pzb.lostsouls-第1节
按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页，按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页，按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部！
————未阅读完？加入书签已便下次继续阅读！
In the spring； families in the suburbs of New Orleans…Metairie； Jefferson； Lafayette…hang wreaths on their front doors。 Gay straw wreaths of gold and purple and green； wreaths with bells and froths of ribbons trailing down； blowing； tangling in the warm wind。 The children have king cake parties。 Each slice of cake is iced with a different sweet； sticky topping…candied cherries and colored sugar are favorites…and the child who finds a pink plastic baby in his slice will enjoy a year of good luck。 The baby represents the infant Christ； and children seldom choke on it。 Jesus loves little children。
The adults buy spangled cat's…eye masks for masquerades； and other women's husbands pull other men's wives to them under cover of Spanish moss and anonymity； hot silk and desperate searching tongues and the wet ground and the ghostly white scent of magnolias opening in the night； and the colored paper lanterns on the veranda in the distance。
In the French Quarter the liquor flows like milk。 Strings of bright cheap beads hang from wrought…iron balconies and adorn sweaty necks。 After parades the beads lie scattered in the streets； the royalty of gutter trash； gaudy among the cigarette butts and cans and plastic Hurricane glasses。 The sky is purple； the flare of a match behind a cupped hand is gold； the liquor is green； bright green； made from a thousand herbs； made from altars。 Those who know enough to drink Chartreuse at Mardi Gras are lucky； because the distilled essence of the town burns in their bellies。 Chartreuse glows in the dark； and if you drink enough of it； your eyes will turn bright green。
Christian's bar was way down Rue de Chartres； away from the middle of the Quarter； toward Canal Street。 It was only nine…thirty。 No one ever came in until ten； not even on Mardi Gras nights。 No one except the girl in the black silk dress； the thin little girl with the short； soft dark hair that fell in a curtain across her eyes。 Christian always wanted to brush it away from her face； to feel it trickle through his fingers like rain。
Tonight； as usual； she slipped in at nine…thirty and looked around for the friends who were never there。 The wind blew the French Quarter in behind her； the night air rippling warm down Chartres Street as it slipped away toward the river； smelling of spice and fried oysters and whiskey and the dust of ancient bones stolen and violated。 When the girl saw Christian standing alone behind the bar； narrow； white； and immaculate with his black hair glittering on his shoulders； she came and hopped onto a bar stool…she had to boost herselfand said； as she did most nights； 〃Can I have a screwdriver？〃
〃Just how old are you； love？〃 Christian asked； as he did most nights。
〃Twenty。〃 She was lying by at least four years； but her voice was so soft that he had to listen with his whole cupped ear to hear it； and her arms on the bar were thin and downed with fine blond hairs； the big smudges of dark makeup like bruises around her eyes； the ratty bangs； and the little sandaled feet with their toenails painted orange only made her more childlike。 He mixed the drink weak and put two cherries in it。 She fished the cherries out with her fingers and ate them one by one； sucking them like candy； before she started sipping her drink。
Christian knew the girl came to his bar because the drinks were cheap and he would serve them to her with no annoying questions about ID or why a pretty girl wanted to drink alone。 She always turned with a start every time the street door opened； and her hand would fly to her throat。 〃Who are you waiting for？〃 Christian asked her the first time she came in。
〃The vampires；〃 she told him。
She was always alone； even on the last night of Mardi Gras。 The black silk dress left her throat and arms bare。 Before； she had smoked Marlboro Lights。 Christian told her that only virgins were known to smoke those； and she blushed and came in the next night with a pack of Camels。 She said her name was Jessy； and Christian only smiled at her joke about the vampires； he didn't know how much she knew。 But she had pretty ways and a sweet shy smile； and she was a tiny brightness in every ashen empty night。
He certainly wasn't going to bite her。
