By Blood We Live Part 10

The cantor had been decidedly uncommunicative during the walk over, but as they ascended he began to ask Lincoln about the boy.

"Tell me exactly what it is you think happened."

"You don't believe me, do you?"

The cantor shrugged. "That remains to be seen. But I will tell you this much: I find what you describe hard to believe."

Lincoln sighed. "Well, you've trusted me this far, at least. I appreciate that. The others refused to even listen to me."

"The others?"

Lincoln felt his cheeks redden. "Yours wasn't the first synagogue I went to, Cantor. I tried a Reform temple and a Conservative synagogue first, but neither of the rabbis believed me. They wouldn't help."

The cantor nodded, stopped at a landing to catch his breath. "The boy," he prodded.

"Yes. The boy. Joseph is a pretty good kid, does well in school and all that, but recently has been acting very independent. He's just turned twelve; you know what that means."

The cantor shook his head. "Go on."

"Anyway, it started when Joseph came home very late from school three weeks ago. It's only a few blocks away, and I've let him run around the neighborhood before. I mean, I grew up in New York as well, and I never got in serious trouble. But this time he didn't call."

"Don't you meet him after school to bring him home?"

"I can't. I work."

"What about the boy's mother?"

Lincoln looked away from the cantor. "Gone, these past five years."

"Oh. I am sorry, Mr. Kliman."

"Thanks. It's been hard, raising Joseph on my own. Anyway, he finally did come home that night, well after sundown, and he looked terrible. His color was bad, and he looked sick to his stomach. I thought it was food poisoning, as he smelled like he'd been to a fast food place. You know, that cheeseburger smell."

The cantor glared at him. "No, I do not know."

Lincoln felt embarra.s.sed again. "Right. Well, anyway, he practically pa.s.sed out when he came in the door, and I rushed him to the doctor."

"Nu? What did he find?"

"Anemia. Loss of blood. That and two tiny pinp.r.i.c.ks on Joseph's neck."

"Hm. Did he say anything about that?"

"No. He gave Joseph a shot of something, chastised him and me over drug use, and that was all. Only thing is, he didn't find drugs in Joseph's system.

"Joseph refused to answer my questions about where he was that night, and the next day he acted like he had forgotten the whole thing. His color had returned, though, and he ate a big breakfast, so I let him go to school. The next day he came home on time, and I thought that would be the end of it."

"I presume it was not."

"Well, it was for about a week. Then the same thing happened. He came home late, looking very sick, and he almost pa.s.sed out before I could get him to bed."

The cantor's eyebrows shot up. "You didn't bring him to the doctor this time?"

Lincoln shook his head. "No, I didn't. I know what you're thinking, but after that first time, I didn't want the doctor to chastise me again."

"And did you send Joseph to school again the next day?"

"No, because it was Sat.u.r.day. A week ago today."

"That makes two bites."

"The third one was last night. Same pattern, only this time Joseph told me the full story. Apparently the vampire-"

"Yes?" the cantor prodded.

Lincoln whispered. "I'd rather not say. Let's just say that she promised to show Joseph a good time, and being the adolescent that he is..."

"I understand. You need not elaborate."

They had reached the door to Lincoln 's apartment, and Lincoln let them in. The room was dark. Lincoln turned on the light and then pulled his hand back from the switch. "Sorry. I forgot, no lights on shabbat, right?"

"No using electricity," replied the cantor. "But you can leave lights on from the day before. Where is the boy?"

"This way." Lincoln showed the cantor through the living room to a small bedroom. They entered and closed the door behind them. It was dark inside. A small figure writhed under the blankets of the bed.

"I'm not going to turn the lights on in here. Joseph asked me not to. He says it hurts his eyes."

The boy moaned from under the blankets. "Dad? Is that you?"

"Yes, Joseph, and I've brought help."

Joseph coughed. "I'm so sorry, Dad. I don't know what got into me. Lily promised so much pleasure, but this is all pain."

"It's okay, son." To the cantor he said, "Please look at him. You'll see that I didn't lie to you. Then maybe you can tell me what to do."

The cantor approached the bed, and slowly removed the sheets. All he could make out was the outline of a s.h.i.+vering child.

"Joseph, I will need light to see you. May I open the shades?"

"Yes," the boy replied weakly, "but please be quick." He moaned again.

The cantor pulled up a window shade, allowing sunlight to fall upon Joseph, who screamed. "It hurts! It hurts! It's too hot! Make it stop!"

"Quiet, Joseph," Lincoln said. "It'll only be for a second." He opened the window, and a breeze drifted in. "There, that will cool you off."

The cantor turned back to Joseph, who quieted down but was clearly in great pain. The boy's face was pale, but his lips were a bright red and there was a reddish tinge in his eyes. The cantor cupped the boy's chin in his hand and pulled open his mouth.

His canine teeth were half an inch long, and glowing brightly in a sickening mixture of orange, red, and white.

He jerked his hand away and the boy's head fell to the pillow. "Dear Lord. You were right."

A few minutes later, Lincoln and the cantor sat across from each other in the living room, where they could talk. Joseph had pa.s.sed out again, and Lincoln had restored the bedroom to darkness for his son's comfort.

"I find it difficult to believe that a Jew could be turned into a vampire, even if he were bitten by one. Possession by a dybbuk, perhaps, but not transformation into a vampire. Vampires are not part of the Jewish Kabala. They are part of Christian lore, not Jewish. They should only be able to affect Christians."

