The Complete Vampire Chronicles 12-Book Bundle (The Vampire Chronicles) (356 page)

“ ‘Somebody who doesn’t fully rest assured that He is the immortal Creator of the Universe,’ I said. ‘Any mortal man hanging on a cross now on Golgotha outside Jerusalem would know better than you!’

“His eyes grew wide as He stared at me. But He didn’t challenge me. His silence unnerved me. And once again, the power of His expression, the radiance of God in man dazzled me, and drew upon the angel in me to simply shut up and fall at His feet. But I wouldn’t do it!

“ ‘Lord, even when I went to Sheol,’ I said, ‘I didn’t know whether or not I’d ever come back to Heaven. Don’t you see? I don’t claim to have your understanding of anything. We wouldn’t be talking here if I did. But I didn’t have any promise I would be allowed back into Heaven, don’t you see? So the suffering and the darkness spoke to me and taught me, because I took the risk that I might never overcome it. Don’t you see?’

“He considered this a long time and then He shook His head sadly. ‘Memnoch, you are the one who has failed to understand. When is Humankind closest to God than when they suffer for the love of another, when they die so that another might live, when they plunge towards certain death for the protection of those they leave behind or those truths about Life which Creation has taught them?’

“ ‘But the world doesn’t need all that, Lord! No, no, no. It doesn’t need the blood, the suffering, the war. That wasn’t what taught Humans to love! Animals already did all that bloody, horrible catastrophe to one another. What taught Humans was the warmth and affection of another, the love for a child, the love in a mate’s arms, the capacity to understand another’s suffering and want to protect that other, to rise above
savagery into the formation of family and clan and tribe that would mean peace and security for all!’

“There came a long silence. And then very tenderly He laughed. ‘Memnoch, my angel. What you learnt of life you learnt in bed.’

“I didn’t answer for a moment. The comment was charged with contempt and humour, of course. Then I spoke:

“ ‘That’s true, Lord. And suffering is so terrible for humans, injustice is so terrible for the balance of their minds that it can destroy those lessons learnt in bed, magnificent as they are!’

“ ‘Oh, but when love is reached through suffering, Memnoch, it has a power it can never gain through innocence.’

“ ‘Why do you say that? I don’t believe it! I don’t think you grasp it. Lord, listen to me. There’s one chance for this to be proven my way. One chance.’

“ ‘If you think for one moment you will interfere with my ministry and my sacrifice, if you think you can turn the tide of the vast forces already moving towards this event, then you are no more an angel, but a demon!’ He said.

“ ‘I don’t ask that,’ I said. ‘Go through with it. Minister, outrage them; be arrested, tried, and executed on the cross, yes, do all of it. But do it as a man!’

“ ‘I intend to.’

“ ‘No, you’ll know the whole time you’re God. I’m saying Forget that you are God! Bury your divinity in the flesh the way it’s been buried intermittently. Bury it, Lord, leaving yourself only your faith and your belief in Heaven, as if it had come to you through Revelation immense and undeniable.

“ ‘But bury in this desert the true certainty that you are God. Then, you’ll suffer it all as a man suffers it. Then you’ll know what this suffering is at its heart. Then will all the glory be stripped from agony! And you will see what men see when flesh is ripped, and torn, and blood flows, and it is your own. It’s filth!’

“ ‘Memnoch, men die on Golgotha every day. What is important
is that the Son of God knowingly dies on Golgotha in the body of a man.’

“ ‘Oh, no, no!’ I cried out. ‘This is disaster.’

“He seemed so sad suddenly that I thought he might weep for me. His lips were parched and cracked from the desert. His hands were so thin I could see the veins. He was not even a great specimen of a man, only an ordinary one, worn down by years of toil.

“ ‘Look at you,’ I said, ‘starving, thirsting, suffering, tired, lost in all the darknesses of life, the true spontaneous evils of nature, and dreaming of glory when you exit this body! What kind of lesson can such suffering be? And who will you leave with the guilt for your murder? What will become of all those mere mortals who denied you? No, please, Lord, listen to me. If you won’t leave your Divinity, then don’t do it. Change this plan.

“ ‘Don’t die. Above all, don’t be murdered! Don’t hang from a tree like the God of the Wood in the Greek stories. Come with me into Jerusalem; and know women and wine and singing and dancing and the birth of little ones, and all the joy the human heart can contain and express!

