a description of the amazing and exciting adventures i have here in baltimore--- and other lies.

 
This is the First part of chapter two of I, Vampire


Growing food, pushing pencils, and owning
businesses all divorce us from the primal nature of
the hunt. most of us never go back into the forest,
prefering to stay on the reanch, or ranch house, or in
the city. Our deepest, darkest fears and our scariest
stories happen i the world of the forest. Here,
anything can happen. We can be hermits, and
contemplate the rest of the world. We can shun the
affects of civilization and try to live free. Is not
that the trick, though, in this sylvan fantasy,
because without other humans around, most of us go
quite mad.

Those who stay in the forest are another breed
entirely. Those who stay here want to be away from all
other humans. Indeed they become to resent those who
make brief forays in their world. How many hunters
have stumbled upon a rustic shack, seeminly abandoned
and left to the elements, only to find the lone
occupant rather upset at the intrusion. And, being
that the forest really has no law except survival, the
punishment for such transgressions is often violent,
if not fatal.

Even the hunter-type is himself (and there are few
hers here) suspect. Those who go hunting for sport
does so as a method of fleeing the world, to bond with
his brothers, and to commune with his fellows instead
of facing the pressures of bills, or bosses, or wives.
The man who goes hunting (or fishing--- he too is a
hunter) steps back to an earlier stage where the home
is transitory, the fire warm. In these woods, man
stradles between being man and beast, for, as a man,
he has his weapons and his mind. Bullets may have
replaced arrows, but both are still substitutes for
the claw.

Hunters remind us that we are not so differednt from
that human who used skins for clothes and bones for
money. Atime when the only currency was the ability to
find and butcher food. We forget how bountiful is
nature. Does God allow the sparrows to starve? Does
the ant want for food? Does the tiger lack for
sustinence? Not in the world before cultivation of the
field. Hunters remind us that we, too , were once
tigers.

And what do tigers do? Kill. There is no nicer way to
put this: they find living prey, chase them, and kill
them. Sometimes they eat part of the animal while it
is still alive, not quite yet dead. At least the
hunter has the courtesy to fully extinguish the life
of his victim before consuming the poor beast! That is
what makes us better, we are sure. That we give
animals the courtesy of death, whole.

No matter what our tender mercies, however, ther
forest will still be the place where no man can
dictate law. This is what gives many of us such fear
of the place: the knowledge that, has we not some form
of weapon at our side, we would become the feast of a
beast. So, we take our shotguns, and our long knives,
and make great to light a camp fire. For it is this
light, this warm place that even on the warmest nights
makes better the chill of the forest. This light which
holds back all the animals, and many of our fears.

Hunter-gatherer cultures have special rituals when
they hunt those animals who also hunt for food. Men
who shed blood so that their family members can live,
allow deer or antilope to die, and become food for the
clan. But the Bear, the Wolf, the Lion--- ah, there
are rituals for these. Take for example, the lion.
This proud, noble king of the jungle is often fought
by men who live by the hunt, to be a rite of passage
from boy-hood to manhood. Masai boys hunt a lions
spear and dagger in hand. THE lion charges, roaring.
The boy who faces certain death head on wears the skin
of his trophy as a man.The inherent danger of such a
thing proves how much less a child, and how much more
is the bravery of the man who performs this deed.

Worth considering, too, is the tradition of the
hunting of bears. The bear is revered by many of the
cultures who have yet to turn to plant or animal
husbandry, as a fellow traveller in the world of earth
and spirit. Native american, Celtic, and Norwegian
regarded the Bear as their brothers, and held special
reverence for them as mediums between this world and
that of the divine. The shamans of these people often
donned bear skins, taken from its former owner with
great ritual and reverence. No bear death was taken
lightly, as the bear-spirit may become angry, and
wreak havok on th fool who commited the crime---
tantamount to murder--- of killing a bear unjustly.
The bear skin imbued the wearer with great powers,
notibly divination and healing. Bears are brothers in
the forest.

Bears often play a part in fairy-tales, too, but not
often. More often we find witches, and no wonder, for
along with the hunter, the only other human who would
be in this primeval world are those who would
segregate themselves from society to practice
nefarious deeds in the forest. the stories we make
about our darkest foears often involve abandonment in
the forest. It is instructive to call to mind the
story of Hansel and Gretel. The storyline we hear
most, the most sanitized verson, has Hansel and
Gretel thrown into the woods, only to find their way
back with stones. Cast away again, and they use
breadcrumbs, which are eaten by birds. They happen
upon a house, whose witch-owner then tries to make a
meal of them, and only by the wits of Gretel are they
saved.

