by P. L. Kurup
“No more than the average man.”
“Don’t worry about your shoes. My servants will clean them. Let me show you my home.”
She and Samuel wandered into a house covered with paintings of landscapes, dogs, and horses. Themes that made him take a second look. He heard Isabella’s heart pound as they drifted passed the picture of a handsome young man in a posh suit. She tripped over her feet, when Samuel caught her and held her steady.
“I don’t know what happened,” she said, catching her breath.
“Grieving for your brother is nothing to be ashamed of,” he responded.
“How did you…?”
“The gentleman in the portrait has your eyes, hair colour, and chin. The fact that you carry his clothes around when you travel is….”
“Bizarre,” she interrupted.
“A sign that you are human.”
She looked up him with watery eyes, and he moved to kiss her, when someone twittered, “Shall I show him to his room, Mistress?”
Samuel turned to a tall, rail-thin man with skin colour almost as ashen as his was. Only the sporadic heaving of his chest confirmed to Samuel this was no vampire.
“Yes, please do. Make sure he is well taken care of,” Isabella ordered.
Samuel followed the servant up a twisting staircase and told the man, “I don’t require a room. I don’t plan on staying long.”
“You need somewhere to rest before you meet Miss Isabella’s friends this evening,” the servant replied.
They approached one of the bedrooms, and the servant stepped back, allowing Samuel to go in.
“Dinner is at seven pm sharp,” the servant said before leaving.
Samuel found his new room was of modest size with the usual bed, table, and wash basin. He didn’t bother looking in the mirror, knowing the outcome. It occurred to him he hadn’t seen what he looked like in months.
He puffed out his cheeks and groaned, “Miss Isabella’s friends.”
xxx
At sundown, he opened the door to a sultry Isabella adorned in pink. Her raven hair was pulled back from her face while a sapphire necklace embellished her slender neck.
“You look stunning,” he complimented.
“Here are your shoes,” she said, handing back his boots, which were now sparkling clean. “The guests are waiting for you to come down. So don’t be late.”
As Isabella walked off, Samuel slipped his feet into the boots, straightened his clothes, and stepped on to the landing. Hearing her guests mingling in the living room, turned his expression sour.
Samuel took the stairs one step at a time, and reached the blue-walled living room where two men and two women lounged on chairs. The stouter gentleman glaring at Samuel from across the room. Samuel approached Isabella and her female friends, whose faces flushed at the sight of him.
“Let me introduce you to everyone,” began Isabella. “The red-haired girl is Hannah, the brown-haired girl, Martina. The short man sitting on the chair is Sanchez, and the plump one is…”
“Raul.” The guests frowned at Samuel’s answer. “It’s a pleasure to meet you all.”
“You speak Spanish too? Wherever did you find such a man?” enquired Hannah.
“He simply appeared out of thin air,” joked Isabella.
“If you ever get tired of him, be sure to let me know,” Hannah said.
Samuel read her mind and flinched at her thoughts.
One of the women played the pianoforte, and Samuel offered Isabella his hand. She took it, and they waltzed round the room while the others observed. The couple flaunted an eerie chemistry that made it seem like they belonged with each other, but all he saw was Alexandra staring back. As the dance progressed, he waltzed with Alexandra in the hall of mirrors, feeling her wedding dress brush against his skin. There was no one in the hall besides them, and her company made his damaged heart soar.
“I love you, Alexandra,” he declared.
“That’s the second time you’ve called me that,” Isabella said, stopping the waltz.
Samuel looked again, and noticed Isabella watching him with a furrowed brow as the others stared in silence.
“I’m sorry, but I, I have to leave,” he stuttered.
Samuel hurried through the room in a panic. Just before he left the house, he turned back to see Isabella was no longer with her friends.
He ran through the grounds and ended up on a street crammed with people enjoying a night out. Experiencing the happiness of those around him filled him with envy, and he wanted to be free from its curse. He stopped by an open-air stage where a production of ‘Romeo and Juliet’ was being performed, and caught the eye of the young actress playing Juliet. The image of an elderly lady reflected in the girl’s irises made him lash round. At first all he saw was the hurly-burly of revellers, but his eyes narrowed when he spotted the mysterious woman waiting idly on a corner.
He stormed up to her and noticed that she had wrinkles on her face, and straw-like grey hair that came down to her elbows. Her dark red dress was frayed at the bottom, and she wore heavy earrings that warped the shape of her earlobes. The most striking fact about her was that the lenses of her eyes were clouded, meaning she was blind.
“Who are you?” he asked her.
“Just an old woman,” she replied. “You are far from home, young man. But I suppose the slaying of your wife forced you to leave.”
Samuel drew back, when she grabbed his right hand and covered his palm with hers. “I see an enemy who evades you.” Samuel pulled back his hand, but she resisted letting go. “It appears you will live for countless years. See mankind’s progress for centuries to come. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were an immortal.” Samuel tugged his hand free and dashed from the lady. The last thing he heard her say was, “Be wary of the woman spewing kindness.”
