Chapter Text
PROPERTY OF THE TALAMASCA
THE FILE ON INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE
Appendix C: Selections of Relevant Portions of Typed Records Created by The Vampire Armand in 1982
See also: The Vampire Armand, The Vampire Daniel Molloy, and The Vampire Louis de Point du Lac.
Originally collected 1982, Appendix created 1990 by D. Talbot, Addl. Notes 2016
Archivist Note: An extensive record of writings apparently authored by The Vampire Armand was collected by Talamasca agents from the six different apartments in which they were stored and abandoned in 1982 in Manhattan, New York, New York. The publication of The Queen of the Damned in 1989 supports the veracity of these records and their authorship, and copies of the full documents are kept in the records relating to The Vampire Armand. Select entries with direct relevance to the book Interview with the Vampire and the events documented within are included here.
From The Queen of the Damned, authored pseudonymously by The Vampire Lestat de Lioncourt (see also The Vampire Lestat, The Vampire Chronicles) based on the recollections of The Vampire Daniel Molloy about The Vampire Armand:
"Next it was computers. He was filling disk after disk with his secret writings. He rented additional apartments in Manhattan to house his word processors and video game machines."
A: Typed Record #24
Daniel once again asked me a question about Lestat, and once again I used the old technique of looking at him until he stopped asking. When I do this he thinks I am mulling over some deep thoughts and secrets I don't want him to know, which I may have been doing at first, but since the effect of the staring on the boy became explicitly clear to me I've honed it into an intentional strategy. It works for many things, like, "Where are you taking me?" and "Whose shirt is this?" And "Why won’t you make me into a vampire?" All varieties of tedious questions can be dismissed with the staring.
He thinks it is an unintentional glimpse of some vast immortal wisdom. I can conveniently use the time it takes to do the staring to think about other things, like how there are many trains in the world and also fewer trains than I would like. Daniel is also fond of trains, at least the miniature ones, as I once observed in his mind when we passed a window display. It also brought up some emotions for him about his father, so it felt like it might not be the time to get more information about how the miniature trains work or why people buy them. Sometimes the questions I have for him about the mortal world are simply too vast for him to answer, but sometimes they just summon to his mind uncomfortable memories, and unlike I he has never mastered the technique of staring without blinking in response to questions he doesn't want to answer.
He does not, obviously, know how long or how well I have known Lestat, but neither do I want him to. Few beings currently living know who I am, that I am a vampire, who Lestat is, and anything that has transpired between us, and I intend to keep their number as low as possible. If that awful woman ever stumbles out of whatever damp part of the world she's been in I may do my best to ensure there is one fewer person walking the earth with this knowledge. However, telling Lestat I killed Louis was ultimately a miscalculation, and so actually killing his mother may be as well. I cannot live in a hypothetical future where I either allow or refuse Gabrielle de Lioncourt the privilege of not being incinerated by me, as appealing as one version of that future may be. I must live in the present with cold immediacy, and so I must conclude this entry to get to Grand Central in time for the 11:30 PM to arrive from D.C.
A: Typed Record #47
The boy did that thing again where he thinks about Louis when he knows I can hear him. He was thinking about Louis last night because he saw a tall thin man walking with his daughter. I was also thinking about Louis last night because Daniel was so distracted by his thoughts that he tripped over a mailbox, a thing Louis would never do but which reminds me of the level of functional incompetence that is inherent to him which I once found so endearing. It is selfish of me, to prize feeling so impressive, but when a fellow immortal is impressed by the simple act of mind reading and climbing walls it's difficult to not preen a bit. I kept waiting for him to finally realize that he could also read minds, but like a dog who refuses to walk through an open door and instead begs at a closed one immediately next to it, I cannot help but find it as charming as I find it sad.
Once Louis said to me, sometime around 1910, that everyone had been so cruel to each other and quick to anger when he was human, but clearly the human race had progressed. It was the first positive thing he said about anything for about twenty years, so I didn't have the heart to break it to him that people had remained as cruel and quick to anger as they'd always been for the entire time I'd been alive. The issue was that he had simply never realized that our kind have the power to spellbind, and he was constantly doing this by accident, which was the reason why every human he came across seemed so infinitely accommodating to him. The man who had "politely stepped out of his path" early that evening had stepped so far from his path so quickly that he'd stepped into an open manhole cover and fallen into the sewer like a character from the later Looney Tunes animations, and I had been forced to exert the greatest power in all of my four hundred years of life to keep a straight face about it. Unfortunately, a few years later a Great War broke out in Europe and destroyed the weak sparks of optimism this had generated in lovely Louis, what a shame. He will spend forever being handed every flower and trinket he admires on the street by the vendor free of charge and may never figure out why.
