The Historian

Chapter 72

"Iwish I could say that I did something brave, or useful, or caught Helen in my arms to make sure she wouldn't faint, but I didn't. There is almost nothing worse than a much-loved face transformed by death, or physical decay, or horrifying illness. Those faces are monsters of the most frightening kind - the unbearable beloved. 'Oh, Ross,' I said, and the tears welled up and ran down my cheeks so suddenly that I couldn't even feel them coming.
"Helen took a step closer and looked down at him. I saw now that he was wearing the clothes he'd had on the night I'd last talked with him, nearly a month ago; they were torn and dirty, as if he'd been in an accident. His tie was gone. An ooze of blood filled the lines of one side of his neck and made a scarlet estuary on his soiled collar. His mouth was slack and swollen around that faint breath, and apart from the rise and fall of his shirt, he was still. Helen put out her hand. 'Don't touch him,' I said sharply, which only increased my own horror.
"But Helen seemed as much in a trance as he was, and after a second, her lips trembling, she brushed his cheek with her fingers. I don't know whether it was worse yet that he opened his eyes, but he did. They were still very blue, even in that murky candlelight, but the whites were bloodshot and the lids swollen. Those eyes were horribly alive, too, and puzzled, and they moved here and there as if trying to take in our faces, while his body stayed deathly still. Then his gaze seemed to settle on Helen, bending over him, and the blue of his eyes cleared with tremendous force, opening as if to take her in whole. 'Oh, my love,' he said very softly. His lips were cracked and thick, but his voice was the voice I loved, the crisp accent.
"'No - my mother,' Helen said as if groping for speech. She put her hand against his cheek. 'Father, it's Helen - Elena. I'm your daughter.'
"He lifted one hand then, as if he controlled it only waveringly, and took hers. His hand was bruised and the nails overgrown and yellowing. I wanted to tell him that we'd have him out of there in no time, that we were going home, but I knew already how desperately wounded he was. 'Ross,' I said, bending nearer. 'It's Paul. I'm here.'
"His eyes turned in bewilderment from me to Helen and back again, and then he closed them with a sigh that went all through his swollen frame. 'Oh, Paul,' he said. 'You came for me. You shouldn't have done it.' He looked at Helen again, his eyes clouding over, and seemed to want to say something else. 'I remember you,' he murmured, after a moment.
"I fumbled for my inside jacket pocket and took out the ring Helen's mother had given me. I held it close to his eyes, but not too close, and then he dropped Helen's hand and touched the face of the ring clumsily. 'For you,' he said to Helen. Helen took it and put it on her finger.
"'My mother,' she said, her mouth trembling openly now. 'Do you remember? You met her in Romania.'
"He looked at her with something like his old keenness and smiled, his face crooked. 'Yes,' he whispered at last. 'I loved her. Where did she go?'
"'She is safe in Hungary,' Helen said.
"'You are her daughter?' There was a kind of wonder in his voice now.
"'I am your daughter.'
"The tears came slowly up to the surface of his eyes, as if they did not flow with ease anymore, and ran down the lines at their corners. The trails they left glistened in the candlelight. 'Please take care of her, Paul,' he said faintly.
"'I'm going to marry her,' I told him. I put my hand on his chest. There was a kind of inhuman wheezing inside it, but I made myself hold him there.
"'That's - good,' he said finally. 'Is her mother alive and well?'
"'Yes, Father.' Helen's face quivered. 'She is safe in Hungary.'
"'Yes, you said that.' He closed his eyes again.
"'She still loves you, Rossi.' I stroked his shirtfront with an unsteady hand.
'She sent you this ring and - a kiss.'
"'I tried so many times to remember where she was, but something - '
"'She knows you tried. Rest for a moment.' His breathing had become alarmingly hoarse.
"Suddenly, his eyes flew open and he struggled to rise. The effort was awful to watch, especially since it produced almost no result. 'Children, you must leave at once,' he panted. 'It is very dangerous for you here. He will come back and kill you.' His eyes darted from side to side.
"'Dracula?' I asked softly.
"His face went wild for a moment at the name. 'Yes. He is in the library.'
"'Library?' I said, looking around in astonishment despite the horror of Rossi's face before us. 'What library?'
"'His library is in there - ' He tried to point to a wall.
"'Ross,' I said urgently. 'Tell us what happened and what we should do.'
