October 3, 188—. 9:25 p.m.
Uchiyamashita-chô, Kôjimachi Ward, Tokyo
Even after the host had introduced his guest, the room remained silent.
There was no applause.
And then a British diplomat’s wife nearly swooned.
“Oh, the smell, the smell!”
Covering her nose and mouth, she ran out to the veranda.
They had all smelled it: the smell of blood.
But in a moment, the ballroom was just as it had been before, a pleasant room, filled with nothing more than the ordinary aroma of cigarettes, wine, and flowers.
“Music!” someone shouted, and an elegant melody floated over the heads of the crowd.
Then Chizuru witnessed a strange scene.
A few frightened women had begun to creep closer to the count, their faces blank.
They were like beautiful insects drawn mindlessly toward a flame.
Their cheeks were flushed, their eyes glistened.
Don’t get closer, Chizuru wanted to yell. An aristocrat he may be, but he is not human. He drinks the blood of men and women. He is a vampire!
But she said nothing. Had she raised an alarm, she would have incurred the wrath of Minister Inoue, bringing who knows what harsh punishment on Renbei-jyuku. And, in any case, who would have believed her?
A young blond man, who seemed to be the escort of one of the women surrounding the count, stepped forward. He cast a hard glance at a redhead, a girl of no more than twenty-two or -three, and said to the count, in German, “I am Lieutenant Helmut Lundich, an officer with the Germany embassy. I came here with this lady, but it appears she is quite taken with you. That is fine. However, I have several questions about where you are from. Will you answer me?”
Like most of the Japanese present, Chizuru did not know a word of German.
But a man, perhaps Inoue’s secretary, quickly translated for the minister’s sake.
“If they are questions I am able to answer,” the count replied in German.
The officer was dumbfounded. There was no weakness in this man standing before him.
Then he nodded nastily. His face was red, and he appeared to be drunk.
“I have done some reading about Eastern European history, especially concerning certain events that took place in Transylvania and Wallachia. Your country certainly has a bloody history. That war with the Turkish Ottoman Empire was a fierce one, which must have left your land drenched in blood.”
Inoue and the foreigners all drew a breath. It was clear the officer was spoiling for a fight.
“You have a grievance against my country?” the count asked.
A hush fell over the crowd; silence pervaded the room.
After a moment’s hesitation, the officer shot back, “Not at all. As a German military man, I wouldn’t dream of offending you. In fact, I respect all warriors greatly, especially the ruler of Wallachia, Vlad Țepeș.”
“Ah.” The count smirked. This was no peace offering. The air froze again.
Although the crowd had noticed the count’s unnaturally red lips, they had not noticed the fangs—no, the fanglike canine teeth protruding from his mouth— until now.
The count said in a tired voice, “That name will be remembered fondly by the Transylvanian and Wallachian people for all time. He was the hero who stood his ground against the Ottoman invaders.”
“But that’s not all.” The officer grinned. Jabbing his finger at the count’s chest, he added, “You didn’t mention he was also a tyrant who impaled tens of thousands of Turkish soldiers on stakes, leaving them to die in agony. But then again, such a fanatic is surely a suitable ruler for a country with such a bloody history. Some say he drank the blood of the soldiers that dripped down the stakes. Why, even after they died…”
The officer could speak no further.
The count was gazing into his eyes.
It was as if all the drunkenness and bluster had been drained from his body, leaving only terror.
“Count.”
As Inoue moved to intervene, the man from Transylvania ordered the officer, “Get out.”
The officer began to back away slowly, as if threatened by a force only he could see.
After retreating a few feet, he stopped suddenly and ran out the door. There were screams as he bumped into several people, who staggered out of his way.
Chizuru heard his footsteps down the hall and down the stairs, then nothing.
“My sincere apologies for the trouble. A spirited young man, but it seems he recalled some urgent matter demanding his attention.”
He bowed. The women were wholly enchanted by his words, the rest merely forced smiles. Not at all troubled by the attention, the count looked around and said, “This is a special occasion. I would like to dance with the beautiful women of this country.”