I surely hope he has not yet been murdered over this book, though who but me deserves the right to feel truly insulted by it, I'm not sure. I came across one of the old reviews I kept from back when it was originally published while trying to locate one of my missing video recordings earlier, and the reviewer referenced how the novel was "subtly homoerotic." What an incredible way to describe a book that included a section where Louis sadly describes how disappointed he is that he no longer has human sexual arousal, since he thinks that would be the most natural possible response to meeting me. The vast expanses of the human imagination fail in so few ways compared to the vampiric one, but the word "subtly" in that review did highlight some of their contemporary limitations. Perhaps Louis should have included one of the long discussions we had about Oscar Wilde in his interview with Daniel, though that may still be too subtle. To be entirely fair, part of the issue may have been Louis, whose memory is more suited to romantic ennui than plain facts. If for some reason anyone interviews me at some point in the future, I'll make certain to include specific details about all the men I've had intercourse with. "Subtly homoerotic" companions for decades, this century is so bizarre.
A: Typed Record #63
Daniel and I took Francisco to an early preview for a new dance musical that has already been a hit in London, called Cats. It is by Andrew Lloyd Webber, who has already made some blasphemous musicals I have thoroughly enjoyed. I heard this one had dancing and we’ve not spent much time with Francisco since he graduated. He is always happy to receive the phone calls I make to check in on him and his career, though I do occasionally forget the time and wake him up.
The show was quite interesting, and Francisco was fascinated by the storytelling through the dancing. Daniel fell asleep and kept trying to pretend later that he hadn’t but failed to convincingly participate in our conversation about the Magical Mr. Mistoffelees and betrayed himself. Francisco asked us which cat we each identified with most, and Daniel couldn’t think of anyone because he missed half of the performance, so I told Francisco that he was Rum Tum Tugger. Francisco laughed; Daniel had no clue what I was talking about. I claimed Asparagus the Theater Cat, and Francisco said I was too young to identify with such an old man, and Daniel changed the subject.
I often run into problems not sounding strange when I discuss theater at the best of times, since the important context that I did manage a theater for many decades isn’t the kind of thing I can bring up in conversation. That I managed a theater at all confuses people even without the time frame because of my youthful appearance, so I restrained myself, even though there is so much I could say to fans of the art form about its evolution. I still have some of my business cards, which Louis so lovingly described, though of course, I can't use them for anything, but they were expensive at the time. I wish I could show them to Francisco. Daniel thinks I can never keep track of anything, but just because I've just realized that those business cards aren't in these trousers I’m currently wearing doesn't mean I don't know what trousers they're in, which will surely occur to me momentarily. I know I had those business cards when I left New Orleans because I had them when I got to New Orleans and I wanted to keep them, so they must be in the trousers I was wearing yesterday because they are not in these ones.
Archivist’s Note: A collection of business cards matching the description of the ones described in Interview with the Vampire were retrieved from a bench in the Garden District in New Orleans by Talamasca agent Aaron Lightener in 1958 and are available for review.
A: Typed Record #81
He who has so often pointed to gaps in my knowledge has now been forced to confront the gaping chasms in his own. Daniel claimed he hired an accountant, but somehow blames me because he didn't know that his old CPA died three years ago and that he has been sending his financial records to what is now a hair salon, simply because he has had no consistent address in the last five years.
Typical Daniel, unable to do a single thing I have not specifically told him to do reliably, and if he's not blaming it on sleep deprivation, he's blaming it on the fact he's not a vampire. I informed him that vampires do pay taxes, and he said that Louis never told him that, and got a dose of the staring in reply, as though he can tell me anything I don't already know when I’ve been dealing with multiple tax authorities since before the rise of Napolean. He's going to get a new set of his paperwork from the publishers and then I told him I and the computer are going to do his taxes because unlike Daniel I know what an adjusted gross income is. He replied to me that I was gross, and I did not understand his words but caught the meaning from his mind, realized this was meant to be a joke, and was both insulted and flattered. He laughed then he kissed me, which was very nice but also confusing.
The sexuality of that boy baffles and enchants me. He sees me as a grand insect that will eat him one day, and I view him as a tiny insect I study under glass, and this is why I simply enjoy looking at him so much, and why he is well suited to be mine, and why I fear I have come to need him more than I expected. Disregard. I do not need him. I do not need any mortals no matter how fascinating they may be.
