Idyll

1. It’s Friday, and the day is dying
   (The summer, too, though not quite yet),
   The city’s lamps and headlights vying
   To light the way once sun has set.
   Downtown the city stirs, awaking
   To second life, the people taking
   In food and friends in small cafés,
   Then off to shopping, concerts, plays.
   Through all this Kunigunde wanders.
   She soon starts university,
   But for a span of time, she’s free
   To take the air. At times she ponders
   The castle perched above the sprawl
   That casts its shadow over all.
2. Tonight, the castle and its master
   Should not be further from her mind.
   With Oma out of town, at last, her
   Unending lessons are consigned
   To later thought. She has collected
   Her auburn hair in unaffected
   And charming plaits. To match their sheen,
   A knee-length dress in em’rald green.
   She seeks a bistro’s outdoor table,
   Where she can watch the crowds go by
   And, while she’s at it, maybe try
   A sample of the local label.
   Once served, she to her seat adjourns
   And smiles at boys whose heads she turns.
3. The Riesling and the boys’ admiring
   Are satisfying. Passably.
   She’d hoped for something more inspiring,
   If not quite sure what that might be
   When setting out on this excursion.
   She itches for a new diversion.
   There is, if she remembers right,
   An opera being sung tonight.
   And opera houses, she is certain,
   Attract more worldly clientele,
   Well-dressed and more grown-up as well.
   She must arrive before the curtain!
   Abandoning her glass and chair,
   She hurries to the central square.
4. And as her footsteps bring her near, and
   Electric lights give way to gas,
   From concrete, cobblestones appear, and
   A fountain bubbles. Here they pass:
   The tourists and the opera’s patrons
   (Substantial men and wealthy matrons).
   Their flashy clothes and jewelry seem
   Contrary to the antique gleam
   Of gaslight. Rising up behind them,
   The Opera, with its open doors,
   Admits the crowd, and in it pours.
   So elegant does Kinge find them,
   She stares a bit more than she ought,
   But doubts that this is what she sought.
5. At least the house itself impresses.
   Stone angels, gods, and horses fly,
   While grotesques haunt its arched recesses.
   The last of sunlight leaves the sky;
   The final opera-goers hasten
   Within the theater. From her place in
   The square she sees the lobby’s light
   Before the doors are shut up tight.
   Then all is still. In what direction
   Should Kunigunde this time head?
   It’s really much too soon for bed.
   She stands some minutes in reflection,
   Distracted then by something new:
   A black car purring into view.
6. She knows this car. And all unbidden
   Her Oma’s voice sounds in her ear,
   “You’re out alone. Now get you hidden
   Before those creatures find you here.”
   She doesn’t move. Why ever would she?
   Twelve years it’s been. The likelihood she
   Might chance upon them, here, tonight,
   Is far too small. She’ll stay, all right.
   First out is Timoch, who emerges
   As plain of face as she recalls
   From meeting in the castle’s halls.
   Next, Timoch from the back seat urges
   A stately vampire lady, gowned
   In amber silk, her blond hair wound
7. About her head. This is Amata,
   Whom Kunigund’ has never met.
   Nor ’til this moment had she got a
   Good look at her in person. Yet
   She’d recognize her from descriptions
   In Oma’s records. Such inscriptions
   Tell little of her private life;
   In public, she’s the Lord Graf’s wife.
   Most any human she’d enamor,
   This lovely figure, draped in gold.
   To Kunigunde, it’s a cold,
   Unearthly thing, this vampire glamour.
   Her training has made her immune,
   She thinks, of course, a bit too soon.
8. For when the Graf appears, it shakes her.
   If childishly her heart had warmed
   To him an age ago, it makes her
   Blush hot, to find her grown self charmed.
   As he glides t’ward his destination
   She watches, rapt in fascination
   And lets escape a tiny sigh.
   He stops, and turns, and meets her eye.
   No sound, no movement but the beating
   Within her breast between them now.
   He offers her a graceful bow.
   She awkwardly returns his greeting,
   Which draws from him a kindly smile.
