Jacob, p.5
Jacob, page 5
He put a finger across my lips to keep me from protesting. “Please, Jacob. Let me finish.”
I bowed my head in submission. One of the lessons Monsieur had been trying so hard to teach me was that of thought before speaking. Too often, he said, we open our mouths and release the words that are floating at the very surface of our feelings. We would be better served to hold our tongues and consider our words before we released them. We might then make wiser choices. His point was that we must never speak from our emotions, because such outbursts were never rational and rarely wise to speak aloud. This was one of those moments—my protests would have been from my heart, not my brain, even though my brain had already reached the same inevitable conclusion. But I felt I had to protest anyway—because I feared the words that would certainly follow. Monsieur speaking them aloud would give finality to the decision. I wasn’t prepared for that. Not yet.
Monsieur waited until I regained some small composure. “Jacob, do not pretend with me. You understand as well as I. We cannot be together anymore. I must send you away from here—before we destroy each other.
“Stop now. Stop and listen. Please, Jacob. I need you to understand something. All this time, all these years—these three short years, watching you grow toward manhood, watching you discover the vast horizons of the world around you, it was a revelation to me. It was something I never expected to have, because of my condition—the opportunity to nurture a child and see him become a worthwhile adult. Do you think I am without feelings? Do you think I want to send you away?”
I didn’t answer. I couldn’t. He spoke the truth. I hadn’t thought about his feelings at all, only my own.
“Remember how I caught you? Did you ever think how easy it was for me? You thought you were stalking me? On the contrary. I saw you studying me even before you knew what you intended. I watched you with some amusement. Your oh so casual approach, your studied nonchalance. You were a terrible thief, Jacob. It’s a good thing you did not pursue that career or you would have spent much of the last three years behind bars.”
I started to protest. “That’s not true. I was—”
“—clumsy. And slow. Inept.” Monsieur finished the sentence for me, leaving no room for argument. He stared into my face. “I saved your life. That wasn’t my immediate intention, but I admit that I was charmed by your ambition—and yes, amused by you as well. I watched you follow me from a distance and I wondered if that single-minded determination might be put to some practical use? I suspected you might have a heart of some value. Yes, Jacob, you were an experiment—at first. I was curious what you might become if you were nurtured. Later—I realized you were something more. Much more. My mistake. Had I realized the journey we would find ourselves embarked upon, had I realized the inevitability of this moment, my rational self would have—would have taken the easier course.”
He fell silent a moment, looked away, looked back. “There were opportunities along the way. Many. And I will admit, there were moments when I argued with myself—what am I doing? Why am I letting myself care? My companions in The Community—they made eloquent arguments against you, that you represented an unprecedented danger to myself, first one kind of danger, then another. Not just betrayal, but worse.
“I didn’t listen. I thought I knew better. And I believed that if you ever betrayed my trust, I would be able to deal with that situation swiftly and dispassionately. You would have simply disappeared. This is Seattle. No one wonders, no one worries if a street boy vanishes. It happens every day. But—
His expression softened as he remembered. “But you never gave me cause. You surprised me, Jacob. More than that. You have shown yourself to be a rare and precious delicacy. I am as proud of you as if I had given birth to you myself.
“You will recall that last month I had my attorney visit. You were not party to that meeting, but I gave him very specific instructions for your future. One of the things I instructed him to do was redraw my will. No, Jacob, don’t panic. I am in no danger of death—certainly not any time soon, and probably not for a much longer time than either of us can imagine. But accidents do happen and I wish to have you provided for in such a case. Should anything untoward happen to me, you will inherit this house and the contents of my various bank accounts. But I promise you that is extremely unlikely. It turns out that my disability, my condition, also makes me very hard to kill. Not impossible, just difficult.
“‘But that is not what I need to discuss with you tonight. I have given great thought to our situation and I have come to a decision. It is the right decision. It will be the best thing for both of us. It will not be easy at first, not for you, not for me, but it will be necessary.
“It is time for you to attend the university.
“My attorney has made arrangements with his associates in Boston. They will arrange rooms for you near the university, they will manage an endowment that I will provide so that you will have a dependable income. You will not want for the necessities of life. You will have cash in your pocket, enough so that you can enjoy comfortable meals and wear fashionable suits and present yourself as a fine gentleman wherever you go. You will have a line of credit at the largest bookstore in the city. And your tuition at the university will also be guaranteed for as long as you choose to attend. You will have letters of reference from all of your tutors, so the question of your admission will not be an issue.
“There are no conditions to this endowment. You may take it or leave it, as you choose. No, wait—do not answer yet. I said there are no conditions. But I do have a request. Several requests.
“First, I request that you avoid any actions or behaviors that would bring you to the attention of the police. You must not allow yourself to be tempted to return to your childish habits. I doubt that you will, but I would be terribly disappointed if you did.