I will check to see if the course catalog has anything on the study of insects that begins after dark in the upcoming semester, though I am unsure of what that field is called. The continued ubiquity of Latin and Greek in the sciences is occasionally convenient for me, but Americans in the twentieth century often play fast and loose with the true languages. As I was once informed by my master, fifteenth-century Venetians did as well, though naturally, I wasn't able to perceive that.
Enough words about insects and Latin and other things that make me muse melancholy about love and loss. Stupid Daniel. I will do his taxes when the new forms come in, whether he wants me to or not.
Curator’s Note: IRS 1040s for Daniel Molloy are available in the records relating to The Vampire Daniel Molloy, including those for the years 1979, 1980, and 1981.
A: Typed Record #98
Last night was All Hallows Eve, and Daniel once again made the unfunny suggestion that I go as Dracula. I responded by providing him with the reminder that I can easily kill him whenever I want. We settled on Star Wars, which was the original plan last year. I was of course the intrepid Luke Skywalker, a young man reeling from the devastation of his home and the death of a mentor, a moving synthesis with my own life that of course the boy knows nothing about. He tried to argue with me about it until I pointed out that height alone would ruin the verisimilitude of our costuming if I had to be Han Solo, so he accepted being Han Solo. I suggested that if he had such an issue with being Han Solo, he could instead be Yoda, and I could assist him with my theatrical makeup skills, something which initially seemed like a misnomer to him until the remembrance that he does, in fact, know one thing about my past hit him like a train. There are many trains in this modern age, but not as many of them as I would like, and I have discovered that there is a passionate subculture of people who make miniature trains, and I desperately need to investigate this further. I don’t remember if I have mentioned this before.
As I should have expected, at this party, someone was dressed as a vampire and somebody brought up the book again, which keeps happening when people hear my name in the right type of social settings with the right kind of young people. I find this hilarious, but Daniel didn't put his name on the book because he’s a coward. He pretended to need to use the restroom, even though I know he didn't need to, and I just stood there enjoying the conversation immensely, trying to figure out if the amount of liquor in the woman I killed earlier today was contributing to just how much I was enjoying it. It took me a moment to realize the mortal in the cape had taken to defending the actions of the fictional character Armand, and despite some unnecessary speculation about my own existential traumas I did appreciate having someone on my side. After that part of the conversation ended and the group dispersed, I kept chatting with him, and I proceeded to ask him if he would like to have sex with Daniel, which would gone much more smoothly if Daniel hadn’t disappeared. Luckily when Daniel finally came back from his forty-five-minute fake trip to the bathroom the man agreed. I suggested to Daniel's mind that he could tell the man that he wrote Interview with the Vampire and impress him even more, but he was reticent, and despite the fact he certainly enjoyed himself most of the way through the subsequent encounter, nonetheless he ended it mad at me.
I never understood the feet thing; some humans are into feet in a sexual sense, which is interesting to me. I'm pretty sure my master was into ankles, and it's not like I had trouble indulging him in this matter, but I never quite understood it myself. After centuries of experience with the rest of the human body, I feel like the ankles and the feet are a non-ideal part to drink blood from, but I am forced to assume that my master did have a secondary motivation. I am also now realizing this does explain several of the rules he established in the Palazzo about shoes.
It hasn’t failed to occur to me before that the base sexual appetites we once had as mortals follow us throughout our immortal existence. My own knowledge of the subject is limited by the logistical issue that Those Who Wish to Die are unlikely to be overcome in the moment by a sadomasochistic urge, at least on the sadistic end, more the pity for me. My insight into the relationship between my long-dead passions and my current passion for blood remains largely theoretical. I suppose now I do have the ability to explore this with Daniel, but the fragility of the human body does present a problem when the human body in question is one I'd prefer to keep around. This is why I mostly keep my investigations into sadomasochism with Daniel focused on what I can do to his brain, which is at a slightly lesser risk of being broken. Once I asked Louis to punch me in the face, but he couldn’t even really get excited about it, and the whole ordeal just became morose and then boring, as so many things with Louis tended to do.
Tomorrow evening I'll present this question to Daniel and we will experiment to determine if I am right, though now I realize, I should clarify that the question I wish to answer is about blood and feet and only sadomasochism insofar as how Daniel is probably going to be in pain during the experience. Daniel, as he has now definitively discovered, is not into feet, and the glowering afterward this time was stronger than ever, as though having to slightly awkwardly and politely turn down certain acts he does not want to do is something I should take the blame for. As this man who was so disappointed to not put his feet in anyone's mouth argued so eloquently, the great powers of the character of Armand in the novel Interview with the Vampire are not endless, and he will always be blamed for the shortcomings of those who do not wish to admit to their own desires or lack thereof. Some people don't want to let a man with a foot fetish down gently, and some people don't want to admit that they really wanted to be free of the burden of certain diminutive companions, and somehow these always become something I am responsible for.
