They sit in the townhouse kitchen. It's late. It's quiet. Jonathon reads a magazine... SPANISH LIFE... all about resorts and property in the hot coastal regions. Traditional, tile roofed, stucco villas... five bedrooms, five and a half luxury tiled baths, chef's kitchen, built-in wine cooler, stainless steel appliance package, two car garage plus parking for three. Bit of a Mediterranean view from private balcony off master. Close to bars, coffee shops and spending opportunities of all kinds. Marina space available.
Sarah (vampire Jonathon's consort) peeks over his shoulder and says - What do you think?...... He goes - I don't know. I'm guessing I'll have to go up into the hills to get something like I want. You know how it is in Malibu, all crowded on the beach but spread out and roomy when you move back a bit? (scans the glossy pages) God, it's so different. They want four and a half million dollars for these places....
Edith pours tea and says - What did you think? Did you think it would be the same? And where would you walk? There's nowhere to walk around up in the hills. Nowhere but the hills. You like to people watch. Who you gonna watch, rabbits and grouse? I say 'no.'
Sarah adds - Look, you don't have to go right away. Think about it. If you really have to do this, I'll go. You know that.
Do you want to go? - he says..... She doesn't answer.
Edith blurts out - He wants the old days. He wants it to be the way it was. We can get a hypnotist. He must have a 'familiar' who's a hypnotist, or knows a hypnotist. They can regress him. They can take him back to old Al-Andalus all he wants. It's hard to hypnotize vampires. I know that, but we can get a really good hypnotist. Doctor Franklin must know some.
Sarah moves her bar-seat closer to his and hugs him. They're sitting at the granite breakfast bar. Edith whispers - And who would you kill there?..... People, I'd kill people. Why? That wouldn't be a problem - says Jonathon. I only 'cull' twelve a year. I'd have visions. I'd know who to kill. That wouldn't change.... She shrugs.
Does Baylah ever want to go back to Timbuctu? - asks Sarah...... She's only about three hundred years old. Not even that. - says Jonathon. And 'Papa' has his out of body experiences, or whatever it is when he misses his past.
You went back once. I was with you. What was that? - asks Sarah...... I don't know - he says. God, do you know how long it's been since I've read my copy of La Ciencia Vamperismo? I don't even know where it is. I lost track of it.
Yeah, well, I didn't - says Edith. I got it out in The Pines. I got it put away. It's safe. It's OK. I wouldn't let nothing happen. You know that.
I don't know anything anymore. I just want to rest. I just want to sleep - he says.... Sarah helps him and they go up to their chamber. Edith puts the cups in the dishwasher and closes up.... Except for the ticking of the clocks, the townhouse sleeps....
The little ghost boy, who spends most of his time in the rooms down in the basement, comes up to sit in the dark, library and peek out through the draperies. He likes to watch the street. Occasionally, a rare late night pedestrian sees a small, gray face, but this is Old Philadelphia. People see a lot of things.
Jonathon and Sarah get undressed and burrow under the covers. Everything is snug and tight, just the way vampires like it. She clicks on the small flat screen they have mounted on the wall at the foot end of this humidor-walk-in-closet for people... well, exotic people... and watches some station binge blasting The Twilight Zone. Jonathon just lays there..... She says - Jonathon, if we go to Spain, how am I going to watch television?..... But he was already sleeping.
And then he dreamed. Maybe it was something he saw, or experienced once. Vampires experience a lot of things....
There was a rectangular shaft, lined with square, white, porcelain tiles. And it was just large enough to accommodate two bull hippos with perhaps a cubit and a half of empty space around their unyielding, boulder-like bodies. One faced east. The other faced west.... water up to their flanks.....
A skinny, shrieking, babbling man desperately hangs onto iron spikes running in a line from the lip of the shaft, maybe twelve cubits above his highest hand-hold to seven cubits below his twisted, puny, inadequate for gripping toes. Four pike-men wielding elephant spears jab at his head, his ass, his thighs, his groin... wherever they could... forcing him ever downward toward the 'dead-bath.' Drunken, overfed courtiers, each with perhaps two, sticky, clinging, low grade concubines borrowed from the 'cheap' harem with the slightly tattered, stained cushions, yell, gesticulate and for some odd reason make kissy faces and go 'awww,' as the doomed, bare man inches lower and lower.
