbath customs were also quite familiar. The Land of Israel was in Ottoman hands, yet the Holy Ciity of Safed was thriving. But God would decide. We lived in Prague. And we loved this place.

Still, the misguided 'priest' did not love us. He blamed us for the Turks. He blamed us for the Hapsburg tax collectors. He blamed us for his sharp-tongued, cross eyed sister. And he rallied the coarser element against us. Not a difficult task, to be sure. But he built things to a fever pitch...We had 'money.' They could righteously grab it. We had homes and livelyhoods. They would confiscate them. We had lives. They would crush them. And God would bless them. And that would be the end of it. Isolated perversions had already begun, when we learned of their true plans. A huge massacre, to coincide with their spring Resurrection  Festival. Where could we hide? Nowhere. Who would help us? No one. Even if we did barricade ourselves into the cellars, they'd burn everything anyway. Well, no more killings. No more human torches. I'd heard testamony from survivors of the Chmelnitzki Raids in 'Little Russia.' The same would not befall us here. So I went to work. I 'created' a champion. I shaped and contructed a 'superman' if you will.

How did I know this thing? There was a man, latelly returned from the mystical towns of The Galilee (where Safed is). He was an unlearned sort, but his dealings in those places brought him into contact with true disciples of the Kabbalah, the Road of The Righteous, a traveller' guide into the very heart of God. Yet what he overheard and who he heard it from, I do not know. Was it truth, or was it something else? What did I care? I was desperate. The choice was mine.

So I fashioned a figure, a large figure in the shape of a hulking brute. I used the clay of the Earth and the dust of the field and I made it. Then I said the prayers. I wrote the word. I wrote the most sacred Name of The Lord upon a small piece of parchment, upon a small portion of lambskin. and I pressed it into the figure's mouth. I fed it to the golem (unformed one). After that I stepped back, waiting for him to quicken....But he did not quicken.......The old rabbi fell silent, his eyes resting on Jonathon.....The 'young'  Spanish vampire cleared his throat and took up the thread.....

No, in a manner of speaking he did not. - Jonathon said. But I did. For at that instant, I stepped out of the shadows, a co-religionist of sorts. And I offered you my assistance........Tears dripped from the rabbi's eyes, as the vampire went on.......The blessed magic did work.- he whispered. You said prayers and God sent me...

Did you help him? - asked Sarah.......Yes, - he said.......Did you kill for him?..... He just nodded......And the three souls in the dim study in the Prague which was not Prague, sat there in silence.........

THE GREAT IMPERIAL CITY OF PRAGUE

The life-eater couple left the warm room with the velvet chairs. They had eaten well. Human fare, mortal human fare. And it still tasted good. Jonathon had not so indulged for almost one thousand years. For Sarah the time was shorter. As they walked through the streets of this Other Worldly city, the buildings took on a rich, golden hue and the rooftops all shone red with natural, baked clay tiles. Fine, black iron lamp posts punctualed the gloaming with nebulous clouds of light. Music flowed out from the dwellings. And ornate broughams pulled by matching white horses progressed along the thoroughfares. Then, bit by bit, their physical bodies began to evaporate, til they were naught but moonbeams dancing in the night. Did this thing scare them? No, it felt quite natural. They were still together. They could still communicate. And if the vehicle for their thoughts was more ephemeral than before, the clarity of the conversation, never the less, improved. They spoke soul to soul and that was very pleasant indeed.

Jonathon said - I know this place. I was here........Where are we? - asked Sarah.......In the great, imperial, Hapsburg City of Prague. - said her companion.......She asked if this was the real Prague, or just a spiritual fabrication.....Jonathon laughed and said - I will find out.....So he called to a passing coachman, who saw nothing strange in responding to a disembodied spirit. And when that spirit inquired as to the provenance of the place, just laughed and said - Does it matter?.....The two ghostly life-eaters realized that it did not. They continued on their way...passed a church with a choir chanting beautiful songs....passed a palace lit for a ball...passed a pair of lovers kissing in the shadows...and a tiny tribe of pigeons nibbling pumpernickle crumbs from the cobbles. The streets grew narrow. The path more twisting. The sights more ancient, in a moldering, charming way. And then Jonathon stopped. For he saw it straight ahead, the dark stone Alt-Neu Schule. The Old-New School, the venerable synagogue of Bohemian Jews, a faithful bastion of belief..

