Dracula Book ©

I was staying in the city of Borkozviok precisely because it hid a quite impressive library dedicated to the history of Transylvania, a library largely unknown to western scholars, but nevertheless impressive and majestic, having been fashioned out of the ruins of a nameless boyar's townhouse. I had always loved languages, and had taken it upon myself to learn a bit of Transylvanian, and I was quite fluent in German, and so fortunately between these two languages I got by. I had spent so many hours in the library that the librarian, an attractive young lady, had taken it upon herself to learn some basic English expressions in honor of her guest, and had delighted me with such expressions as, “Book to find on glass?” and, “For to enjoy the stay is quite needful?” I had smiled and answered in the affirmative to both. I would have taken this young jewel to dinner were I not already attached, and quite happily, back in Ohio to a beautiful girl named Carmella, a rather exotic name for Gainesville.

But, while perhaps forlorn that I resisted her affections, young Sjeklia was kind enough to give me her devoted professional attention, so that I believe I have read every extant book on Transylvanian history, plus the few that she smuggled from the reserve room in the basement that were rare and out-of-print. I found the entire history of the country to be fascinating, and was lost in the wars of the Magyars and the Huns and the rest.

But, I had yet to find even any mention of the name Dracula. I had found the history of Vlad and there was nothing there that I did not already know. I was at the point of frustration when I decided to ask Sjeklia.

“Sjeklia?”

“Yes, you call Master?”

“Goodness, please don't call me Master. Jonah is sufficient!”

She understood English much better than she spoke it, and so she giggled.

“Sjeklia, I am looking for any book with any sort of history of anyone from this country with the name of Dracula. Specifically...” I stopped short. The poor girl had blanched, looking almost like a vampire herself, and her wide eyes bespoke true, mortal fear. She crossed herself and pointed two fingers at me – the Slavic defense against the evil eye.

“Please, please Mister Jonah! Please no to speak of this name! Name is bad, yes?”

“What? Sjeklia, you can't be serious! You are acting like those peasants in Bram Stoker's novel! Surely that name does not still inspire fear here, in this modern, European city?”

“For to forgive me, Mister Jonah, but to know, this land, tradition, and us we people never to forget! Bad, bad man was Dracula!”

“Goodness, I am sorry, my dear! Forgive me. I did not mean to frighten you, you poor dear. I am sorry. I can understand how the traditions of a country can continue over generations. In my country, we still have a mysterious awe when we think of the native Indians, and we regard them almost as supernatural beings. I can have sympathy on this, Sjeklia.”

“Oh Mister Jonah, I am sorry. My, how do you say, my reaction, was stupid and foolish. Let's see..tradition? Yes? Tradition, it is long time, no? And, from a child, we children to hear stories, stories of bad man Dracula.”

“No, no, it's ok. I understand. But, without mentioning the name, perhaps you could guide me to some books?”

“Yes, of course, Mister Jonah. Please, to come.”

I followed her down to the basement, past the sleeping supervisor, and she directed me to a far corner desk with a small lamp. She pulled out three or four books and placed them on the desk.

“Now, please to stay as you wish. But please to quiet! I have trouble, no?”

“Yes Sjeklia, I understand. The supervisor, no?”

“Yes.”

I bowed to her, in the custom of that country, and began my studies. I was positively shocked by the fact, not only that there was a real Count Dracula, but that he had quite a dark history in the area. Allow me to briefly relate, in this Journal, some of that history.

The name Dracula is actually a corruption of the word drago, a Romanian word meaning dragon or serpent, itself from the Latin. The real family name of the Draculas was Omerbegovic. But, even from the very early Middle Ages, the men of the family gained the reputation of being cruel, merciless warriors, and, having enjoyed nobility, they frequently found themselves in positions of leadership. Their renowned cruelty garnered them the name of dragon from the peasantry – though certainly not to their faces – and so the name stuck. After two generations, they were no longer called Omerbegovic, but Dracula.

