The Complete Vampire Chronicles 12-Book Bundle (The Vampire Chronicles)

by Rice, Anne

  “Of course I had a difficult time copying, and the printing was much neater and squared off when I did it, the way Little Ida had taught me to print, and Pops drew back and was amazed.

  “Then Goblin grabbed my left hand again and guided it as he wrote in his characteristic spidery scrawl, ‘Don’t be afraid of me. I love Quinn.’

  “I became elated with these developments and I remember saying to all assembled that Goblin was the best teacher I had. But nobody was as happy about this as I was, and then Goblin grabbed my hand again, very tight, and scrawled out, nearly breaking the crayon, ‘You don’t believe in me. Quinn believes in me.’

  “It seemed utterly plain to me that Goblin was a separate creature and everybody ought to know it, but no one was ready to say it in words.

  “However, Pops and I went to the cock fights the very next weekend, and as we were driving over to Ruby River City, Pops asked if Goblin was with us in the car. I said Yes, Goblin was cleaving to me, invisible, saving his strength to dance around in the aisle at the cock fights, but not to worry, he was right there.

  “Then when we got there, Pops asked, ‘What’s Goblin up to?’ and I told him Goblin was there ‘in living color,’ by which I meant solid, and that he was running right alongside of me all over the arena to collect the bets that Pops won. Of course we had to pay off a few too that Pops lost.

  “Just in case you’ve never seen a cock fight, let me briefly describe what happens. It’s an air-conditioned building out in the country, with a crude lobby and concession stand in it selling hamburgers, hot dogs and soda. From the lobby you go into an arena that is round except for two entrances, the one through which you came and the one opposite through which the roosters and the handlers come in. In the center of this arena is a big round dirt-floor cage completely protected by chicken wire right up to the ceiling—where the birds fight.

  “Two men enter the ring with their roosters, set them down on the floor and the roosters go at it, by their very nature, and as soon as one is bested the birds are taken out to continue the fight to the death out back. The handlers do everything they can to help their birds. They’ll take them by the throat and suck the blood right out of their mouths to give them a second wind, and I think they blow in their hind ends too.

  “Pops never went out back. It was dirty and dusty back there, which is why most of the people at the cock fights, no matter how well dressed, appear to be covered in dirt. Pops just liked the indoor portion of the battle, and he often stood up and hollered out his bets, and I did the running with the money as I described. There are some women at the cock fights, and lots of children, with a lot of children doing the collecting and the delivering, and it is a kind of American scene which is probably dying out.

  “I personally loved it, and so did Goblin, as I’ve explained. We thought the cocks were gorgeous with their long colorful plumage, and when they leapt in the air to challenge their opponents, rising up some three feet or more, then dropping and rising again, it was a spectacle to behold.

  “Pops knew everybody there. As I’ve said, he was a country man, and as I tell you this story I realize that he was deliberately country, throwing in his lot with the rural community when in fact he had a choice.

  “He’d gotten his law degree from Loyola University in New Orleans, same as his father, Gravier. He could have been a different type of person. He chose to be who he was.

  “He’d bred fighting cocks before I was born, and he told me all about it, how for two years they were fed on the best grain and let to grow their long plumes for the five minutes of glory in the ring. As for domestic poultry, he said they were miserably bred now and miserably treated and knew nothing of the grass or the fresh air. A fighting cock had a life.

  “Well, that was Pops. He could come home from a cock fight, shower down, dress in his dark suit and go in and make sure that the Royal Doulton china had been properly set for dinner on the table, and call in Little Ida or Lolly to make the sterling silver settings more even and uniform all around. He played tapes of harmonica music in his truck and hired classical quartets and trios for the front rooms.

  “He was a man between worlds, and he gave me the best of both of them, but why he hated Patsy when she had gone so totally country I don’t understand. But then my mother did get knocked up at sixteen and refused to divulge the name of the father, if she ever knew it, so maybe that put her in a bad light.

  “Let’s fast-forward now to my tenth year when the best of the home teachers came, a nonpareil—a lovely woman named Lynelle Springer, who played the piano exquisitely and spoke several foreign languages, who ‘adored’ Goblin and often talked to him quite independently of me, even making me a little jealous.

