I didn't push the matter. He was being my friend again, as no other being on earth had ever been, really, and I would do as he wished. You know you are the only one, I said suddenly, my own voice sounding ragged and tired. The only one who will let me be my defeated self without turning away. How so?
Oh. All the others must damn me for my temper, my impetuosity, my will! They enjoy it. But when I show the weakness in myself, they shut me out. I thought then of Louis's rejection, and that I would very soon see him again, and an evil satisfaction rilled me. Ah, he would be so very surprised. Then a little fear came over me. How would I forgive him How would I keep my precious temper from exploding like a great wanton flame
We would make our heroes shallow, he answered, the words very slow and almost sad. We would make them brittle. It is they who must remind us of the true meaning of strength. Is that it? I asked. I turned, and folded my arms on the table, facing him, staring at the finely turned glass of pale yellow wine. Am I truly strong?
Oh, yes, strength you've always had. And that's why they envy you and despise you and become so cross with you. But I needn't tell you these things. Forget about the woman. It would have been wrong, so very wrong.
And what about you, David It wouldn't be wrong with you. I looked up, and to my surprise, I saw his eyes were moist now, and truly reddened, and again came that stiffening of his mouth. What is it, David? I asked.
No, it wouldn't be wrong, he said. I do not think now that it would be wrong at all. You're saying . . . ?
Bring me into it, Lestat, he whispered, and then he pulled back, the proper English gentleman, shocked and disapproving of his own emotions, and he looked out over the milling crowd and towards the distant sea.
You mean this, David You're certain? In truth I didn't want to ask. I didn't want to speak another word. And yet why Why had he come to this decision What had I done to him with this mad escapade I wouldn't be the Vampire Lestat now if it weren't for him. But what a price he must have paid.
I thought of him on the beach in Grenada, and how he had refused the simple act of making love. He was in pain now as he had been then. And it seemed no mystery at all suddenly that he had come to this. I had brought him to it with our little adventure together to defeat the Body Thief.
Come, I said to him. It is time to go now, away from all this and to where we can be alone. I was trembling. How many times had I dreamed of this moment.
And yet it had come so quickly, and there were so many questions I should ask.
A sudden terrible shyness fell over me. I couldn't look at him. I thought of the intimacy we would soon experience, and I couldn't meet his gaze. My God, I was acting the way he had in New Orleans when I'd been in that strapping mortal body and pelting him with my rampant desire.
My heart was hammering with expectation. David, David in my arms. The blood of David passing into me. And mine into David, and then we would stand on the edge of the sea together as dark immortal brothers. I could scarce speak or even think.
I got up without looking at him, and I walked across the porch and down the steps. I knew he was following me. I was like Orpheus. One backward glance and he'd be torn away from me. Perhaps the glaring lights of a passing car would flash on my hair and eyes in such a way that he would suddenly be paralyzed with fear.
I led the way back down the pavement, past the sluggish parade of mortals in their beach finery, past the little sidewalk tables of the cafes. I went directly into the Park Central and through the lobby again with all its sparkling high-toned glamour and up the stairs to my rooms.
I heard him close the door behind me.
I stood at the windows, looking out again at that shining evening sky. My heart, be quiet! Do not hurry it. It is too