“Second, I request that you keep yourself free of disease. You know the ones I mean. I cannot forbid you to enjoy the pleasures of physical intimacy. That would be cruel and inhumane. I ask only that you choose your partners wisely. If you find a partner worthy of your most supreme affections, you will have my blessing. You deserve a lifetime of happiness, it is such a rare commodity. No, Jacob, please let me finish, I know what you’re going to say, it is not necessary, and I do not want you bound by an impossible promise, it would only make you unhappy and resentful—
“Third, and this is the most important of my requests—I request that you study ferociously at the university, whatever interests you the most. Philosophy, history, science, economics, medicine, law—any or all of those things would please me. But not religion. There is no profit in that. It is an intellectual dead-end. But study anything else, everything else, and study it with enthusiasm and passion. Make yourself knowledgeable. Make yourself wise. Make yourself an expert in many things that will give you the power to manipulate the circumstances of the world.
“My fourth request is that you write to me regularly—but no more than once a month. I do not want you to feel beholden, and as you know, I am not one for letters, but I would like to keep apprised of your progress in your studies and your observations of the lives around you. From time to time, I may offer my own advice and suggestions to you. You may heed my words or discard them as you wish.
“And that brings me to my fifth request. I request that you stay away from this house and my acquaintance for at least ten years. You may not return before your twenty-seventh birthday. You may return at any time after that—but only if you have not found a permanent partner to share your life. Because under such a circumstance, a return visit would be disruptive to everyone involved.
“If I am not here in this house, and I do not think I will be, despite the many pleasant hours we have shared, I will not be hard to find. My representatives will have a sealed envelope for you, with information how to locate me if and when I move on. It is very likely that I will. With my … condition, I often find it necessary to relocate at least once every decade.”
When he finished, I did not speak for a very long time. There was too much to assimilate. Finally, I said, “I will go. I will obey all your conditions—”
“Not conditions. Requests.”
“But—”
He touched my cheek. “What is it, Jacob?”
“May I make a request as well?”
He nodded.
“I request that—no, that is not fair. Never mind.” I waved it away as if I had not spoken.
Monsieur smiled. “I know what you were going to ask. You were going to ask me not to bring another boy into this house, not to replace you with another. And I know why you stopped yourself as well—because you realized that would have been an unfair thing to ask.
“You don’t have to worry, Jacob. It’s not in my nature to bring boys into my house, one after the other, and then fall in love with them—and then send them off to university. You have been … a unique adventure. I do not think my heart could stand another such.”
I nodded and smiled, feeling better already that he understood me so well. A thought occurred to me. “But Monsieur—without me here, who will take care of you?”
He shook his head. “You needn’t worry about that either. The gentlemen of The Community are not without resources. We have acquired a small team of trusted associates who understand us and who tend to our specific daytime needs. I shall arrange matters with them. If necessary, I can close up this house and stay at—well, never mind, you don’t need to know about that now. I will be all right.”
A week later, I boarded a ship for San Francisco. From there, I traveled east on the newly-completed transcontinental railroad to New York, an amazing city—so amazing I was tempted to abandon my journey to Boston and stay there instead. But after seeing the condition of the young men strolling the streets, I knew I should not succumb to that idea. I headed north and a few days later, completed my enrollment in the university.
Jacob stops talking. Lost in thought, perhaps, remembering a world that no longer exists in memory and barely exists in photographs.
“I think I understand—”
“Yes. He was waiting for me to ripen. He was waiting for me to become a worthy companion. He could have had me any time, but he loved me too much for that. Instead, he wanted me to earn my immortality. He wanted me to become a true partner—interesting enough to justify a life together. That the two of us would always have a wealth of experience and knowledge to share.
“But more than that, he wanted—perhaps even needed—a companion with proficiency. The world was changing faster than The Community could keep up. Monsieur recognized that. Staying current with science and medicine and economics is a necessary survival skill for an immortal. And style as well—think about it. Being out of fashion is dangerous. It makes you conspicuous.”
“Ahh.” A glance at my watch. “Dawn is coming.”
“I know. I can already smell the changes in the air.”
“I want to hear the rest of your story.”
“Yes, of course you do. You want me to tell you how his letters suddenly ceased, and how I came back to Seattle to discover he had died in a fire—a daytime arson. You want to know about my inheritance and how I found The Community again, and how I finally did get turned, and who the arsonists were and what happened to them afterward, and why I had to leave Seattle.
“And after that, you’ll want to hear about my experiences in Europe during The Great War. For a person like myself, a war can be great fun. Ahh, but most of all, you’ll want to know what it’s like to kill and feed. And you want to know how I choose my … victims. Yes, I suppose that’s an accurate word.”
Jacob touches my arm. I do not recoil. I do not pull back.
“I’m only immortal. I’m not immoral. I don’t feed on innocents. Neither do most of the other gentlemen of The Community. Here’s a clue. Have you noticed something about this part of the world? Have you noticed there has been a significant decline in violent crimes? Think about that and wonder.