Then it happens. The pike-man with the big thing growing out of his left nipple hits a tender spot. The doomed, bare man screams, lets go and SMACKS down, stomach side south, right on the wide, expansive, oozing back (did you know they can sweat 'blood?') of the west facing behemoth.... For a few heartbeats he just lays there, like a mouse in a glue trap, tasting what comes out of those pores.... The audience up above gasps. A few of the concubines go 'tee hee hee.'... The pike-men pull back on their weapons.... Bubbles stream out from the lemon sized nostrils of the offended 'river horse.' Then it SLAMS the left side of its body against the tiles. The accidental passenger screams some more, but the beast is so big. What can he grab onto? Then it slams into its neighbor, who slams back. Soon they're at it, rearing and 'mouthing' at each other's giant, hippo butts. Hides rip. Blood flows. Water churns, as the skinny, naked man slides down between the two berserk killers.
Those up above begin to cheer, greasy and hot in the orange torchlight. Someone heaves a squealing concubine over the edge. Two others follow. By the time it was over, they all went in. Look, the 'prince' was gonna redecorate anyway. Shame to waste all those bracelets and anklets. Lucky they were just the cheap stuff... the girls too....
Last Image - What looked like two huge raw livers floating in a gruesome vat of Campbell's Chunky Soup from hell.....
Then the dream was gone.....
And Jonathon wasn't sleeping...
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True, bone chilling cold descends upon the city. Steam rises from manholes and other street level grates. The air feels like shattered glass and I love it. The heart of winter is here. Those about at this hour huddle in coffee shops and all night deli's, reading their fortunes in vapors rising from big bowls of thick, split pea and ham soup, or cut up all beef hot dogs if they like it like that. Some just have coffee, either for economic reasons, or the zen like purity of it. I walk by. If you're sensitive to it, and inside, you might feel the fresh from the dishwasher tableware in the racks vibrate a little. Vampires can cause that.... Have I 'culled' anyone tonight?... No, Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea, hasn't kissed or killed anybody. I just walk and I just think. I hear the oud (medieval large guitar-mandolin combination) music of old Cordoba. How soothing it was. We'd sit in aristocratic halls, either Muslim, or Christian, or Jewish, sipping sweetened wines, precursors to Brandy or Sherry, while Andalician Gypsy girls danced ancient flamencos. How I long for the staccato beats of the fiery castanets. That was my world.... No, you don't realize what I mean. You don't understand how fundamental it is. That was 'my' world.... And it still is. Yes, I have witnessed and absorbed the breath of other lands. I know Britain and Muscovy, Byzantium and The Levant.... I know Philadelphia. For over three hundred and fifty years (before the English, since the Swedes and Dutch) I have been at home here, though I still often dream in various old Iberian dialects, both mortal and life-eater. We had orange groves and between the trees there were rows of aloe plants. Sometimes I'd walk the horses up and down the rows. Sundown was magic. Tiny bells tinkled on the bridle. I felt close to God then. I want to go back. Look, maybe I've always wanted to go back. They say vampires always long for the surroundings of their mortal life. And I think that's true. We hide it. We deny it. We pretend we're changed. We pretend it doesn't matter. But everything matters. It all comes together. We can't help it. That's just the way it is..... Old people remember their childhoods and devoted wives instantly brighten whenever someone calls them by their 'maiden' name. We long for the familiar..... I realized that last night. We were watching Downton Abbey. The show is a drug to me. Ask me why. I can't say. At least I can't put it into words. But the heart of the story gets through to me.... A family... Their land... Their 'seat' (ancestral house)... Their lives... (sighs) Well, I suppose I have put it into words. And I've watched it since the beginning, only now it's the final season. Six years isn't enough for a vampire..... Oh, God! Time is so different for us. I don't think I can make you understand that. A ninety year old, or a centenarian might have the barest inkling.... or parents watching their first little toddler grow up. It all happens so fast... baby clothes barely worn.... infant toys packed away. We want it to last. We want it to mean something... We want to taste it and taste it and taste it and never let go. How can one mortal lifetime be enough? That's the funny part. I long for my own mortal childhood and youth, yet it's such a small part, temporally speaking, of who I am.... though it goes so deep.... (sniff) Have I been mumbling to myself while we've been walking?.... There's a place near here. They have Yemeni coffee. We had Yemeni coffee when I was a boy. I want some.... How fundamentally cold it is. He stops channeling. Billy stops typing...The usual 'ending' stuff appears on the screen. I guess he types that. But I'm just a disembodied spirit who helps narrate this thing.... What the hell do I know? <more next time> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ to see every episode of Vampire Wonderland (rather like a free APP) -click EVERYTHING IS EVERYWHERE ... to join me on Twitter - click coffee and cake ... Please COMMENT. Thank you. And if you like Downton Abbey and want to consider a very worthy and doable show inspired by that one, kindly visit my Twitter page (click coffee and cake, up above) and RETWEET my pinned tweet (the first one). Read all the way through it. Not too long... maybe a good paragraph. I think it makes sense. What do you think? Comments will be published. Thanks.
