All language subtitles for Interview.With.The.Vampire.S01E02.1080p.AMZN.WEBRip.DDP5.1.X264-NTb

It's Venetian.

A contemporary
of Tintoretto's.

"Marius de Romanus."

Never heard of him.

Little of his work survives.

Mr. de Pointe du Lac
covets the rare.

Do you hear that?

I keep hearing that sound.

Well, the building
sways a bit,

but that is according
to its design, given the height.

We call it the groan.

It won't disturb your meal,
which is ready now.

Did you always work
for him?

Please have a seat.

Sign an NDA?

I mean, is it only work
or are you and he...?

I serve a god.

It is my honor to serve.

Mr. de Pointe du Lac
will join you at course seven.

Seven? Wait, but how many
courses are there?

Fattening me up
for the inevitable end?

Butler #1: Duck foie gras
terrine, pickled fruit,

roasted apple bonbon.

There he is.

You missed at least three
or four endangered species.

I want to apologize
for my outburst earlier.

I can assure you,
it will not happen again.

Memory is a monster.

We forget, it doesn't.

Uh, this is session two,
Louis de Pointe du Lac.

Eh, can we turn down
the music?

Butler #1: Ajoblanco.

Bread, crushed almonds, garlic,
olive oil, and salt,

a garnish of green grapes,

and AB negative,
fresh from the farm.

Bon appétit.

Part of me wants to ask
about the farm.

Two vampires walk
into a church.

That's where we left off.

Blissing out
post-priesticide.

The bliss was merely
a stage in my transformation--

pain followed, a seizing
and unrelenting pain,

through which I would pass
before my apprenticeship began.

What's happening?

Your body is confused.

Your lungs feel like water,
your heart, fire.

You feel as if you're dying,

because you are.

And then,
there's the retching.

I recognize the hypocrite
I am,

emphasizing cleanliness
after I overindulged,

but a proper disposal is
the penance of a sated vampire.

And you won't always have
a conveniently located graveyard

nearby, so...

Nuh-uh-uh-uh.

Nuh-uh-uh.

We live off the blood
of the living.

Lap up the blood
of the deceased

and it'll suck you
right down into death,

along with your victim.

Hmm?

Ugh.

Uh.

Louis.

There's the spark.

Lestat's blood was
giggling inside me,

teasing my senses,
illuminating the district

with overwhelming detail,

as if I had walked
my entire life as a dead man,

and now, dead,
could finally receive

the secrets of existence.

You were fucking loaded.

Beyond articulation.

Your ears will
pick up the world

like a maddening symphony.

Follow my voice,
a single strain.

Your eyes will wander,
led by your hunger.

Are you hungry, Louis?

Uh-huh.

They were your brothers
and sisters once,

but now they're
your savory inferiors.

A young Tempranillo,
fleshy and tart.

A Primitivo, hints of iron,
rather plain otherwise.

A pair of oak-aged cabernet,
thick-skinned and chewy.

♪ Way haul away

♪ We'll haul away, Joe Hunting is an art.

You have the power to subdue
anyone you want,

but sometimes restraint
is your most powerful weapon.

♪ Way haul away,
we'll haul away, Joe ♪

♪ Way haul away,
we'll haul away, my Rosie ♪

♪ Way haul away Him.

Straight
to the prettiest girl

at the party.

I admire the aesthetic,

but you'll spend
most of your evening

trying to separate him
from his crew.

You'll race the sun
to the kill,

and when he turns up
missing in the morning,

you'll have half the frigate
on the prowl, looking for him.

In the beginning, it's best
to let the food come to you.

Here you go.

I was a baby bird
in Lestat's nest--

not yet ready to hunt,
but desperate to feed.

So, I'm taking my daughter

to-- to look at horses,
uh, Palominos.

You know, those--
those Indian types that--

that they run free out West,
and, uh, I gotta tell you,

I'm, uh, I'm doing pretty good
for myself, you know?