He pushed through the crowds with her words ringing in his ears. The relentless commotion proved too much, so he darted into a deserted alley. Gazing at his youthful hands, he strained to believe that they would stay like that forever. The prediction was identical to what Lucas told him on the rooftops.
“They’re lying!” he shouted. “There’s no such thing as immortality.”
He waded through the refuse scattered in the alley, and picked up a broken glass fragment. Holding out his arm, he dragged the shattered piece across his skin and watched blood ooze from the cut. He grinned at the grisly sight, but the next second, the flow halted and the lesion stitched up without a trace.
“No, this is a dream. It isn’t real!”
He spied the window opposite, and while the brick wall was reflected in the glass, he saw nothing of himself.
Samuel burst out of the alley, and collided with a young woman walking down the street.
“Watch where you’re going,” she screeched.
He ignored her outburst and ambled along, knowing he would outlive every person there, from the angst-ridden youths poking fun at passersby to the crying infant being comforted by his mother.
“What have you done to me, Lucas?” he mumbled, lowering his iridescent eyes.
Chapter 12
Samuel explored the city for months, becoming familiar with the buildings, people and monuments occupying it. He didn’t bump into the old gypsy woman, Isabella, or any of her friends, but he thought about them every now and again. He often longed for company and conversation, but he chased it from his mind because being his friend could be lethal. He didn’t bother getting a job or staying in one place too long, ensuring he never developed a taste for anyone. At night, he found shelter in either an abandoned shed at the city’s edge, or under a bridge. His meals comprised a diet of voles, mice, squirrels and cats – nourishment he tolerated rather than enjoyed. It was a harsh life, and he realised that Madrid, although vibrant and exciting, was another place his kind couldn’t fit in.
xxx
One Thursday morning, on what would’ve been Alexandra’s twentieth birthday, Samuel felt the pain of her
absence more greatly than at any other time. He missed the talks they had at the chateau, and longed to feel the warmth of her skin and hear her voice. It was so severe that he abandoned his vow never to return to the eastern part of the city where Isabella was, and made his way there. Though he had only seen the district once, he found it again with no difficulty. As before, the streets brimmed with horse carts and people rushing to and fro. The daily hubbub of merchants selling their goods was another familiar sight.
He paused at the outdoor theatre where the actress Daniella was due to perform. A bright red curtain draped in front of the stage, preventing him or anyone else from peeking at the platform. Samuel stayed a foot away from the theatre, and he didn’t budge from that spot for hours.
As morning made way for afternoon, a relentless sun scorched the city and its residents. Samuel’s vampiric form stopped him from getting burnt, and as before, he was only a little weakened by the sun’s rays.
“Senor, the play won’t start for another two hours. Maybe you would like to come back later?” suggested a stagehand.
“I don’t mind waiting,” Samuel replied.
“This part of the theatre is out of bounds for patrons. So if you don’t leave right away, I shall have to ask my friends to remove you,” the stagehand went on.
Samuel glared at the upstart so forcefully that the man couldn’t blink or draw breath. The victim’s heartbeat slowed to a flutter, his skin turned clammy and cold, and unless things changed he would be dead in a minute.
“I want you to go backstage and tend to your work,” Samuel instructed him.
The stagehand took in a colossal breath and replied, “I will do that, senor. You’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
Waddling from side to side but no longer dying, the employee trundled backstage like he was asked to, showing no signs of dissent. Samuel’s skin tingled at what he’d done. The way he coerced a strong-willed fellow into doing what he wanted through nothing more than a stare seemed remarkable.
xxx
By evening, Samuel was joined by dozens of spectators, all eager to see the play. The air was warm and humid, and the people around him wiped the sweat from their brows and chins. Only he displayed the same chalky exterior he always did. The crowds swelled to a hundred, and Samuel was squashed between them – the best and worst place for a vampire to be.
The curtains parted and rapturous applause greeted the blonde-haired beauty, Daniella, and her fellow actors. It brought a smile to his lips for the first time in months. Daniella’s eyes met his twice, which thrilled him even more. His gaze never left her, and the highpoint came when she grinned at him near the end.
When the play finished, Samuel edged between the crowds, and arrived at the narrow lane leading backstage. He patted down his unkempt hair, dusted off his suit, and ventured down the lane. Doing this, he ignored a cardinal rule - that unions between mortals and vampires were destined for disaster. He arrived at a compound filled with bundled costumes and theatre props. An assortment of people hurried about and had no time to notice him. It gave him the opportunity to walk to a solitary beige caravan where the actress’s aroma was unmistakable.
Peering through the window, he saw Daniella take off her bangles and drop them into a wooden box. He was on the verge of calling out her name, when a young man walked over and kissed her on the neck.
“Where have you been? I have been waiting for you for hours,” Daniella said, liking the man’s caress.
“I’m sorry, but my patients needed to be seen,” he replied.
“You’re too self-scarifying, my love.”
Samuel delved into her thoughts and discovered that the man at her side was her husband of two years, and that she was besotted by him.
“I saw that stalker again,” she said.
“The tall, scruffy, handsome one?” her husband posed.
