vampire chronicles | Page 4

names. But I didn't, couldn't be lieve my brother. Not only did I not believe
he saw visions, I couldn't entertain the noti on for a moment. Now, why? Because he was
my brother. Holy he might be, peculiar most definitely; but Francis of Assisi, no. Not my
brother. No brother of mi ne could be such. That is egotism. Do you see?"
The boy thought about it before he answered and then he nodded and said that yes, he
thought that he did.
"Perhaps he saw the visions ," said the vampire.
"Then you . . . you don't claim to know . . . now . . . whether he did not?"
"No, but I do know that he never wavered in his conviction for a second. That I know
now and knew then the night he left my ro om crazed and grieved. He never wavered for
an instant. And within minutes, he was dead."

"How?" the boy asked.
"He simply w out of the French doors onto the gallery and stood for a moment at the head
of the brick stairs. And then he fell. He wa s dead when I reached the bottom, his neck
broken." The vampire shook his head in cons ternation, but his face was still serene.
"'Did you see him fall?" asked the boy. "Did he lose his footing?"
"No, but two of the servants saw it happen. They said that he had looked up as if he had
just seen something in the air. Then his enti re body moved forward as if being swept by a
wind. One of them said he was about to say so mething when he fell. I thought that he was
about to say something too, but it was at th at moment I turned away from the window.
My back was turned when I heard the noise." He glanced at the tape recorder. "I could
not forgive myself. I felt responsible for his death," he said. "And everyone else seemed
to think I was responsible also."
"But how could they? You said they saw him fall"
"It wasn't a direct accusation. They simply knew that something had passed between us
that was unpleasant. That we had argued minutes before the fall.
"The servants had heard us, my mother had heard us. My mother would not stop asking
me what had happened and why my brother, who was so quiet, had been shouting. Then
my sister joined in, and of c ourse I refused to say. I was so bitterly shocked and miserable
that I had no patience with anyone, only th e vague determination they would not know
about his `visions.' They would not know that he had become, finally, not a saint, but
only a . . fanatic. My sister went to bed rather than face the funeral, and my mother told
everyone in. the parish that something horri ble had happened in my room which I would
not reveal; and even the poli ce questioned me, on the word of my own mother. Finally
the priest came to see me and demanded to know what had gone on. I told no one. It was
only a discussion, I said: I was not on the galler y when he fell, I protested, and they all
stared at me as if rd killed him. And I felt that I'd killed him. I sat in the parlor beside his
coffin for two days thinking, I have killed hi m. I stared at his face until spots appeared
before my eyes and I nearly fainted. The b ack of his skull had been shattered on the
pavement, and his head had the wrong shape on th e pillow. I forced myself to stare at it,
to study it simply because I could hardly e ndure the pain and the smell (r)f decay, and I
was tempted over and over to try to open his eyes. All these were mad thoughts, mad
impulses. The main thought was this: I had laug hed at him; I had not believed him; I had
not been kind to him. He had fallen because of me."
"This really happened, didn't it?" the boy whispered. "You're telling me something .
.that's true."
"Yes," said the vampire, looking at him wit hout surprise. "I want to go on telling you."
But as his eyes passed over the boy and retu rned to the window, he showed only faint
interest in the boy, who seemed engage d in some silent inner struggle.
"But you said you didn't know about the visions , that you,