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〃When will you tell me？ Look； don't you see the trick of a book？〃 He stood up； and dusted off his knee with his right hand。 In his left was her gathered dress。 Something about the whole configuration bothered me； a tall creature holding a little girl's crumpled dress。
〃You know； when you think of it；〃 I said； turning away； so I wouldn't see the dress in his hand； 〃there's no good reason under God for little girls and little boys。 Think of it； the other tender issue of mammals。 Among puppies or kitten or colts； does one find gender？ It's never an issue。 The half…grown fragile thing is sexless。 There is no determination。 There is nothing as splendid to look at as a little boy or girl。 My head is so full of notions。 I rather think I'll explode if I don't do something； and you say make a book for you。 You think it's possible； you think。。。〃
〃What I think is that when you make a book； you tell the tale as you would like to know it！〃
〃I see no great wisdom in that。〃
〃Well； then think； for most speech is a mere issue of our feelings； a mere explosion。 Listen； note the way that you make these outbursts。〃
〃I don't want to。〃
〃But you do； but they are not the words you want to read。 When you write； something different happens。 You make a tale； no matter how fragmented or experimental or how disregarding of all conventional and helpful forms。 Try this for me。 No； no； I have a better idea。〃
〃What？〃
〃e down with me into my rooms。 I live here now； I told you。 Through my windows you can see the trees。 I don't live like our friend Louis； wandering from dusty corner to dusty corner； and then back to his flat in the Rue Royale when he's convinced himself once more and for the thousandth time that no one can harm Lestat。 I have warm rooms。 I use candles for old light。 e down and let me write it； your story。 Talk to me。 Pace； and rant if you will； or rail； yes； rail； and let me write it； and even so； the very fact that I write； this in itself will make you make a form out of it。 You'll begin to。。。〃
〃What？〃
〃To tell me what happened。 How you died and how you lived。〃
〃Expect no miracles； perplexing scholar。 I didn't die in New York that morning。 I almost died。〃
He had me faintly curious； but I could never do what he wanted。 Nevertheless he was honest； amazingly so； as far as I could measure； and therefore sincere。
〃Ah； so； I didn't mean literally I meant that you should tell me what it was like to climb so high into the sun； and suffer so much； and； as you said； to discover in your pain all these memories； these connecting links。 Tell me！ Tell me。〃
〃Not if you mean to make it coherent；〃 I said crossly。 I gauged his reaction。 I wasn't bothering him。 He wanted to talk more。
〃Make it coherent？ Armand； I'll simply write down what you say。〃 He made his words simple yet curiously passionate。
〃Promise？〃
I flashed on him a playful look。 Me！ To do that。
He smiled。 He wadded up the little dress and then dropped it carefully so it might fall in the middle of the pile of her old clothes。
〃I'll not alter one syllable；〃 he said。 〃e be with me； and talk to me； and be my love。〃 Again； he smiled。
Suddenly he came towards me； much in the aggressive manner in which I'd thought earlier to approach him。 He slipped his hands under my hair； and felt of my face； and then he gathered up the hair and he put his face down into my curls； and he laughed。 He kissed my cheek。
〃Your hair's like something spun from amber； as if the amber would melt and could be drawn from candle flames in long fine airy threads and let to dry that way to make all these shining tresses。 You're sweet； boylike and pretty as a girl。 I wish I had one glimpse of you in antique velvet the way you were for him； for Marius。 I wish I could see for one moment how it was when you dressed in stockings and wore a belted doublet sewn with rubies。 Look at you； the frosty child。 My love doesn't even touch you。〃
This wasn't true。
His lips were hot； and I could feel the fangs under them； feel the urgency suddenly in his fingers pressing against my scalp。 It sent the shivers through me； and my body tensed and then shuddered； and it was sweet beyond prediction。 I resented this lonely intimacy； resented it enough to transform it； or rid myself of it utterly。 I'd rather die or be away； in the dark； simple and lonely with mon tears。
From the look in his eyes； I thought he could love without giving anything。 Not a connoisseur； just a blood drinker。
〃You make me hungry；〃 I whispered。 〃Not for you but for one who is doomed and yet alive。 I want to hunt。 Stop it。 Why do you touch me？ Why be so gentle？〃
〃Everyone wants you；〃 he said。
〃Oh； I know。 Everyone would ravage a guilty cunning child！ Everyone would have a laughing boy who knows his way around the block。 Kids make better food than women； and girls are all too much like women； but young boys？ They're not like men； are they？〃
〃Don't mock me。 I meant I wanted only to touch you； to feel how soft you are； how eternally young。〃
〃Oh； that's me； eternally young；〃 I said。 〃You speak nonsense words for one so pretty yourself。 I'm going out。 I have to feed。 And when I've finished with that； when I'm full and hot； then I'll e and I'll talk to you and tell you anything you want。〃 I stepped back just a little from him； feeling the quivers through me as his fingers released my hair。 I looked at the empty white window； peering too high for the trees。
〃They could see nothing green here； and it's spring outside； southern spring。 I can smell it through the walls。 I want to look just for a moment on flowers。 To kill； to drink blood and to have flowers。〃
〃Not good enough。 Want to make the book；〃 he said。 〃Want to make it now and want you to e with me。 I won't hang around forever。〃
〃Oh； nonsense； of course you will。 You think I'm a doll； don't you？ You think I'm cute and made of poured wax； and you'll stay as long as I stay。〃
〃You're a bit mean； Armand。 You look like an angel； and talk like a mon thug。〃
〃Such arrogance！ I thought you wanted me。〃
〃Only on certain terms。〃
〃You lie； David Talbot；〃 I said。
I headed past him for the stairs。 Cicadas sang in the night as they often do； to no clock； in New Orleans。
Through the nine…pane windows of the stairwell； I glimpsed the flowering trees of spring； a bit of vine curling on a porch top。
He followed。 Down and down we went； walking like regular men； down to the first floor； and out the sparkling glass doors and into the broad lighted space of Napoleon Avenue with its damp； sweet park of green down the middle； a park thick with carefully planted flowers and old gnarled and humble； bending trees。
The whole picture moved with the subtle river winds； and wet mist swirled but would not fall into rain itself； and tiny green leaves drifted down like wilting ashes to the ground。 Soft soft southern spring。 Even the sky seemed pregnant with the season； lowering yet blushing with reflected light； giving birth to the mist from all its pores。
Strident perfume rose from the gard