The Count of whom Stoker wrote lived in the late 18th Century in a country estate, a castle really, not far from the very town I am in. He was very reclusive, and though the ruler of the local land, was rarely seen engaging in any official business, save for the occasional Draconian law that he would issue after something happened. For example, upon hearing that the town of Borkozviok (the town I am now in, remember) was undergoing a wave of theft, the Count declared that anyone caught stealing would be flayed alive in the town square. One such punishment was all that was necessary before the poor town had the lowest crime rate in the world. As another example, he once decreed that anyone eating the meat of horses was to be trampled by horses.

The truth is that the Count was stricken with the dementia that sadly affects many inbred, noble families, and he lived locked within his castle, attended to by terrified servants, avoided by the populous, and tolerated by the few family members that took the time to visit him.

The castle itself hardly helped his reputation. It had been one of the strongest and most luxurious castles in all of Eastern Europe, built upon an impossibly high, sheer cliff on three sides, and bordered by a thick and wild forest on the fourth. Even in its younger years, the castle had been built of the blackest of rocks, imported from Mongolia, so that its dark and looming presence watched over the town like a somber master, a mean overlord and taskmaster.

At one time, the enormous castle had been decorated within in the most sumptuous Gothic appointments, with tapestries and chairs and grand tables and chandeliers imported from around the world. To be invited to a dinner or a party, though also a terrifying experience, was a journey into the heights of luxury and hospitality. While lucid, the count apparently was quite the gracious host, but sometimes at his gatherings his temper would turn and one or more of his guests would end up decapitated upon the lawn. But one dared not refuse his invitation!

The Count shared a habit with old Nero of Rome; that is, he would dress as a peasant and walk among the commoners in the town, eager to see what common life was like. He preferred to do this in the cloak of evening and night, and perhaps this was the source of the legends that he would appear out of nowhere and then disappear into the night, as vampires are supposed to be able to do.

Outside of these odd appearances, the Count remained to himself, studying and thinking. He did not like bright lights, and the sunshine bothered his eyes. Modern doctors believe that he suffered from a severing of one of his optical sphincter muscles in a fall that he suffered as a boy, and so his left pupil would never contract, allowing in too much light so that darker climates were easier to bear. Of course, this fact did much to harm his reputation. Apparently, and quite coincidentally, the old Count was blessed with long and sharp canine incisors on top of it all. His complete roster of oddities and physical abnormalities, his mental illness, and his cruel ways, planted in the tenuous soil of a dark and superstitious age full of fears, and in which the Catholic Church was viewed as the only light in a terrifying world, germinated into a full-grown belief that Count Dracula was a vampire. Of course he was not, and I need not even say such a thing to the rational mind. He simply had a series of faults and disabilities that garnered him the wicked reputation.

The real Dracula was not well-known outside of his native land, and so stories of him never quite made it to the western world, as he was not nearly as cosmopolitan a leader as Vlad. Nor did Dracula fight in any real wars, as the size and location of the castle kept him and the village quite protected from intruders.

I made my notes on the man over a period of a few days, and thanked Sjeklia throughly, offering to take her to dinner for her troubles, for she had quite gone out of her way to accommodate me, a stranger in a strange land. After her acceptance, I thought that I had made a grave mistake, realizing that she would probably take my invitation as my taking a shine to her attempts at affection. Oh well, I had already asked, and I was only being genteel, and it appeared to me that the customs of the land allowed for men and women to be friends without any sort of implication. In fact, in order to stake a claim on a girl, I had learned that a man must undergo a formal ritual, meeting her father, saying certain things, charming the mother, and generally proving his manhood over a period of one complete year, and so really I have nothing to fear. We shall sup tonight.

Email:
from: jonahwest@hotmail.com
to: carmellab@faculty.ou.edu
08.05.04

Hello my dear! Miss you already. How have you been? What's going on? I assume classes are about to start again, so I know you are busy. I am having a good time...Transylvania is very interesting...found books on the Count, and yes, he is real. You owe me a steak dinner! lol i will probably be returning next week so I will email you then to let you know 4sure...let me know how things are going k? I'll try to call tomorrow. Love, Jonah

Email:
from: carmellab@faculty.ou.edu
to: jonahwest@hotmail.com
08.05.04
subject: :)

hey! Just got your email...so glad to hear from u...classes start soon yes. Freshmen are here, very hectic atmosphere lol...busy now but bbl to write more. Love ya! Carmella

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