  “Of course I knew it was a game, but Goblin didn’t and he frolicked and did tricks for Lynelle, which I described to her in a whisper. Everything that Lynelle taught me I taught to Goblin, or at least made the motions. And Goblin grew to love Lynelle so much that he jumped up and down when she arrived each evening at the house.

  “Lynelle was tall and slender with long curly brown hair, which she pinned back casually from her face. She wore a perfume named Shalimar and what she called ‘romantic’ dresses with high waists and flowing skirts, suggestive of the time of King Arthur, she explained to me, and she adored the color sky blue. She was thrilled that my ancestor Virginia Lee, for her portrait in the dining room, had chosen a gorgeous dress of sky blue.

  Lynelle wore very high heels—Aunt Queen no doubt approved heartily—and had extremely full breasts and a tiny waist.

  “Lynelle was enchanted by Blackwood Manor. She danced in circles in the big rooms. She explored everything with ebullient interest and was most gracious in her casual meetings with the guests.

  “She pronounced me to be a ‘rare intellect’ at once. I opened my arms to her—and my world, as you can see, was very much influenced and punctuated by embraces and kisses, and Lynelle fell into this style with no inhibition at all.

  “Lynelle bewitched me. I feared to lose her the way I’d deliberately lost all the other teachers, and experienced perhaps the greatest change of heart toward an aspect of my world that I’d ever known.

  “Lynelle talked so fast that Pops and Sweetheart privately grumbled that they couldn’t understand her. And I remember some deadly kibitzing that Aunt Queen was paying Lynelle three times what the other teachers had been paid, all because they had met in an English castle.

  “So what? Lynelle was unique. Lynelle used Goblin’s talents, inviting him to teach me new words and addressing her long cascades of lovely speech to both of us, her two ‘elves.’

  “That Lynelle had six young children, that she had been a French teacher, that she had returned to college to make up a pre-medical degree, that she was a scientific genius of sorts, as well as a sometime concert pianist—all this made Pops and Sweetheart all the more suspicious. But I knew Lynelle was a truly unique individual. I couldn’t have been fooled.

  “Lynelle came five evenings a week for four hours, and within a matter of a month, she conquered everybody on Blackwood Farm with her energy, her charm, her optimism and her effervescence, and she positively altered the course of my life.

  “It was Lynelle who really taught me the basics—phonetic reading of big words and diagramming of sentences so I could grasp the scaffolding of grammar, and the only arithmetic I now confess to know.

  “She took me through enough French to understand many of the subtitled movies we watched together, and she loaded me with history and geography, pretty much designing her fluid and wondrous lectures to me around historical personages, but sometimes romping through whole centuries in terms of what had been accomplished in art and war.

  “ ‘It’s all art and war, Quinn,’ she said to me once as we were sitting cross-legged on the floor up here together, ‘and it’s a shocking fact but most great men were insane.’ She was careful to address Goblin by name also as she explained that Alexander the Great was an egomaniac a
nd Napoleon ‘obsessive compulsive,’ while Henry VIII was a poet, a writer and a despotic fiend.

  “Irrepressibly resourceful, Lynelle came flying in with whole cartons of educational or documentary tapes for us to watch by VHS and also introduced into my head the idea that in the day and age of cable television nobody ought to be uneducated. Even a boy hermit on Blackwood Farm should know everything just from watching TV.

  “ ‘People in trailer parks are getting these channels, Quinn, think of it—think of it, waitresses watching the biography of Beethoven and telephone linemen going home to watch documentaries of World War II.’

  “I wasn’t quite as convinced as she was on these points, but I saw the potential, and when she persuaded Pops to give me a giant-size television I was overjoyed.

  “She insisted on the scientific documentaries which I, in the course of things, would have skipped, and she took me through the magnificent film Immortal Beloved, in which Gary Oldman plays Beethoven to such perfection that every time we watched it I cried. Then there was Amadeus with Tom Hulce as Mozart and F. Murray Abraham as Salieri, a masterpiece of a film that left me breathless, and she reached back into history for Song to Remember with Cornel Wilde as Chopin and Merle Oberon as George Sand, and Tonight We Sing, all about S. Hurok, the great impresario, and there were dozens of other films by which she opened my world.