"Perhaps," said Lincoln slowly, "it's because Joseph has not yet been Bar Mitzvahed. He won't turn thirteen until next year."

The cantor looked startled. "That doesn't make sense at all. One does not become Jewish when one is Bar Mitzvah. You are Jewish at birth, and you join the covenant at the age of eight days."

Lincoln 's eyes lit up. "Cantor, can't you do it anyway?"

"Do what?"

"Bar Mitzvah the boy? So he'll be an adult? Maybe that's the key to saving him!"

The cantor gave Lincoln a hard stare. "Mr. Kliman, you seem to be under the impression that a Bar Mitzvah ceremony is a magical ritual that will establish the boy as Jewish and render him immune to the vampirism. Bar Mitzvah is not a ceremony; it happens to a Jewish boy at the age of thirteen even if no ceremony occurs. All it means is that the Jew becomes responsible for his own actions in the eyes of G.o.d. It is akin to turning eighteen, and becoming an adult in the eyes of the law."

"Cantor Gross." Lincoln leaned forward. He felt tears on the side of his face. "Joseph is my only son, my only family. He is all that I have left. I beg of you, would you please do this? You don't know that it isn't the thing to do. It may save him."

The cantor looked deep into Lincoln 's eyes. "There is nothing logical in your request, but I must agree. I don't know that it won't work."

He stood up. "Let me return to the synagogue and get a siddur and chumash."

"Chumash?" Lincoln asked.

"The Torah, Mr. Kliman, with all the pa.s.sages we recite aloud on shabbat as the year progresses. Surely you know what the Torah is."

"Yes," Lincoln said quietly.

"Very well," the cantor said as he headed towards the door. "I shall return soon, and with G.o.d's help, we shall teach the boy to fight the curse of the dead with the ancient songs of life."

"Repeat after me, Joseph: Baruch atah..."

"Baruch atah," the boy said weakly.

"No," said the cantor. "Sing it. As I am."

"Why do I have to sing? It hurts so much."

"It is a Hasidic custom, Joseph. It will help you concentrate your thoughts to the spiritual task at hand. Listen again..."

Lincoln closed the door of the bedroom behind him and sat down to read. The song of the cantor filtered out through the closed door, haunting and lilting. It was a chant that went up and down in pitch, but always seemed to hover around the same notes. Its effects were so hypnotic, that Lincoln forwent his book, closed his eyes, and leaned back to contemplate the past.

He remembered his own Bar Mitzvah ceremony, and the agony that led up to it for almost half a year. Every Wednesday afternoon he had gone to the cantor's office to learn his Torah portion, the verses of the Torah that he would be expected to sing on the Sat.u.r.day morning of the ceremony. Lincoln 's voice was not good, and its cracking had embarra.s.sed him.

Finally, the day arrived. He had stood in front of a large synagogue filled with his parents' friends, and a few of his own. He was called to the Torah, and trembling with nervousness, somehow he had managed to get through it.

The very next week his parents pulled him out of Hebrew School. They had never been particularly religious anyway. Lincoln 's Bar Mitzvah had been solely a social thing, and once it was over, they had felt no need for Lincoln to continue his Jewish studies.

Perhaps they had been mistaken.

Lincoln blinked, and realized that he was back in his apartment. He was surprised to see that many hours had pa.s.sed. The cantor's music had been so powerful that it had felt to Lincoln as if he had actually been sent back in time to relive his own Bar Mitzvah. He strained to hear the final words of song coming from his son's bedroom.

"... nosain hatora-ah." Was that his son's voice, sounding so strong?

A minute later, the cantor opened the door and approached Lincoln. He had a sad look on his face. "It did not work. I helped the boy sing today's parsha, with the appropriate blessings before and after, but it did not work."

He sat down across from Lincoln and said, "I did not think it would."

"But your music-your singing-so beautiful."

The cantor nodded. "Thank you. But it takes more than beautiful singing to ward off a curse."

He leaned back, removed his gla.s.ses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I still do not understand how this is possible, Mr. Kliman, how a Jew could be turned into a vampire. Nothing in our history, in our legends, would account for it. A Jew simply cannot become a vampire."

Lincoln coughed and cleared his throat. "Ummm."

The cantor peered at him. "What is it, Mr. Kliman? Was there something you did not tell me?"

"Well..." Lincoln s.h.i.+fted in his seat. "Cantor, I didn't want to admit this before, but..." He trailed off.

"But what? How can I help the boy if you don't tell me what I need to know?"

"Joseph's not Jewish," he blurted out.

There was a moment of silence. "You are Jewish, are you not?" the cantor asked.

"Yes," Lincoln whispered.

"Then his mother-"

"She wasn't."

The cantor sighed. "

Oy. You know that by Jewish law, the boy follows the religion of the mother. What was she?"

Lincoln shrugged. "I don't know. Christian of some sort, I guess. We were both agnostic when we met, and I never really bothered to find out, since we never celebrated any holidays anyway."

"You lied to me, Mr. Kliman. You said your son was Jewish."

"I know. I'm sorry. But like I said, I would never have felt comfortable asking a priest or a reverend for help. I may not practice my religion much, Cantor, but I would never-"

The cantor interrupted. "A thought occurs to me. Was the boy ever circ.u.mcised?"

"Well, yes. By a doctor in the hospital when-"

The cantor leaped out of his seat, startling Lincoln. "That may be it." He marched towards the bedroom door.