It's a new century,

new job, so I'm actually
entertaining the thought

of getting her one of these,

you know, a special horse.

We go down to the fairground.

She says, "Daddy, why is
that horse walking so funny?

Why is his-- his back
all crumpled up like that?"

Well, I tell her, I say,
"Honey, once the work has gotten

used all up out of a horse..."

"...this is what happens--"

Amusing, their relentless
questions at that age.

That's right.

I tell her, "This is
the nature of things.

[Echoing] Someone has to

hew the oats, someone has
to harvest the corn,

the harrow, the tiller."

Why are you
gentlemen down here?

Uh, now, what do you grow?
You grow cotton?

Sugar.

Sugar... Sugar.

Careful, mon cher, you're
beginning to frighten the man.

Um...

So, I look at my daughter's
tear-stained face

and I say to her, "Maggie,

that's why your daddy
sells tractors."

International Harvester Farmall.

Go ahead and take that.
Might come in handy.

So

I am talking about gas-powered,

open-geared beast of burden.

Ooh-la-la.

This is fancy, right here.

Uh, just to be clear here,
gents, we--

we are here to talk about,
uh, farm equipment.

- Am I right?
- Mm.

And a streamline tractor,
you know,

not only gonna
increase your harvest,

but it's gonna keep
your child from tears.

Oh, thank y-you.

You, uh,
on your sleeve--

Whenever you're ready, Louis.

I knew it. I knew you--

Aah!

What the fuck?

The neck.
Bite the neck, Louis.

No--

No, you don't bite the blood.

You suck it.

Yes, yes, that's better.

Good.

For our next carpet,
I'm thinking Persian.

Arabesque maybe.

Certainly need a more efficient
way of ridding the waste.

Ugh.

The first time is
the most unwieldy.

Soon you'll be a natural.

You'll come to enjoy it, its
variations, little surprises.

I-I gotta go home.

This is your home now, Louis. Breathe.

I-- I gotta collect money
from the cribs.

I have all the money we need. Breathe.

I have to go see
Grace and Paul.

- Oh, dear.
- You ain't fuckin' hearin' me!

I-- I need to go home.

You're going to find
that very difficult.

Hey!

What the hell?

Hey, now.

That's coming out of my pay.

Lord Jesus!

Lemme in!

Let me in, God damn it!

Open the fucking door!

The sun gives life
to everything but us.

I should have
taught you that.

The life of a vampire
has its challenges

and its rewards...

...but I think New Orleans,
with its music, culture,

cuisine, shipping yards, conventioneers,

thrill-seeking tourists
far-flung from their homes,

the laissez-faire attitude
of the local police force

oh, yes...

...the perfect setting
for a vampire home...

...a vampire romance.

I ain't sleepin' in there.

We'll get you
your own soon enough.

You've had a long life, Louis,

and such an extraordinary
one ahead.

Have a rest.

It's okay.

You can be on top.

Helluva bender.

He rushed me headlong
through the encounter

as if it were something
to put behind us.

Death, rebirth, coming out, homicide,

too many firsts
for one night.

Coming out?

You robbed a daughter
of her father, maybe a pet pony.

How's sexuality play in that?

It's a complicated question, Daniel,

and we shouldn't conflate it
with the salesman's death.

Humor me.

To satisfy your fixation,
being transformed by Lestat,

being desired by him,
bedding down with him

was an overture of sorts
to that side of my nature.

To the shame
of queer theorists everywhere.

I got in that coffin
on my own free will.

In the quiet dark,

we were equals.

White master, Black student,
but equal in the quiet dark.

Provocation.

Is this the primary tool
one walks away with

after downloading
your Internet class?

Butler #1: Rabbit, three ways,
and Vulpes rueppellii,

or Ruppell's sand fox.

Back to the salesman
for a sec.

Clearly, you were
haunted by it, the--

the taste of his blood
in the back of your throat,

up in your gums.

