off my shoulder, but didn't succeed. "You're headed for great trouble. Just wait and see."
  
  "Oh, how exciting. Now, come, we must go to Rio. We must not miss anything of the 
carnival. Though of course we can go again . . . and again . . . and again . . . But 
come."
  
  I sat very still, looking at him for the longest time, until finally he became 
concerned again. His fingers were quite strong as they pressed my shoulders. Yes, I had 
done well with him in every step.
  
  "What is it?" he asked timidly. "Are you grieving for me?"
  
  "Perhaps, a little. As you've said, I'm not as clever as you are at knowing what I 
want. But I think I'm trying to fix this moment in my mind. I want to remember it 
always-I want to remember the way you are now, here with me ... before things start to go 
wrong."
  
  He stood up, pulling me suddenly to my feet, with scarcely any effort at all. There was 
a soft triumphant smile on his face as he noted my amazement.
  
  "Oh, this is going to be really something, this little tussle," I said.
  
  "Well, you can fight with me in Rio, while we are dancing in the streets."
  
  He beckoned for me to follow him. I wasn't sure what we would do next or how we would 
make this journey, but I was wondrously excited, and I honestly didn't care about the 
small aspects of it at all.
  
  Of course Louis would have to be persuaded to come, but we would gang up on him, and 
somehow lure him into it, no matter how reticent he was.
  
  I was about to follow him out of the room, when something caught my eye. It was on 
Louis's old desk.
  
  It was the locket of Claudia. The chain was coiled there, catching the light with its 
tiny gold links, and the oval case itself was open and propped against the inkwell, and 
the little face seemed to be peering directly at me.
  
  I reached down and picked up the locket, and looked very closely at the little picture. 
And a sad realization came to me.
  
  She was no longer the real memories. She had become those fever dreams. She was the 
image in the jungle hospital, a figure standing against the sun in Georgetown, a ghost 
rushing through the shadows of Notre Dame. In life she'd never been my conscience! Not 
Claudia, my merciless Claudia. What a dream! A pure dream.
  
  A dark secret smile stole over my lips as I looked at her, bitter and on the edge, once 
more, of tears. For nothing had changed in the realization that I had given her the words 
of accusation. The very same thing was true. There had been the opportunity for 
salvation-and I had said no.
  
  I wanted to say something to her as I held the locket; I wanted to say something to the 
being she had been, and to my own weakness, and to the greedy wicked being in me who had 
once again triumphed. For I had. I had won.
  
  Yes, I wanted to say something so terribly much! And would that it were full of poetry, 
and deep meaning, and would ransom my greed and my evil, and my lusty little heart. For I 
was going to Rio, wasn't I, and with David, and with Louis, and a new era was beginning . 
. .
  
  Yes, say something-for the love of heaven and the love of Claudia-to darken it and show 
it for what it is! Dear God, to lance it and show the horror at the core.
  
  But I could not.
  
  What more is there to say, really?
  
  The tale is told.
  
  Lestat de Lioncourt New Orleans 1991



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