Jonathon shares scenes only a near immortal vampire might witness~~~
I was once the guest of a certain potentate. He had 'troublesome slaves sealed in plaster blocks... Coffin sized blocks they were. An eight inch 'bed' of moist plaster covered the bottom. Then the naked soul was forced to lay down with a thin, copper straw to hold in their mouth, as wet plaster came down all around them. When it dried, they were encased in a rectangular cube approximately seven and a half feet long and three feet on each side. The straw enabled them to breathe (shallow breaths, due to the unforgiving plaster, to be sure), for it protruded from the smooth, white block.
Victims were kept alive for a while, perhaps a few days at most. You see, the body continued to shed waste. But where could it go? There was minimal space, if any. Plaster bonds with skin. Thus whatever exited the body compressed it even more. Truly fortunate slaves and underlings, and all in that place were underlings, had their copper straw infused with an exotic fixative... some sort of resin. Those favorites died fast.
And the plaster blocks? Ballast for swift dhows plying the East African trade. Sometimes, after years, one would deteriorate and crack open, releasing yellow-brown bones, sticky tissue remnants and a unique, horrific stink.
Intact blocks are still found to this day. Collectors pay dearly for them. A few have been carefully halved, cleaned out and used to make casts of the long gone prisoner.
Come back a bit later, just before we start #SNL4fun . (you can click on it) at 11:30PM Eastern Time and read about 'The River Horse Pool' too.
Maybe if Billy isn't tired, he'll help me post a wee hour episode detailing me.
A Joyous Saturday Evening to all~~~~
the vampire, Jonathon ben Macabi... aka Tomas de Macabea...
<more later>
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Jonathon still had that feeling. The world seemed a bit off balance. Magnetic resonances were out of kilter. Even though he didn't know the technical reasons and terms for all of it, Jonathon still felt it all. Vampires are like that. Witchy-Folk are too. I suppose 'born' witches more than they who merely study, but you can't always bet on that.
He sat out in the postage stamp, backyard townhouses usually have, with Edith (she's the witchy-woman housekeeper). The night was cold and clear... not freezing, but bone chilling just the same. They wore coats, knit caps, mufflers and gloves, the whole bit. Those about on winter nights could do no less. Witchy-folk are mortal and able to contract all manner of illness. Vampires are beyond that, though the physical sensations of dampness and cold bites just the same... They had snuggled under warm stadium blankets too, each on their own high backed, lacquered porch chair.
Edith said - Look at the stars. They seem like cold, silvery things, but many are at least eleven thousand degrees at the surface. I know that from an old set of World Book encyclopedias..... Impressive - said Jonathon. But 'Papa' knows what they're like close up..... For those who don't know, 'Papa' is the twenty eight thousand year old (who looks like a thirty two or thirty three year old Richard Gere) Cro Magnon, shaman vampire responsible for Jonathon's nativity.... That must be positively terrifying. I think if ever saw even the Earth from out in space, I don't mean in a space ship, but floating around the way 'Papa' does, I'd drop dead and die - said Edith..... He's a vampire. He's already dead, or something very much like it - said Jonathon.... Do you think you're dead? - asked Edith.... I don't know - he said. I only know what they tell me. And 'Papa' only knows our own star, the sun. Imagine, he can project himself out there. I'm still not sure if he actually 'goes,' or if it's like what they call remote viewing, or something like that. But think about it. He's seen roiling waves on the surface of the sun rise up ten thousand miles and break, just like monstrous waves upon the sea. He says the light is so bright everything's lost in a white hot, radio active 'hiss.'...... Then how does he see it? - asked the witchy-woman..... I don't know - said Jonathon. I'm thinking he sees it another way, like in the radiation spectrum, if I'm using the right words..... And the light doesn't destroy him? - she asked..... I guess it doesn't. I'm told every vampire is tied to their own star. Maybe if I went to an Earth-like world around another star I'd be immune too? - said Jonathon..... Then he added - Twenty eight thousand years old. Even I can't conceive of it. Maybe that's why? And then I think of even older ones. Remember Mister Old Bones, that Neanderthal vampire and 'Papa's' 'mother,' the Lady Renate? Who knows what's out there?...... I don't want to know - said Edith. My level of hoo-doo is more than enough....
