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It was one of the many tiresome furnishings of the place, meant forbusinessmen but completely comfortable. Her eyes were still lockedon me.
"No, that's not who I am," I said. "I'm only what I told you andnothing more. But that's who's after me.""The Devil?""Yes. Now listen, I'm going to tell you everything, and then youmust give me your advice. Meantime? I turned around, yes, therewas the file cabinet. "Your inheritance, everything, money you havenow that you don't know about, clean and taxed and proper, it's allexplained in black folders in those files. Your father died wanting youto have this for your church. If you turn away from it, don't be so sureit's God's will. Remember, your father is dead. His blood cleansedthe money."Did I believe this? Well, it sure as hell was what Roger wanted meto tell her.
"Roger said to say this," I added, trying to sound extremely sureof myself.
"I understand you," she said. "You're worrying about somethingthat doesn't really matter now. Come here, please, let me hold you.
You're shivering.""I'm shivering!""It's warm in here, but you don't seem to feel it. Come."I knelt down in front of her and suddenly took her in my arms theway I had Armand. I laid my head against hers. She was cold butwould never even on the day of her burial be as cold as I was, nothingyoung. Her mother had been a maid in the Garden District, likemany an Irish maid. And Roger's Uncle Mickey was one of thoseeasygoing characters who made nothing of himself in anyone's eyesat all.
"My father never knew about the real life of Uncle Mickey. Mymother's mother told me to show me what airs my father put on, andwhat a fool he was, and how humble his origins had been.""Yes, I see.""My father had loved Uncle Mickey. Uncle Mickey had diedwhen my father was a boy. Uncle Mickey had a cleft palate and a glasseye, and I remember my father showing me his picture and telling methe story of how Uncle Mickey lost his eye. Uncle Mickey had lovedfireworks, and once he'd been playing with firecrackers and one hadgone off in a tin can, and wham, the can hit him in the eye. That's thestory I always believed about Uncle Mickey. I knew him only fromthe picture. My grandmother and my great-uncle were dead before Iwas born.""Right. And then your mother's people told you different.""My mother's father was a cop. He knew all about Roger's family,that Roger's grandfather had been a drunk and so had Uncle Mickey,more or less. Uncle Mickey had also been a tout for a bookie when hewas young. And one time, he held back on a bet. In other words, hekept the money rather than placing the bet as he should have, andunfortunately the horse won.""I follow you.""Uncle Mickey, very young and very scared I imagine, was inCorona's Bar in the Irish Channel.""On Magazine Street," I said. "That bar was there for years andyears. Maybe a century.""Yes, and the bookie's henchmen came in and dragged UncleMickey to the back of the bar. My mother's father saw it all. He wasthere, but he couldn't do anything about it. Nobody could. Nobodywould. Nobody dared. But this is what my grandfather saw. The menbeat and kicked Uncle Mickey. They were the ones who hurt the roofof his mouth so he talked as if something were wrong with him. Andthey kicked out his eye. They kicked it across the floor. And the waymy grandfather said it every time he told it was, 'Dora, they couldhave saved that eye, except those guys stepped on it. Theydeliberately stepped on it with those pointed shoes.' "human could be that cold. I had sopped up the winter's worst asthough I were porous marble, which I suppose I was.
"Dora, Dora, Dora," I whispered. "How he loved you, and howmuch he wanted everything to be right for you, Dora."Her scent was strong, but so was I.
"Lestat, explain about the Devil," she said.
I sat down on the carpet so that I could look up at her. She wasperched on the edge of her chair, knees bare, black coat carelesslyopen now, and a streak of gold scarf showing, her face pale but veryflushed, in a way that made her radiant and at the same time a littleenchanted, as though she were no more human than me.
"Even your father couldn't really describe your beauty," I said.
"Temple virgin, nymph of the wood.""My father said that to you?""Yes. But the Devil, ah, the Devil told me to ask you a question.
To ask you the truth about Uncle Mickey's eye!" I had justremembered it. I had not remembered to tell either David orArmand aboutthis, but what difference could that possibly make?
She was surprised by these words, and very impressed. She sankback a little into the chair. "The Devil told you these words?""He gave it to me as a gift. He wants me to help him. He says he'snot evil. He says that God is his adversary. I'll tell you everything, buthe gave me these words as some sort of little extra gift, what do wecall it in New Orleans, lagniappe? To convince me that he is what hesays he is."She gave a little gesture of confusion, hand flying to her temple asshe shook her head. "Wait. The truth about Uncle Mickey's eye,you're sure he said that? My father didn't say anything about UncleMickey?""No, and I never caught any such image from your father's heartor soul, either. The Devil said Roger didn't know the truth. Whatdoes it mean?""My father didn't know the truth," she said. "He never knew. Hismother never told him the truth. It was his uncle Mickey, mygrandmother's brother. And it was my mother's people who told me thereal story桾erry's people. It was like this, my father's mother wasrich and had a beautiful house on St. Charles Avenue.""I know the place, I know all about it. Roger met Terry there."Yes, exactly, but my grandmother had been poor when she wasShe stopped.
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