  “Of course she showed me The Red Shoes, which ignited me with fire to be around people of grace and culture, and then The Tales of Hoffmann, which transformed my dreams. Both of these movies caused real physical pain in me, so vibrant, so lofty, so exalted was their world. Ah, it hurts me now to think about them, to see images in my head from them. It hurts. They were like spells, those two movies.

  “Picture me and Lynelle on the floor in this room with no light except the giant television, and those movies, those enchantments flooding our senses. And Goblin, Goblin staring at the screen, stultified by the patterns he must have been perceiving, Goblin quiet for all his struggle to understand why we were so stricken and so quiet.

  “When I cried in pain, Lynelle said the kindest thing to me:

  “ ‘Don’t you understand, Quinn?’ she said. ‘You live in a gorgeous house and you’re eccentric and gifted like the people in these films. Aunt Queen keeps inviting you to meet her in Europe and you won’t do it. And that’s wrong, Quinn. Don’t make your world small.’

  “In fact, Aunt Queen had never invited me to meet her in Europe, or, to put it more to the point, I had not known that Aunt Queen had invited me! No doubt Pops and Sweetheart knew. But I didn’t confess this.

  “ ‘You have to keep on teaching me, Lynelle,’ I answered. ‘Make me into somebody who can travel with Aunt Queen.’

  “ ‘I’ll do it, Quinn,’ she said. ‘It will be easy.’

  “She almost made me believe it. And on she went, running rampant through archaeology and theories of evolution and dizzying lectures on black holes in space.

  “She taught me to play some simple Chopin and a few exercises by Bach. She took me through the entire history of music, quizzing me until I could identify a period and a style and, even in Mozart’s case, a composer.

  “I was in heaven with Lynelle.

  “She taught me many Latin words to show me that they were roots for English words. She taught me to waltz, to do the two-step and the tango, though the tango made me laugh so hard that I would fall down every time we tried.

  “Lynelle also brought the first computer into my bedroom, along with the first printer, and though this was long before the days of the World Wide Web or the Internet, I learned to write on this computer and managed to become very fast at typing, using the first three fingers of each hand.

  “Goblin was enthralled by the computer.

  “At once he took my left hand and pecked out the words ‘IloveLynelle.’ She was very pleased by this, and then, unable to free my left hand from him, I discovered myself typing all manner of words run together without spaces, and I gave Goblin an elbow in the chest and told him to get away. Of course Lynelle soothed his feelings with some kind words.

  “It would be a long time before Goblin discovered that he could make words appear on the computer without my aid.

  “But let me return to Lynelle. As soon as I could bat out a letter on the computer I wrote to Aunt Queen, who was on a religious pilgrimage of sorts in India, and I told her that Lynelle was a special emissary both from Heaven and from her. Aunt Queen was so pleased to hear from me that we began to exchange letters about twice a month.

  “I had so many adventures with Lynelle.

  “On Saturday, we went into the swamp together in a pirogue with a vow to find Sugar Devil Island, but at the first sight of a deadly snake, Lynelle positively freaked and screamed for us to head back to land. I had a gun and could have shot the snake if it had approached us, which it wasn’t doing, but Lynelle was terrified and I did what she said.

  “Neither of us had worn long sleeves, as Pops had told us to do, and we were covered in mosquito bites. So we never made an excursion like that again. But on cool spring evenings we often sat on one of the rectangular slab tombs in the cemetery and looked into the swamp, until full darkness and mosquitoes drove us inside.

  “Of course we were going to venture out there one of these days and find that damned island, but there were always more pressing things to do.

  “When Lynelle discovered I had never been to a museum in my life, we were off in her roaring Mazda sports car, the radio blaring techno-rock, going over the Lake and into New Orleans to see wonderful paintings at the New Orleans Museum of Art, and then on to the new Aquarium, and on to wander the Art District for galleries, and on to the French Quarter just for fun.

  “Now understand, I knew something of New Orleans. We often drove an hour and half to go to Mass at the gorgeous St. Mary’s Assumption Church on Josephine and Constance Streets, because this had been Sweetheart’s parish and one of the priests stationed there was a cousin of Sweetheart’s, and therefore a cousin of mine.

