Serenade

Juin 1999

I almost imagine it now. The rain here is not unlike that of the rain I remember from our childhood. Greedy, slow water running off the leaves and pooling at my feet, smelling of the earth and sky, picking up a lazy rhythm, building momentum. It sighs brushing my cheek as I walk. The only thing different is that the rain falls on fields of sunflowers and lavender, not the bayou and the vast indigo plantation that is Pointe du Lac. The sound is not quite the same, it falls on aired soil and not the rugged, barely tamed land of Louisiana. Paul, of course, is a memory....

Tuscany was a whim of mine. It was not difficult to procure transport from Paris after the Concorde, the modern world humming on timetables and hidden clockwork as if predetermined by an oracle. From there, a ride passing the city, a maze of sparkling lights and glass edifaces, cocooned in this vehicle of pliant leather and shiny metal surfaces, which curve the glare of the streetlights. Driving through a shapeless landscape bathed in blue and silver, we are just another shadow, silent and unobserved. The driver is well paid and does not ask many questions. I asked him to leave me a little way from Fino Casementi so that I may walk through the fields.

Yes, please leave me here. I will be fine, the weather will not bother me... Merci.

He steps out to open my door, then closes it again before driving off into the distance. I watch the black car merge into the darkness through veiled eyes before stepping off the road.

This is a scene that I am not familiar with, but I understand it well - it is not the green, verdant jungles of Rio, of the lush undergrowth of Africa. Neither is it the urban monstrosity of the world that never sleeps - New York or Tokyo - which some of the others favour. Somehow, this is like a homecoming. The simple scent of the footsteps I make in the soil and the bending of flower stems bearing sweet sap that clings to me, cleaving close to my soul. I see the terracotta tiles of the house from my field. Fino Casementi - in Italian, the big house - is Marius's home here. It is a good name, it is as it says and it suits the atmosphere.

I took up the gentle invitation at Saint Elizabeth's, from Pandora. I think she understood what it was like for me being beside Lestat, and not being able to reach him. Wanting to wipe away his pain along with the dust that gathered on his face, for his eyes to open and see me and nothing else that would remind him of what hurt him so much. I wondered if that was too much to hope for. What frightens he the most is that he is living in a nightmare he cannot wake from, that he cannot scream for help or say my name. I would be happy if he cried, because then perhaps I would understand. This silent grief is unread, and leaves a blank in my heart. What to do, what to do...

It had grown dark in the chapel from my arrival at dusk, and the last light had slipped from the glimmering stained glass, which crept through each evening briefly.

Pandora had slipped in from the chaplain's door bringing a single white candle. She had lit the candles around Lestat, on their turned wooden stands, shielding each flame carefully with a cupped hand until it flared into full brightness. Then she knelt beside me, when I sat there beside a statue of Saint Sebastian, feeling the marble flesh under my fingers and watching her movements. I stared at Lestat's figure on the altar, then back at her. One of Pandora's hands rested on her bent knee, fingers trailing downward on the fabric of her dress. It was a blue shift that was cut in a very basic way, but so that it would drape when worn, like the clothes of the Old Testatment. I thought with a pang that she could have been one on the stone saints herself. Pale and luminous, the candlelight making a burning halo of her hair.

"You should rest, Louis" she said simply. If it had been Gabrielle, perhaps it would have been said with more authority, but I felt none. The warmth of her skin beside me made my pulse beat stronger, reminding me that I had again forgotten to feed. Her eyes were lowered, respectful but concerned.

"Do not worry about me. Please."

"Oh, but I do." A little smile. "We all worry about something, and I find that caring for a friend is worth the while." Brief flicker of amusement in her eye, though it was nearly hidden from me.

"You must be extremely hard pressed for time, then".

"Of course." A smile. "It is my prerogative to spend it on you right now," she said.

"How is it so?" I asked teasingly.

"That I think of you as a very dear friend whom I would like to see happy."

I was quiet for a moment, unsure of what to say. Pandora shifted slightly on the step to ease her hand so it barely brushed mine.

"I mean that , Louis." I turned my palms upwards to hold her hand in mine. "Thank you." I whispered.

I looked at Lestat, and thought how this still face looked like that of a stranger. The lips that were so often smiling were drawn taut on his mouth, the brilliance of his blue eyes were closed to the world. It had horrified me when he had lost his left eye, a gaping disfiguration to his constantly animated face. I must have sighed.

"It is always hard this way, but you must realise that he only needs time," she said. She hesitated a little and looked at me as if deciding whether it was right to say what she wanted. "I have had to wait for Marius for what is many lifetimes, but I never doubted that we would be together again. In a way, I am still waiting. He has been mine, yet never mine so completely, after our life in Antioch, and even then I felt he was never free of Akasha and Enkil. I can only hope that now, we have a chance to have our love grow again."