Let me ask you, Daniel,

do you contemplate the life
of the rabbit before you cut it?

Or do you simply cut?

Mmm.

Vampires are killers,

apex predators
whose all-seeing eyes

were meant to give
them detachment,

the ability to see
a human life in its entirety,

not with any mawkish sorrow,

but with
the thrilling satisfaction

of being the end
of that life

and having a hand
in the divine plan.

Don't expect every reader
to swallow that one.

That's the purpose.

Our book must be a warning
as much as anything.

It was the right line
of questioning.

I was haunted by the salesman,
and as a fledgling vampire,

I did not readily
take to killing.

When I first started
learning English, I abhorred it.

Every word felt like a doorknob
falling out of my mouth.

Chapeau is a hat,
étoile was a star--

Killin' folks
ain't a second language.

But when I started
dreaming in English,

that's when I embraced it.

And now, I have English
consonants to thank

for this astonishing jawline.

These are nightmares I'm having,
Lestat, not dreams.

Finn, how's your arm?

Is it healing properly?

You might need a proper doctor,
my friend.

Me arm's fine.

You let me know
if you need a doc.

There is something,
Mr. du Lac.

The new gaming house you're
fixing up for the alderman,

I want to manage it.

I'm good with people,
and I'm good with numbers.

Hmm...

I'll take it up
with Fenwick.

Much obliged.

Mm-hmm.

He's lying, you know.

He'll figure
I'm a bean counter.

No, he wants the job
so he can steal from you.

Overcharge
for drinks and women--

not enough for you to notice,
but enough to make him

"good extra," he calls it.

And you know that 'cause
you got in his head just now?

Vampires can read minds,
mon cher.

Right.

And you gon' sit
on that skill for how long?

Hmm.

You gon' make me beg?

One might think the ability
to read a mind

a most useful gift, but,
in reality, it's quite mundane.

I forget I can do it
most days.

Is that right?

Every human thought
boils down to three things--

"I want food," "I want sex,"
"I want to go home."

You see that man
right there?

I want you to peel away
every sound

until you find his heartbeat.

Now hold the heartbeat.

You hear his lungs leaking
and flooding air?

His mind is just
another bodily sound.

Day and a half
since my last meal.

Church says, "Pray about it."

The Lord can't make me no food.

"I want food."
Shall we?

It's not cheating
with a woman

because I can't get pregnant.

"I want sex."

I'm gonna ditch this town
and be somebody.

That's not--Give it a moment.

Or I'll just go home.

Voilà.

Wait. I saw a little flash
just now of his house.

Yes.

You'll see,
as your powers grow,

you can see their thoughts,
like a one-reeler almost.

Dull, monotonous
picture shows.

It's a very distracting gift,
the petty musings of meat.

Peel back on me then.

What am I thinkin' right now?

You'll have
to tell me yourself.

A sacrifice is made when
the Dark Gift is shared.

You can't read my mind
anymore?

The architects of our creation
mean to humble us.

We're at the mercy
of the other's discretion.

Just like the meat.

Hmm.

You're not one of them anymore, fledgling.

You chase after phantoms
of your former self.

I'll break you of it.

My unwillingness
to separate from humanity

was a constant struggle
in my vampiric existence.

I felt it was essential
to maintain ties.

But it was getting
more difficult.

The curtain goes up
at eight.

We'll only be here an hour.

They'll seat us late,
and we'll miss Nora's entrance

with the Christmas tree.

You ain't gon'
miss anything.

Look what the wind blew in.

Mama.

You remember Lestat.

Madame de Pointe du Lac,

all the kindness
for the invitation.

I don't remember inviting him,
but please,

take your overdressed self
and have a fine time.

I see you have a banjo band
in your front yard.

Mm-hmm.

Madame.

Louis.

Was that necessary?

Move half a mile away,

don't come see your family
for half a season.

Don't come back
fragile, son.

Haven't heard a knock
on my door.

It's a half-mile
both ways, Mama.

