vampire chronicles | Page 7

.
the gods of most men. Food, drink, and s ecurity in conformity. Cinders."
The boy's face was tense with a mixture of confusion and amazement. "And so you
decided to become a vampire?" he asked. The vampire was silent for a moment.
"Decided. It doesn't seem the right word. Yet I cannot say it was inevitable from the
moment that he stepped into that room. No, indeed, it was not inevitable. Yet I can't say I
decided. Let me say that when he'd finished speaking, no other de cision was possible for
me, and I pursued my course without a backward glance. Except for one."
"Except for one? What?"
"My last sunrise," said the vampire. "That morning, I was not yet a vampire. And I saw
my last sunrise.
"I remember it completely; yet I do not think I remember any other sunrise before it. I
remember the light came first to the tops of the French windows, a paling behind the lace
curtains, and then a gleam growing brighter and brighter in patches among the leaves of
the trees. Finally the sun came through the windows themselves and the lace lay in
shadows on the stone floor, and all over the form of my sister, who was still sleeping,
shadows of lace on the shawl over her shoulders and head. As soon as she was warm, she
pushed the shawl away without awakening, and then the sun shone full on her eyes and
she tightened her eyelids. Then it was gleami ng on the table where she rested her head on
her arms, and gleaming, blazing, in the water in the pitcher. And I could feel it on my
hands on the counterpane and then on my f ace. I lay in the bed thinking about all the
things the vampire had told me, and then it was that I said good-bye to the sunrise and
went out to become a vampire. It was . . . the last sunrise."
The vampire was looking out the window agai n. And when he stopped, the silence was so
sudden the boy seemed to hear it. Then he could hear the noises from the street. The
sound of a truck was deafening. The light cord stirred with the vibration. Then the truck
was gone.
"Do you miss it?" he asked then in a small voice.
"Not really," said the vampir e. "There are so many other th ings. But where were we? You
want to know how it happened, how I became a vampire."
"Yes," said the boy. "How did you change, exactly?"
"I can't tell you exactly," said the vampire. "I can tell you about it, enclose it with words
that will make the value of it to me evident to you. But I can't tell you exactly, any more
than I could tell you exactly what is the expe rience of sex if you have never had it."

The young man seemed struck suddenly with still another question, but before he could
speak the vampire went on. "As I told you, this vampire Lestat, wanted the plantation. A
mundane reason, surely, for granting me a life wh ich will last until the end of the world;
but he was not a very discriminating pers on. He didn't consider the world's small
population of vampires as being a select club, I should say. He had human problems, a
blind father who did not know his son was a vampire and must not find out. Living in
New Orleans had become too difficult for him, considering his needs and the necessity to
care for his father, and he wanted Pointe du Lac.
"We went at once to the plan tation the next evening, ensconced the blind father in the
master bedroom, and I proceeded to make the change. I cannot say that it consisted in any
one step really-though one, of course, was th e step beyond which I could make no return.
But there were several acts involved, and the first was the death of the overseer. Lestat
took him in his sleep. I was to watch and to approve; that is, to w itness the taking of a
human life as proof of my commitment and part of my change. This proved without
doubt the most difficult part for me. I've told you I had no fear regarding my own death,
only a squeamishness about taking my life myself. But I had a most high regard for the
life of others, and a horror of death most rece ntly developed because of