For a while they just sat there, watching the stars. If you stare long enough, you'll begin to see colors. Some stars are blue, or red, or orange, or white. You have to be patient and have a little bit of discernment, but you'll see it.... Edith unscrewed the cup-lid on a classic, plaid Thermos filled with hot plain tea. She was eight feet from the kitchen door, but when they 'sit out' she likes to be prepared. Running inside breaks the spell. She poured herself a little and said - Jonathon, you want some?... Vampires can tolerate thin, mostly clear liquids. He nodded and said - A little, but you take first. I'll have what's left.... Cold doesn't hit him likes it hits her.....
She sipped, as the vampire whispered - That feeling we had? I think something happened. I think a prophet was born..... You mean as a baby? - she said.... Not necessarily. Could be the 'birth' of awareness. Maybe he, or she is just waking up to it..... 'She?' - Edith asked. There can be lady prophets?.... The vampire said - Oh, there have been 'lady' prophets, quite a few of them, even in my thousand year lifetime. Look, I don't know if they're major prophets, but they're getting something. Not just the women, everybody, I mean. We all do, every day, but you know how they think. Only 'crazy people' hear God. What idiots. Look at yourself. Look at the witchy-women. You don't think some of them ever get 'messages?' Even you.
Edith said - I gotta start writing things down....Then she passed him the Thermos and he drank.
But in that instant when their eyes were off the heavens, a blue star passed a red one and for a few heartbeats a purple glow rained down from above.....
<more next time>
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Jonathon woke that evening, went upstairs to attend to his toilet (means wash, groom & dress) and left the townhouse. He had business to attend to. Vampires such as he, they who take vows, 'cull' on a lunar schedule. He was translated on at this time of month and he kills at this time of month. So he walks through the damp to find his victim.... that dry soul sent to him in visions.... A man this one is, mature in years, though not 'old.' I know not his sins, but they are many. People have died by his name. Things were sold that should not have been sold. Even children perished. And his wealth metastasized, spreading to banks and counting houses created to obfuscate such things. Four times each year the man in question flew to where the money was, just to insure its safety. Every solstice and equinox he sped through the stratosphere in a silver blade. 'Private Jets' I believe you call them. He's just returned from one such trip... a Santa Claus in reverse, so to speak.
Jonathon caught him at the theater... not in his seat, but in a stall... a restroom stall. If you know The Forrest Theater on Walnut Street, you know it's a classic... Look-a-likes exist in Boston, New York, Chicago and other places. Dark maroon velvet... gold gilt... the requisite huge fixture over the orchestra... crystal sconces... antiqued mirrored lobby, where they sell the mega-priced orange aid. But the water closets must be downstairs, lest errand flushes ruin the big solo. Divas and divos would not like that at all.
The big man tarried, reading a newspaper (he gets it on line). A twelve year old daughter and her guest were upstairs watching singing ersatz Mormons strut their stuff. A show or two during the holidays is a yearly ritual. But he doesn't care about shows.... Once they blink the lights signaling act-two it's almost silent down there. Some say that's when ghostly encounters occur. The ante-room to the toilets is a special place... old, polished, parquet floors... a huge, palace sized oriental rug... antique (or antique style) settees and love seats... dark, detailed paneled walls.... venerable, framed posters from legendary times.... That's where stars meet the press after a show.
But there were no press conferences that night, just a dried up empty soul sitting on a rather nice crapper scanning his tiny screen.