“One more thing,” he says. “A secret—about the monsters, why they happen. Young blood tastes better. More than that, the younger the blood, the more alive it makes us, the more it keeps us useful. So yes, that was the initial attraction of Monsieur. He saw me as a puppy, a tasty snack. And yes—that also explains why so many of the monsters are so quick to create more. They can’t help themselves—they don’t know the difference between feeding and fucking. And that, my friend, is why the rest of us must work so hard to keep them from happening and kill them when they do.” He flashes his teeth. “And they taste good too.”
A nervous laugh. And then I realize he isn’t joking.
“Oh.”
“Yes,” he says. “Now you know what’s wrong with your stories. All of you.”
He stands. I stand quickly to keep up.
“Will I see you again?”
“I don’t know. Will you?”
“I, uh—”
He cocks his head curiously. “You what?” Before I can answer, he waves the question away. “Never mind. I know what you were going to ask. You always do, all of you. The answer is no. Not today. And maybe never. Today was just … an interview.”
“Maybe never?”
“Maybe—and maybe someday, I’ll check back.”
“You’ll check back?”
“Of course. Right now, I’m just waiting to see how the fruit ripens.”
And then, he’s gone, disappearing into the last of the darkness, as if he’s made of shadow himself.
I expect someday to see Jacob again. I wonder what he’ll offer. I wonder if I’ll accept.
I toss the pages across the table at the others. “And that, my dear little puppies—that is how you tell a vampire story.”
Jacob in Boston
The next one steps up, tossing a program book on the table between us. “Make it out to Mike,” he says. “Mike with a Y.”
“Myke, right.” I look up. He’s a hulking shape. Part of the cape-and-pimple brigade. Yeah, I know that’s judgmental, so what? I didn’t hold him down and stuff all those French fries in his mouth. I scrawl, “To Myke. Beast wishes,” and sign my name.
“I read your story,” he says. “It was terrible. You got vampires all wrong.”
“Ahh,” I nod and smile—my number-three plastic smile. “Thank you for sharing that.”
He looks confused for a moment. He was probably expecting an argument. I never argue with fans. I just keep smiling and reply with something like, “Why don’t you write your story and show me how it should be done,” but this time, we don’t even get that far.
Instead, he says, “I read a lot. I read everything. You’re not very good.”
“Ahh. Well, I’ll keep it a secret if you will. I wouldn’t want to embarrass my publisher. He’ll take it personally.”
Frowning, Myke shakes his head. “You’re a jerk.” He picks up his program book and wanders off to annoy the author next to me, a charming woman who dresses all in black—with red piping. She wears purple and glitter eye-shadow and tells each fan what she sees in his or her aura.
The tables are lined up against the wall and all the authors are sitting in a long row. There’s no escape. I don’t know why I’m here. I’ve only sold seven stories, four still haven’t been printed, and most of the fans at this convention don’t even recognize my name.
I have been told that it is part of the job to establish a presence. If you want to be a successful author, you have to establish a brand identity. You have to build a community around your work. That’s the core of your wider audience.
Right now, I’m a community of one.
Two more fans listlessly shove their program books at me. The next few just walk by. I pull out my phone and look at the time. The dark lady next to me puts her hand on my forearm. “Don’t do that,” she whispers. “It’s rude to the fans.”
“Oh, yes. Thank you. I wouldn’t want to be rude to the fans.” I push my phone back into my pocket. Only a few minutes more anyway.
And then I see him—
To no one in particular, “I think I’m done here.”
I gather up my pens and the name-card the convention provided. I grab my bag, hoisting it over my shoulder.
He’s standing silently in the shadows of the alcove leading to the restrooms, a hint of amusement in his eyes as I approach, but he greets me with a knowing nod and a smile.
“It’s been a while. I wrote your story. I didn’t think you’d mind.”
“I expected you would. Why do you think I told you?”
“Because you were annoyed with all the ignorance—?”
“No.”
“Oh?”
“Because I wanted to see if you could understand.”
“And—?”
“I’m here, aren’t I? I read your story.”
A quick glance around the convention hall, the giant room is emptying out. “Do you have time to talk? Have you eaten? We could get a bite—” And then I realize what I’ve said. “Sorry, that was dumb—”
He holds up a pale hand to stop me from saying anything else. “I can eat. I can drink too. I know a pub. Are you through here?”
“Oh, yeah. I’m through. I don’t even know why I came—” I look to him. “Why did you?”
He puts a hand on my upper arm and guides me through the last few stragglers. “Same reason as you,” he says softly. “Fresh blood.”
“Huh?” I stop and stare at him, pulling away from his touch.
“You. You’re fresh blood in this genre,” he explains. “They don’t know it yet, but you’re what they’re hungry for.” He adds, “Me too. You’re what I’m hungry for.”
