Andrew Fox - Fat White Vampire Blues

“Uh, sure thing!” Erato yelled after him, sounding more than a little confused. “Let’s get together next week at the Trolley Stop and talk about that C.A.H.R.T. program, okay? Maybe I can get you to volunteer with me?”

Jules didn’t even attempt a reply. He pretended not to have heard his friend, and concentrated on pushing through the crowd. Just six weeks ago, learning about the C.A.H.R.T. program, with its convenient supply of unsuspecting homeless victims, would’ve seemed like manna from heaven. Now the thought of what he would’ve done with that knowledge made his stomach churn.

Jules trudged toward Rampart Street, his feet heavy as concrete slabs. Although he was surrounded by hundreds of people, he felt achingly alone.

The big vampire drove aimlessly for a while, barely noticing things like stop signs, traffic lights, and pedestrians. Driving in the shadow of the elevated expressway grew uncomfortable-the massive steel buttresses looming above him reminded Jules of the relentless fate hanging over his head-so he turned off onto Tulane Avenue.

Too late, he realized where he was. “Jeezus, my life’s runnin‘ in a big fuckin’ circle,” he whispered harshly to himself. To his left, silhouetted in moonlight, loomed the Romanesque towers of St. Joseph’s Church. His childhood church, and the same house of worship he’d found himself drawn to the night he’d submerged Bessie’s body in the muddy waters of Manchac swamp.

The massive front doors were open, beckoning him inside. He parked on the other side of the street and walked across Tulane Avenue’s six lanes. A sign posted on the church’s front lawn announced that the church was conducting special evening Masses during the Night Out Against Crime.

Jules felt a desperate, burning need for-what? Forgiveness? Absolution? Redemption, maybe? Whatever this nebulous but powerful need was, he knew that he felt scared, abandoned, sick of being who he was, and terribly, terribly alone. More than anytime since he’d been a little boy, he wanted someone stronger and wiser than he was to tell him everything would be all right. Even if it wasn’t true.

He just wanted to hear it.

He squinted to avoid seeing the crucifixes outside and walked into St. Joseph’s. Almost immediately, he felt his skin begin broiling; it felt like the sunburns he used to suffer at Lake Pontchartrain at the start of summer, right after school had let out. He avoided the baptismal font like another man would avoid a pool of boiling lava. The big church was empty.Must be between Masses, Jules told himself. More surprising to him was the dull drabness of the tall stained-glass windows. After thinking about it a minute, he realized that in nearly all his memories of this church, the windows had been made radiant and beautiful by the sunlight streaming through them.

He wanted to go somewhere he hadn’t been since he was twenty years old. He wanted to sit in the confessional booth. The green light above the booth’s door was lit. He grabbed the handle, then let go as if a cobra had bitten him. The handle felt as hot as a glazed pot fresh out of the kiln. His attempt at entry had left the door slightly ajar, however, so Jules gingerly pushed it open with the toe of his shoe.

The booth was much smaller and tighter than he remembered it being. He barely fit on the kneeler, and his knees were jammed into his overhanging stomach. The church was air-conditioned; still, Jules felt like a king cake baking inside a McKenzie’s Pastry Shoppe oven. Sweat coursed down every square inch of his body, but it failed to cool his burning skin. The stale air inside the booth was soon clouded with white, oily smoke.

After a moment, Jules heard the wooden door on the other side of the screen slide open. He waited for the priest to say something, but then he remembered that the parishioner always speaks first. Embarrassed, he tried to recall the proper opening words.

“Uh, forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It’s been… let’s see… eighty years since my last confession; maybe eighty-five years. Lemme think here… uh, I have purchased pornography-”

“Excuse me, my son. Surely you realize that smoking is not permitted in the confessional booth.”

Jules was slightly stunned at having been interrupted midconfession by the priest. “But I’m not smoking, Father.”

“I smell smoke.”

Jules waved his arms around, trying to disperse the smoke, but his exertions only made his skin burn faster. “Uh, yeah-I came from a bar, see, a real smoky bar-not that I wasdrinkin‘ or nothin’… me and my pals, we were havin‘, uh, a Bible study session in the back…”

“Please, my son, do not add to your sins. Just stub your cigar out. I realize the terrible power of nicotine addiction, but surely you can wait until after you’ve completed confession.”

“Uh, okay.” Jules made a noise with his foot like he was stubbing out a cigar on the floor. “Back to what I was sayin‘ before… my sins… I have purchased pornography on, uh, numerous occasions. I used the pornography to commit, y’know, onanism. On, uh, numerous occasions. I have fornicated-although the last time I did it, I didn’t go all the way. I have thought disrespectful thoughts regarding my mother. Oohh, this is a bad one-I had sexual intercourse with a dog.”

“Adog?”

“Yeah, but there were extenuating circumstances. Getting away from the whole sex thing, Father, what I really came to talk to you about is this-is it a sin to kill for food?”

The priest paused before responding. “Are you telling me that you killed someone and stole their food?”

“Uh, no. Not exactly. What I’m talkin‘ about is killing some-, uh, somethingand eating, uh, part of it. That’s what I done.”

“I see. Before Adam and Eve were expelled from the Garden, they ate only the fruits and plants that were permitted them; they were vegetarians. However, once they committed Original Sin, carnivorousness became part of the natural order of things, and since then man has been permitted to eat of the lower animals. However, if you have stolen an animal that belonged to another and slaughtered it for food, this could be considered sinful. Not for the act of eating meat, but for the act of theft.”

Jules coughed. His throat was parched, and the oily smoke from his own skin was irritating it even more. “That’s not it, either. See, I’m sort of a hunter. I hunt to eat. Only… well… I don’t hunt lower animals. Not exactly.”

“Whatdo you hunt?”

Jules sighed heavily. “People. Human beings.”

“You huntpeople and youeat them? You’re telling me you’re a cannibal?”

“No, Father,” Jules said hastily. “I don’t wanna give you the wrong idea. I don’teat people, not really. How can I explain this, in some way that’ll make sense to you-? Okay. Here goes. I drink people’s blood. I’m a vampire.”

The priest was silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was angry and dismissive. “The confessional is no place for pranks or jokes. Please take your warped ‘sense of humor’ somewhere else and leave this booth for those who truly wish to use it.”

The door behind the screen partition began to slide shut. “Father, wait! I’m not bullsh-, I mean I’m not feedin‘ you any baloney here! I reallyam a vampire! That smoke you smell-that’s not from a cigar, it’s myskin that’s burning! I’m burning because I’m inside a church! I swear to the Big Guy in Heaven I’m tellin’ you the truth!”

The door stopped sliding shut. Jules pressed his advantage. “Father, I couldshow you stuff. I can change into a bat. Or a wolf. I know it sounds ridiculous, but it’s true. Or you can take a crucifix and press it against my skin. It’ll brand me like an iron right outta the fire, honest truth so help me-”