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"And Roger never knew this.""Nobody knows it who is alive," she said. "Except for me, ofcourse. My grandfather's dead. For all I know, everyone who was everthere is dead. Uncle Mickey died in the early fifties. Roger used totake me out to the cemetery to visit his grave. Roger had always lovedhim. Uncle Mickey with his hollow voice and his glass eye. Everybodysort of loved him, the way Roger told it. And even my mother's peoplesaid that too. He was a sweetheart. He was a night watchman before hedied. He rented rooms on Magazine Street right over Baer's Bakery.
He died of pneumonia in the hospital before anyone even knew he wasill. And Roger never knew the truth about Uncle Mickey's eye. Wewould have spoken of it if he had, naturally."I sat there pondering, or rather picturing what she had described.
No images came from her, she was closed tight, but her voice hadbeen effortlessly generous. I knew Corona's. So did anyone who hadever walked Magazine Street in those famous blocks of the Irish hey-day. I knew the criminals with their pointed shoes. Crushing the eye.
"They just stepped on it and squashed it," said Dora, as thoughshe could read my thoughts. "My grandfather always said, 'Theycould have saved it, if they hadn't stepped on it the way they did withthose pointed shoes.'"A silence fell between us.
"This proves nothing," I said.
"It proves your friend, or enemy, knows secrets, that's what itproves.""But it doesn't prove he's the Devil," I said, "and why would hechoose such a story, of all things?""Maybe he was there," she said with a bitter smile.
We both gave that a little laugh.
"You said this was the Devil but he wasn't evil," she promptedme. She looked persuasive and trusting and thoroughly in command.
I had the feeling that I had been absolutely correct in seeking heradvice. She was regarding me steadily.
"Tell me what this Devil has done," she said.
I told her the whole tale. I had to admit how I stalked her fatherand I couldn't remember if I had told her that before. I told her aboutthe Devil stalking me in similar fashion, going through it all, just as Ihad for David and Armand, and found myself finishing with thosepuzzling words, "And I'll tell you this about him, whatever he is, hehas a sleepless mind in his heart, and an insatiable personality! Andthat's true. When I first used those words to describe him, they justoccurred to me as if from nowhere. I don't know what part of mymind intuited such a thing. But it's true.""Say again?" she asked.
I did.
She lapsed into total silence. Her eyes became tiny and she satwith one hand curled under her chin.
"Lestat, I'm going to make an absurd request of you. Send forsome food. Or get me something to eat and drink. I have to ponderthis."I found myself leaping to my feet. "Anything you wish," I said.
"Doesn't matter at all. Sustenance. I haven't eaten since yester-day. I don't want my thoughts distorted by an accidental fast. You go,get something for nourishment and bring it back here. And I want tobe alone here, to pray, to think, and to walk back and forth amongFather's things. Now, there is no chance this demon will take yousooner than promised?""I don't know any more than I told you. I don't think so. Look, I'llget you good food and drink."I went on the errand immediately, leaving the building in mortalfashion and seeking out one of those crowded midtown restaurantsfrom which to purchase a whole meal for her that could be packed upand kept hot until I returned. I brought her several bottles of somepure, brand-name water, since that's what mortals seem to crave inthese times, and then I took my time going back up, the bundle in myarms.
Only as the elevator opened on our floor did I realize how unusualmy actions had been. I, two hundred years old, ferocious and proudby nature, had just gone on an errand for a mortal girl because sheasked me very directly to do it.
Of course there were mediating circumstances! I'd kidnapped herand brought her over hundreds of miles! I needed her. Hell, I lovedher.
But what I'd learnt from this simple incident was this: She didhave a power, which saints often have, to make others obey. Withoutquestion, I'd gone to get the food for her. Cheerfully gone myself, asthough there were grace in it.
It took her less than six and one half minutes to devour the meal.
I've never seen anyone eat so fast. She stacked up everything and tookit into the kitchen. I had to draw her away from the chores, and bringher back into the room. This gave me a chance both to hold herwarm, fragile hands and to be very close to her.
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