“The very same. I hate the way he stares at me with those piercing, blue eyes of his. It makes me feel violated.”
“As long as I’m here, no one will harm you,” her husband promised.
They enjoyed a torrid kiss, and Samuel pouted knowing how stupid he’d been.
Someone rammed him against a brick wall. As he righted himself, a huge gash appeared on his forehead. He whipped round to find ten stage workers standing before him in a semicircle. All looked menacing and in no mood for a compromise. The cut on his brow sealed with its usual swiftness, causing many to step back.
“I don’t mean you gentleman any harm,” Samuel said.
“You’re not welcome here. It’s best if you leave,” warned one of the men.
Samuel was about to do so when their leader, a burly chap with greasy hair, took a swing at him. Samuel grabbed the man’s fist and squeezed his fingers.
“Please let me go, senor. I can’t stand the pain,” begged the leader.
“As you wish.”
He let go of the leader’s hand and the thug fell to his knees, clutching his damaged hand. His nine accomplices parted and allowed Samuel to leave.
As he returned to the busy street, he recalled Daniella’s gestures from the first day. It was obvious now that whenever she looked at him, she did so with terror, and that every smile she gave him was a grimace. He rushed through the city, his head giddy with embarrassment. Water from the Cibeles fountain splashed all over him, infuriating him further. He kicked the fountain’s marble exterior, chipping some of the artwork, then stared at its turbulent waters, coveting his reflection. Samuel studied his hands for the first time in months and noticed that they were caked in grime. His once pristine suit was torn here and there, and he assumed that the rest of him must be equally disheveled.
Footsteps trailed his way from a distance. The closer they got to him, the more familiar they seemed. The thud stopped a half a metre away and he smirked in recognition.
“How are you, Samuel?” a lady asked.
He turned and saw the slender figure of Isabella Diaz standing before him.
“I’m well, Isabella. You look elegant as always,” he remarked, gulping at how he abandoned her.
“I can tell you have been sleeping on the street. Since I can’t bear to see anyone suffer, I have to insist that you stay with me until you’re better. I won’t take no for an answer.”
Isabella marched off. Samuel paused before jogging after her.
The couple strolled through nighttime streets, and she stayed silent the whole time. Samuel kept looking ahead, too shy to start a dialogue. When they arrived at her extravagant home, there were no servants to greet them.
“I gave the servants a weeks’ leave because they were exhausted. I don’t plan on having any guests, so no one will enter this house until they return.”
“I can sleep in the living room,” he said quickly.
“There are twelve rooms in this house. You can sleep in the room you stayed in the first day. Would you like anything to eat or drink?” Samuel shook his head. “Then I wish you good night.”
She looked at him longer than she needed to and marched upstairs. Samuel sat on the plush grey sofa and wriggled at the multitude of eyes staring down on him from the paintings. Weariness forced him upstairs to his former chamber, where he dove into the divine comfort of a bed, and fell asleep at once.
xxx
He woke at dawn with his usual hunger and put his ear to the wall.
“Isabella,” he said, hearing her breathe.
Tearing himself away from the partition, he ran downstairs and opened the front door. Fortunately for Isabella, he was confronted by a swarm of birds roaming the courtyard. He dove into the flock, picking off half a dozen creatures before his appetite waned. The courtyard was a mess of feathers and dead fowl, and he disposed the carcasses behind a brick wall. While he ditched the last of the creatures, he was sidetracked by Isabella’s curtain flickering. His head jerked upwards, his inquisitive eyes fixing on the drapes. He watched the curtains for several minutes, but they never moved again. Even so, he couldn’t be su
re that she didn’t see him feed.
Samuel trudged back into the house and arrived at her room. He lifted his hand to knock, when she opened the door, looking sprightly and jovial.
“I have prepared a bath for you in your room. Later, I’ll buy you some new clothes,” she said.
“This will do,” he insisted.
“Clean clothes are the first steps to well-being. I won’t have you walking around like a pauper.”
“A needle and thread is all it needs. I don’t want you to spend any more money on me. You do too much already.”
“You are persistent, senor. A needle and thread it is.”
Isabella turned her back, and he took off his clothes and handed them to her one by one. She walked down the landing, and he expected her to take a peek at him before she went downstairs, but she never did.
Samuel strolled into his room and saw an alabaster bath brimming with water. He slid into the tub and used the homemade soap she provided to scrub the filth from his body, transforming the water into a grubby brown. Stepping from the bath, he tore down a curtain hanging from the window and wrapped it around himself.
He then wandered to the living room and sat next to Isabella as she darned his clothes. He watched her patch up the first of many holes in his suit, staggered by her talent. Since she hadn’t noticed him, he took the opportunity to study the contours of her face and the subtle curls in her hair. You are exquisite, my dear!
She looked up and screamed on seeing his anemic form seated next to her.
“I didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, holding back a grin.
She frowned at his outfit, then returned to her sewing.
“I take it the bath was satisfactory?” she enquired.
“Very. I thought you’d wash the dirt off the clothes before you stitched them,” he commented.
“If I did that, it may trigger more tears…”
