Andrew Fox - Fat White Vampire Blues

“Stop. I’m willing to take you at your word. Whatever else, I believe thatyou honestly believe what you are telling me.”

Jules sucked in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “Thanks, Father. That’s really white of you. I mean that.”

“Hrrmm…” The priest cleared his throat. Jules had the sudden realization that he might not be speaking with a white clergyman. “How about telling me why you decided to enter the confession booth tonight? That’s not usual behavior for a vampire, is it?”

“No… it’s not.” Jules wiped his forehead with his sleeve. Flecks of parched skin, gray as ash, drifted down through the smoky air.“It’s just that… Father, I don’t think I’m gonna be on this earth much longer. I think I’m gonna get killed, and this time it’s gonna be permanent. I’ve drained a lotta folks over the years… to live, to survive. I always explained it away by tellin‘ myself I’m no worse than the hunter who loads up his deer rifle, then goes out into the woods to bring home some venison. But lately-well, just tonight, this friend of mine, a good friend, he told me some things-and I can’t look at it in the same way no more. All them killings, they’re eatin’ me up inside. I don’t wanna go down to the grave with all that on my conscience.”

“How many people have you killed, my son?”

“In the last eighty, eighty-five years… I’ve gotta figure about two fangings a month, sometimes three… minus the thirty-odd years I worked for the coroner’s office… I’d hafta estimate a thousand to twelve hundred.”

Jules heard a soft choking sound from the far side of the screen. “Have you-have you ever tried subsisting on the blood of lower animals?”

Jules sighed. “I been there, Father. Believe me. Been there and tried that. Way back in World War One, right after I became a vampire, I tried doin‘ the patriotic thing and not munch on my fellow Americans. Instead, I put the bite on anything I could get my hands on-stray dogs and cats, mules, even a dairy cow once. I found out it’s like tryin’ to live on water and crackers-boy, did I feel like shit after a while. Later on, after Pearl Harbor, I tried the same thing again. Thought maybe I’d tolerate it better, since I’d been a vampire longer. No such luck. But I found a better way to be a good American-the docks and factories were teemin‘ with fifth columnists, filthy spies and saboteurs… I ate good during the war.”

“Help me to understand-is human blood absolutelynecessary for you to survive? Or is it a substance like heroin, a drug you’ve become addicted to? If you had to, could you subsist on the same foods ordinary humans eat?”

Jules didn’t care for the direction their discussion was taking. All he’d wanted to do was confess, get his assignment of penitent prayers, receive absolution, and leave as fast as possible. “No, Father. I can’t eat no normal foods. Not for the last twenty-five years or so. They won’t stay down. They shoot out both ends-it’s amess, believe me.” His conscience stung him like a nestful of aroused wasps; he wasn’t telling the Father a big, fatlie, not exactly, but he was withholding a good part of the truth. “Eh, I guess, y’know, I suppose I need to qualify that a little. I can’t eat no normal foods while I’m in myregular shape. There’ve been a few times-really rotten, low times, times so lousy I don’t even wanna think about them-when I been forced to change into a wolf and scrounge around for some scraps or dog food to eat. I guess I been able to tolerate solid foods good enough those few times-”

“So then, conceivably, you would be able to survive by-ahem-changing into awolf whenever you feel the need to eat?”

Jules sensed himself sliding down a slippery slope. “Well, eh, it’s possible, maybe, just not realprobable — ”

“Indulge me a moment-you could subsist on solid foods, and drinking human blood would no longer be necessary?”

“Look, Father, you’re takin‘ me into real uncharted territory here. What you’re suggestin’ has never been tried for any long period of time-and besides, it’sway beneath my dignity as a vampire. If you’ll excuse me sayin‘ so, you askin’ me to dothat is like me askin‘you to screw a nun. It just ain’tdone. No vampire in America would even look me in the eye if they knew I’d donethat kinda eatin’. Well, practically no vampire. Anyway, I don’t know why we’re even discussin‘ this, seein’ as how I probably won’t be eatin‘ or drinkin’ anything much longer.”

When the priest spoke again, Jules could tell he was on the verge of slamming the partition door shut. “I’ve been very patient. Exactlywhat do you want from me?”

Jules tried to make his tone as respectful as possible (considering that his lips were beginning to blister). “Father, I thought that wasobvious. My mother, bless her soul, raised me in the Church. I’ll admit I ain’t been the greatest Catholic the last eighty years or so, but it hasn’t been my fault. I just want the same thing any parishioner wants when he walks outta the confession booth-a list of ‘Hail Marys’ and rosaries to say, so I can get this awful weight off my shoulders. I’ve done what I’m supposed to-I’ve come in here and told you all the crummy stuff I’ve done. I’ve confessed, and I’m not even on my deathbed yet. I want you to ’poof‘ me, Father, so that I’m sin-free when I sail off into the Last Roundup.”

Jules felt satisfied with himself. His plea had been heartfelt, spiritual, and well worded. But suddenly the Father’s voice took on that hair-raising, Satan-slamming resonance that Jules recognized from theOmen movies. “There is no penance unless the sinner intends to sin no more. Will you foreswear the drinking of human blood and dedicate the rest of your unholy existence to the service of Christ?”

“Aww, c’mon, Father, we just been through this. I said I’m sorry. I just want to clear my slate, that’s all. Look, I never had no choice over whether I became a vampire or not-”

“Insincere penitence is like unto blasphemy in the eyes of our Lord. Vampire or not, you defile this holy church with your lies and deceptions. Get out. Do not return here until you are ready to sin no more.”

The priest closed the sliding door with a resounding smack. “Father, just a few ‘Hail Marys,’ that’s all I’m askin‘ here-”

“Out!Getout! Leave at once, or I’ll have the policethrow you out!”

When he found himself back out on the trash-strewn sidewalk, Tulane Avenue looked even more desolate and abandoned than before. Jules kicked an empty can of Dixie Beer into the street, then brushed flakes of dead skin from his arms and neck.

“Boy, he sure was in a snit,” Jules muttered to himself. “Maybe the altar boy had a headache last night.”

He was immediately sorry that he’d said it. His head involuntarily jerked sideways as he pictured his mother hauling off and slapping his face, every one of her ninety-eight pounds behind the blow.

It was a fortuitous hallucination. While his head was cockeyed from the imaginary blow, Jules’s gaze fell upon the billboard mounted on the roof of the furniture store across the street. A mariachi band played in front of an outdoor cafй, the musicians grinning ludicrously big grins, as if they were all hooked up to IVs brimming with tequila. Continental Airlines was advertising new direct flights to Mexico City and Cancъn.FLY TO MEXICO CITY FASTER THAN YOU CAN DRIVE TO MORGAN CITY, the billboard commanded.

Like a bursting grenade, the name hit him.Doc Landrieu! Hadn’t Doc Landrieu practically begged him to move to Argentina and become an assistant in the doctor’s liposuction practice? Hadn’t his old boss enticed him with visions of grateful Latin women and endless supplies of delicious fat-laden blood?