Doctor Franklin and Cressida rode through the nighttime city in a chauffeur driven, glossy, black Maybach.... Neither spoke. They just watched the passing scene. Crowds of young folk leaving the open air Labor Day Weekend concert streamed by the windows. Cressida studied the girls. How different they were... How casual... They laughed... They talked... They kissed friends. She never had a life like that. From 'mole girl' to vampire. That's how it was. From one specimen of exotica to another. Vampires are entranced by mortals, especially their contemporaries. They speculate on the mortal life that might have been. It's hard to pull back from that, yet still be very much dependent on it.
Doctor Franklin saw everything. The old reprobate never missed a beat. He said - How are you getting along with Jonathon's 'Sarah?'.... What, can't you tell? - asked Cressida. I'm civil. We talk. We shop. Vampires 'shop.' Doesn't that sound strange? She likes Boyd's. I like South Street. She never talks about her kills. I don't think she even enjoys them. You know what she told me?.... Franklin shook his head.... She said that 'thing' sees herself as Wendy, from Peter Pan. And not just now since that song came out. She's always been like that. First, when she had Philadelphia After Dark, her bookshop and all the 'nuts' came in. Then when she became a vampire, it got worse. Jonathon is Peter Pan to her. It's all good deeds. She has boxes of old, little, glass, perfume sample vials. I mean boxes. There's a store room. Like there must be a Sam's Club for night-folk selling vampire supplies. I mean it. Makes tiny cuts in her fingers and collects a few drops in each one. Fills maybe a dozen every night. Stops them up and gives them out to sick, troubled people all over town. Nurses in neonatology and pediatric wards wait for her.... Do they know what she is? - says Franklin..... Sure they do - says Cressida. I mean they used to watch True Blood. They used to read Twilight. Hoped it was real. Dreamt that it was. And then she comes along. A regular 'Miss Jesus.' You've heard the term. You know what I mean.... He nods... Well, what? I'm supposed to be best friends with her? Look, I don't hate her. Just want to push her in front of a train. That's what I want to do? Can we do that to a vampire? Will it kill them?... He shrugs, then adds - Perhaps she'd morph into sentient peanut butter and then slowly mend back to her usual form, or maybe tapioca pudding?..... They laugh..... Cressida says - And look at you, trim black suit, hair neatly swept back, crisp white shirt, silk tie... You look like a reimagined Bernie Madoff. No Eagles' sweat suits?..... No Eagles' sweat suits - he goes.
The young folk spreading out from the concert on the Parkway (the BENJAMIN Franklin Parkway, I might add) disappeared into bars and clubs, leaving the streets to the usual locals and dog walkers. Our duo in the Maybach sits in silence. Then the former 'Aura' (now Cressida) quietly asks - Where are we going?
To meet some people - He said. Just some interesting people.... Then why are we so dressed up? - she asked.... Well, they're 'dressed up' kind of people. Look, 'Papa's' been neglecting you and Sarah's not exactly your cup of tea and ,no, you can't kill folks every night of the week. You're not a 'noxious' vampire. You're 'noble.' We don't do that. Do you understand?... She shrugged.... Franklin said - How bout a little vodka?... She shrugged again... Franklin passed her his flask. She guzzled it down, turned toward the people on the sidewalk and said - Boy, look at all the delicious 'shitheads.' That's what Little Annie calls them, shitheads, because they're all full a shit..... An unavoidable biological necessity, my dear. Animal life is like that. At least they don't leave it on the street, like the dogs... and then, to himself he added, I was made for this life all along.... He blew her a kiss. She blew one back. The driver chuckled. He was a 'familiar.' He understood these things.
Soon after, the sleek, black car glided to a stop by the entrance to a new, stylish boutique hotel. A liveried someone or other smoothly opened the door. They went inside.
Then the night was as before.. warm, dark and enveloping. Even with the lights of the city there are many places to hide. A suite with high end finishes in a fine hotel can be a very good spot for anonymity. The powerful individuals occupying these accommodations knew that.
They knew many things... and many people too.
Cressida was quite impressed. In fact she practically peed herself, if vampirinas peed like mortals do...
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It is I, Jonathon ben Macabi, also known as Tomas de Macabea. Either one is fundamental and an essential part of my nature. You regulars, my night-friends know that. I'll bet you don't realize how much genuine knowledge of la ciencia vampirismo you've picked up. I speak not of paperback lies sold in drug stores but actual truth. I never fool you, or pander to your more prurient nature. That's why this 'thing' vexes me so.
