by Richard R. Smith
_We have read a good many vampire tales by reading-lamp radiance, with
the wind whistling eerily in the eaves, and a steeple bell tolling from
afar. But seldom have we read such a vampire thriller as this, with its
aura of billboards, weather, hitchhiking and quite realizable future
science. This is Mr. Smith's third story for us, and with each new yarn
his stature has grown._
=She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, and in her eyes was
a promise of paradise. But to live in paradise a man must die.=
My headlights silhouetted her against the dark-surfaced billboard and
even at sixty miles an hour, I could see she had curves and a thumb in
the traditional position of a hitch-hiker.
I passed her, wonderingly. Then, on a sudden impulse, I stopped the car
and backed up.
She opened the door, threw a suitcase on the back seat, slid across the
front seat until she bumped against my arm and said, “Thanks.”
It was too dark to see her face, so I mumbled something and started
down the highway again.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“No place special.” Her voice was soft, warm and joyous as if ready to
burst into laughter at any moment.
“Where are _you_ going?” she asked.
“No place special.” It was a lie, but it sounded good. Actually, I had
a very special destination: my home, wife and kids were approximately
fifty miles down the highway.
I broke open a pack of cigarettes and thrust it toward her. She
accepted the offer. She lit my cigarette, then her own.
“Are you a salesman?” It was meant to be a question but some inflection
in her voice made it sound like a statement.
“How did you know?” I asked.
“A guess. I saw your briefcase and papers on the back seat. What do you
sell?”
Her perfume thrilled me. It was different than any I’d ever smelled.
Would _exotic_ describe it? It was as if the most exciting scents
from a hundred types of flowers had been mingled in just the right
proportions.
“I sell paints,” I told her. “Not door to door, but to big businesses
and factories that need a lot of paint.”
We talked for the next two hours. Some people talk about the weather,
politics and sports. She and I talked about destiny, the ecstasies of
life, space travel and alien civilizations. We talked about how it
feels to kill something, to fear the unknown, to die, to love and to be
drunk. We even discussed jungles, work, pain and types of people.
It was the most interesting conversation of my life. It was so
interesting that I drove fifty-four miles in the wrong direction before
I realized where I was.
I stopped the car and glanced in the rear-view mirror. My house was
only a few miles from the highway. A small side-road leads directly to
the front porch. That side-road was now fifty-four miles behind the car.
“What’s the matter?” she asked in a soft voice.
“I was so busy talking to you that I drove fifty miles out of my way!”
“I’m sorry.”
I turned to stare at her. The headlights of an approaching car
illuminated her face and for the first time, I got a good look at my
companion. She was beautiful. It was the kind of beauty that makes men
abandon all caution. For a full minute I stared into her fathomless
blue eyes.
“What’s your name?” I whispered.
“Almira. It’s Arabic. It means: a princess.”
“You are a _princess_.”
She laughed. “I am.”
We continued to stare into each other’s eyes, neither of us moving or
speaking. We said a lot without saying a word ... Messages and replied.
Offers and acceptances. It was the first time in my life that I had
carried on a long conversation with my eyes.