Still looking at the place so recently occupied by the officer, Chizuru finally turned around toward the count.
Everyone was staring at her.
Before she could realize why, the enormous black figure had come forward and, in a dark voice that seemed to rain down from above, said, “May I have this dance?”
She gasped. Without taking off his cape, the count took her shoulders in his arms and led her toward the dance floor.
It was not by force but rather by a fierce and vibrant energy that seemed to emanate from deep within the man that she was pushed so smoothly and irresistibly toward the dance floor.
“Now.”
He took her hand. It was softer and colder than Chizuru had expected.
“Please,” she said, looking up at his face. “I know who you are. Before you’ve slaked your thirst for blood, you will be slain by our brave warriors.”
At this, surprisingly, the count smiled. He looked at her longingly, and a little mockingly, like a father who has realized his little girl has become a woman.
“Brave warriors. That is what they called me a long time ago.”
His smile faded but did not disappear entirely.
“Even as I hold you in my arms, you are willing to betray my identity. The women of your country are quite brave, I see. But this is a battle for another time. Now, let us dance.”
“This is the first time I’ve ever danced.”
Though his face betrayed surprise, he said quickly, “When I step back, you step forward. When I step forward, you step back. Soon you will find your body moving naturally with the music.”
“But—”
The count interrupted her. “Do not worry. Beautiful movements are easily mastered. The human body was made for such beauty.”
Chizuru looked up at the black figure, astonished.
Could these really be the words of a devil?
The count narrowed his eyes.
“Now, your hairstyle. It was good enough for our first meeting, but it is simply not suitable for this occasion.”
Without waiting for her response, he scanned the room and stopped at a nearby table, where there was an arrangement of brightly colored roses in a vase.
After picking one out, the count returned to Chizuru and set his hand on her hair.
Chizuru felt his fingers touch the string. In a moment, her long tresses came tumbling down. Her hair was quickly gathered up, and something was tied around it at the hairline. Chizuru’s hair fell down to her hips without a single strand out of place.
Chizuru understood right away. The count had cut the string, put up her hair in a different arrangement, and tied her hair together with the stem of the rose.
“Try to relax,” said the count.
“Yes,” she answered without thinking.
She knew what she had to do. She waited for the rhythm of the waltz to take them.
It came.
The two gave themselves over to the music.
She matched the count’s movements step for step.
Is this how the devil moves? It almost took her breath away.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the looks of the people watching, as well as the shocked look of one officer.
The officer later recounted this moment in his memoir, which was published in France:
The ribbon, which had been tied around the young Japanese lady’s hair, was made not of white silk, but of an elegant white rose. The white made a brilliant contrast to the blue rose adorning her bodice, and both caught our attention.
The lady wore a light purple dress and blue gloves. No matter how well she wore the dress, one could not help but notice how different her face was from that of a Frenchwoman, a fact that could be neither ignored nor helped.
However, her beauty was certainly not at all out of place, from the glossy black hair that fell down to her hips to the angelic eyes like those of an adorable kitten. On that night, the East surpassed the West.
Though she was a bit stiff at first, at last she waltzed so smoothly we all forgot that it was her first time dancing.
By the end of the first stanza, everyone noticed that her legs had turned to gold. As the music played on, the buzz of the guests had turned into one of admiration and was eventually silenced by the two figures.
I was probably not the only one who noticed that the other couples on the floor had begun to disappear one by one. They had become embarrassed to dance to the same music and in the same room with this elegant couple.
However, neither those who had withdrawn nor those who watched betrayed any sign of scorn or defeat.
They had simply been captivated by the Godgiven grace of the two dancers.
When the music ended, thunderous applause greeted them. I admired the Japanese women, who had shown only contempt when the young lady had first arrived, who then apologized for their lack of dignity and freely lavished praise upon the way she had danced.
After gracefully acknowledging the error of their ways, they apologized. This graciousness was one of the greatest virtues of this island country that I have come to know in my short time here.