Th dark subtext of this is that women in the forest
are up to no good, and are so monstrous as they would
eat children. And the witch has a great hook: a candy
house. What better lure for girls and boys than a
domicile that gives you shelter from the elements and
relieves you from hunger? The house is able to keep
the two snared, while the witch is away. Caught in
their vandalism, the woman imprisons them. We fear
being in the forest, pulled back into a world of
disguised dangers, no place for women or children.

We do not have such anxiety in the field. Somehow,
that feels right. Tall grasses swaying, the flowers of
the valley and the shade of an occasional tree gives
us pleasures beyond compare. Only when this bucolic
repose is betrayed, by, say, a snake in the grass,
does the field fail to quiet our tempers. Now, it si
true that many artists and writers will wax poetic
about the bucolic nature of a sylvan glenn, but this
is only undercores that the real forest is too primal,
for most settings of wooded areas are not so thick
that they become dangerous and unknown. Were not
Hansel and Gretel the offspring of a wood-cutter? Were
they not aware o fthe setting around them as they
helped their father in his chore? Would they not know
how to navigate the trees? No, no, they were led into
the deepest part of the woods; terra incognita. The
witch, the bear and the hunter-gatherer all live here,
and why we are afraid of this place.

The minute the hunter steps back on the farm or the
boardroom, he transmogrifies from that pre-civilized
near beast to human again. Back in the world of
comfort, back where there are laws. Back where they
fears are not of being eaten but rather of starving.

The minute the wolf steps onto the farm, she is in
danger. Civilized man does not broach this intrusion
well! Wolves are only looking for a bite to eat, a
tasty meal in a sheep or chicken. The wolf does not,
CAN not, know, that there are boundaries and property
lines and borders which may not be crossed. The forest
has no law, why should the field? Why, indeed, but to
make the human feel superior. Let the hunter have his
forest, and the witch, too. We know better than to go
beyond those trees. But do not transgress from your
saplings to our side, or face the justice that men,
who now have something to lose besides their lives,
dispence to those who would break the law. Wolves are
hunted down because they won't behave.

Vampyrs are hunted for the same reason.

****************

Getting on the train had been hard enough, with all
the temptation around him. So much for life, if only I
could just feed now. He was weak enough, that no one
felt his hunger--- except himself, of course. One of
the curious things about his kind is that, at the
moment they are most ravenous and have the most
murderous need to feed, they are often incapable of
mustering the stregnth to find appropriate victims,
and bite! So, here is David on the train, surrounded
by humans. It is as if a starving man suddenly found
money and a restaurant, only to lose his appetite.

From the train to the cab, from here to the adress of
the one being who understood him the best, and whom
David hated the most, seemed as much as an eternity as
the abomnable train ride. A short walk to the door,
and still he had hesitation. "All this way, to turn
back now? In for a penny..."

"In for a pound! shouted William. "At last, here at
last. I knew you would come," as he flung open the
door.

Despite a tumoltuous relationship between the these
two, William always seemed to enjoy their time
together. Why not? William was always in a position of
relative power . He had been a vampyr longer, had had
business acumen when still alive, and ws not loath to
steal from his victims. Indeed, within a few years of
havig had his life taken away, he had more money than
when first living. William chose his prey very
carefully, often stalking his meal with great care
before the final kill.

Now, with his disciple back, he hoped he could put
some new tecniques into practice. Lately, his great
care had not been quite as fruitful as he wanted it to
be, but William thought that all he needed was some
fine-tuning. Besides, this would put his great idea to
the test.

"You didn't know anything." However, David was
secretly glad to hear kind words--- well, at leat not
be turned away.

William knew better. He knew that David was more than
the snippy youth that was often presented to those who
met him. "David is rather intelligent," William would
muse to any listener, "Impetuous, honourless and full
of anger, but by no means stupid."

He stood at the door of his mentor after a ten year
absence. "Come on in, Boy. I have much to discuss
with you. We have to talk about my new hunting
methods. What have you been doing with yourself
lately?" and so on with the pleasantries.

William has a modest townhouse in the middle of the
city. In years past, he had coveted the larger manses
of some of his fellows. After having first been turned
into the fairy-wolf, he fancied that, he, too could
live in such a place. There are a large number of
houses in the European countryside which have wanted
for an owner, if only to have the fires burn again in
the chimney, or the lights go on. Some houses seem to
beg fro someone, ANYONE, to live inbetween their
walls, even someone not human.