“ ‘Lord, there are times when the hardest men hold infants in their arms, their own children, and the happiness and satisfaction of those moments is so sublime that there is no horror on earth that can destroy the peace they feel! That is the human capacity for love and understanding! When one can achieve harmony in spite of everything, and men and women do this, Lord. They do. Come, dance with your people. Sing with them. Feast with them. Throw your arms around the women and the men and know them in the flesh!’

“ ‘I feel pity for you, Memnoch,’ He said. ‘I pity you as I pity the mortals who will kill me, and those who will inevitably misunderstand my laws. But I dream of those who will be touched to the core by my suffering, and who will never forget it, and will know what love I felt for mortals that I would let myself die among them before opening the gates of Sheol. I
pity you. Feeling as you do, your guilt will become too terrible to bear.’

“ ‘My guilt? What guilt?’

“ ‘You’re the cause of all this, Memnoch. You’re the one who said I should come down in the flesh. You’re the one who urged me on to do it, who challenged me, and now you fail to see the miracle of my sacrifice.

“ ‘And when you do see it, when you do see souls perfected by suffering ascending to Heaven, what will you think then of your paltry little discoveries made in the arms of the Daughters of Men? What will you think? Don’t you see? I will redeem suffering, Memnoch! I will give it its greatest and fullest potential within the cycle! I will bring it to fruition. I will allow it to sing its own magnificent song!’

“ ‘No, no, no!’ I stood up and railed at Him. ‘Lord, just do as I ask. Go through with it, yes, if you must, found this miracle upon a murder, do it that way, if that is your will, but bury your certainty of Divinity, so that you really, really do die, Lord, so that when they drive the nails through your hands and feet you know what a man feels and no more, and when you enter the gloom of Sheol yours is a human soul! Please, Lord, please, I’m begging you. For all humanity, I’m begging you. I can’t see the future but I have never been more frightened of it than I am now.’ ”

Memnoch broke off.

We stood alone in the sands, Memnoch looking into the distance and me beside him, shaken.

“He didn’t do it, did he?” I asked. “Memnoch, God died knowing He was God. He died and rose knowing the whole time. The world argues over it and debates and wonders, but He knew. When they drove the nails, He knew He was God.”

“Yes,” said Memnoch. “He was man, but that man was never without the power of God.”

Suddenly I was distracted.

Memnoch seemed too shaken to say any more just yet.

Something changed in the landscape. I looked towards the
circle of stones, and realized a figure was sitting there, the figure of a dark-skinned, dark-eyed man, emaciated and covered with the sand of the desert, and he was looking at us. And without one fiber of his flesh being other than human, He was obviously God.

I was petrified.

I had lost the map. I didn’t know the way back or the way forward, or what lay to left or to right.

I was petrified, yet I wasn’t frightened, and this man, this dark-eyed one, was merely looking at us with the softest sympathy in his face, and the same unbounded acceptance of us that I had seen in Him in Heaven when He’d turned and taken me by the arms.

The Son of God.

“Come here, Lestat,” he called now softly, over the desert wind, in a human voice. “Come closer.”

I looked at Memnoch. Memnoch was looking at him, too, now and he gave a bitter smile. “Lestat, it is always a good idea, no matter how He is behaving, to do exactly what He says.”

Blasphemy. I turned, shivering.

I went directly towards the figure, conscious of each shuffling step through the boiling sand, the dark thin form corning ever more clear to me, a tired and suffering man. I sank down on my knees in front of Him, looking up into His face.

“The Living Lord,” I whispered.

“I want you to come into Jerusalem,” He said. He reached out and brushed back my hair, and the hand was as Memnoch described it, dry, calloused, darkened from the sun as his brow was darkened. But the voice hovered somewhere between natural and sublime, it struck a timbre beyond the angelic. It was the voice that had spoken to me in Heaven, only confined to human sounds.

I couldn’t answer. I couldn’t do anything. I knew that I would do nothing until I was told. Memnoch stood off, arms
folded, watching. And I knelt, looking into the eyes of God Incarnate and I knelt before Him completely alone.

“Come into Jerusalem,” He said. “It won’t take you long, no more perhaps than a few moments, but come into Jerusalem with Memnoch, on the day of my death, and glimpse my Passion—see me crowned with thorns and carrying my cross. Do this for Me before you make your decision whether or not to serve Memnoch or the Lord God.”