And then Jonathon approached. He condensed right by the Barrymore settee, the place where John Barrymore would mush up with lesser female members of the cast during rehearsals (dressing rooms were too far away). Then he squared his shoulders and sublimated through the door marked 'Gentlemen.' He walked passed a long row of marble sinks. Except for intermissions and pre or post-performance, lights were low. Jonathon liked that. Ten heartbeats later he stopped before an oak door (floor to ceiling... each stall was completely private), inhaled and vaulted through the carefully waxed barrier.
The man with the dried up soul shrieked, dropping his phone right into the toilet. He yelled - What the hell are you?!.... But Jonathon only grinned..... The meal began to scream. With that Jonathon reached down and squeezed the man's trachea till he could only cough and sputter. Then he kneeled down, and took the life. Quite delicious it was. Sin ads spice.
Jonathon waited till the corpse ignited into the 'cool' (for fire) blue flame and disappeared. Except for singeing, all that burned was the body. On his way out, he stopped at the ticket booth and passed a small jeweler's envelope to the clerk, who said - What's this?... For the manager - whispered Jonathon. He'll know..... Then he left.
Inside was a diamond worth more than enough to pay for any restroom repairs and a note stating that it should only be used for that purpose.
A 'familiar' with a sympathetic face and a gray suit met the daughter and her friend after the show. He said that the father had to leave, then he drove them back to the duplex, penthouse on Rittenhouse Square. It took some fancy footwork on the part of the family's lawyers to have him declared dead, minus a body, but with money and connections almost all things are possible.
The younger wife and daughter didn't mind much, since they were the primary beneficiaries. Besides, now they could import a cooler husband and stepdad. What's bad with that?
For a time, an assistant henchmen continued manufacturing the dangerous products, but a different vow-taking vampire, out of New York, took care of him, which ended it.
Oh, one more thing... Jonathon walked away with the man's fifty eight thousand dollar gold and diamond watch plus forty five hundred dollars in cash. Come on... how do you think vampires get so rich over the centuries?
When he got back to the townhouse a few hours later his wife-consort, Sarah, was already home. She met him in the entrance hall and said - Have a good night?.... He kissed her and said - Yes dear.... Then they went up to their specially sealed sleeping chamber and climbed into bed, watching reruns of a game show called PRESS YOUR LUCK until they fell asleep.
Thus is life among the night-folk....
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Edith came back from the pines. The witchy-woman had two families, her first and the night-folk. She parked the car outside and went into the townhouse. Everything was quiet and dim. On gray drizzly mornings the interior stayed dark a long, long time. But she heard a sound, soft snoring from the little library and carefully opened the door and slipped inside. The shutters were specially made to shut tight, the better to seal in the dark. Vampires need that, especially Jonathon, who often falls asleep in there. Even though she couldn't see him, the pattern on inhalations and exhalations was familiar, so she switched on the little 'China trade' lamp.... The vampire, Jonathon, opened an eye and in a thick, sleepy voice said - Edith, what time did you get back?..... Just now - she said.... What time is it? - He yawned..... Eight thirty. You have the whole day yet. Still dark in the hallway, if you want to run up stairs and tuck yourself in? - she asked..... No - he said. I'll stretch out here. I like it in here..... Are you sure? Are you warm enough?.... I have two afghans. I'll be all right - he said. And stretched out on the sofa under his covers..... But Edith didn't leave. She just stood there..... What is it? - he said..... Oh, you know how it is. I always get this way after Christmas. It's like why does it have to be over? - she said..... I know - he whispered. You know how I get around holidays. Jerusalem Fever is a chronic condition, my dear and we both have it. Was it nice in The Pines?..... It's always nice in The Pines - she said. I take out all her little toys and all her little outfits. She had some storybooks about two little kewpie dolls who escaped from a souvenir cart at the circus. I don't know if she understood all the words, but she loved when we read to her. I'd show her all the pictures. Mister Edith would read to her too. Then I'd tuck her into her little crib and wind up the jewelry box. It was mine when I was a little girl. My father bought it for me in Cape May. She'd hear the tinkling song. A tiny celluloid ballerina danced around - Edith's voice trailed off.... Jonathon knew about her loss. He knew about the little girl, a baby actually, barely ten months old. Sometimes Edith wanted to talk about her. Sometimes she didn't. He understood. So he said nothing and waited for her to continue.....Edith sat down in a chair... I saw her. I saw her little spirit - she said. I blew her a kiss and she waved. You know how babies wave? They raise both arms over their heads and open and close their little hands. She was right there on the braided rug. I moved to get down on the floor and sit next to her, but she disappeared. I could smell her. I could smell her baby smell, but she was gone. Something's going to happen. I just have that feeling. I get real melancholy. You know how I get.... I know - he whispered. I was that way last night too. Started preaching. I don't think I went overboard, but Billy picked up on it. He channeled it and typed it into the blog. It went out. It's published. I got a couple hundred 'hits.' Is that what they call them, 'hits?'..... That's what they call them - she said. Come on. After all this time, you don't think they know about us? They know everything. He blogs about us almost every night. And don't tell me you don't like it.... He nodded.... A few minutes later he fell asleep. Edith quietly got up, turned off the little lamp and carefully went out so as not to let much of the weak gray light in the hall wash in.... Sarah, Jonathon's consort was upstairs in their chamber. She didn't snore, but Edith, as a witchy-woman, knew she was there. Sometimes Conrad turned up, but not that day. So she went into the kitchen, brewed herself a mug of tea and sat down in the den to watch her 'morning shows.' She turned the sound down, but Edith was used to that. Living with nocturnal vampires, you just know.
