The Vampire Memoirs

by Mara Mccuniff

He had to come over himself and take the rag from my hand, and help me to my feet. Then he made me take a seat, but I still couldn't look at him.

  "Look at me, Mara," he said.

  "S'prised you want me to," I murmured.

  "Now stop that," he said. "Come, look up now." I did so. I assume he expected to see that face again.

  "Now what…" he began, "What was that, Mara? What is it that I saw?"

  "You saw… you saw me, Nigel."

  "Did I?" he said.

  I nodded. "Edmund was not quite so mad as you thought, was he?" I said.

  "I don't understand you."

  "What 'e was sayin' to you before," I said. " 'Bout my bein' a vampire."

  "Of course, but that was only a… a fantasy of his."

  " 'E was wrong, when 'e said I was going to kill you," I said. "I never meant 'im no harm, Nigel. I loved 'im. I wouldn't think of 'urtin' 'im."

  "You're very upset, Mara," he said. "I can tell you… your speech is changing—"

  "I never meant you no 'arm, Nigel," I said. "I love you, even more than I loved Edmund. I—I wasn't lying, I do want to marry you, more than anything. I can be a good wife, just like all the others. Just let me show you."

  "Well, of course, of course you'll be a good wife," he said. "I don't—Of course you can…"

  "You don't even believe that yerself, Nigel," I said. "I can feel it in ye. You're just as scared as I am. And I don't blame ye. All this is my fault. I been tryin' to hide myself, keep you from knowin' the truth about me. Oh, it's always there, tryin' to force its way out, but—I didn't know how. I didn't know how to tell you without your goin' mad the way Edmund did."

  "I'm—I'm not really sure what this 'truth' is, Mara."

  I sighed. "Ye saw my face, love," I said. "I don't see 'ow you can be confused still. Unless you're so stuck in science an' reason an' all that you can't believe in magic even if it's right in front of yer face!"

  "That wasn't magic, it couldn't have—"

  "I told ye, Edmund was right!" I said, grabbing both his hands. " 'E said I was a vampire, and 'e wasn't mad about it, either! But 'e was wrong, that I would 'urt 'im. Or you. All I want is to be human, Nigel. All I want is to… to walk out in the sun, an'—an' eat real food, not dogs, an' rats, an' whatever I can find! I want to… to hold my hand under a waterfall an' not 'ave the flesh come right off the bones. I want to… I want to age, Nigel! I don't want to be ageless anymore! I envy old people, did you know that? I envy them!"

  "Yes, of course, Mara, you're—you're becoming quite excited," he said.

  "Oh, God, now you think I'm mad."

  "No no, of course not, of course I don't think that—"

  "I know I must sound it," I said, calming myself. "Forgive me, Nigel."

  "Of course."

  "But I know this is all my fault, for not telling you this before, but—it was so hard… I knew you wouldn't believe me, or if you did, you'd be afraid."

  "I'm not afraid."

  "You're terrified, love," I said. "I know. But I don't blame you. All I wanted was to… to show you that even monsters need love, too."

  "But I thought that monsters can't love," he said.

  "Can't they?" I said. "Aren't they the ones who need it the most?"

  No answer.

  "Aye," I said. "Being hated… feared. Not something I much care for, really. All them stories 'bout vampires killing people, makin' them slaves. Now they got that—whatsit, Dracula? Well, I never met no one named Dracula, I tell you that. Don't think I'd want to."

  "I'm sure you wouldn't."

  Then we had the longest silence of all. Neither of us moved from our seats, nor did we even exchange glances. Then finally, Nigel broke the silence.

  "Mara…" he murmured, almost inaudibly.

  "Yes."

  "I know that—well, I know that you've said 'yes' to my… question and all, but—um…"

  I knew what he meant, but let him continue.

  "Well, what I mean is, considering this new situation I'd like to—well, perhaps take some time to… reconsider, our situation. If it's all right with you…"

  I said nothing first, but leaned forward enough to take his hand and bring it up to my lips and kiss it. I held it next to my cheek afterward.