Every part of me knew I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand it! I couldn’t watch it. I couldn’t. I was paralyzed. Disobedience, blasphemy, those weren’t the issues. I couldn’t endure the thought of it! I stared at Him, at His sunburnt face, at His soft and loving eyes, at the sand clinging to the edge of His cheek. His dark hair was neglected, wind-torn, swept back from His face.

No! I can’t do it! I can’t bear it!

“Oh, yes, you can,” He said reassuringly. “Lestat, my brave bringer of death to so many. Would you really return to Earth without this glimpse of what I offer? Would you really give up this chance to glimpse me crowned with thorns? When have you ever passed up a challenge, and think what I am offering to you now. No, you wouldn’t back off from it, even if Memnoch urged you to do it.”

I knew He was right. Yet, I knew I couldn’t stand it. I could not go into Jerusalem and see the actual Christ carrying His Cross. I couldn’t. I couldn’t. I didn’t have the strength, I would—I was silent. A riot of thought within me condemned me to utter confusion and continued paralysis. “Can I look at this?” I said. I closed my eyes! Then I opened them and looked at Him again and at Memnoch, who had come near and looked down with a near, cold expression at me, cold as his face could be, which wasn’t cold at all so much as serene.

“Memnoch,” said God Incarnate. “Bring him, show him the way, let him but glimpse it. You be his guide, and then go on with your examination and your appeal.”

He looked at me. He smiled. How frail a vessel He seemed
for His own magnificence. A man with lines around his eyes from the hot sun, with worn teeth, a man.

“Remember, Lestat,” God said to me. “This is only the world. And you know the world. Sheol awaits. You have seen the World and Heaven but you have not seen Hell.”

We were in the city, a city of deep brown and faded yellow stones and clay. Three years had passed. It had to be so. All I knew was that we were in a huge crowd of people, robed and veiled and ragged—that I could smell the human sweat, and the heat of stagnant breath, and stench of human waste and camel dung overpoweringly, and that though no one took notice of us, I could feel the press around us, I could feel unwashed men shoving against me, and brushing in front of me, and the sand salted the air here within the walls of the city, within these narrow streets, just as it had salted the air of the desert.

People clustered in small rounded doorways, peeped from windows above. Soot mingled with the everlasting sand. Women drawing their veils around their faces cleaved to one another, pushing past us. Up ahead I could hear screams and shouting. Suddenly, I realized that the crowd was pressed so tight around us, I couldn’t move. Desperately I looked for Memnoch.

He was right beside me, watching all calmly, neither of us shining with any preternatural gleam among these drab and soiled humans, these everyday creatures of this early and harsh time.

“I don’t want to do it!” I said, digging in my heels, shoved along by the crowd, yet resisting. “I don’t think I can do it! I can’t look, Memnoch, no, this is not required of me. No … I don’t want to go any farther. Memnoch, let me go!”

“Quiet,” he said dourly. “We are almost to the place where He will pass.”

With his left arm around me, clutching me protectively, he divided the crowd in front of us, effortlessly it seemed, until we emerged in the front line of those who waited at a broader thoroughfare as the procession advanced. The shouts were deafening. Roman soldiers moved past us, the garments soiled with grit, faces tired, bored even, dreary. Across the way, on the other side of the procession, a beautiful woman, her hair covered by a long white veil, threw up her hands and screamed.

She was looking at the Son of God. He had come into view. I saw the big crossbar of the crucifix first, on his shoulders sticking out on either side of Him, and then His hands, bound to the beam, dangling from the ropes, already dripping with blood. His head was bowed; the brown hair was matted and dirty and covered over with the crude black crown of spiking thorns; spectators were pressed to walls on either side of Him, some taunting Him, others silent.

There was barely room for Him to walk with his burden, His robes torn, His knees bruised and bleeding, but walk He did. The stench of urine was overpowering from the nearby walls.

He trudged towards us, face hidden, then fell, one knee going down into the stones of the street. Behind Him I saw others carrying the long post of the cross which would be planted in the ground.

At once the soldiers beside Him pulled Him up. They steadied the crossbar on his shoulders. His face was visible, not three feet from where we stood, and He looked at us both. Sunburnt, cheeks hollow, mouth open and shuddering, dark eyes wide and fixed on us, He looked, without expression, without appeal. The blood poured down from the black thorns sticking into His forehead; it ran in tiny streams into His eyelids and down His cheeks. His chest was naked under the open rag of robe which He wore, and it was covered with the ripe, red stripes of the lash!