Franklin has killed. The old reprobate is not without style. But we'll speak of that next time. This concerns a cheap entertainment... a baroque burlesque of la vida vampirido, meant for stenographers, cat ladies and frustrated deletantes. Excuse my ignorance of the French language, as a proud Spaniard (although domiciled in many lands over the years) I see it as a mere echo of our own noble tongue.
The SyFy station is running Interview With The Vampire tonight. I'm watching it now and the woman who writes the books from whence he comes is not without a facile talent. Yet any cretin... even the most noxious vampiric ghoul of Carpathia knows it for what it is... a lavish 'guess'... a 'what if'... based on Byronic lies and too much absinthe.
Lestat is a rat... a loathsome, talking rat. He's a bed bug, feigning intelligence and a twisted spirituality... Jim Morrison as an amoral killer, devoid of purpose and will power. Is that the fabrication you crave? Take it, if you want. Have it. Suck on it like a lolly-pop.... It's not what I 'sell.'
My God! Can you imagine how hard it was for me to share this?... They wanted to seal me in lead... They wanted 'Papa' to banish me... send me to the Corona of the Sun... But I convinced them. I told them you'd never accept it as anything but fiction... Remember the first line? How blatant it was... 'First of all we must agree that what comes next is fiction.' That made it right. And so the tale went out... Indeed, it continues to spin out... spider silk for intelligent flies.
One night, we too will have a cinematic face. One night you will see....
'Lestat'... a candy- dandy meant for yearning children... a 'noxious' vampire with a good tailor....
When I stumble on fiends like him (there are a few) I destroy them... and they laugh and giggle like little girls as they die...
Rant's over. Eat a cookie...
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They're getting ready to go out. Franklin's about to take his first life. All by the book, an evil doer and all that. He brushes his hair, cut short for the occasion and studies his image in the mirror. Jonathon got him a nice suit from Boyd's... light weight... summer wool. Franklin wanted seersucker, but Jonathon told him no one wore that anymore... not in cities anyway... maybe for country or seashore weddings.
Besides, Jonathon's mind was on other things. Odd, Franklin had the look of a well preserved eighty four year old, but to his creator, he seemed like a child....
Jonathon said - Time will pass different for you now. People will flash by like sparklers. Valued friends, and you will have valued mortal friends, will die and fade away. You'll try to remember... Sometimes you'll remember, but no matter what, names will disappear and whole lives will be gone... lost... just dissolved back into the ether. The very style of faces will change. Who looks like George Washington today? Who looks like John Quartermaine?
Who was John Quartermaine? - asked Franklin.
He was a friend. Had a bookshop where The Continental Bar stands today. I used to go in there. This was in the eighteen fifties. Bookshops stayed open later than most establishments. Men worked. Men had responsibilities. Booksellers had to wait for other businesses to close up for the day. Browsers stopped in on their way home from work. The little bell by the door would jingle. Some came by after dinner. He didn't know I was a vampire. Took him about ten years, maybe a little more. He aged. I didn't. We talked. We talked all the time. Sometimes we'd go to the oyster bar out front of Bookbinders. He'd order cold lobster, or a plate of little necks. I'd make do with two or three fingers of gin. Vodka was practically unknown then. An abolitionist he was, a committed abolitionist. Sincere too. He knew I was a 'Hebrew,' as he put it. I think he was a Judophile, if that's a word. A lot of old line Protestants were back then. Viewed us a the fundamentalist's fundamentalist. Not the immigrant types. I'm talking about long established Jewish families. You knew them from Mikveh Israel (old Rite of Spain, Orthodox synagogue)....
But why are you going on like this? - said Franklin. I'm already more than three hundred years old. I've 'lost people' too.
As a 'human' - said Jonathon. This will be different. And it might go on for far longer than three hundred years. Look, all I mean is love them and value them and write everything down. Now you can record it. Now you need never lose them. They'll be locked in time, but they'll still be there.... Do you know what I mean?
Do you miss that Quartermaine gentlemen? - asked Franklin.
Jonathon nodded.
Franklin said - I think I understand.
Then he straightened his suit coat, turned to his vampire progenitor and said - Well, Mister Macabi, shall we go?.....
And they left..... Soon he'd independently take a life for the first time... Soon he'd learn just what being a vampire meant...
Centuries would pass, but he'd still be here...
Could you handle that?