   They watch each other for a while.
9. But then, they hear the opera starting.
   Faint music through the entry swells.
   The Graf smiles once again in parting
   And nods to Kunigund’: Farewell.
   His Gräfin’s pleasure now attending,
   He takes her arm in his. Ascending
   The Opera’s stairs, they open wide
   A door and disappear inside.
   No moon tonight. The stars come slowly
   To dot the sky. Their panoply
   Stirs echoes in her memory,
   The images of something wholly
   Important she forgot, somehow.
   She must go home and find it. Now.
10. At first, when she was only seven,
    She always kept his gift nearby.
    But by the time she turned eleven,
    She had to read it on the sly
    Because Luzia confiscated
    The book and it was relegated
    To Oma’s office down the hall.
    The iron safe within the wall
    Contains it still. Luzia gave her
    Permission to go in, if need
    Arose while she was gone. And she’d
    Be gone for weeks, with fortune’s favor.
    She probably would never know.
    The hallway lights should stay off, though.
11. The swords on hangers seem to warn her;
    The clock ticks disapprovingly.
    The safe itself waits in the corner,
    Between displays of weaponry.
    But none of this sways her decision.
    She spins the dial with calm precision:
    Turn left, then right, then left again.
    (She’s known the code since she was ten.)
    First, documents, as she expected.
    The Hellers’ written history,
    All sorted chronologically
    And into sturdy files collected.
    She slides them carefully aside
    And reaches past them, deep inside.
12. She finds a case of lacquered metal.
    It’s full of boxes, which contain:
    A handsome watch, a soldier’s medal,
    A tiny cross upon a chain.
    Past all of these her fingers, shaking,
    Brush soft, familiar leather, taking
    Her volume out. The cover gleams
    Like stars in her forgotten dreams.
    And Kinge happily immerses
    Herself again in stories told
    Of princes who could weep pure gold
    And maidens fighting wicked curses,
    Exciting as they were before.
    But now, years later, she wants more.
13. She skims her Oma’s compilation
    Of all they know about the Graf.
    It has but little illustration,
    And not a single photograph.
    The next file in the safe comprises
    A ream of notes she recognizes
    As from the Graf himself. His hand
    Is elegant, precise and grand.
    These letters document occasions
    Like when new vampires joined his ranks,
    Or transfers from his many banks
    To Heller coffers. Celebrations
    Are noted, too. He sent his best
    For weddings, and new babies blessed.
14. Long over all these notes she lingers,
    Retracing every line and stroke
    His pen had made, as if her fingers
    Could with their own his touch invoke.
    The mem’ry of their meetings haunts her,
    And obstacles between them daunt her,
    But soon a plan begins to brew.
    She takes the first file up anew,
    To seek and find a floorplan showing
    All Castle Sternendach and grounds.
    Right there: the eastern wing surrounds
    A library. The papers stowing,
    She hunts the office for a pen
    And paper as the clock strikes ten.
15. She scraps the first draft of her letter,
    Its eager scribblings fit to shred.
    The second version fares no better,
    So formal it can scarce be read.
    Here Kunigunde takes a breather,
    At this point satisfied with neither
    Her courage nor her skill. At length,
    The tales of heroes give her strength,
    And she begins once more to shape her
    Request in writing. Soon the lines
    Come easily. She stops and signs
    The bottom, neatly folds the paper,
    Then slips out silent as a ghost
    To put her letter in the post.
16. The next two days seem never-ending.
    As Kinge plays the waiting game,
    She kills the dragging time by spending
    It practicing her draw and aim
    Down at the range, and then reviewing
    Her Latin verbs, perhaps renewing
    Her interest in some other chore,
    Like sweeping out the weapons store.
    On Sunday, still no satisfaction.
    She goes to mass with Eva, takes
    Some lunch with her as well, then breaks
    For home, alone. In her distraction,
    She almost misses, in the door,
    The very thing she’s waiting for.