"That is what we must always have, hope." I said.

"It has never been easy. But loving someone is never easy, and our hearts never learn." Her eyes had been closed, but she opened them slowly to look at mine. I thought of how long she had had to bear her vigil, and was humbled. "That is the vestige of what is human in us. The ability to keep loving. And to have hope."

"I believe you."

We sat there, not saying anything but just enjoying the company of each other and having the comfort of our understanding. I marveled that such a short conversation could reveal all this feeling.

There was a deliberate but gentle sound of someone else in the chapel, and she stood up and turned. Marius was standing in the arch, his face soft and suffused with warmth. He was dressed in white tonight, and I thought it was something of what he must have looked like when he had been human. Pandora sent him a quiet word, before turning back to me.

"Marius and I have a house in Tuscany" she said. "It is the old monastery I spoke of once, where I spent my years in between.... it is beautiful during this season, and I think you would like it there. Please, go there as my guest."

Marius walked over to us. "I love Fino Casementi very much as well," he said "It is a place that is always sunshine, even at night. It would be a pleasure if you would go there and tell me if it is still the same."

"Why do you think I should go to Italy?" I asked.

"No reason, except that I think that it will be good for you to take you mind off from things, and you have never been to that part. It is very different from Venice, and I don't think that you would be uncomfortable there. Fino Casementi is one of my favourite houses."

"But I would be imposing on you, and I should be here...."

" I want you to stay there for as long as you wish." He said firmly.

I could not leave, it was a given thought that I was to stay until he woke again, until things -
As if hearing my thoughts, he spoke again. "We will send word for you if anything ....changes. And some of us are always here, Louis. I promise this."

"And Gabrielle comes almost every night." Pandora added.

"We will watch over him. Please trust us."

I was still reluctant to go. What if? So many unformed questions lingered in my mind. But I could do nothing to help Lestat here, and that was part of what angered me the most. That I was powerless to do anything. But then I realised that there were others I also loved, who cared about me enough to show their deepest feelings. I could not cut them off so harshly after their kindness to me.

"Please, go."

I nodded to show my gratitude. It would be impolite to decline such a sincere offer. They treated me as an equal, and as friends. "I will go then, " I said. "I will go." Pandora smiled and kissed me on the cheek.

"Thank you, Pandora." I said, returning the gesture. Marius put an arm around her shoulder and held my arm briefly with his free hand.

"And thank you also, Marius."

"I am glad, Louis." His eyes were shining, and he looked at me for a while, as if studying my face, then let his gaze fall back on Pandora, who did not notice.

"And I, for having such good friends as you".

He smiled, and they left in the wake of the candlelight. I couldn't help feeling that Pandora had been right, and this time they would have each other as they never did before, and I was happy for them. I went back to look at Lestat's face. It was as if he were sleeping. Was he dreaming? I didn't know. His face was blank of expression and closed to me.

Gabrielle returned to the chapel just before dawn. She smelt faintly of the plants and a slight tone of animal musk.

It must have been another journey to the islands. She liked it there, the rawness of the wild places and the primal night that lay there, a mystery. There was a smudge of dirt against one cheek, her hair escaping in little wisps from the plait she always wore it in. Somehow, it made her look both fragile and reflected her inner strength, if that is possible. Gabrielle is a paradox.

"Would you mind if I was alone with Lestat?" she asked me. It was usual that she spoke with only the most essential words, but there was no brusqueness.

I nodded. "I will see you later, Gabrielle."

I think that Armand is very wrong about Gabrielle when he said that she is cold and uncaring. What it is about her, is she is afraid to love. Having been married to an old man in her youth, and then to have so many children lost to her, she has had to bear so much pain. It is almost a wonder that she found the strength to love Lestat, but her bond with him is undeniable. It shows in the small aching smile she gives me, and the concern in her eyes she would like to hide. For too long she has been alone, and it is only now that she dares reach out again, such is her instinct.

"I hope so, Louis."

I do not think I would have left the chapel if it meant leaving Lestat alone. Gabrielle's small request was perhaps what made it possible to go to Tuscany. David had left the name of his travel agents, and it was all arranged in a couple of phone calls, one of which was to confirm the bookings for the next night. The house at Rue Royale I locked up, and I left the keys with Khayman, who promised to look after Mojo. The nights when Mojo is not guarding the gate at Saint Elizabeth's, we keep each other company on walks beside the river, and a beignet at the Café du Monde. He is a nocturnal creature, like I am. I left shortly after the sun descended in the west, the crescent of the city farther away beneath the roaring engines and the white, spreading wings. I try not to think about what I have left behind. The stars blink through the clouds from my small porthole to the night outside.

