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I didn't reply.
"That's our damnation," he whispered. "Our moral improvementhas reached its finish, and our intellect grows by leaps and bounds."Still I said nothing. What was I to say? Despair was so familiar tome; it could be banished by the sight of a beautiful mannikin in thewindow. It could be dispelled by the spectacle of lights surrounding atower. It could be lifted by the great ghostly shape of St. Patrick'scoming into view. And then despair would come again.
Meaningless, I almost said, aloud, but what came from my lips wascompletely different.
"I have Dora to think of," I said.
Dora.
"Yes, and thanks to you," he said, "I have Dora too, now don't I?"6HOW AND when and what to tell Dora? That was thequestion. The journey we made to New Orleans early the nextnight.
There was no sign of Louis at the town house in the Rue Royale,but this was by no means unusual. Louis took to wandering more andmore often, and he had been seen once by David in the company ofArmand in Paris. The town house was spotless, a dream set out oftime, full of my favorite Louis XV furnishings, luscious wallpaper,and the finest carpets to be found.
David, of course, was familiar with the place, though he hadn'tseen it in over a year. One of the many picture-perfect bedrooms,drenched in saffron silks and outrageous Turkish tables and screens,still held the coffin in which he had slept during his brief and firstStay here as one of the Undead.
Of course, this coffin was heavily disguised. He had insisted that itbe the real thing梐s fledglings almost invariably do, unless they arenomads by nature梑ut it was cleverly enough concealed within aheavy bronze chest, which Louis had chosen for it afterwards梐great hulking rectangular object as defeating as a square piano, withno perceivable opening in it, though of course, if you knew the rightplaces to touch, the lid rose at once.
I had made my resting place as I had promised myself, whenrestoring this house in which Claudia and Louis and I had once lived.
Not in my old bedroom, which now housed only the de rigueur heavyfour-poster and dressing table, but in the attic, beneath the eave, Ihad made a cell of metal and marble.
In sum, we had a comfortable base immediately, and I was franklyrelieved that Louis was not there to tell me he didn't believe me whenI described the things that I'd seen. His rooms were in order; newbooks had been added. There was a vivid and arresting new paintingby Matisse. Otherwise, things were the same.
As soon as we had settled in, checked all security, as immortalsalways do, with a breezy scan and a deep resistance to having to doanything mortals have to do, we decided that I should go uptown andtry to catch a glimpse of Dora alone.
I had seen or heard nothing of the Stalker, though not much timehad passed, of course, and I had seen nothing of The Ordinary Man.
We agreed that either might appear at any moment.
Nevertheless, I broke from the company of David, leaving him toexplore the city as he wished.
Before leaving the Quarter for uptown, I called upon Mojo, mydog. If you are unacquainted with Mojo from The Tale of the BodyThief, let me tell you only what you need to know梩hat he is a giantGerman shepherd, is kept for me by a gracious mortal woman in abuilding of which I retain ownership, and that Mojo loves me, whichI find irresistible. He is a dog, no more, or less, except that he isimmense in size, with an extremely thick coat, and I cannot stay longaway from him.
I spent an hour or two with him, wrestling, rolling around withhim on the ground in the back garden, and talking to him abouteverything that happened, then debated as to whether I should take himwith me uptown. His dark, long face, wolflike and seemingly evil, wasfull of the usual gentleness and forbearance. God, why didn't youmake us all dogs?
Actually, Mojo created a sense of safety in me. If the Devil cameand I had Mojo. . . . But that was the most absurd idea! I'd fend offHell on account of a flesh-and-Wood dog. Well, humans havebelieved stranger things, I suppose.
Just before I'd left David, I'd asked, "What do you think ishappening, I mean with this Stalker and this Ordinary Man?" And Davidhad answered without hesitation, "You're imagining both of them,you punish yourself relentlessly; it's the only way you know how togo on having fun."I should have been insulted. But I wasn't.
Dora was real.
Finally, I decided I had to take leave of Mojo. I was going to spyupon Dora. And had to be fleet of foot. I kissed Mojo and left him.
Later we would walk in our favorite wastelands beneath the RiverBridge, amid the grass and the garbage, and be together. That Iwould have for as long as nature let me have it. For the moment itcould wait.
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