He whispered, or rather his soul did, - It was just a genertation or two before my crossing to the New World, an excursion made from London, a chance to clear my head of all that frou-frou Restoration (or practically Restoration) nonsense. For yappy lap dogs and shoulder length wigs of persian lamb can grow exceedingly tiresome. So I drifted over here and learned important things.

The heavy oak door to this place of prayer cracked open, allowing a thin, trickle of light to flicker out beyond. A man stood in the entrance, an old man with a gray beard. He held a square, glass and copper lantern and wore the black robes (such as a judge might wear) of the Hebrew  clergy, his head covered by a dark, satin prayer cap.....And who is that man? - asked Sarah. Did you learn anything from him?.....Yes, I did. - said Jonathon. That worthy, old rabbi  taught me a lot.......

If you are unaccustomed to these tales, search out histories of the Golem. For we venture into Kabbalistic waters and there are certain things you must know.....Go on. I'll wait. You won't get lost.............

COPS AND VAMPIRES

Evelyn called the cops. That Gladys Kravitz (no relation to me, wilkravitz) skinny, nosy, two pound chicken old bitch called the cops. Luck they came after dinner. Can you imagine if they came during the day!? God only knows. Edith answered the door. There were two of them. Big guys. They like playin' cop. Like being bouncers for the city. That's what they looked like with their tight uniforms and their Popeye arms and all. People round here think they especially enjoy stickin' it to the Chestnut Hill crowd. You know - I make sixty thousand a year. You make ten times that. Now get  down on the ground and give me twenty.

One of them says to Edith - Excuse me ma'am, is the owner of the house home?.....She says - Yes. Then her eyes go all crazy, rollin' around and looking side to side. So the other whats-his-name-pro-wrestler-Jericho-wannabe says -  Is it all right if we speak with him? We'd like to ask him a few questions. But Papa is sharp. He spruces up real fast. Comes walking out of the kitchen, doin' his best 'ain't I a cool dad in a movie?' impersonation. Shakes hands with the 5-OH  dudes. Leads 'em into the 'parlor' (no, for real. the vampires actually call it 'the parlor.'). And five heartbeats later (they got me talkin' like them) everybody's sittin' around chewin' the fat. Do I know where he gets the fake I.D.'s from? No, I do not. But he has 'em. One for him. One for Luna. Some kinda paper identifying Little Annie. I am a personal assistant. Edith is a housekeeper. The Red Paints are down in  the sub-basement rec room watching Mrs. Doubtfire with the elves and cherubs. (for some reason, they get along especially well). And everything's honky-dory.

Edith says she wasn't hurt much. She sticks out her thick 'almost an old lady' pasty, white leg and shows them. Vampire blood infusionns work real fast. So except for two small bruises and one tiny, practically healed scrape, she's good as new. Well, not new, just as good as an almost old, pasty, white fat lady can be. You know what I mean? They laugh and laugh  about the crazy nextdoor shrill bitch who feeds her kid shitty pizza. The whole neighborhood knows that story. The kid has a blog about it. No, really. I've seen it. It's caller 'Hi, My Name is (can't say it for legal reasons) and My Mom Feeds Me Shitty Pizza. If I remember right, she's already got thirtytwo hundred hits.. Jeez, they gonna put her on Hoda and Kathy Lee soon....And now our next guest is...the girl whose mom feeds her shitty pizza...

Well, anyway, the Steve Jerichos stand up and get ready to leave. They buy the story that it was just some kid out to steal the patio furniture for scrap or something. She got knocked over. That's it. No big deal. The fact that Edith spiked their High-C with a teeny bit of vampire blood kept in the kitchen for just that purpose didn't hurt either. Everything worked out. We were lucky. Wanna know how lucky? Mrs. Doubtfire ended while the two crew-cuts were still up there. The cherubs start gettin' restless. They start flying around banging into the sub-basement door They wanna go upstairs and get Elmo or something.. You can't control them. The older Red Paint guy almost peed himself. How you gonna explain away four flyin' babies all dressed up in these real glittery, custom made (blame Luna) 'Dancin' With the Stars' tee shirts? Jeez! But even Edith can be shrewd when she has to be. Clicked on the TV real loud. Said she hadda watch American Idol.  Papa walked the boys in blue over to the door. Makes some joke about - Don't you guys have to be off catchin' hoboes with shotguns or something. And that was it.