Hm.

Look at his nails.

He's getting his
fingernails done.

And the glasses?

Some fashion certain men
like him do.

Lord.

Eye doc says I gotta wear them
from now forward.

Sensitive eyes.

You seen Grace about?

You seen
my alligator, ma'am?

Seems I lost it

by the punchbowl.

Oh, been too long.

I know, I know.

Wait.

Oh, my.

You makin' me an uncle
right here?

- Who told you?
- No one told me.

- It was Levi.
- I could tell by the look...

I ain't far enough along....on your face.

- He shouldn't be telling anyone.
- And...

And what?
And...

And what?

Gon' be twins.

You a fool doctor now?

Oh, I miss you, Louis.

Yeah.

You hearin' me?

Look at me, Louis.

Take them glasses off
and look at your baby sister.

Don't. Gimme those back.

Your eyes...

like a church window.

Same eyes, same me.

Different you.

Better you, I'd say.

You hide from me
this long again,

I'll hunt you down
and slap you sideways.

I got you something.

Oh, no, Louis.

What is this?
I don't need your money.

It ain't for you,
it's for the babies.

Stop it with the "babies".

One's gon' be plenty.

There's two of 'em.

Well.

This'll come in handy, then.

Levi ain't the businessman
you are.

So, how's it
in the district?

Must be good
if this here's extra.

Oh.

Now, I-I know it's hard
to see it now,

but Mr. Fenwick
gon' have himself

the most profitable
sportin' house

this side of Basin Street.

The alderman
certainly thinks so,

but then you have to
ask yourself why he sent me.

New business, new partner.

No, sir, Mr. Carlo,
I-I'd do the same thing myself.

You got your own
personal attorney, do you, boy?

No, sir.

But then, I'm not
an alderman, am I?

No, you're his partner.

Hm.

These balconies, they have
to be decorative only.

Building codes allow those
for residents, not for business.

Well, that's only if you
call it a balcony.

What are you callin' it?

Fire escape.

That's clever, my boy.

That's very clever.

Right.

Dozen rooms, proper acoustics
for the musicians.

You know, good
for those waitin'.

Best to drown out the business
behind the walls.

Yes.

Oh, you really do have a mind
inside out head of yours,

don't you?

I-I know some of the finishes
seem penny heavy,

but it's the alderman's
name goin' out there,

so every detail has to shout
"exclusivity".

You're bright
and industrious, huh?

I trust you're overseeing all
stages of construction as well?

Yes, sir.

Fire escape.

Now, I must say,
I had my doubts, but

you really have earned
your 15%.

You truly are
an exceptional Negro.

Thank you, sir.
Mm-hmm.

Ah, "fire escape."

"Exceptional Negro." Ah, yes.

"Thank you, sir."

It was the call and response
of my entire life.

I had let them talk to me
like that so long,

I stopped hearing it.

"Yes, sir."

"Of course, sir."

Subject, verb,
agreement, "sir".

Smile, nod, "yes, sir."

They all came from
the same organ inside me--

an organ unknown to science
at the time.

Because what scientist would
look for an organ found only

in Black men who use
their weakness to rise?

But I wasn't a man anymore.

I was something else.

I had powers now and decades
of rage to process,

and it was both random
and unfortunate,

the man picked that night
to dabble in fuckery.

If not him, would have been
the next man.

Louis, my boy, j--

This was your man's esquire,
sent in his stead!

I was hungry.
Stone's throw

from your place
of business.

- What were you thinking?
- He disrespected me.

How did he do that?

He told me I did a good job.

You are a library
of confusion.

There's some things...

...you don't get
about America, Lestat.

Yes, let's have
this conversation again.

Colored, white.

Creole, French.

Queer, half-queer,
mostly queer, what is it?

Non-discriminating.

Complicated situation

we got here's
what I'm saying.

A couple of parish priests

go missing, people say,
"Fine.

Most likely kid-fiddlers."

But this, this was
an important man in town.