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So Doctor Franklin, the 'midwife' who helped birth America and shaped many of the national institutions we hold dear today, became a life-eater. He's a vampire now. God knows what he'll do to that world. Jonathon sat with him during the shedding of the skin. When it was done, the old reprobate was mesmerized. He could not look away and studied his smooth-skinned naked image in an antique cheval mirror from his residence, deep within the Anti-Enchantment Bureau ... No need for a traditional vampire slumber cabinet. The whole place is underground as it is.... just a huge, sprawling, quasi private, quasi governmental, uber tech complex with ties to kings, princes, presidents and oligarchs the world over. And now he's 'cured.' Now he's essentially immortal.
Franklin says - I haven't had skin like this since Du Barry was a lady. What about my face? Will my bone structure change too?
No - says Jonathon. Every cell in your body is the best it can possibly be... not different, just perfected.
Pity - says the old patriot. I always fancied a jawline. God damned Jefferson... he had the jawline. Isn't it strange how much I still think of them... those others... the 'founding fathers' I mean. Been food for worms all these generations and yet (taps his right temple) they're all still right here.
That's not so strange - says Jonathon. I still obsess over scriptural commentators from before the Norman Conquest. You know that.
Franklin pirouettes, smiles and nods - Oooh look! My hammer toes are all gone. And my pot belly seems a little bit diminished! Don't you think?
It's the increased muscle tone, the improved posture. Your wattle's a bit firmer too - says his vampiric friend.
I know. Noticed that right away - says Franklin. (studies his 'wee wee') Tell, me. I know I should know this, been studying all of you for years, but will I ever pee again? You have to understand. I've been an old man, a scientifically preserved one, but still 'old' for so long and a good pee really means a lot.
Well, all I can say is, every part of your body is in perfect working order. Whether you 'need' a spleen, or a bladder, or an adrenal gland, I don't know. Some vampires report peeing, some do not. I think it's a psychological thing. If you need to pee, you will pee - says Jonathon.
And what about sex? - asked the 'healthy' old man.
Jonathon shrugs - I suppose. We don't reproduce, not that way, but that 'thing' you got is all tuned up now. The 'lecher of Paris' is back, so to speak. I don't think you have any viable sperm. Years and years and years of all those 'harmonic wave' treatments might have stretched your mortal life, but come on... Look, you were eighty four years old when you started. What do you expect? Coitus, yes. Babies, no. And you will never have any new reproductive cells. Those you might have will remain viable for a few days at most. Then, they'll swim within your coin purse for as long as you endure, or until you set them free.
God willing - says the white haired vampire.... and he chuckled....
Get dressed - says Jonathon. It's time to go out. It's time to feed. Don't you feel it? Don't you want it?
Oh, indeed I do, my good 'young' man. Indeed I do - says Franklin. Now go. Go, go, go. Wait in the sitting room. I'll be with you accordingly.... as he runs his fingers through his newly thickened locks.
Jonathon smiles, gets up and exits... as he goes he whispers - dress for success.
But when the door clicks shut, Franklin's whole demeanor changes. His gaze hardens. He runs his tongue along his teeth, then begins to whistle 'The Teddy Bear's Picnic' ( an old night-folk favorite)... When you go out on the street tonight, you're in for a big surprise....
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By this time, Jonathon knows 'Baby Philadelphia' is just an illusion, but he knows not how to escape it, or break the spell. So he and the others toss in a rough bed, praying to wake up. Even Annie, our sly, mischievous little Annie, seeks deliverance.
Their blood is siphoned off. a bit from Jonathon. a bit from Sarah, from Conrad and Annie too. Edith, being mortal remains untapped, though she still suffers too.
The Doctor hovered above the mystery that is death. Franklin knew his time was short and he feared the depths of the eternal colliery. Odd that such an accomplished specimen as he should know such apprehension, but the great ones often do, for they doubt the truth of their greatness and by their doubt bless themselves even more.
Jonathon would do anything to save him. He knew that, or he wanted to know it, but thinkers often think too much and Franklin was deeply mindful of all manner of things. Night-folk can be a haughty breed. Some of the best of them... some of the most noble and reverent and faithful become self-proud with the years and they accumulate a great many of those.
That's why the Doctor did this thing. That's why he tricked them, so that he might study their innermost selves and pick the best one. Though he always knew it would play out like this. Jonathon knew him from the beginning, ever since the young Boston lad first stepped down onto Front street. Well if not from the morn in question, certainly the first night.
