By A.L. Sulemane
“State your full name.”
“Maria Bernadette Machado.”
“Purpose for your visit?” The burly immigration officer’s voice lacked all intonation making his question come out like a declaration. He flicked through her passport with an air of boredom Maria did not appreciate.
“I am here to attend the writing conference,” she responded politely. Maria spoke in a full accent that carried her entire background. The officer peered over his glasses up at her, thoroughly unimpressed. He raked his eyes up and down the parts of her that were visible over his desk. Maria schooled her features and retained a pleasant face while looking him in the eyes. He handed her passport back to her and waved her off without another word. With a nod and a smile, she dragged her small carry-on away and headed to the wide doors. Once out of sight, she shook her head at his rudeness. There could not be many truly creative answers he heard in a day to have no reaction whatsoever. She concluded that the job must have numbed his humanity.
Authors had flown in from around the world to revel in the art of storytelling. They each jumped at the chance to congratulate themselves on their ability to string sentences together better than the average person. A week prior, Maria had been on the fence about joining in the hubris, but the opportunity to disprove all those who looked down on her ‘little hobby’ proved to be too tempting. She made part of only three authors across the diaspora chosen to attend.
“Did I hear you say you were attending the conference?”
A young woman rapidly approached, dragging a four-wheeled suitcase awkwardly beside her. Her blonde hair swung wildly around her chin where it was cropped.
“Yes, that is right.”
“Oh good! Can I share a taxi with you to the hotel?”
Maria nodded politely. “Of course. I am Maria.”
“Beverly,” the woman responded, stretching out her hand. Maria shuffled her handbag to the other side to reach her.
“This is so exciting! It’s just a little annoying that they haven’t given us the full itinerary yet.”
“That is true, but I am honestly just happy to have gotten an invite. It could not have come at a more perfect time.”
“Oh? How so?”
Maria adjusted her collar and led her new companion out through the automatic steel doors into the bustling hall. The pair passed hoards of people eagerly awaiting their loved ones. As no one awaited them, they headed straight to the exit for the taxi stand. Beverly’s question lay forgotten as she filled the air between them with every one of her passing thoughts. She detailed her body of work that merited her an invitation to the prestigious event, not once thinking to ask Maria about her own. Maria could not help but feel grateful for the oversight. The more time she spent in Beverly’s presence drained her of the energy to provide any meaningful contribution to the conversation.
A sterile scent greeted her as Maria strode into her hotel room. Inserting the magic strip of plastic into its little home by the door brought the place to life, illuminating the stark décor. Between the beige walls and white accents, the room was devoid of all character in a way that suggests modern-day luxury. Maria sat on the edge of the bed. A couple of test bounces found that the mattress had no give. Perching on the corner, she was momentarily overcome by the realization that she had nothing to do until the morning. The room styled to draw focus of the large desk that occupied far more space than it needed to. The bright desk light beckoned her over, compelling her to be useful. She could use this time to organize some thoughts for her next book. A large unattractive yawn distracted her mind. Looking to the pillows, Maria considered turning in early since she had a full day ahead of her, but going to bed this early would mean staring at the popcorn ceiling for more hours than necessary. The sleek bar downstairs emerged in her memory, but as a woman on her own, she quickly decided against it. Maria instead plucked up her luggage and threw it open on the bed beside her.
After her outfit had gently been laid out, Maria flicked through the room service menu. All the options only served to remind her how far away she was from home. None of the flavors that delighted her tastebuds appeared on the list. She played it safe by calling in an order for pumpkin soup with bread rolls, silently hoping that they did not outsource their baking in a hotel of that caliber. Her hips held proof of the universal truth of the comfort to be found in fresh bread. The rest of the room called for exploration while she waited. In the bathroom, her reflection immediately startled her. The bright lights that framed the large mirror emphasized the deep shadows on her face. Maria toyed with the switches on the wall until her image dimmed then angled the smaller, magnified mirror away. Avoiding reflecting on her appearance any longer, Maria turned to the shower. A wide showerhead hung in the center of the spacious tiled area. She tested out the pressure and jumped back when hidden jets in the walls came to life. A serious knock on the door interrupted her before she could jump into that experience.
A frazzled concierge rushed out of her room after setting down her tray, walking past the folded note Maria held out in her hand. His actions flew in the face of all of her reading. Maria had come to expect that people in this part of the world anticipated tips, and here he was, acting like he did not see her. She brushed it off, assuming he had a million other places to be she tucked the money away before settling down to a below-average meal.
Not concerning herself with the water bill, Maria took the most incomparable shower of her life. The continuous hot stream melted away all the tension she had been holding in her muscles. Steam billowed around her and filled the small room. The experience was diminished only by the plastic round that passed itself off as soap. Once dried and moisturized, Maria slid herself into the impossibly tight sheets. The mattress gave way around her body. Though she anticipated a night of tossing and turning, the silence lulled away her worries and she succumbed fully to her cotton-soft coffin.
Maria arose before her alarm went off and primped respectfully to represent her people. She looked forward to shining a light on her country and hopefully drawing more attention to her book. The extra cash certainly could not hurt. Down in the restaurant, Maria scanned the room for allies when an overly excited wave caught her eye.
“Thank God, finally someone I recognize. I mean, I have seen some of these authors online, but I haven’t had the chance to meet anyone yet.”
Beverly’s chirpy voice provided an odd sense of comfort. Perhaps a little too much as Maria fought to stifle a yawn far too soon after waking.
“Did you sleep well,” she asked her energetic companion.