Maybe if I ask if I can put my feet into Daniel's mouth, he will be so irritated that he will try to punch me in the face, which with his lack of preternatural strength won't really do much for me in a theoretical sexual way, but will be entertaining. On the other hand, so to speak, it may shatter his hands, and I like his hands and do not want them to change. Things about him are obviously changing as he ages, but I want to keep his hands as they are now. No more words about keeping parts of Daniel as they are now.
Will report back anon.
Archivist’s Note: the subsequent entry, “A: Typed Record #99,” may be accessed by senior Talamasca agents only due to incidents of inappropriate use and was found to lack relevance to this collection, despite its original questionable inclusion. For further information, reference memo dated December 26, 2015 entitled, "A STATEMENT ON THE SPECIFIC RELEVANCE AND USE OF RECORDS RELATING TO VAMPIRE SEXUALITY IN LIGHT OF RECENT MISCONDUCT AND UNPROFESSIONAL BEHAVIOR."
A: Typed Record #105
We came across a de Goya in an art exhibit today and I made the grand mistake of speaking into Daniel's mind that I once owned a copy of it, and then later on the train he made the connection to the damn book, and I should have kept my mind shut. We get off the train and he's thinking to himself about Louis's description of Denis and trying to figure out the age of the boy, as though I can't catch his twentieth-century judgment.
Like a fool, I attempted to obscure the thought in his mind, but I don't know why I thought it would work when the mind was Daniel's. If I was able to smooth anything over in his brain many of the things about him that cause conflicts between us would have been gone years ago. I simply like his brain too much the way it is now, and I am not capable of going against my own deep-seated wishes, even when I want to.
There may be a part of me that actually wants him to ask me questions about the book and the theater and Louis, but it would get in the way of the much larger part of me that just wants to spend however short his mortal life is enjoying it, and I don't know much he'll allow me to enjoy it alongside him if he ever even begins to comprehend what it takes to endure immortality. I don't think he would be capable of enduring it, and I don't think he will ever truly grasp how fundamentally damned and perverse it makes me that I am able to. Daniel can miss out on immortality, and I can miss out on the selfish notion that I deserve to hold onto him for any longer than God grants me, and we can get back to everything this age has to offer.
Of course, I have no idea how old Denis was. I have no idea how old I was, and I don't know my own birthday. The world I came from is a foreign land Daniel is incapable of understanding, and he is also incapable of understanding how he is all the better for it. Stuff and nonsense, but luckily, he never actually asked me about it.
A: Typed Record #132
I am now leaving Manhattan to relocate to Florida, and I cannot recall exactly where the old apartments are that contain the rest of these computers.
I would like the Talamasca, who I assume will end up with this entry as well, to someday let me know if you have a copy of a newspaper review of one of the performances given by the Theatre de Vampires in Paris in the summer of 1845. It was written by a terrible man named Pierre who I killed in an alleyway after a very irritating conversation I had with Celeste because she blamed my limited creative input into the show for his extremely mild negative criticism of her performance. I had a copy of it that I would occasionally use as an example of her inability to take constructive criticism without flying off the handle, and that copy was almost certainly lost in the fire.
I would like to cite it in one of the ongoing secret writing projects I've been working through in my attempts to figure out how to end these increasingly frequent disagreements I've been having with Daniel. If you don't get me a copy until long after Daniel Molloy is dead, I still want it anyway for my greater understanding.
I do not like your organization but if you insist on documenting me, you at least have the obligation to answer my direct requests, especially seeing as the only reason you even have this request is because you are cataloging my most personal thoughts like butterflies pinned to a corkboard. If you were an organization focused on Entomology, I would have much more respect for you than I do now, with your current mission to plunder the mistakes and triumphs of my existence for some esoteric reason I do not know, likely divorced from any sense of mortality, understanding of the nature of evil, or belief in the Almighty. Quite like my Daniel, whose dental records you likely have already cataloged perversely, you seek answers that exist within a realm of understanding filled with horrors beyond those your mortal minds are capable of ever grasping. The fact that you sent so many of your agents to my theater over the years and I respectfully declined to kill any of them is a testament to how insignificant I find you. Had my master not shown affection to your agent in Venice in 1498 before he perished, I would think nothing of disposing of every last one of you.
David, I don't need the original copy of the article, a xerox is fine. Yes, I know your name, David Talbot. You may be adept at masking your thoughts, but not all your fellow agents can say the same. None of you have ever successfully hidden from us as well as you hoped.
Sincerely,
The Vampire Armand