The police will be looking
for this man, fledgling.

That's why we got
this beast, yeah?

No, you need to
show restraint, fledgling!

Oh, you need to stop using
that word right now,

'cause it's soundin'
a little like "slave".

- Don't say it.
- Well, that's what

it fuckin' sound like.

It's what it feel like sometimes.

And the carousel
comes around again.

Fuck you.

I don't like
sleeping angry.

For the record, if disrespect
was done to you,

I would have
killed him myself.

Well, what can I do
to make it up to you?

I wanna buy
the Fair Play Saloon.

That's ambitious.

If you don't wanna help,
I'll do it myself.

Ridiculous of you to mix human
and vampire business.

It always ends poorly.

But how can I stop you?

How can I say no to you?

Sign here and here
and here.

Well, I do not see
the clause in this paperwork

wherein I continue to eat,
drink, and fornicate

on the house.

Louis?

You have my word, and my word
is thicker than paper...

Mm.
...Tom.

It was a grand and loving
gesture on Lestat's part.

That's a mighty tall ladder
you're climbin', Mr. du Lac.

And I was now the owner

of the brightest club
in the district.

My club, my rules.

I opened the doors to anyone
with money to burn.

I paid the staff better,
paid the band better,

all the while helping those
who had been with me

down the block
to better themselves.

Miss Williams.
Mr. Du Lac.

And it was a pointless point
of pride

that I paid back every cent
I borrowed from Lestat.

It was everything I had
ever wanted or wished for.

And it doubled nicely
as a revolving door of prey.

You fellas know where I can find
the Fair Play Saloon?

You about five years late.

So how long are you
in town for?

Uh, yeah, I'm just--

From 1912 to 1917,

I made a mountain of money,

enough to retire
and be buried like a pharaoh.

But in the essential duties
of the executor in charge,

I had been most delinquent.

We named him Benjamin.

Benny.

Did you even meet the twins?

No, ma'am.
Ma'am?

I look that old to you?

No, I mean, I haven't had
the pleasure

of meetin' more of the family.

I've been so busy with work,
and, you know--

Him?

You know my situation.

How are things
with you and...

It's Lestat still, right?

Yes, it's Lestat.
Shh!

Got some gumbo
on the stove still.

Tasted great this evening.

Let me fix you something.

I'm good.

Hold your nephew.

He's the quiet one,
this one.

The other two...

the twins?

Lord, help us.

All right. Here it is.

Still warm.

Well?

No, please.

You look good.

You should stay the night.

I'm sure Mama would love
to see you.

Shh, shh.

Let's see if he goes back down,
let's see.

Honey, the twins again!

- Grace!
- Okay.

Let-- Let me just see
what the hell is goin' on.

Oh, no, I--
Shh.

I no longer kill.

My last victim
was in the year 2000.

Some Y2K disagreement?

I want our readers
to understand that.

Okay.

Did you eat the baby?

I sit here a master
of my instincts.

Mm-hmm.

And what about the others
out there?

Have they mastered theirs?

Just the opposite.

Most of them are slaves
to the blood,

exhausted from decades,
centuries of hiding,

giddy to increase
their numbers.

Mm-hmm.

Two questions--

did you eat the baby?

And is the pandemic the opening
they've been waiting for?

Pandemic, the unraveling
of geopolitical foundations.

And you know this how?

You guys have a thread
on 8chan?

I hear them.

Our thoughts can travel
thousands of miles

to one another.

I can stand out on my balcony,
close my eyes,

and they're plotting
speeds to me.

One of them,
a brute in Madagascar,

called it
"the great conversion".

The great conversion?

Well, good luck with that,
because most people I know like

to play little ball
in the afternoon,

or maybe going down
to the beach,

catching a few rays.

Yes.

What on earth would
a meth-addicted son

of a coal miner in West Virginia
want with eternal life?

Did you eat the baby?

Or the Arab youth whose family
were wiped from existence...

