



— Dionysus in San Francisco, 1985
I think to be this happy is to be miserable, to feel this much satisfaction is to burn.
—The Vampire Lestat - The Vampire Chronicles
“Margon’s not tired of Stuart, is he?” he asked suddenly. “He understands, doesn’t he, that Stuart is just so damned exuberant!”
“Are you serious?” Felix laughed softly. “Margon loves Stuart.” He dropped his voice to a confidential whisper. “You must be a very sound sleeper, Reuben Golding. Why, it’s Zeus carrying off Ganymede just about every night.”
Reuben laughed in spite of himself. Actually he was not much of a sound sleeper, or certainly not every night.
Very slowly I turned, and I saw Louis’s unmistakable form emerging from the shadows. Only Louis. The light of the candles slowly revealed his placid and slightly gaunt face.
He had on a dusty sad coat, and his worn shirt was open at the collar, and he looked faintly cold. He approached me slowly and clasped my shoulder with a firm hand.
“Something dreadful’s going to happen to you again,” he said, the light of the candles playing exquisitely in his dark green eyes. “You’re going to see to it. I know.”
“I’ll win out,” I said with a little uneasy laugh, a tiny giddy happiness at seeing him. Then a shrug. “Don’t you know that by now? I always do.”
"I was still sitting there staring at the entrance to the tunnel when I heard fast crisp steps approaching, someone walking steadily, heavily and fast.
“Get up, Lestat.”
I turned and looked up into the face of my mother.
There she was after all these years in her old khaki safari jacket and faded jeans, her hair in a braid over her shoulder, her pale face like a porcelain mask.
“Come on, stand up!” she said, those cold blue eyes flashing in the lights of the burning building at the mouth of the tunnel.
And in that moment as love and resentment clashed with humbling fury, I was back at home hundreds of years ago, walking with her in those cold barren fields, with her haranguing me in that impatient voice. “Get up. Move. Come on.”
“What are you going to do if I don’t?” I snarled. “Slap me?”
And that’s what she did. She slapped me.
"