The most appealing of these houses to William was one
in Ireland. A secluded spot, away from most of the
riff-raff, surrounded by wooded areas and those by
fields. Defying the cliche besetting most houses
occupied by caxol, it had an alluring charm to it, the
kind of feeling people find in homes filled with
happy families and children racing around. No gloom at
this manse. To walk to this house would not leave on
with forebidding gloom, nor would one gather that the
occupant of the house was anything more than a kindly,
lady-like grandmother type, who had retired from the
cares of the world to find respite in a sylvan dell.

Open the door. Walk in. Come, come, the fire is warm,
what a cold night.

Or, how can you stand the rain? You must be so cold!
Pleas take this blanket! Another drink? Why, of
course.

It may be that the house was, itself, complicit in
this entrapment. Is boisha limited to the animate?
Were not caxol examples of beings which, while moving,
had no boisha of their own? Constantly seeking more?
William often remarked that the house seemed to demand
that caxol live there---better a former human than no
human at all. This house in Ireland seemed to fit the
personality of the current owner very well, as if they
were a married couple. The house was the female,
bringing comfort and compact, the caxol the male,
bringing home, well, the bacon, as it was often
crudely analogized by human standards.

William knew right away what was going on in that
house. He had seen it before. This pretty dwelling, so
nice to look at, was a spiders web, waiting for its
next victim. The spider took care to take care, and
there they were, luring in the flies. "Masterful,"
thought William. He asked the husband, "Howe did you
find it?" to which she replied," Oh, I think the house
found me. But, we do work well together, do we not?"
The blood of the man they drank that night was rather
sweet, now that you think of it. "When you find a
house like this, take it by any means. Even if you
have to assume the identity of the previous lord, but
by any means." William did know what that meant.

***********************

"Man, this place always gives me the creeps,"thought
David as he walked through the front door. William was
always going on about "symbiosis of spirits" when it
came to picking a place to live.

"You must find a space which calls to you. It will
coax you in, and make you feel welcome, like a lover
would. The key is to listen to the sighs of the
boards, the groans of the walls. What seems to humans
as a house settling is how it speaks to me. If you are
quiet, you will hear this house speak, too."

William had gotten this house about ten years before;
actually, to come to think of it, , it was about the
same time the two had fallen out of sorts with each
other. "William, you can not be serious about that
foolish notion of a house with boisha. You have really
cracked now, Old Man."

"Oh, but I am quite serious. This house does have a
feeling of boisha, you simply can not deny it! Feel
it, through your being, and you shall see what i
mean."

This vampyr had been kind enough to give the boy
shelter. David was still hurting over the encounter
with Vlad. "let the house take you in," said the old
smooth, fancy talker. Four days of this nattering
later, David had another opinion.

"You spoke about this the first time I met you. And
this house has it too, you say? Do you really put
forth the proposition that you can feel the boisheen
of houses? Feel the boisheen of houses? Feel the
Boisheen of Houses? YOU CANNOT FEEL THE BOISHIN OF
HOUSES!"

That outburst essentially terminated the visit.

"Ten years later, you are back, hat in hand," thought
David to himself. "Just like you started out, coming
back to this crummy place with bad juju. Good job,
sport. You have really gone far." However, now is not
the time for pride, Now is the time for help.


**********************

"I have been thinking about the hunt."

"how about less thinking, and more doing."

"Now, don't be cheeky. I have recently been
re-evaluating the methods we use, and have come to
some conclusions. "

Oh, boy., we are in for it now. Every time William had
"conclusions" it was usually a hare-brained scheme
dolled-up as a well packaged plan.

"Most of the Caxol I know have gone quite mad, due to
the lonliness. There are two groups of hunters, the
solitary and those who go in groups, and each style
lends, ultimately, to the social organization of that
group. Cats are very solitary, and I think them mad,
too."

He sat back, and would arch his fingers whenever he
sould make littel pronouncements like this. "You know,
David, I prefer to liken myself to a wolf. Not so
secretive as a feline, not so intense. The real
passion of huntig is best shared with fellows, I think
it intensifies the real pleasure of feasting on the
prey. What I was thinking about earlier,when I spoke
of the taste of the gourmand, to really enjoy the
meal, suffer through the sharp taste to really enjoy
the sweet. I truly believe a meal is better tasted
when shared together."

