The tale of the body thief - By Anne Rice Page 0,111

took you away from your life, and gave you something monstrous and evil in return. You made me a slayer of my brothers and my sisters. All my sins have their origin in that moment, when you reached for me and lifted me from that bed.”

“No, you can’t blame it all on me. I won’t accept it. Is the father parent to the crimes of his child? All right, so what if it is true. Who is there to keep count? That’s the problem, don’t you see? There is no one.”

“So is it right, therefore, that we kill?”

“I gave you life, Claudia. It wasn’t for all time, no, but it was life, and even our life is better than death.”

“How you lie, Lestat. ‘Even our life,’ you say. The truth is, you think our accursed life is better than life itself. Admit it. Look at you down there in your human body. How you’ve hated it.”

“It’s true. I do admit it. But now, let’s hear you speak from your heart, my little beauty, my little enchantress. Would you really have chosen death in that tiny bed rather than the life I gave you? Come now, tell me. Or is this like a mortal courtroom, where the judge can lie and the lawyers can lie, and only those on the stand must tell the truth?”

So thoughtfully she looked at me, one chubby hand playing with the embroidered hem of her gown. When she lowered her gaze the light shone exquisitely on her cheeks, on her small dark mouth. Ah, such a creation. The vampire doll.

“What did I know of choices?” she said, staring forward, eyes big and glassy and full of light. “I hadn’t reached the age of reason when you did your filthy work, and by the way, Father, I’ve always wanted to know: Did you enjoy letting me suck the blood from your wrist?”

“That doesn’t matter,” I whispered. I looked away from her to the dying waif beneath the blanket. I saw the nurse in a ragged dress, hair pinned to the back of her neck, moving listlessly from bed to bed. “Mortal children are conceived in pleasure,” I said, but I didn’t know anymore if she was listening. I didn’t want to look at her. “I can’t lie. It doesn’t matter if there is a judge or jury. I … ”

“Don’t try to talk. I’ve given you a combination of drugs that will help you. Your fever’s going down already. We’re drying up the congestion in your lungs.”

“Don’t let me die, please don’t. It’s all unfinished and it’s monstrous. I’ll go to hell if there is one, but I don’t think there is. If there is, it’s a hospital like this one, only it’s filled with sick children, dying children. But I think there’s just death.”

“A hospital full, of children?”

“Ah, look at the way she’s smiling at you, the way she puts her hand on your forehead. Women love you, Lestat. She loves you, even in that body, look at her. Such love.”

“Why shouldn’t she care about me? She’s a nurse, isn’t she? And I’m a dying man.”

“And such a beautiful dying man. I should have known you wouldn’t do this switch unless someone offered you a beautiful body. What a vain, superficial being you are! Look at that face. Better looking than your own face.”

“I wouldn’t go that far!”

She gave me the most sly smile, her face glowing in the dim, dreary room.

“Don’t worry, I’m with you. I’ll sit right here with you until you’re better.”

“I’ve seen so many humans die. I’ve caused their deaths. It’s so simple and treacherous, the moment when life goes out of the body. They simply slip away.”

“You’re saying crazy things.”

“No, I’m telling you the truth, and you know it. I can’t say I’ll make amends if I live. I don’t think it’s possible. Yet I’m scared to death of dying. Don’t let go my hand.”

“Lestat, why are we here?”

Louis?

I looked up. He was standing in the door of the crude little hospital, confused, faintly disheveled, the way he’d looked from the night I’d made him, not the wrathful blinded young mortal anymore, but the dark gentleman with the quiet in his eyes, with the infinite patience of a saint in his soul.

“Help me up,” I said, “I have to get her from the little bed.”

He put out his hand, but he was so confused. Didn’t he share in that sin? No, of course not, because he was forever blundering and suffering,