Did you eat the baby?...by a Western drone?

No, I'm sure you're right.

- Hello, Damek.
- Hey.

Mmm.

Mm-hmm.

He's American, Damek.

You like Dubai?

I haven't had the time
to sight-see.

Go to Kite Beach.

It's good.

Kites.

Mmm.

Thank you, Damek.

See you soon.

As I was saying,
I no longer kill.

You might have
a drinking problem.

Rashid!

The baby.

Benny? Benny!

I had him in my arms...

...and I was ready
to tear into him.

I'm never gon'
get control over it.

You've been skipping
meals lately.

Don't think
I haven't noticed.

It was my nephew.

You have to stop seeing them, Louis.

They'll grow fearful of you
if they haven't already.

I can't do it.

It's a rite of passage
for all of us.

If you love your family,
as I know you do,

spare them all the pain
that you are causing them.

I ain't never gon' have
a family of my own, am I?

No sons, no daughters.

I'm your family, Louis.

You should just throw me
in the incinerator

and make another one.

Hmm. And what a waste
that would be.

I have two centuries walked
this Earth and can report,

you have no twin.

No one as angry, as stubborn,
as unaccommodating,

as maddening--Sound like trash to me.

As loving, as dedicated,
as thoughtful,

as imperfectly perfect
as you've become.

You're a challenge every sunset,
Saint Louis,

and I'd have it no other way.

Here's an idea--
let's take a holiday.

What about Rome?

Rome? R-Rome, Italy?

Would you prefer
Rome, Wisconsin?

I can't just pick up
and go to Rome.

I got a business to run.

Leave the Azalea to the capable
hands of Miss Bricktop

and follow the Appian Way.

How you gon' get coffins
across the Atlantic?

It can be an inconvenience,
but not impossible, obviously.

Well, how do you get them
from ship to train to cab?

Ah, the changeovers can
be jarring, I'll give you that.

Well, maybe there's a deaf,
blind porter we can hire

and kill
when we get to the hotel.

Well, I had been
thinking the Inghilterra.

Imagine hunting between
the Caffe Greco

and the Spanish Steps.

But you've made your point. Pity.

We'll just have to settle
for Rome coming to us.

Oh, another opera.

Not another opera.

Donizetti's comic masterpiece,
"Don Pasquale."

I was an acquaintance of his,
and I saw the premiere

at the Salle Ventadour
73 years ago,

and I remember it like
it was yesterday.

I almost ate my nephew, Lestat.

It's the soprano
Sofia Consoli's American debut,

her fifth stop in
a 22-city tour,

so the orchestra should be
in excellent form.

I have a private box,
and I had tuxedos made.

I've been neglectful
of our romance.

And a steadfast pupil
deserves a divine reward.

He had a way about him,
those first years, Lestat.

Preternaturally charming,
occasionally thoughtful.

He was my murderer, my mentor,
my lover, and my maker--

all of those things
at once.

He didn't choose me
to be his doormat.

I knew he enjoyed it
when I fought back,

but there was present

a kind of worship on my part.

The earth beneath me
always felt liquid.

The status I enjoyed
in Storyville

did not extend itself
to the operators and patrons

of the French Opera House
on Bourbon and Toulouse.

We did what we always did
to avoid conflicts there.

I performed as his valet,
walked a pace behind him,

took his overcoat
once we found our seats,

remained standing
in the back of the box

until the lights went down,
and only joined next to him

once the overture had begun.

And again...

...he had a way about him,

so that as I sat there
trying to practice restraint,

simmering in my indignation...

...Lestat seized it as
opportunity to disarm me.

There is one thing
about being a vampire

that I most fear
above all else...

...and that is loneliness.

You can't imagine
the emptiness--

a void stretching out
for decades at a time.

You take this feeling away
from me, Louis.

We must stay together
and take precaution

and never part.

How many of us
are out there?

We can't be the only ones.

How many vampires?

Not many, I'm afraid.