He was trying to convince David to give up his style
of stalking. For longer than he could remember, David
found meals in the traditional manner: find a beast
healthy enough to eat, yet weak enough to either
separate from the herd, or young enough. Most humans,
actually, do not fall in this category. This may sound
strange, but despite whatever superiority caxol feel,
they still recognize that if not done correctly, a
hunting can go wrong. They must stay in the shaddows
to survive best, to avoid the pogroms of the past.
William,however, has a different take.

"I tell you, boy, you and I should hunt together, and
find, how shall we say, more worthy prey." His theory
was rather attractive, in a way; one would find more
boisha by finding someone who is more _alive_. "let us
leave the house tonight, and you will see what I have
come to believe." David, in his starved state, could
not tell whether this meant William had done whatever
it is that he did differently many times before, or if
at all. William was being rather secretive about this
detail as well, leading David to the conclusion that
his initial assesment of the plan was correct, despite
his hunger having addled his pate.

"Are you ready to feast? It is almost twilight, let us
go out to the park."

********************

"I'll be back in a while," she said to her roommate.
"just going out for a run." Dusk is the best part of
the day for excercize in the summer. There is enough
light out to see, but the intense heat of the sun is
over, and if you time it right, you can tell how long
you have been out. When it is dark, you go back in,
and eat.

*********************

"Dusk is the best time of day for hunting. See how the
light can play tricks with the human eye? How shaddows
are not noticed, though they move in unexpected ways?
The atmosphere is quite right for this endeavour. Now,
watch what I do, and try to keep up with me.

Listen to what is around you. Ah, yes." The only
sounds David heard were insect ones. William began to
move more slow, to a crawl.

Crick Crick Crick--- Creep Creep Creep
Creep Creep Creep--- Crick Crick Crick
"When you hunt, listen for the sounds of the crickets;
match your movements to their beat, their sound will
hush yours."

"What does that matter? You can just fly down and
spring on them, take them unawares? What nonsense is
this, to behave like an animal? Strike out fast and
hard, I say!"

"No! you fool. Whether you like it or not, you are of
this world, and you do better by using the ways of the
creatures here to better find them. These small
insects, puny as they are, listen! They do what they
do for reproduction, to continue life. And, to
continue our own life, we use their rhythms, their
noises. What a distraction they are to humans; they
listen to these mites rather than pay attention to
where they are, what they are doing! Swoop down,
indeed. To strike well, is to strike without them
sensing. The adrenaline these beast produce when
frightened is quite the sour taste. No, no, creep,
creep, creep, and then....."

And as he finished the last word, William, in practice
of his preaching, stepped in between teh chirp of the
crickets.

So young, so vital. WIth a cascade of brown hair, and
healthy figure. She ran around the park mindlessly.
Staring into the night sky, and its moon, the stars
and wandering planets, never to know.....

That bite, more savage than a tiger, less anticipated
than a mosquito. No room for fear, or even a second
thought, then to continue her rhapsody on the infinite
upon which she had only gazed a moment before: with a
small gurgle, a choking sound an a gasp at her last
attempt at life, but too late, she drained quickly and
light. A light to match the lunar sight above, and to
go out as the moon wanes, too. Then, drained of blood,
her body involuntarily heaves her last spasm.

"Good, good. Very satisfying. I have not had a meal
like that in a while. But, we must be quick. She, I
fear, will be missed soon enough. It was worth the
risk."

Then, miles, leagues away, William spoke again,"Now,
you must feast this way. Oh, the succulence! Oh, how
the tender warm flesh becomes cold, so. Just as you
become warm, again. Find your prey.Make the night your
ally. Use the shaddows as your shield, the rustle of
the leaves as your ruse, the sounds of this world your
mask. Then, you strike. The taste is exquisite! You
are part of nature again, like you were, but better.
How like the proud wolf!

David remained silent for a while. Lions, or tigers or
even bears he could bear better than this old fool and
his newfound philosophy upon how the caxol should
hunt. David knew what he was. A fusion of the better
parts of the foundation of the world, and the more
subtle parts of the divine. A wolf? more like an
angel, we are, eternal and powerful. Cherubim summus!

"Are you still wedded to your old ways? Go then. Find
some prostitute, and bite down. This city is full of
them. But if you want real life, you will do like I
do."

But it was easy enough to go back to Druid Hill Park
for David, now that it was dark, and have a drink.
posted by gregorio at 2:21 PM