  "I understand," I whispered. "You may certainly reconsider. But of course I may always hope that nothing will change, and we'll be married still. But it must be for the same reasons. I won't let you marry me out of pity, and certainly not out of fear of my 'wrath,' should I be refused. And much as I'm tempted to, I will not beg."

  "That would be beneath you," he said. "That much I know."

  I forced a smile and shut my eyes.

  "However you see it, love," I said. "But I will not beg."

  I didn't beg. And the answer was what I'd expected. No. He gave all sorts of reasons, all of them very sound and logical. Most of them had to do with the social impact of our marriage (or, what would the neighbors think?). I choose not to condemn him to Shallow Persons' Hell for that explanation. Then there was the sheer impracticality of such a union, and the different hours we'd have to keep, blah blah. In other words, he was afraid to. I took his answer best as I could and decided not to blame him, but deep, deep down inside me a knife had been stuck into my soul, and then twisted.

  I thanked him quietly for telling me his answer, and thanked him for all the wonderful times we'd had, and then asked him to leave. Permanently. At first he hesitated as though he wanted to say something, but then made his final good-byes and left my life forever. And as I shut the door, the numbness was returning. The numbness I'd felt when I first saw my home village, in flames, destroyed; the numbness I'd felt when I first learned that Gaar had died; when I learned that Leta's attempt to kill me had failed, and on and on. Nothing but numbness in my life, and I was sick of it.

  Two minutes after shutting the door I threw my coat across the room, raced back up the stairs, burst out of the room, ran out the building, down the steps, down the street, running, running faster and faster until nothing alive could match my speed, and leaped into the air and transformed, and flew off into the night.

  I flew to the moors and landed, and stood in the middle of nowhere and howled. Howled and howled, until I heard other howls join in—wolves—but I did not stop. Soon the wolves themselves came, and they gathered around me in a circle, I in the center, and we howled the entire night through, only stopping because sunrise was near.

  There isn't much else I can say of the rest of my time in England, other than that I never saw Nigel again, nor Edmund, and life continued on as usual: a job here and there, always moving, waiting in line at the slaughter-houses, and coping with the loneliness. Just coping, though. The years crept along interminably, but they finally reached the twentieth century. Alas, I could not say that things picked up immediately. It took the war to do that.

  The first world war, that is. And there was my sign to pack it in and go. I was already tired, very tired, of London, of pretty much the whole world. But I loved London, too, and there were many tears even after I made the decision to leave and find a fresh life. I probably should have left right after breaking up with Nigel, but it took England being buffered about by Europe's squabbling to get my fanny in gear. It has to do with being old and set in my ways, I suppose, but I finally took my cue and made plans to see the Land of Opportunity, or America (whichever came first).

  * * *

  BOOK IV

  Chapter 33

  Getting to the States was an experience in itself. Since I couldn't really afford to use a passenger vessel—and think of the problems that would have caused—it was back to stowing away on cargo ships. I got hold of a good, sturdy wooden box, threw my few things into it, plus myself, and nailed it shut from the inside. All this I did in the cargo area in the middle of the night; my crate looked just like all the others.

  Fortunately for me, it worked; I was loaded on board with all the rest of the crates. I don't remember very much about the
trip itself, as I slept most of the time, but once we reached the shores and began unloading, I was jostled awake innumerable times before I gave up even trying to sleep. I believe my box was put onto a cart of some kind. Later my ride on the cart stopped, and crates on top of mine were being removed. My crate was ignored for a long time, but I could hear people moving about. Suddenly other crates were being piled up on top of mine. Oh, bravo, I thought.

  I could tell by the sounds that it was still daylight, and therefore working hours, and since my crate was being ignored now, I was able to drift off into sleep again.

