for New Orleans at once.
Then I was lying very quietly in the snow. And I thought how lovely was the sky overhead, with the thin white clouds racing across it, and even these dim shadows that surrounded me, these people who whispered to one another so softly and furtively that I couldn’t hear. And Mojo barking, Mojo barking and barking. I tried, but I couldn’t speak, not even to tell him that everything would be fine, just perfectly fine.
A little girl came up. I could make out her long hair, and her little puff sleeves and a bit of ribbon blowing in the wind. She was looking down at me like the others, her face all shadows and the sky behind her gleaming frightfully, dangerously.
“Good Lord, Claudia, the sunlight, get out of it!” I cried.
“Lie still, mister, they’re coming for you.”
“Just lie quiet, buddy.”
Where was she? Where had she gone? I shut my eyes, listening for the click of her heels on the pavement. Was that laughter I heard?
The ambulance. Oxygen mask. Needle. And I understood.
I was going to die in this body, and it would be so simple! Like a billion other mortals, I was going to die. Ah, this was the reason for all of it, the reason the Body Thief had come to me, the Angel of Death to give me the means which I had sought with lies and pride and self-deception. I was going to die.
And I didn’t want to die!
“God, please, not like this, not in this body.” I closed my eyes as I whispered. “Not yet, not now. Oh, please, I don’t want to! I don’t want to die. Don’t let me die.” I was crying, I was broken and terrified and crying. Oh, but it was perfect, wasn’t it? Lord God, had a more perfect pattern ever revealed itself to me—the craven monster who had gone into the Gobi not to seek the fire from heaven but for pride, for pride, for pride.
My eyes were squeezed shut. I could feel the tears running down my face. “Don’t let me die, please, please, don’t let me die. Not now, not like this, not in this body! Help me!”
A small hand touched me, struggling to slip into mine, and then it was done, holding tight to me, tender and warm. Ah, so soft. So very little. And you know whose hand it is, you know, but you’re too scared to open your eyes.
If she’s there, then you are really dying. I can’t open my eyes. I’m afraid, oh, so afraid. Shivering and sobbing, I held her little hand so tight that surely I was crushing it, but I wouldn’t open my eyes.
Louis, she’s here. She’s come for me. Help me, Louis, please. I can’t look at her. I won’t. I can’t get my hand loose from her! And where are you? Asleep in the earth, deep beneath your wild and neglected garden, with the winter sun pouring down on the flowers, asleep until the night comes again.
“Marius, help me. Pandora, wherever you are, help me. Khayman, come and help me. Armand, no hatred between us now. I need you! Jesse, don’t let this happen to me.”
Oh, the low and sorry murmur of a demon’s prayer beneath the wailing of the siren. Don’t open your eyes. Don’t look at her. If you do, it’s finished.
Did you call out for help in the last moments, Claudia? Were you afraid? Did you see the light like the fire of hell filling the air well, or was it the great and beautiful light filling the entire world with love?
We stood in the graveyard together, in the warm fragrant evening, full of distant stars and soft purple light. Yes, all the many colors of darkness. Look at her shining skin, the dark blood bruise of her lips, and deep color of her eyes. She was holding her bouquet of yellow and white chrysanthemums. I shall never forget that fragrance.
“Is my mother buried here?”
“I don’t know, petite chérie. I never even knew her name.” She was all rotted and stinking when I came upon her, the ants were crawling all over her eyes and into her open mouth.
“You should have found out her name. You should have done that for me. I would like to know where she is buried.”
“That was half a century ago, chérie. Hate me for the larger things. Hate me, if you will, because you don’t lie now at her side. Would she keep you warm