She still had the feeling something was going to happen. At least she hoped it would.
Jonathon had that feeling too... She drank her tea and he dreamt of Old Cordoba in the rich, orange eleventh century sunshine.....
Thus the day began....
<more next time>
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Jonathon, our vampire hero is back in the townhouse, sitting before the little hearth in his cozy library, lit only by the small, crackling fire and a small, 'China trade' table lamp ----
Readers sometimes ask me what I believe. Oh, I gloss on it all the time, but now I'll give you my 'tenants of the faith' so to speak.
I believe with a most perfect faith that the righteous of all groups will share in The World To Come.... When my time comes and even vampires face physical extinction... When I wait for my turn to climb Jacob's Ladder and face The Divine Presence.... old Mrs. Patel might go before me... Even if I speak up and say - But I have lived a reverent life. I've borne my burdens well (being night-folk and all) . Please let me ascend.... The angel will say - You will get your turn. This is hers.... And when that woman, the owner of a blameless, loving life sees God, she may very well say - Krishna? Is it You?..... And God will embrace her shining soul and say - Yes, It is I... For what would it serve Him to do any less?... I really believe that.... with a 'most perfect faith,' as I was taught to say. For besides all the varieties of Jews, whether Christian, Hasidic, Muslim, Reformed, or Orthodox, we will also meet the followers of Buddah, Hindus and sincere members of other faith families, not to mention souls from other worlds... And they have every right to make the climb. My faith gives me no priority. This might sound strange, coming from a vampire, but to me, it is merely the easiest way to be truly 'human.' ....... You know How bad I get 'Jerusalem Fever,' so please allow me a moment to compose myself....... Faith never dies. My 'translation' to this form changed nothing. I believed in - Love all Humanity ('thy neighbors' translation was an error) as thyself... and I believe in it now.... To judgmental souls who insist on seeing 'strangers and outsiders' we say - Then do even more for them than one of your own, since they expect so very much less..... Charity? There was no such thing as charity, It is Zedakah. It is righteousness. It is sharing. It is natural and right. Souls knew their worth since Sinai and all may join the march.
I'm going to stop now, because I could go on for hours. Just know that at this spiritual time of year, it is incumbent on all to 'go and do good things.'..... And as they say in The Rocky Horror Show - Don't just dream it. Be it.
Well, that's how it is, or at least that's how I see it. If you follow a different path, but walk in a reverent and sincere manner, your journey is just as worthy as mine or anyone else's.
If you're familiar with the early part of my tale, you know that I, while still mortal, was almost killed with the Martyrs of Provencal during the First Crusade. They herded us into a synagogue, four hundred years old even then, and set it ablaze. Hundreds died. Had not a vampire walked the smoldering ruins, later that night and found me clinging to life, I would not be among you know.... But I am... And I have tried to do the best I can.
May this Season of Miracles be real for you... all of you.....
Who am I to tell you such things?..... I am Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. I am night-folk. I am vampire. And I believe with a most perfect faith.
What more can I say?
(He turns off the lamp and sits there staring at the fire)
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