  When I finally awoke, I was hungry and bruised all over. Careful listening revealed no sounds of labor, so I assumed it was nightfall and past working hours. But the question was, how to get out? I tried pushing the top open, but there were those damned boxes on top of mine. After some consideration I took a deep breath, turned, and slugged the side of the box, thus showering the floor with splinters and wooden shards. Vampires are rather strong, you recall.

  The box started cracking some more as I scrambled out of it. No sooner had I gotten clear of it when the box gave in to the weight on top of it, and the whole stack piled on top came crashing down in a mighty din. I must have jumped thirty feet back from fright. It seemed like an eternity before the horrible tumble ended and the dust finally began to clear.

  Right on cue I heard footsteps fast coming toward me. I didn't see who it was, neither did I want to, for I couldn't afford to be found in this warehouse in the middle of the night with no explanation. Fortunately vampires can be absolutely silent, not to mention practically invisible in bad light. I heard voices converging on the accident site, but by this time I had made it halfway across the warehouse. Finally I reached the main entrance, but the doors were securely locked; only I managed to spy a few open windows some twenty feet or so above. A backward glance revealed no pursuers, so I leapt up without a sound, climbed through, and plopped to the pavement below. Getting back onto my feet, I sniffed about for anything out of the ordinary, and scrambled away in whatever direction my legs would take me.

  I stood on a dock overlooking the harbor and watched the flickering lights of New York. So here I am, I thought. In the very nation that I had smirked at so long ago when it had declared war on the king. Now here I was seeking refuge in it from yet another war. So how do I get to the city? I wondered I can easily fly across, but not with all the junk I'm carrying. Well—maybe I can. I've got the wing-span for it, I hope. I doubt if I'll get tired. Hmmm…

  Taking a deep breath and gripping my sacks between my toes, I leapt up and forward and transformed. My sacks skimmed the water a good distance before I was able to gather enough speed to keep them and myself sufficiently aloft. It was not an easy trip, believe me. I could do no less than full exertion, sometimes more, it seemed, lest I and my precious sacks sink into the waters below. And it was cold—bitter, bitter cold that whipped and stung my face until I thought it was going to crack right off. Meanwhile the island seemed no closer than before, and the pain of overworked muscles threatened to paralyze my efforts. But I shut my eyes and dared not slacken even a bit.

  Here again my so-called tirelessness was taxed to the limit, and by the time I slammed headfirst into the beach, I was ready to lie motionless for a thousand more years, and even that might not have been long enough. I lay flat on my belly, still in bat form yet, and tried to think of nothing, but I could not help babbling to myself. Ahhh, I thought. So this is America… or America's sand. It's very good sand, actually… I may be the first immigrant to taste its sand. I wonder if others would like sand. I could set up a little shop and sell sand… or sandwiches. Ah, what a funny… Errrrrrrg…

  Pulling my face from the sand was no mean feat. It could not have been very late at night, for I could hear a bit of activity in the streets ahead of me. Hmm, no one seemed to be on the beach with me, but in the meantime it might be a good idea to change back from a bat. After transforming, I picked up my sacks, dusted them off, and headed toward the wonderful city.

  Things were the same as when I first entered London. I needed food and light-proof shelter. Some stray animals took care of the food, but where to sleep? I had little enough money as it was, and it wasn't even American, either, but a bank could help with that. That would have to be later, though. Soon after I found my food I figured I might as well settle for some out-of-the-way place rather than go bothering people in the middle of the night. So while I had become used to dwelling in better places over the years, I decided that a night in the sewers wouldn't kill me.

  I had slept in worse places. But I certainly had no intention of staying there permanently. Once sunset arrived I was out on the streets again, looking for potential abodes and places of employment. And maybe it was because I could only deal with people at night, but I had a hell of a time finding even a closet to rent out. Too many landlords were asking for immigration cards, as well, and it wasn't until that time that it dawned on me that, by God, I was an illegal alien! No passports, no cards, no anything. I also couldn't get a decent job without any of those, either.