  “And during the Mardi Gras season we sometimes drove in to watch the night parades from the front porch of Sweetheart’s sister, Aunt Ruthie. And a few times we even visited Aunt Ruthie on Mardi Gras day.

  “But with Lynelle, I really learned the city as we meandered in the Quarter or prowled about in secondhand bookstores on Magazine Street or visited the St. Louis Cathedral to light a candle and say a prayer.

  “During this time Lynelle also educated me for my First Communion and for my Confirmation, and both these ceremonies took place on Holy Saturday night (the eve of Easter) at St. Mary’s Assumption Church. All of Sweetheart’s New Orleans people were there, including some fifty that I really didn’t know. But I was very glad to be connected with the Church in a proper way and went through a mild period of fascination with the Church, watching any videos that pertained to the Vatican or Church history or the Lives of the Saints.

  “It particularly intrigued me that saints had had visions, that some saints saw their guardian angels and even talked to them. I wondered if Goblin, not being an angel, had to be from Hell.

  “Lynelle said no. I never had the courage, or the clear urge, to ask a priest about Goblin. I sensed that Goblin would be condemned as morbid imagination, and at times I thought of Goblin that way myself.

  “Lynelle asked me if Goblin put me up to evil. I said no. ‘Then you don’t have to tell a priest about him,’ she explained. ‘He has no connection with sin. Use your brain and your conscience. A priest is no more likely to understand Goblin than anyone else.’

  “That might sound ambiguous now, but it didn’t then.

  “I think, all in all, the six years I had with Lynelle were some of the happiest in my life.

  “Naturally, I was drawn away from Pops and Sweetheart, but they were proud and relieved to see me learning things and didn’t mind a bit. Besides, I still spent time with Pops, playing the harmonica after lunch and talking about ‘old times,’ though Pops was
hardly an old man. He liked Lynelle.

  “Even Patsy was drawn to Lynelle and joined us for some of our adventures, at which time I had to squeeze into the tiny backseat of the sports car while the two women chatted away up front. My most poignant memory of Patsy’s joining us has to do with Goblin, to whom I talked all the time, and the shock of Lynelle when Patsy cursed at me to stop talking to that disgusting ghost.

  “Lynelle softened and intimidated Patsy, and something else happened which I think I only understand now as I look back on those years. It is simply this: that Lynelle’s respect for me, not only as Goblin’s friend but as little Tarquin Blackwood, had the effect of causing Patsy to respect me and to talk to me more sincerely and often than she had in the past.

  “It was as if my mother never ‘saw’ the person I was until Lynelle really drew her attention to me, and then a vague interest substituted for the condescending and arrogant pity—‘You poor sweet darlin’ ’—that Patsy had felt before.

  “Lynelle was a great watcher also of popular movies, particularly those which were ‘gothic’ or ‘romantic,’ as she called it, and she brought tapes of everything, from Robocop to Ivanhoe, to watch with me in the evenings, and sometimes this brought Patsy into the room. Patsy enjoyed Dark Man and The Crow, and even Jean Cocteau’s Beauty and the Beast.

  “More than once we all watched Coal Miner’s Daughter, all about Loretta Lynn, the wonderful country-western star whom Patsy so admired. And I observed that Lynelle could talk ‘country’ pretty easily with Patsy. It made me jealous. I wanted my romantic and mysterious Lynelle to myself.

  “However, I learned something about Patsy during these years, which I should have foreseen. Patsy felt stupid around Lynelle, and for that reason the connection petered away and at one point threatened to break. Patsy wouldn’t stay around anyone who made her feel stupid, and she didn’t have an open mind with which to learn.

  “This turning away of Patsy didn’t surprise me and didn’t matter to me. (I think it was Ingmar Bergman’s The Seventh Seal that proved the death knell of our little movie-watching triangle.) But something else good happened as regards to Patsy, and that was that Lynelle liked Patsy’s music and asked if we could come in to listen, and then praised Patsy a lot for what she was doing with her one-man band, a ‘friend’ by the name of Seymour, who played harmonica and drums.