Maybe 100,

101.

The touring production
of "Don Pasquale"

was a cheap affair,

but the soprano was everything
Lestat said she would be.

And music,

that was where Lestat
separated man from food.

Music pierced his damned soul.

And any human who were involved
with the creation of it

existed on an elevated plane
in his eyes.

I was moved to see he too
had his human attachments.

And this woman sang for us,
it seemed,

articulating the difficult love

we often had trouble
expressing ourselves.

There was one issue, however,

that threatened to pop the
bubble of our Italian holiday,

and that was the tenor
playing Ernesto.

To be kind,
he did not live

in the soprano's
vocal stratosphere...

Ah.

...and Lestat was unamused.

I don't understand how someone
like that

can make it onto a stage.

I understand they're
a rogue company,

but are they pulling talent
from roadside gas stations?

It didn't help matters that
the majority of the audience

didn't seem to notice.

And so Lestat oscillated
his disdain between the tenor

and the witless swamp-dwellers
in the seats below.

The curtain fell
like a guillotine,

and Lestat leapt to his feet
in mock appreciation,

which could mean
only one thing--

the hunt was on.

I stood in the lobby bar,
nursing my complicity,

as rounds were bought
and fake praise

was lavished upon the mark.

And I was surprised by a wave
of nausea coming over me.

Here I was,
six years his pupil,

and it was no different
than the tractor salesman.

This poor soul
was someone's son,

someone's brother,

and he was to be butchered.

For what?

An offending note?

Wrong.

He sat the tenor down, opened
up the score in front of him

and sang as it was written.

And you could see all the
doubts the young man had

about his art,

about himself, exposed on
his nodding, agreeable face.

Lestat removed a lifetime
of confidence, of joy,

in less than half an hour.

So no more of your sound
can pollute this world.

Why do you do this, Lestat?

Well, I like to do it.
I enjoy it.

Well, I don't.

You don't have
to humiliate him.

Well, I don't say that
you have to enjoy it!

Kill them swiftly
if you have to, but do it!

Embrace what you are!

You are a killer, Louis!

Come now, love,

let's get you to
the couch to die.

I was in denial.

For in bringing death,

Lestat was an artist.

He had cut the man tenderly so
that he could not call for help,

but also so that his death
was slow, meditative.

And I felt a charge
witnessing it.

I listened to his thoughts
as Lestat drank,

and this time,
they came with vision.

I could see his life
as he remembered it.

Scenes from
an Italian childhood--

the Easter pageant
in a mountain village,

an afternoon with his father
on the sea,

watching the fishing boats

slowly encircle
a school of tuna.

Something about a wet piece
of bread in his pocket.

If you'd listen to me, if you
finally submit to your nature,

you will be filled, Louis,
with all the life you can hold.

You will see death
in all its beauty,

life as it is only known
at the very point of the death.

You alone, of all creatures,

can see death
with that impunity.

You alone,
under the rising moon...

...can strike
like the hand of God.

And I'll say it
for a third time and no more--

he had a way about him.

And I was still very much
under his power.

We would drain the tenor
for hours that night.

Lestat completely enthralled.

Myself, pretending to be.

Afraid to disappoint.

Lestat was wrong.

I was never going to be
a natural.

I was never going to savor
the aftertaste.

I was a shame-ridden second,
a-- a fumbling,

despondent killer,
a botched vampire.

I try to have a human dish
once a week

to maintain the thread.

There was an offhanded remark in
your memoir about this dessert.

I hope you don't mind.

What does this taste
like to you?

Like almost all human food--

like paste,

chalk,

like soap.

This is the dessert I had after
I proposed to my first wife,

after I got my shit together.

We were in Paris.

Little cafe
on the Rue Servandoni,

up the way from Saint-Sulpice.

I know it.
It's a beautiful street.

Alice--

half of her eyebrow
was blond, like a mutt.

She always dyed it back
to brown.

I liked it
when she left it alone.