And so I find, like an answering call from my native New Orleans, a candle is waiting for me in one of the windows at Fino Casementi. The building itself is made of materials from the area, stone and wood that seems to belong, that has been there for as long as memory serves. A figure is running towards me in the half light of my vision, arms open. For a moment, I think it is Paul - the same reverence as an Italian Calvinist, the impulsiveness that lead him into ruin when we were children. His eyes are wide and full of laughter, like the time before we grew apart. I am taken aback for a moment. It is hard to be confronted with old ghosts.

LLouis!.... Henri Dupré has promised to teach us how to make wooden tops this afternoon, and he says I might learn how to use his knife and whittle it myself! Do you think Papa will let us go? Alors, I want to paint mine red, and yours will be blue of course, come! Before Marie finds out that I stole the pralines from the larder....

I blink away the raindrops that cloud my vision, and all the breath is knocked from my body. Would it be everything is reversed again, that this should be possible? But it is not Paul. Daniel runs towards me, and as he comes closer, I flinch. There is so little of the past we have shared, but I cannot bear his disappointment to see me instead of his beloved Armand, whom I am sure is who he is expecting. What do I say to him, and what could he say to me? We are at odds with one another. I stop and suddenly the rain seems to be bearing down much harder than before, I don't know what to think.

"Louis!" he cried. "I was hoping it was you." His face is pressed against mine, although it is chilled from the rain. His arms are around me lightly in greeting, and I return the embrace. He smells of woodsmoke and his light jacket is hardly wet at all.

I am so surprised I murmur - "You were hoping it was me?" I say.

Daniel's violet gaze meets mine, but there is no mockery, he is genuine. "Yes."

"Daniel -"

"I didn't run out because I thought you were Armand." he said quietly, answering my thoughts. " I wanted to talk to you." I was slightly amazed at this, but it made me warm inside.

"Did Marius and Pandora know about this?" I asked as we walked towards the house.

He looked a little puzzled. "I didn't know you were coming until I heard the black car coming with your luggage." he said. "I came here after a visit to Florence... and I wanted to see the Piazza San Marco again, in the Italian summer. Marius had mentioned Fino to me at Night Island, and the house is always kept waiting for visitors, he's hardly there himself so it was nothing to call and ask for a short stay. I'm still not used to flying the great distance to Miami even though I've travelled so much," he said ruefully "There's something to be said for being in a drunken stupor. You just get treated like a suitcase, and there's not much difference. Not worse for wear!" He laughed, and so did I. Sometimes I forget about his little modern sayings, and then I find them charming... worse for wear.

"Too true." I grin.

"I hope your travel agent is better than mine," he said, "I didn't want to take the Lear this time, so I had to find one myself. Her intentions are good enough, but I'm afraid I'm not so predictable. I think I must be a very frustrating customer."

"Everything was much easier than I thought it would be." I said, amicably. I appreciate his token of friendship, and I feel a little easier. My memories belong to my mind alone.

It is almost sunrise here as well, even though I have escaped one by flying to Italy, another is on the horizon. Daniel stifles a yawn then steals a look at me from the corner of his eye.

"It's almost like being chased." Daniel commented, his eye on the streaks of light appearing on the far field. I agree. The sleepiness is starting to take over already, and I consent to having my luggage taken to my rooms. Daniel leads me to a suite, and politely leaves me after showing me where my things are kept.

"Bon nuit."

"Bon nuit, Daniel."

This room must have once been one of the more spacious monks' cells. It is plain and austere, but I like it. The bare stone is an invitation to touch it's hewn surface, and the wooden boards are beautiful in a worn way. It is furnished in a mixture of modern and simple peasant style, with a generous bed and a down cover. The shutters have been closed so that the light is kept out of the room, but I see that they can be opened so that the room extends into the courtyard which is central to the building. Still very Roman, I thought, as Marius would have it. I can smell the sweet scent of roses and thyme from the bowl of water which has been left for me to wash my face. It is cool and welcome, and the towel feels good against my face, the texture making my skin glow. I feel warmer now, slipping out of my wet clothes before falling asleep on the bed. I am conscious only long even to pull the linen over myself and put my head on the pillow. I cannot hear the rain outside anymore, either the house has drowned the noise in its vast space, or it has stopped at last.

And for the first time since I first went to Saint Elizabeth's, my sleep is sound and my rest is undisturbed. No formless thoughts rush through my mind like a midnight train bound for an unknown destination. Ah, Lestat, I am living this dream for you.