So now we got Evelyn to worry about......Papa will take care of her....Such is life in the...(what do we call it?)...oh, yeah, ...in the wonderland.

NOW HERE COMES THE EASY TO FOLLOW, HOW TO SET UP YOUR OWN BLOG AND COMMANDEER ALL MEDIA INFORMATION......
1) establish an email account
2) go to blogger.com. If, for some obscure reason that does not work, go to blogspot.com.
3)  click on 'starting your own blog, or whatever the graphics are calling it these days. you CAN'T MISS IT.
4) fill out the quick, short, easy form. EVERYTHING IS COMPLETELY FREE AND REMAINS FREE ALWAYS. The whole form only contains about five questions. a) your name, address, phone etc. b) name of blog. c) email address...and that's about it.
5) they'll ask you to click onto your choice of background 'wall papers' and colors. Hey, when I did this I was a complete computer beginner and I had no problem at all. It was scary how easy it was to grab hold of a piece of  the worl-wide media.
6) you'll see a 'dashboard' (control panel that is self explanatory. Just single click onto whatever it is you want to do...New Post (write new material) check your 'stats' (statistics on number of viewers you've had), change backgrounds...it's all easy to understand.
7) then you're 'on the air.' that's it.
8) if you can type on a standard word processor style keyboard or typewriter you're all set. there is no limit to the length of your blog posts. the space provided will grow to accomodate the material
9) if you are on blogger.com...and you probably will be...your link will be http://thenameyoupick.blogspot.com/.    Your name will appear where it says thenameyoupick. I just put that there as an example. remember, no spaces.
10) then stick your link up wherever you can...on your twitter profile page...on facebook...anywhere. ...you need publicity...make comments on other people's blogs. when you sign in, your link goes up automatically. People will start to see your link. Tweet about it often, but don't be too obnoxious...like we all sometimes get, or people will call you a spammer. But don't worry about that. Get going and have fun. Post often or readers will lose interest. Pick a specialty for yourself-----reprint travel deals from other sites...critique TV or movies, or restaurants, or fashions, or sports...whatever. Just DON'T PUT THIS OFF. DO IT. Fame (even just the chance for it) is intoxicating. And while it may take anywhere from a couple weeks to a few months to build up a following, stick with it. Big watermelons grow from little seeds. If you know how to post graphics (I'm still learning) so much the better. Now go out there and become a STAR!!!

THE RECKONING OF THE DEAD

Lo, behold. I relate the tale of Jonathon and Sarah. Afloat they were in the Eternal Sky, with no one save each other. Time was not time. And space was not space. Even the 'bottom' sides of clouds gave no clue,  for all were round and rich and full. And the light was not a light, but a radiance, eminating from all points. Their bodies drew it in and gave it off in equal measure.

But then there came a sound, a chord such as a Kashmiri master might have struck upon the royal sitars at the court of a Mogul King. And the universe (or this part of it) was changed. A shadow appeared in the region below our twosome's feet. It spread out, giving birth to a vast plain and the world was real once more. The clouds pulled together and darkened, til a soft rain began to fall.  Fresh growth softened the ground  and people snaked up from the soil, each dressed in a costume from their mortal life.

Sarah and her Andalucian princeling fell down with the droplets, splashing on the surface. They began to walk through this throbbing mass of souls, pushing their way passed knotted throngs of arguing individuals. She wore the clothes of her lifetime. He wore the garments of his, a long, fitted silk tunic, belted at the waist, trim,  riding britches tucked into close-fitting, fine leather boots. A voice began to whisper, a voice only they could hear. And it was the voice of the man with the short white beard.

He said - Witness the Reckoning of the Dead. Each who was wronged confronts the wrong-doer. And most play both roles, for who has not harmed others? ...Why are we not approached? Why are we not approaching others? - asked Jonathon........The voice said - Oh, you will, when your time is  up. But creation still wants you. This is not an end. It is a beginning. And if not of the first act, at least of the second. The same holds true for you too, Sarai (pronouncing the name in the original Hurrian manner.). So watch, observe and tell me what you learn.