17. A square of paper, neatly folded,
    And sealed with a familiar crest,
    But Kinge trembles as if scolded
    To see the envelope’s addressed
    To her. She breaks the waxen sealing.
    The paper parts at once, revealing
    A text that’s typed and, scrawled below,
    A signature she doesn’t know.
    “Dear Fraülein, greetings, your request to
    Consult the Castle’s library
    Is granted by His Exc’llency
    For Monday night. It would be best you
    Present yourself here right at eight.
    You’ll have two hours. Don’t be late.”
18. By Monday night, she’s lost in heady
    Anticipation. She secures
    The book inside a satchel, ready
    For deep discussion. She procures
    A taxi, feels herself the essence
    Of grown-up, ’til she’s in the presence
    Of Timoch, and that mood deflates.
    She summons up some hauteur, states:
    “Good ev’ning, Timoch. I’m expected.”
    He answers: “Nice to see you back.
    I fear, though, you must leave your pack.
    The Graf’s desires will be respected.”
    “But how can I…?” she starts to plead.
    “I’ll bring you anything you need.”
19. The library is warm, inviting.
    Wood carvings decorate the wall.
    And from gas chandeliers, the lighting
    With golden tones suffuses all.
    Arranged in stacks, the book collections
    Extend to ells in both directions,
    While volumes by the hundreds squeeze
    In alcoves and in balconies.
    To Kunigunde, Timoch carries
    A sheaf of paper, pencils too,
    And turns to leave, as if on cue.
    “But will the Graf be here?” she queries.
    It isn’t clear that Timoch hears.
    “Two hours.” Then he disappears.
20. Thus Kunigunde, her heart racing,
    Has found herself, alone at last,
    ’Mid books and maps and volumes tracing
    The castle’s dark and storied past.
    A wealth of knowledge, close and tempting,
    And yet the chamber seems quite empty.
    No sound, no shadow, breath or ghost
    Of her mysterious ancient host
    To greet her as she wanders, shyly
    Exploring stacks and brushing spines.
    So thwarted in her search for signs,
    “I guess I’ll read,” she whispers wryly.
    She settles in a cozy nook
    And greets a heavy, pond’rous book.
21. The balconies are hiding places
    That Kunigund’ does not discern.
    On one of them the vampire paces
    And listens to the pages turn.
    Why is she here? What inspiration
    Has made her seek his invitation?
    He peers down at his guest below
    And wonders: does Luzia know?
    Her grandmother would have prevented
    The girl from seeing him alone,
    And burned the letter, had she known.
    He grasps, perhaps, what made her send it.
    For surely one as old as he
    Knows books aren’t what she came to see.
22. Two hours pass and, disappointed,
    She leaves the books in piles about.
    When Timoch shows up, as appointed,
    She sighs and lets him walk her out.
    Once home, she snubs her mother’s greeting
    And, quickly to her room retreating,
    She shuts the door and turns the key.
    Oh God, how stupid could she be?
    Of course he wouldn’t deign to see her,
    Or answer to her naïve call,
    If he was even home at all!
    To make it worse, well, what if he were
    To tell her fam’ly where she’d been?
    Her grandmother would do her in!
23. Embarrassment and worry racking
    Her nerves, she drops down on the bed
    And grabs her bag to start unpacking—
    But finds an envelope instead.
    His crest again but, more exciting,
    The letter’s in his handsome writing:
    “Geehrtes Fräulein, pleased was I
    My library should catch your eye.
    I could not join you, to my sorrow.
    Two hours is not ample time
    For large collections such as mine.
    Would you return at eight tomorrow?
    Then you will have, you may be sure,
    My presence, and a proper tour.”
24. She’s thunderstruck. Of course, she’s going.
    But writing her like this implies
    He wants to see her. Her! And knowing
    This fact, some questions soon arise,
    Like, this time, how will Timoch greet her?
    How quickly will his master meet her?
    And once met, will they be alone?
    What clothes would set the proper tone?
    The Tuesday ev’ning finds she chose her
    Green dress again, with Eva’s shoes.