"He seemed to struggle with his eyesight for a moment, focusing on me and blinking rapidly. The dried blood on his neck moved with his struggle to breathe. 'He came for me suddenly, to my office, and took me on a long journey. I was not - conscious for some of it, so I do not know what place this is.'
"'Bulgaria,' Helen said, keeping his swollen hand tenderly.
"His eyes flickered again with an old interest, a spark of curiosity. 'Bulgaria? So that's why - ' He tried to moisten his lips.
"'What did he do to you?'
"'He brought me here to look after his - diabolical library. I have resisted in every way I could think of. It was my fault, Paul. I had started doing some research again, for an article - ' He struggled for breath. 'I wanted to show him as part of a - greater tradition. Beginning with the Greeks. I - I heard there was a new scholar at the university writing on him, although I couldn't find out the man's name.'
"At this, I heard Helen draw her breath in sharply. Rossi's eyes flickered toward her. 'It seemed to me that I should finally publish - ' He was wheezing now and he closed his eyes for a moment. Helen, holding his hand, had begun to tremble against me; I kept a tight grip on her waist.
"'It's all right,' I said. 'Just rest.' But Rossi seemed determined to finish.
"'Not all right,' he choked, his eyes still closed. 'He gave you the book. I knew then he would come for me, and he did. I fought him, but he has almost made me - like him - ' He seemed unable to raise his other hand and he turned his neck and head, clumsily, so that we could suddenly see a deep puncture wound in the side of his throat. It was still open, and when he moved it gaped and oozed. Our gaze on it seemed to make him wild again, and he looked beseechingly at me. 'Paul, is it getting dark outside?'
"A wave of horror and despair went through me, shooting through my hands.
'Can you feel it, Ross?'
"'Yes, I know when the dark is coming, and I become - hungry. Please. He will hear you soon. Hurry - leave.'
"'Tell us how to find him,' I said desperately. 'We'll kill him now.'
"'Yes, kill him, if you can do it without endangering yourself. Kill him for me,' he whispered, and for the first time I saw that he could still feel anger.
'Listen, Paul. There is a book in there. A life of Saint George.' He began to struggle with his breathing again. 'Very old, with a Byzantine cover - no one has ever seen such a book. He has many great books, but this one is - ' He seemed for a moment to faint, and Helen pressed his hand between hers, beginning to weep in spite of herself. When he came to, he whispered, 'I hid it behind the first cabinet to the left. Take it with you if you can. I have written something - I have put something inside it. Hurry, Paul. He is waking up. I am waking up with him.'
"'Oh, Jesus.' I looked around for some kind of help - what, I didn't know. 'Ross, please - I can't let him have you. We'll kill him and you'll get well. Where is he?' But now Helen was calmer and she picked up the dagger and showed it to him.
"He seemed to let out a long breath, and it was mingled with a smile. I saw then how his teeth had lengthened, like a dog's, and how the corner of his lip was already chewed raw. Tears ran freely from his eyes and trickled down his bruised cheekbones. 'Paul, my friend - '
"'Where is he? Where is the library?' I made the question even more urgent, but Rossi could not speak again. "Helen made a quick gesture, and I understood, and dug a rock quickly from the edge of the floor. It took me a long moment to loosen it, and in that moment I feared I could hear some movement in the church above us. Helen unbuttoned his shirt and opened it gently, and she set the tip of Turgut's dagger over his heart.
"He kept his eyes on us for a moment, trustingly, so that they looked blue as a child's, and then shut them. As soon as they closed I gathered all my strength and brought down onto the hilt of the dagger that ancient stone, a stone set in place by the hands of an anonymous monk or hired peasant, some vanished denizen of the twelfth or thirteenth century. Probably that stone had lain quiet as centuries of monks trod on it, bringing bones to their ossuary, or wine to their cellar. That stone had not moved when the corpse of a foreign Turk-killer was carried secretly over it and hidden in a fresh grave in the floor nearby, or when Wallachian monks celebrated a heretical new mass above it, or when the Ottoman police came searching in vain for the corpse, or when Ottoman horsemen rode into the church with their torches, or when a new church rose overhead, or when the bones of Sveti Petko were brought in their reliquary to sit close to it, or when pilgrims knelt on it to receive the neomartyr's blessing. It had rested there those many centuries, until I dug it roughly from its place and gave it a new use, and that is all I can write about it."