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.There d be good, solid proof. Proof? But how could such a thing be proved? As you said yourself, the idea isabsurd. There ought to be ways to do it. She hadn t considered the matter before, butshe felt challenged by the stranger in the seat beside her. It wouldn t be thepremature burial concerns, because that s a different matter entirely. Certainly, he agreed. If legends are right, burial of a vampire is hardlypremature.She decided to overlook this remark. The trouble is, she said seriously,  the bestway would be to get volunteers, and I don t suppose it would be easy to convinceany real vampire that he ought to submit himself to scientific study. It would be impossible, I should think, her seat partner interjected. And how could it be proven, I mean, without destroying the volunteer? I don tsuppose there are any real proofs short of putting a stake through their hearts orsevering their heads. Burning is also a good method, the man said. No one, not even a vampire, is going to agree to that.And it wouldn tdemonstrate anything at all.Anyone would die of it, whether or not they werevampires. Suddenly she giggled. Christ, this is weird, sitting up here talking aboutexperimenting on vampires. Actually, she was becoming uncomfortable with thesubject and was anxious to speak of something else.The man seemed to read her thoughts, for he said,  Hardly what one would callprofitable speculation.Jillian had the odd feeling that she should be polite and decided to ask him a fewquestions. Is this your first trip to America? You speak wonderful English, but&  But you know I am a foreigner.Naturally. He paused. I have been to America,but that was some time ago, and then it was to the capital of Mexico.A strangeplace, that city built on swamps.His description of Mexico City startled Jillian a little, because though it was trueenough that the city had been built on swamps long ago, it seemed an odd aspect ofits history to mention. Yes, she said, to indicate she was listening. This is my first visit to your country.It is disquieting to go to so vast a land, andbe so far from home.The stewardess appeared at his elbow. Pardon me, Count.We re about to servecocktails, and if you d like one& ? No, thank you, but perhaps  he turned to Jillian  you would do me the honorof letting me buy one for you.Jillian was torn between her delight at the invitation and the strictures of heryouth that had warned against such temptations.Pleasure won. Oh, please; I d likea gin and tonic.Tanqueray gin, if you have it. Tanqueray and tonic, the stewardess repeated, then turned to the man again. If you don t want a cocktail, we have an excellent selection of wines&  Thank you, no.I do not drink wine. With a slight, imperious nod, he dismissedthe stewardess. She called you Count, Jillian accused him, a delicious thrill running throughher.This charming man in black was an aristocrat! She was really looking forwardto telling her friends about the flight when she got home.It would be wonderful tosay, as casually as she could,  Oh, yes, on the way back, I had this lovelyconversation with a European Count, and then watch them stare at her. A courtesy title, these days, the man said diffidently. Things have changedmuch from the time I was born, and now there are few who would respect myclaims.Jillian knew something of the history of Europe and nodded sympathetically. How unfortunate for you.Does it make you sad to see the changes in yourcountry? She realized she didn t know which country he was from and wonderedhow she could ask without seeming rude. It is true that my blood is very old, and I have strong ties to my native soil.Butthere are always changes, and in time, one grows accustomed, one adapts.Thealternative is to die.Never before had Jillian felt the plight of the exiled as she did looking into thatcivilized, intelligent face. How terrible! You must get very lonely. Occasionally, very lonely, he said in a distant way. But surely, you have family&  She bit the words off.She had read of some of thebloodier revolutions, where almost every noble house was wiped out.If his was oneof them, the mention of it might be inexcusable. Oh, yes.I have blood relatives throughout Europe.There are not so many of usas there once were, but a few of us survive. He looked up as the stewardessapproached with a small tray with one glass on it. Ah.Your cocktail, I believe. Heleaned back as the stewardess handed the drink to Jillian. Which currency wouldyou prefer? he asked. How would you prefer to pay, sir? the stewardess responded with a blindingsmile. Dollars, pounds, or francs.Choose. He pulled a large black wallet from hisinner coat pocket. Dollars, then.It s one-fifty. She held out her hand for the bill, and thanked himas she took it away to make change.Jillian lifted the glass, which was slightly frosted, and looked at the clear liquidthat had a faint touch of blue in its color. Well, thanks.To you. She sipped at thecold, surprisingly strong drink. You re very kind, he said, an automatic response. Tell me, he said in another,lighter tone,  what is it you will teach to your junior high school students? English, she said, and almost added,  of course. As a language? the Count asked, plainly startled, Not really.We do some grammar, some literature, some creative writing, a lot ofreading. As she said it, it sounded so dull, and a little gloom touched her. But surely you don t want to spend your life teaching some grammar, someliterature, some creative writing, and a lot of reading to disinterested children. Hesaid this gently, kindly, and watched Jillian very closely as she answered. Sometimes I think I don t know what I want, she said and felt alarmed at herown candor [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]