    On her arrival, Timoch, whose
    Demeanor is unaltered, shows her
    To where his lord waits patiently
    To show the guest his library.
25. The brass doors part at Timoch’s knocking.
    “Come in, please,” says a voice within.
    His voice. That voice. She leans back, rocking
    A little as the sound sinks in,
    Eyes closed. But stop! The Graf is waiting!
    She shakes her head clear, concentrating,
    And holds her head up high, before
    She steps past Timoch, through the door.
    The Graf looks up and puts the book he
    Was reading quickly to the side.
    Before her in a single stride,
    And wearing a most genial look, he
    Says, “Ah, you’re here. You cannot guess
    How glad I am that you’ve said yes.”
26. The Graf extends his hand. She takes it.
    He says, “I’ve chosen to surround
    Myself with precious things, which makes it
    My honor, showing you around.”
    “The honor’s mine,” she says, and follows
    Him through the chamber’s aisles and hollows.
    She seems calm, but inside? A storm.
    Oh, Oma lies. His hand is warm.
    The books are treasures, vast, uncounted.
    He draws her deeper in, to show
    The works he has in folio
    By Plutarch and by Kircher. Mounted
    In frames above are pages ripped
    From some Tchaikovsky manuscript.
27. He speaks with such enthusiasm
    She cannot help but be drawn in.
    For every item, Kinge has him
    Describe its import, origin,
    And he indulges her. Attentive
    She nonetheless finds fair incentive
    To study how he speaks and moves
    Up close, in detail. “If this proves
    A bore,” he says, “Too desultory…?”
    “It’s part of you,” she says, “I see
    Why you keep them so carefully.
    Each book you have contains a story,
    Inside and out, a mem’ry fit
    To last forever.” “Yes. That’s it.”
28. A glass case in a further section
    Displays a codex, old and faint:
    A treatise on the Resurrection
    By Isentrud, the local saint.
    This item Kinge finds amazing.
    She stands before the showcase, gazing.
    Then, feeling just a little proud,
    She reads some Latin text aloud,
    And praises the illumination.
    Her words trail off into the air
    When she perceives the vampire’s stare.
    His eyes are hard. A cold sensation
    Creeps up her arms. His face austere,
    He asks, “What are you doing here?”
29. She, startled, asks, “Did I offend you?”
    He waves her silent with his hand.
    “Just tell me. Did Luzia send you?
    What sort of mischief has she planned?”
    “She doesn’t know I’m here, I swear. She’s
    In Serbia.” “Yes, I’m aware. She’s
    Been gone a week, but even so,
    There’s little that she doesn’t know.”
    The path behind her—Timoch’s blocked it,
    Discreetly moving into view,
    And trapping her between the two.
    The Graf says, “Seeing you’ve concocted
    This scheme to meet me, tell me why.
    Believe I’ll know it if you lie.”
30. His accusation stings, afflicting
    The girl with unexpected dread.
    She spies a canvas then, depicting
    The old Graf, Syfryd, who is dead
    By Heller hands, and realizes
    The image of her in his eyes is
    An enemy, a fam’ly curse.
    Well might it seem to him perverse
    That she should risk so much in senseless
    Pursuit of his attention. Could
    She melt away right now, she would.
    But here she is, pinned and defenseless,
    And praying for some sign of ruth.
    What can she tell him, but the truth?
31. “Do you remember our first meeting,
    When you gave me that book?” “What book?”
    He interrupts, and it’s defeating,
    The lack of knowledge in his look.
    “The Stars of Sternendach, the fairy
    And wonder tales,” she says. “With very
    Detailed designs that caught the light?”
    “Ah, yes.” “I read it every night,”
    She presses on. “Before I met you
    My Oma told me to prepare
    For someone cold, who didn’t care
    For anything but blood. And yet you
    Gave me a host of magic friends
    Whose brav’ry earned them happy ends.
32. “I grew up, spent the last years vowing
    That childish things and I were through.
    But when I saw you Friday, bowing,
    I wanted magic. Wanted you.”