So he that is known as Jonathon ben Macabi and just as rightly by Tomas de Macabea... he born to mortal life in Cordoba, of the Caliphate bearing the same name, sublimated down from the great harmonic web created by Doctor Franklin's beloved contraption and embraced the dying old scientist ( or alchemist ), who opened his eyes and smiled. Then there in that large place of science a mystical act of communion happened. Jonathon bit into his own lip and gave drink to the gray skinned old reprobate. None knew yet if one draught might save him, or two draughts or three, or if he should be brought over to join the night-folk in their world.
But they knew he would be saved and all the great philosophers, scientists and scholars of the Anti-Enchantment Bureau stood by in silence as it was brought about.
A great miracle had already happened there. The old patriot, by the grace of his best machine was preserved all these three hundred years and more.
Now a creation of a different sort would save him yet again.
Luna, Franklin's physician assistant, who was herself a vampire, recognized the significance of the event and covered Jonathon with a lab coat, as the others still suspended in the nebulous web awakened from their nap.
While back in the townhouse, a few miles away, the unbelievably ancient vampire known as 'Papa,' whom most thought beyond emotion, wept, as he always did when mortals accepted 'the burden.'
Doctor Franklin's earthly existence went on, though in a new and different way...
Soon Jonathon and the others would return to their home. The commodious, federalist residence would welcome them back. Houses have souls, or something very much like them, too....
But the sensitive among you already knew this...
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The Anti-Enchantment Bureau is a formidable compound... an underground city deep beneath the Philadelphia Navy Yard. They say the passages run for more than 4.6 miles and have quietly been growing since Federalist times. Some say the first incarnation goes back to the cellars under Isaac Toliver's Chandlery established soon after The Founding. Philadelphia was the first city ever established for universal religious liberty. Boston wanted only Puritans. Charleston went after Anglican grandees. Baltimore beckoned Catholics. And although other places loosened up a little later on, Philadelphia took all comers since the beginning... True, there was the shameful anti- Catholic pogrom (well, what else would you call it?) of 1844 and for a time 'country club' style bias was all the rage, but on paper, at least, the dream was the dream..... except where witches were concerned.... Thus the name --- The Anti-Enchantment Bureau. Local burgers met amidst the nautical fittings trading innuendo and hearsay.... One old woman, known for hosting weekly ladies' card parties lived to be one hundred, never losing one child or grandchild to accident or illness. Another man never lost a son in battle and was known to pass urine as strongly in his eighty first year as he had when twenty nine... Cases like those needed watching. Journals were kept. Kegs were emptied. Meat pies downed. A jolly good time was had by all. Were there ever any hangings, or other sorts of public entertainments?... No. You see, they came along too late. The New England witch scare had just ended... No more shattering the neck vertebrae of scrawny old widows, or locking innocent souls in dark, moldy, stone cubicles for life. Can you imagine what that did to the skin?.. No, really, can you picture it? The never ending itching drove some to gleefully smash their noggins against jagged walls till the blood ran down like syrup on pancakes. Oh, how the vermin rejoiced.
But this was Philadelphia, the first planned city since Ancient Rome, or possibly the large municipalities of the Aztecs. Reason ruled here, especially after Ben Franklin came to town. He took over The Anti-Enchantment Bureau and was actually the one who changed it from a 'society' to a 'bureau,' a term preferred by les philosophes de Francais... The randy genius always was something of a Francophile. Then he brought in another Benjamin... Benjamin Rush, a crusading physician and father of small pox inoculation in The United States. Later came Fulton, father of applied steam power. They enlarged and excavated the cellars under Isaac Toliver's Chandlery.... white washed the walls... laid flagstones on the pressed earth floors. The growth never stopped. Learned men from all walks of life were secretly brought into the brotherhood. They experimented with electricity, chemical reactions and harmonics via Doctor Franklin's favorite contraption, the armonica. That's how he's prolonged his life all along. It worked on some of the others too, but none reaped the benefits he did.
And he watched them die off one by one. Now, after almost three hundred and ten years, he was dying too. That's why he fooled the vampires. There was no strange, accidentally discovered intersecting universe. There was no 'Baby Philadelphia,' at least not where the vampires were concerned. He had them all caught and suspended in harmonic webs spun from the incredibly intricate chords and tones of the Grand Armonica, his steampunk, calliope based on a regimented, gradually increasing in diameter series of heavy, perfect crystal discs 'strung' on a long, thick copper alloy, horizontal pole. It filled an entire hall.