The vampires got into town sometime before midnight。 They parked their black van in an illegal space； then got hold of a bottle of Chartreuse and reeled down Bourbon Street swigging it by turns； their arms around one another's shoulders； their hair in one another's faces。 All three had outlined their features in dark blots of makeup； and the larger two had teased their hair into great tangled clumps。 Their pockets were stuffed with candy they ate noisily； washing it down with sweet green mouthfuls of Chartreuse。 Their names were Molochai； Twig； and Zillah； and they wished they had fangs but had to make do with teeth they filed sharp； and they could walk in sunlight as their great…grandfathers could not。 But they preferred to do their roaming at night； and as they roamed unsteadily down Bourbon Street； they raised their voices in song。 Molochai peeled the wrapper off a HoHo； crammed as much of it into his mouth as he could； and kept singing； spraying Twig with crumbs of chocolate。
〃Give me some；〃 Twig demanded。 Molochai scooped some of the HoHo out of his mouth and offered it to Twig。 Twig laughed helplessly； clamped his lips shut and shook his head； finally relented and licked the creamy brown paste off Molochai's fingers。
〃Vile dogs；〃 said Zillah。 Zillah was the most beautiful of the three； with a smooth； symmetrical； androgynous face； with brilliant eyes as green as the last drop of Chartreuse in the bottle。 Only Zillah's hands gave away his gender； they were large and strong and heavily veined beneath the thin white skin。 He wore his nails long and pointed； and he wore his caramel…colored hair tied back with a purple silk scarf。 Wisps of the ponytail had escaped； framing the stunning face； the achingly green eyes。 Zillah stood a head and a half shorter than Molochai and Twig but his ice…cold poise and the way his larger panions flanked him told onlookers that Zillah was the absolute leader here。
Molochai and Twig's features were like two sketches of the same face done by different artists； one using sharp straight angles； the other working in curves and circles。 Molochai was baby…faced； with large round eyes and a wide wet mouth he liked to smear with orange lipstick。 Twig's face was angular and clever； his eyes tracked every movement。 But the two were of the same size and shape； and more often than not they walked； or staggered； in step with each other。
They grinned and bared their teeth at a tall boy in fall Nazi uniform who had veered directly into their path。 From a distance Molochai and Twig's flied teeth were unremarkable except for the film of chocolate that webbed them； but some small bloodlust in their eyes made the boy turn away； looking for trouble somewhere else； somewhere vampires would not trouble themselves to go。
They made their way through the gaudy throngs to the sidewalk； steadying themselves against posters that screamed MEN WILL TURN INTO WOMEN BEFORE YOUR EYES！！！； pictures of blondes with tired breasts and five…o'clock shadows。 They stumbled past racks of postcards； racks of T…shirts； bars that opened onto the sidewalk and served drinks to passersby。 Overhead； fireworks blossomed and turned the sky purple with their smoke； and the air was thick with smoke and liquor…breath and river…mist。 Molochai let his head fall back on Twig's shoulder and looked up at the sky； and the fireworks dazzled his eyes。
They left the sleazy lights of Bourbon Street behind； swayed left onto dark Conti and right onto Chartres。 Soon enough they found a tiny bar with stained…glass windows and a friendly light inside。 The sign above the door said CHRISTIAN'S。 The vampires staggered in。
They were the only customers except for a silent little girl sitting at the bar； so they mandeered a table and slammed down another bottle of Chartreuse； talking loudly to each other； then looking at Christian and laughing； shrugging。 His forehead was very high and pale； and his nails were as long and pointed as Zillah's。 〃Maybe…〃 said Molochai； and Twig said； 〃Ask him。〃 They both looked at Zillah for approval。 Zillah glanced over at Christian and raised a languid eyebrow； then lifted one shoulder in a tiny shrug。
No one paid any attention to the girl at the bar； although she stared at them ceaselessly； her eyes bright； her lips moist and slightly parted。
When Christian brought them their tab； Molochai dug deep in his pocket and produced a coin。 He did not put the coin in Christian's hand； but held it up to the light so that Christian might look well at it。 It was a silver doubloon； of the same shape and size as those thrown from Mardi Gras parade floats along with the treasure trove of other trinkets…the beads； the bright toys； the sweet sugar candy。 But this doubloon was heavier and far； far older than those。 Christian could not make out the year； the silver was scarred； tarnished； smudged with Molochai's sticky fingerprints。 But the picture was still clear： the head of a beautiful man with eno