    Her courage gone, she reaches blindly
    For some support, which Timoch kindly
    Provides by bringing her a chair.
    She sits and gulps much-needed air.
    The Graf’s not even looking at her,
    His focus on his father’s face,
    Then on the codex in its case.
    She grits her teeth to stop their chatter.
    Her hands’ heels pressed against her eyes,
    She holds the tears back. Well, she tries.
33. Warm hands on hers her face uncover,
    Keen eyes on hers rest for a beat.
    She blinks, bewildered, to discover
    Her host is kneeling at her feet.
    “Forgive me,” he says, “I implore you.
    One woman only, once before you,
    Has ever sought me out, and she
    Was hardly moved by love for me.”
    Releasing her, he rises, saying,
    “You’re free to leave, if you prefer.”
    So pensive does he look to her,
    She softly asks, “And if I’m staying?”
    He says, “Then, Fräulein, ere you go,
    There’s one more thing I have to show.
34. “But first, I think, you will be needing
    A lantern.” This he finds, and lights.
    He gestures her to follow, leading
    Her through a door. “It’s several flights,”
    He says. And there, illumined gently,
    A spiral stair. She peers intently,
    But lantern light can’t reach the top.
    “Go on. I’ll tell you when to stop,”
    He says, and at her hesitation
    The Graf stands back, to make it clear
    That she is not a captive here.
    No trap. No Timoch. Invitation.
    She takes the light and starts to climb
    The cool stone steps, one at a time.
35. A spiral staircase never varies.
    It’s steps above and steps below,
    Pitch black but for the light she carries,
    No way to tell how far to go.
    She hears her ragged breath escaping,
    Her shoes against the granite scraping,
    And wonders if she’s like to fall.
    His footsteps make no sound at all.
    Nor has he spoken. It’s confounding.
    She’d turn, but cannot shake the fear
    That if she did, he’d disappear.
    She freezes. Then his voice comes, sounding
    So close she feels it on her hair.
    “Don’t give up now; you’re almost there.”
36. Just five more steps, then Kinge faces
    A doorway open to the night.
    Beyond, a parapet that places
    Her at the castle’s greatest height.
    The views between the merlons show her
    The city, sparkling far below her,
    Stray lights like grains of gold on black.
    But color draws her eyeline back
    And up, where swaths of blue and violet
    Play host to stars of every size
    And brightness. “Oh, my God!” she cries,
    Enthralled. She’s never seen the sky lit
    Up quite like this. She starts to spin,
    Arms out, to take the splendor in.
37. Her soul awash with starlight, soaring,
    She doesn’t see the roughness where
    Her high heel catches on the flooring,
    And Kinge’s fingers close on air
    As she spills backwards t’ward the paving.
    He swoops in like a kestrel, saving
    Her dizzy form from falling. Through
    His grace, he saves the lantern, too.
    He murmurs, “Oh, how you enchant me.”
    She’s waiting for their lips to meet,
    But he returns her to her feet.
    “Why not?” the girl demands. “Why can’t we?”
    He looks at her. “Because, my lamb,
    Of who you are. And who I am.”
38. “Oh yes,” she says, “I’ve known who you are
    My whole life, just like you’ve known me.”
    “And from that, you believe we two are…?”
    “We have no secrets here. We’re free.”
    He laughs, but there’s no malice in it.
    Completely silent for a minute,
    When next he speaks, it’s tinged with rue.
    “I think I am too old for you.”
    “For everyone,” she says, “I grant you.
    Four hundred years.” He frowns. “Quite so.”
    His eyes reflect the heavens’ glow.
    She asks, a whisper, “I enchant you?”
    The stars and castle crash and blur
    As he leans in and kisses her.
39. Once home, and calm, she risks believing
    She dreamed the stair, the stars, the kiss.
    But then must she deny receiving
    His invitation back, and this
    She will not do. Thus start recurring
    Excursions to the castle. During
    The next few weeks the vampire looks
    For her each night among his books,
    Where Kunigunde gladly tarries.