The discs, lubricated by black market whale oil supplied by the Yakuza, were spun by hand. What, you didn't think they operated outside Japan? Fine, think that if you want. Who cares? And via an infinite variety of sounds and vibrations he could stimulate every neuron of the human brain... most other mammalian and avian brains too. With careful manipulation gossamer structures began to appear... a web made from music. Jonathon, Sarah and the others hung suspended in it. Sometimes he moved them around, but they never woke up. Were they asleep?... No, but something more or less like it. Think of a permanent dream state and via the resistance of their own cerebral tissue, Doctor Franklin could 'see' what they saw. Thus was 'Baby Philadelphia' born. He studied them. He read their every emotion and thought, for if he decided to make the 'change', the problem of impending death would be moot. But vampirism was a big step and he wanted to be sure.
Soon he'd have to make up his mind. His hands trembled now. One needs a deft touch to play the Grand Armonica and every false moved ripped holes in that carefully constructed world. 'Baby Philadelphia' was beginning to crumble. Little Bastid Annie thought she was growing a parasitic head and Conrad sported a full set of retractable cat claws. Every time she went out in the street Sarah was naked from the waist down. And Jonathon, already possessed of a Spanish accent that peeked through his Philadelphia veneer at times, was beginning to sound like Charo.
Luna, Franklin's already vampire, physician assistant, volunteered to take over the controls, but he wouldn't let her. It was like a personality thing with them. He didn't want to be a Luna style vampire and she knew it. The whole staff knew it too. But due to his condition they indulged him....
So no one said a word, as he messed up 'Baby Philadelphia' more and more. The four bare vampires suspended in the gossamer web began to fidget and mumble.
Luna just bit her lip and made angry faces...
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Before we begin our story, I'd like to draw your attention to all the traffic we've been getting from Canada. So much so that I get paranoid. Blogging for night-folk will do that to you. Is it real? Is it 'bots?'...Is it some kind of spam?...
It looks real. I see hits on particular posted pages. Some bots don't register on any individual page... I'm very thankful for it and I hope it's real... But with all that increased viewership, you'd think comments would go up a bit too?... I don't know. I told 'Papa' about it. He's an uber vampire. He knows everything... But he just sat there staring at a late night rerun of some afternoon talk show. I don't even think it was the talk show. I think he was just staring. He sits there like Abraham Lincoln in his monument. The little ghost boy from the basement makes faces, but Papa doesn't care. The little ghost boy feels bad. I light an aroma candle. Vampires and ghosts and all like aroma candles. When she's here, Edith, the Jersey Pine Barrens witchy-woman (not a born witch) buys them. She gets cases at Walmart. Says housekeepers shouldn't waste money. Like those vampires need to save money. 'Familiars' (human helpers) leave envelopes of cash here every few days. Each one has two 'flats' (wrapped stacks) of hundred dollar bills. That's ten thousand dollars. I put it in a special safe sunk into the cement floor downstairs. Utility bills are automatically paid. Market sends groceries, mostly for me and Edith, when she's here. A man from Kellmer's in the jewelry district comes by to wind the clocks. Cleaning service comes around. Every six months the decorator comes buy to see if any of the furnishings need repair or replacement. They're good antiques, so mostly they repair. They polish and buff the floors... do something to the rugs. I don't even know why they send over the money. The vampires have accounts with all the better stores. I might take a few hundred when I need it. Look, I don't even need medical insurance. When I get sick, one of them (mostly Sarah) gives me a little vial of their blood and I'm well again. ... This is a strange life. I walk down to The South Street Diner and say - Put in on the tab... I buzz my own hair. I must have told you that..
I want them back. I want Jonathon and Sarah and Conrad and Edith and even little Annie. I hope they can come back. Papa's here, but he comes and goes. Plus he's catatonic ninety eight percent of the time... Twenty eight thousand years old. He don't know crap.... Look, I'm gonna go play Yahtzee with the little ghost boy. I have to throw the dice for him, 'cause sometimes he can't move things on his own.
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And in 'Baby Philadelphia' the very fabric of creation continued to unravel. Jonathon heard things... modern sounds... digital devices... medical equipment ... muffled animal noises... electronic hums.... He told Doctor Franklin. The old reprobate just sighed and looked away. ... Conrad said he heard things too. The doctor whispered - What?... Conrad said - I heard Judge Judy coming out the window of a candle shop. There ain't no TVs here, but I heard it. I heard it everywhere!... Judge Judy! Judge Judy! Judge Judy! In a parallel universe?!?! And you, you old son of a bitch, you look like shit. You never look like shit, 'old' but not like that. What's going on?!....
Franklin sank into his chair. How thin he was. Jonathon hadn't realized... Conrad went - What do you want, old man? You want some water? I'll get you water.... But the old man didn't answer. He just began to cry...
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