Exodus

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Exodus To The U.S.

    After finding the hunting knife imbedded in my door, I decided that it was time to leave Paris. I remember that a sort of blind, illogical lack of panick overcame me. I was too frightened even to express being afraid, and I knew that even if I did, I couldn't very well tell everyone that I was being chased by a lunatic vampire. I just left. I'm not sure how I explained my sudden departure, or if I ever did. I was on my way to England in less than twelve hours. I want to say under six, but I can't be sure of that, or, to be more acurate, I can't be as sure of that point as I can others.
    On the boat to England, something occured to me: Liverpoole would be the first place that Juan would look for me. The surrounding towns and cities would be next. The second thing to occur to me, was that he would know to look for me under the name that I used the the Opera.
    I picked a name absolutely at random. I think I drew from my knowledge of Egyptian culture, but whatever the name, I don't remember it, so I probably never used it again. The instant my feet hit British soil, I was off again to Spain. Spain, I decided, was the absolute last place that he would look for me. I began to doubt this before I ever arrived there, and I decided that no place in Europe was safe. I did not to go to China, strictly because I did not speak Chinese, and Africa was out because they had no winter there, and that made me nervous(I can offer no explanation for this train of thought). Such was the state of my thoughts at that time. If long nights or cold air were what I was concerned with, the Netherlands would have been the logical choice, but I don't think it occured to me.
    I decided to go to the United States. A gap follows. I remember arriving in New York, and deciding that the immigration office was not where I wanted to be. I was going to pass my self off as a tourist for the time being. Between that time, which seems to me to be around 1900, and the sudden, uncomfortable realization that I was running desperately low on funds, all I can remember is wood grain. It is the surface of a desk, and I remember it in incredible detail, but it's all that I remember. I can see that the desk was laquered, but that the lacquer had worn thin in exactly the place that I would rest my hand, and there was a small ridge that would put a crease in my hand, if I left it there for too long. It was very irritating. At any rate, I take this to mean that I spent a great deal of time sitting at that desk reading and writing. I don't even remember what I called myself, or if I talked to anyone, or ever went out, though I'm sure that I did, if I was spending money. Then again, I did have a person I had hired to do my errands.