  I understand now that my solution was rather stupid, but it did get the job done. It was actually very simple. The immigrant registration areas operated pretty well into the night on good days, so it was a simple matter to wait in line in one of those places, and once my turn came, to "charm" the fellow behind the counter and make him give me all the cards and paraphernalia I needed. Once he did, I told him to forget about me, and then I let him go. Life went on normally for him after that. So that was a lame way to handle it; well, I did it and there's little I can do about it now.

  Eventually I was able to find a small flat in Brooklyn. And soon after I was able to find various odd jobs that all added up to give me a modest living. I started contemplating putting my money to work for me around that time, meaning investing it. I had learned a little about how stocks and bonds and investments worked from Nigel, and it seemed a good idea to give it a try. It wasn't very easy finding only night work, after all. So I acquainted myself with a nice broker chap and had him invest what money I had saved up for me.

  Things went rather well that way for a while. The more money I was able to invest, the more I made, until I had almost all of my money in some relatively stable investments. I wasn't out to be rich, after all, just comfortable.

  And then everyone suddenly lost all of their money all at once. Others might have, but I certainly hadn't foreseen the Crash of 1929. And into nothingness went all my investment money. I was so shocked, so much in utter disbelief that nearly all of my money was gone, just like that, that I tore up most of my flat and possessions in mad frustration. I also chopped off a goodly portion of my hair; since then I've worn it short. I had not lost my temper like that in years.

  Actually, the Depression wasn't quite the horrible experience many historians like to make it out to be. Folks seemed to stick together and were more inclined to help those in distress than during these present days. Or at least, it seems that way.

  Like most everyone else, I couldn't find any sort of permanent job during this time nor well beyond, actually. Again, I was stuck in odd night jobs (the best of which was as a telephone operator), doing errands for people, and panhandling. I slept anywhere available, which meant that I could have very few possessions. I did, however, manage to obtain an original lobby card for Dracula which I've kept with me. Not that I actually enjoyed the film very much, but it's just something to have.

  Things didn't really perk up until around the time of World War II. This was when I decided I wanted to be a teacher. I made this decision after talking to an acquaintance who was a teacher and who absolutely loved her job, and her students, and everything about it, except for maybe the pay. It was something I had not yet done, and even though I had never spoken to any large group and was terrified at the thought of it, somehow the job really intrigued me.

  I had to take night classes, of course. This made the process to get a credential much slowe
r than it normally is, as night classes are never as varied or available as normal daytime classes. I also had a frightful time getting through those dreadful history textbooks; I didn't recall the real thing being so boring? But, after many years at community colleges, universities, and wherever else classes were offered, I obtained a teaching credential. In history, of course, but not beyond the high school level, which was fine with me. But I couldn't teach normal high school kids (daytime, remember?). I didn't want to, either. I figured I'd just continue what I'd been doing before, meaning night classes, only facing the class this time, not the teacher.

  By the 1960's I was getting a bit tired of New York. It was just becoming too frantic and hustle-bustle for me. I'm neurotic enough as it is. It was too much to have everyone else around me be neurotic, too. That, and perhaps the preposterous speed with which technology was advancing now was starting to get to me. Television had already reared its electronic head some years before, which I thought was simply incredible at first, even magical, but the magic wore off, especially when what was seen was getting more and more graphic. But television was hardly what made me leave New York for its evil twin, Los Angeles. Again, it was all sorts of things, none of which were any more important than the others. I was rather excited about leaving, actually, for now I could finally experience an honest-to-goodness airplane ride to get there.

  I was very fortunate that it was possible to travel at night, and not in the cargo hold for once. Most of the time I kept to myself and just looked out the window; my seat companion slept most of the time anyway. It was the first time I'd ever had coffee, too, and I've been hooked ever since.

  Chapter 34

  I arrived in Los Angeles and immediately headed for a hotel or motel, set up camp there, slept by day and in the meantime looked for any nighttime teaching job I could find. I had enough money with me at the time to find a small flat in downtown Los Angeles, which in those days was just a tiny, tiny bit safer to live in than it is now.