The Seducer: A Gone From Daylight Inspired Story - 4. William Harker's Journal: Entry 4

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Tuesday, September 4, 1989

It was early evening when I came over for my ‘tea’ appointment with Dr. V. I’d say it was about 8 PMish, just after sunset. Sunset’s still a bit on the late side since summer is still going on, but the days are slowly getting shorter. I still find it strange that Dr. V insists on doing things after dark!

“I do hope you enjoy Earl Grey tea. It is all I had on hand for this evening.” Dr. V tapped this big golden pot thingie, pouring the tea into a beautifully crafted tea glass that was held by this metal holder thing to give it, like, a cup handle. I’d never seen anything like any of these things before except in movies and I’ve only read about them in books. I believe the tall golden pot on the buffet table along the near wall was called a samovar. I’m no connoisseur of tea by any stretch of the imagination since I really don’t drink the stuff except at Chinese restaurants, but, I had to say the fragrance of this tea might convert me! I’d never smelled a tea before that had notes of flowers, perfume, and oranges.

“Do you take sugar and cream?” Dr. V asked gently . . . almost sweetly.

“Uh, sugar’s fine Dr. V. I appreciate it.” I found myself fumbling for words since Dr. V’s demeanor seemed . . . pretty attentive in my regard. I figured it was just his European heritage showing through with being an attentive host.

“Won’t you join me?” I asked him eagerly if for no other reason than to have him sit down and stop circling the table like some hound-dog around a treed raccoon!

“You will forgive me if I decline. I only had this tea on hand for guests. I never drink . . . tea.” Dr. V explained. Why the way he said it caused the hair to stand up on the backs of my arms I can’t explain.

“So, Mr. Harrrkerrrr, what know you of the region called . . . eh . . . Walachia?” Dr. V asked, I suspected to quiz me on just how deep my knowledge of Romania really was.

“Not all that much. I know it was part of three kingdoms that eventually came together to make Romania and that it was once the homeland of the Dacians that Trajan conquered for Rome.” I answered. I knew it wasn’t much, but it was part of the more understandable parts of the region’s history that I could get into on such short notice.

“Indeed, Dacia Felix was the Romanized part from whence my people originated. I am from Wallachia. Valahi actually, only means, ‘from Walachia’ as it were. Our family’s true surname did not serve us well after Walachia was subsumed into the Austrian-Hungarian empire. My family were high ranking military leaders known as voivodes . . . warlords for a better understanding. Some voivodes were transmuted into Counts by the Romanian kings under the Holy Roman Emperor. Others, such as those within my family, were driven out of the aristocracy as our history was a threatening one to the powers of the time. Such is it always with the histories of the world: those that rule it write it.” Dr. V said and I was suddenly entranced by his story!

“It was no wonder . . . my people had the blood of the Dacians and the Huns within our veins. The Dacians were considered the ‘Wolf People’ and tales of their ferocity were such that legends were made that they were actually lycanthropes . . . werewolves! Likewise, the Huns were a scourge to all that fell before them! Attila’s name is still famous as one of fearsome barbarism in his legends. In actuality, he was a cunning ruler and added much to the strength of Walachia and Transylvania making of those people a powerful race in this world. Some called that bloodline a ‘race of dragons’!” Dr. V said this wistfully, but not with haughtiness. I was right in thinking that, in his lectures, he spoke from some kind of personal knowledge of history. It’s been my impression that certain Europeans are so in touch with their history that they actually feel they’ve lived it themselves even though the things they talk about may have happened hundreds of years ago! Like your typical American kid, I can’t even imagine that kind of . . . depth to a place. Our family has moved and mixed around in America for only the past hundred years or so. My Mom tells me I’m basically English on her side and that my Dad was probably also of English extraction. But, except for watching Lady Di and Chuck get married when I was a bit younger, I don’t have any personal connections with England at all! I have a hard time fathoming coming from a place so steeped in history that you can trace your roots back not just hundreds of years . . . but thousands! I suspect Dr. V can!

“Werewolves and dragons! Such a fanciful romance, no? I bid you take no esteem of these things, Mr. Harrkerrr. All such legends did was foment great strife in my homeland. Walachia has rarely known peace and it serves, as an example, of the greater scope of Balkan history. War has been the favorite pastime of these fractious people for centuries beyond counting. The Balkans have ever been a crossroads between the East and the West, you see. The peninsula has neither been one nor the other. It has never been tamed or fully civilized in all this time. The closest to peace these poor nations have ever had is under Communist dictatorships and, lest you mistake me as one of your more ‘progressive’ socio-political professors, I do not mean that as a good thing! There are two kinds of peace, Mr. Harrrkerrr. The one: the peace that love brings to families and communities. The other: the peace of the mausoleum! To live under the peace of a Communist dictatorship is to live within the cloying, rotting peace of a living death. It is a fate I’d wish on no man, no matter how vile! Better for them to war forever than to live as they do now, on their knees!” Dr. V’s voice seemed to register several octaves lower in an almost rumbling growl as he said this. It caused a peculiar chill to run down my spine like when you hear a wolf’s growl.

But then Dr. V turned and smiled in such pleasant way and said: “Ah, but such talk must be too heavy for such a young soul to bear! You must forgive an old soul like mine, Mr. Harker. It carries much wisdom, but wisdom is a burden that steals the sweetness of its prize, I fear.” He came and laid a hand gently on my shoulder in an, almost, fatherly gesture. I could not help but to feel the cold and hardness of his touch through my thin shirt! It was as if a marble statue had just laid its hand on me!

Oddly, it did not frighten me, but actually settled me and made me less . . . scared I guess. I felt . . . protected by that strong coldness!

“Come, would you care to join me? Though I am not one to eat or drink much, I do enjoy an evening out. I crave life on such nights! The air is still warm and autumn has not yet fallen. I suspect you might also have hunger and the hour is late. I know of a place that might satisfy the both of us.” I was shocked! Dr. V is inviting me to dinner?

“Sure . . .” I agreed.

Who was I to argue with a great ‘voivode’ of Walachia?