They saw fighting and finger pointing and crying and sobbing. They saw denial and excuses and shame and guilt. Some resolved their differences and embraced. They laughed and smiled, walking off toward quieter places. Small children stood watching, wide eyed and fearfull, til claimed by loving relations. Radiant beings progressed through the people, occassionally pausing by hopelessly silent men and women. Angelic hands rested on trembling shoulders. People were lead away.

Where are they going? - asked Jonathon.......To a place of Hard Work. - said the voice. For they have much to do. They have much to make right. And then the plain was empty. All was quiet. But after a heartbeat or two a wind began to blow, scattering  the ashes of  old, forgiven wrongs.

The vampires were instantly transported to a room, a warm place with deep, velvet chairs. They sat before a welcoming hearth. And the man with the short white beard was there. He gave each a cool, silver cup filled with sweet, wine-like nectar. Jonathon hesitated. Sarah did too. The man just smiled and brushed their fears away. You can drink. You can eat. - he said. This is not your world. What you are there does not follow you here. When you were out on the plain, did the sunlight harm you?......Sarah smiled and laughed. And Jonathon saw the truth of it. So they drank and a few heartbeats later, when platters were brought forth , they ate.

What did they learn? Next time we'll find out. But answer me this...What did you learn?.....

BAYLAH WANTS TO TALK

I got the horn tonight. It's me, Baylah. Just got back from the Jersey Shore. Not that cartoon MTV thing. I'm talking about the real deal. Look, I know you know my 'boyfriend' has a nice beach house down there. And I do like to play poker. The restaurants, obviously, hold little charm for me. Oh, sometimes (when my mister) eats, I do take inventory of all the fat asses at the other tables and occassionally pick out 'something' for later. Yes, I stick to the rules. It's always somebody who deserves it. What do you think? But we did see a good Cher impersonator the othe night working one of the lounges. And she did give me the mike, because you know how everyone says I look like Beyonce? Well, the band goes into All the Single Ladies and I belt it out real good. Vampires can do that. We are an extremely talented breed. People were clapping and clapping... But you know what? It's hard at times, because they think we're monsters. I'm not a monster. I have feelings too you know.

Sometimes I walk into maternity hospitals. I go right up to the glass and smile at the new born babies. Nobody stops me. Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know all about that vampire 'stink eye' stuff. And sure, maybe that's it...partially. But what I do, is always carry a couple of nice  gifts, stuffed animals (the good kind), or a short stack of high-priced, hard cover children's story books. If they do ask (and they very rarely do), I'm somebody's aunt. I love watching the little ones. It relaxes me. And I do leave the gifts at the nurses' desk. I suppose somebody gets them. Sure I pick up stuff for the cherubs once in a while. That's fun too. Yet if I walk through one of those indoor shopping galleries they got in some of the big money buildings around here and see some pudgy, little cutie in a stroller, I think--- would my baby have looked like that?.....God only knows. I talk about this with my boyfriend. He says I still must have DNA in the middle of all my cells. The only thing is, I don't know if it's 'live' DNA, or just a preserved record of what was once DNA. Who can tell? Maybe one day that will be enough.

Maybe one day humanity will stop being so judgemental and afraid. Maybe then vampires will finally be accepted. Some of us could work in hospitals, providing drops of blood for  otherwise hopeless cases. Bet the docs will try to find a way to bill for that. Other ones might be humane executioners within the prison system. Some might just be pilates instructors. Who the hell cares? Maybe it'd be a good idea to forget about those humane executioners, because in my ideal future, they're not still executing people. Want to hear something funny? Sometimes I actually wonder if we're ever gonna see a vampire president of the United States. Probably have a werewolf president first (if there were werewolves). People like dogs. Ahhhh, I'm just talkin'.....But I would like to see how flowers look in sunlight though.

Papa says they used to love and revere life-eaters when he was comin' up. So what happened? Why does God keep makin' us? We must be good for something. Maybe I'll kill myself a no good rotten bastard tonight. That ought to make me feel better.........