    They read each other soft refrains
    Of poetry the times it rains,
    But when the weather’s clear, he carries
    Her up the spiral stair and they
    Embrace beneath the sky’s display.
40. One morning, Kinge’s mother tasks her
    With setting out their breakfast of
    Fresh bread and honey. Kinge asks her,
    “When did you know you were in love?”
    Here Eva eyes her daughter wisely.
    “With Papa?” she asks, smiles. “Precisely?
    First time I saw that gorgeous man.
    In uniform, no less. You can
    Imagine, he cut such a figure.”
    Now Kinge pouts and rolls her eyes.
    “That isn’t love, you know,” she sighs.
    Says Eva, “Are you now so big, you’re
    About to teach me what love means,
    With all the wisdom of your teens?”
41. She sips her tea. “All right, that part was
    Admittedly a bit cliché.
    But nonetheless, it’s true: my heart was
    Completely lost to him that day.
    And very quickly I would know that
    He was a hero, fighting so that
    He’d save some lives, help end the war.
    But that’s not what you’re asking for.”
    A pause. “Your Father took me dancing
    In Syfryd Park, some summer night.
    He held me in his arms so tight,
    With starlight all around us glancing,
    As if the world were just us two.
    And that, my dear, was when I knew.
42. “I didn’t know how complicated
    His life was. I knew he loved me,
    But not how much his mother hated
    His choice. She said I’d never be
    A hunter, calling me ‘outsider.’”
    And Eva’s dark eyes flash. Beside her,
    Her daughter comes to sit. “So do
    I look like him, or more like you?”
    Her mother tells her, with affection,
    “I see him in you, here and there.
    You’ve got his nose, and that’s his hair.
    But you’ve my eyes, and my complexion.”
    The girl beams proudly, taking in
    Her mother’s lovely olive skin.
43. There’s silence in the air between them
    As Kunigunde starts to clear
    Their breakfast things away to clean them.
    Says Eva, “Something you should hear:
    When you were born, your father planned to
    Take both of us and leave this land, to
    Start over somewhere, maybe France.
    I’m mad we never got the chance.”
    Her daughter nearly drops a plate, her
    Mouth open. “But, the pact!” she cries.
    “The vampires!” Eva then replies,
    “D’you think the world holds dangers greater
    Than vampires who’ve sworn not to kill?
    Your father did; I hope you will.
44. “Your grandmother will not accept that.
    She thinks she’s right, and we should sign
    Ourselves to her crusade, except that
    Her son refused to fall in line.”
    “So Papa quit,” says Kunigunde,
    “He joined the army.” “Which served under
    The Graf’s direct authority.
    They fought about it constantly.
    One night they wouldn’t stop their yelling.
    Your Opa tried to calm him down.
    They took a car ride into town
    And then...” Now Eva’s eyes are welling.
    The girl approaches, gingerly.
    “Let’s talk ’bout something else,” says she.
45. “But thanks,” she adds, “for what you told me,”
    Though she’s not sure she understood.
    “Your Oma isn’t here to scold me.
    I had to tell you, while I could,”
    Says Eva, dries her eyes. “I’m guessing
    There is a reason you’re obsessing
    About the mail, and going in
    To town.” A blush warms Kinge’s skin.
    Has Mama found her out? She couldn’t!
    And when she’s asked, “Is it a boy?”
    She blushes deeper. “Well, enjoy!”
    Her mother laughs. “I’m sure you wouldn’t
    Do anything I wouldn’t do.”
    “I love you, Mama.” “Love you, too.”
46. Her mother’s tale and gloomy meaning
    Disquiet Kunigunde, true.
    But she can’t help her mind careening
    To thoughts of her next rendez-vous.
    One detail, though, her conscience bothers:
    The medal that she found—her father’s—
    Is locked away from prying eyes.
    Should she tell Eva where it lies?
    But that would lead to more discussions
    Of her nocturnal research, so
    She thinks it best to let it go
    For now, and chance the repercussions.
    For what means all of that beside
    A castle with her love inside?