“Oh yes,” Beverly’s face brightened. “This hotel is a dream, don’t you think?”
Maria pursed her lips, curving them into a gentle smile to hold back her criticism.
“I am so glad that I forgot to pack my heels now that I see this schedule. I want to hit as many talks as I can before the mythology panel. Hey! How about you join me at that one?”
“I don’t know much about mythology. I write non-fiction.”
“I’m sure you have some interesting insights when it comes to that sort of thing.”
It took all the strength Maria had not to respond. Once again, she fell victim to the assumption that her blackness translated easily to superstition. Never mind the fact that she was raised deeply religious and never had the opportunity to entertain talk to false gods or demonic creatures. An overused and unappreciated tendency towards courtesy forced her to accept the invitation. Her only consolation was knowing Beverly as she had come to, Maria would probably not have the opportunity to speak.
The day passed far too quickly for Maria’s liking. Her handbag gained a little weight from all the business cards she collected. She would be more thrilled about the fact if she had handed out enough of her own to balance the load. Maria anticipated the moment she could return to her hotel room to look through her gains, but there was still one more event to get through.
Maria did her best to look engaged as the panelists touted their extensive knowledge of imaginative creatures. She nodded along as speakers around the room stood to ask what they believed to be pertinent questions. Her pantomime went largely ignored, which she considered a resounding success until Beverly had to ruin it.
“All of the panelists have discussed vampires at length in their works, so I direct my question to Dr. Machado in the audience. How do vampires appear in your part of the world?”
Far too many eyes turned her way. Maria was glad her dark complexion did not leave room for a blush to appear on her round cheeks.
With a practiced smile, she accepted the microphone handed to her. “I am afraid I do not know this creature.”
“Sure you do. Every culture has them. They are the most famous monsters in history.”
“Describe it,” Maria responded with a shrug.
Beverly looked to the other authors on the stage who simply looked back at her expectantly.
“Well. It is a terrifying creature that hunts for blood in the night. Surely, you know of something like that.”
Maria thought for a moment. “Must it be specifically for blood?”
“Yes.”
“And must it consume it?”
Beverly had the audacity to look annoyed. “What else would it do with it?”
“There are creatures that like to see others bleed.”
Murmurs and puzzled expressions filled the hall.
“What kind of monster does that,” the moderator, an older portly gentleman asked full of intrigue.
“The kind that plagues my country. These, how you call them, vampires. They come from their faraway lands and skulk in the shadows to spill the blood of animals they have no business killing.”
The moderator guffawed loudly. “That is just sport.”
“What health benefits are there to this sport,” Maria asked calmly.
The moderator sputtered into his microphone. “It can be argued that it sends the blood pumping.”
“Yes,” Maria conceded, “There is an entire market dedicated to the chase, and another to the selling of the products which are said to elicit the same high. Personally, I think that if one cannot stand erect without killing, then they have no business in bed. Innocent animals should not have to suffer for the shortcomings of sad men.”
“Agreed, that is wrong,” Beverly spoke as if remembering her voice had not been heard in a while. “But that is not a vampire. Please think. What do you call the creature your people fear? A pale thing on the cusp of death – smells like it too. It kills without abandon and takes your soul.”
Maria threw her head back in understanding. “Ah, I see it now. This monster was a well-known terror for centuries. Who knows what its final death count was by the end?”
Nods of agreement quickly turned to confusion.
“How do you mean?” If the moderator’s brow furled in any further, his face ran the risk of caving in itself.
“Colonialism is a famous vampire, is it not? People still suffer from how much blood, sweat, and tears it spilled. Half the world fell to its evil grasp.”
The moderator’s face contorted in fury while the others carried looks ranging from embarrassment, remorse, and deepening desire to be anywhere else.
“We are here to strictly talk about fiction. No politics!”
“So we dismiss real life as politics?”
“We do if it villainizes real people.”
Maria dropped her microphone for a moment to collect her thoughts. “What a luxury to only have fiction to fear. You must invent things to frighten you, meanwhile, the horror you describe, half the people in this room know personally.”
Lost faces regarded Maria closely. The moderator shook his head in anticipation, though he knew he did not want the answer. “How do you mean now?”
She could not stop the frustration from creeping into her voice. “Describe this monster again.”
All of the panelists turned once again to Beverly who never experienced such regret in her life.
“Okay…well. It is a soul-sucking creature that lives on blood, often targeting young women to rob them of their youth. In its attack, it turns its prey into its property.”
Beverly looked too proud of herself to notice the others around her quietly reciting her carefully crafted spiel, looking for any holes their unflappable contender could manipulate.
“Just to make sure I understood. You ask of a being that comes into your home looking to be fed, uses your body as it sees fit, takes and takes, and still declares you as its property?” Maria released a mirthless laugh. “The only thing astonishing here is that you consider this as fiction.”
“You have seen a monster like this?”
Writers across the room leaned forward in their chairs.
“Seen it? I am married to one.”
The crowd laughed at her response and laughed harder still at the annoyed faces of the panelists. Before they could open their mouths to retort, Maria revealed the bruised skin beneath her large, beaded necklace. Red marks jumped out angrily on her rich, black skin. She readjusted her necklace and collar as the gasps of shock and horror died down. The collective voice of the crowd was lost to the wind. Maria enjoyed the silence. The shame she had expected to feel in her actions failed to set in. Perhaps she had misjudged this topic too early. There may yet be things to learn about these foreign belief systems.
“I am curious now. What else do you waste your time fearing without cause?”
