Building a Mystery

I saw him my first morning in New Orleans - a Tuesday. My husband and I were walking to Cafe Du Monde on Decatur to get beignets. In case you do not know, these delicious French donuts that taste like a funnel cake and leave traces of powdered sugar on your clothes for the rest of the day.

We were walking down Royal Street when he walked towards me. His eyes were downcast. His head was brilliantly bald, smooth and pale. He walked briskly clothes entirely in black. He wore Matrix-style tall black boots and a trench coat that flapped - no, not flapped. It floated. The back of this coat was seamlessly suspended behind him.

He may have looked at me or maybe he didn't. I was so stupefied by his commanding and weird presence that it is possible I imagined it. Maybe I imagined him. That is the thing about New Orleans. There are so many outlandish vampire and ghost stories and voodoo legends that eventually reality can get a little sketchy. To this day, Tom does not remember our first encounter with this man.

When I first saw him, I immediately suspected he was one of three things:

1) A guide for one of the famous vampire or ghost tours

2) A Gothic rocker

3) A vampire

I would like to appear sane and say that the first tow options were what I was placing bets on,but this damn city can make you start to believe in things that you don't understand. Yes, I think I did just quote Stevie Wonder.

I may have been able to regain my sanity and logic if I had not seen this man again on my last night in New Orleans.

We were in Jackson Square well after dark. This area of the French Quarter is eclectic during the day and eerie when the sun disappears. The Square lies between the St. Louis Cathedral and the Mississippi River and encompasses about one block. It has two components. The first component is a gated park with manicured lawns, seasonal foliage and flowers and breathtaking views of the Cathedral.

The second feature of this attraction is the population that surrounds the four sides of the gated area. Here you will find palm and tarot card readers, street side musicians, artisans creating and selling and horse-drawn carriage operators lined up beckoning tourists to take a ride for $12 a person.

Oh, I also saw Jesus. At least that is who he claimed to be as the police were questioning him.

But that last night in New Orleans I was oblivious to everything. I only saw him. He was sitting on a bench in Jackson Square, alone. Well, not completely alone. He sat on a bench outside of the gated section of the Square. Behind him within the gates are where I spied the glowing eyes. They were just the nighttime eyes of felines, but these cats stood behind the gate at attention like they were guarding something. Guarding him.

The Square was the meeting place for our vampire tour. That is why we were there that night. I expected him to join our tour and put my suspicions to rest, but he never did. He stayed sitting on that bench. He was still there when we returned two hours later.

I got as close to him as I dared, standing behind the bench about ten feet. I wanted to ask him what the mystery was. I felt this unbelievable, supernatural pull towards him, but my own sixth sense urged me to stay away and not approach.

Maybe he was just homeless like many of the other occupants of the Square, but I don't think so.

When I returned home from New Orleans, I tried to find information on Jackson Square and those cats. Maybe somebody else had the same experience I did and I could get some closure. I found one site that talked about how when pictures were taken of the cats ghostly images appeared, but that was all I could find. I have not been able to find out anything more about the cats of Jackson Square or about my vampire.

So, that is the craziness about New Orleans. It wraps itself around your senses and strangles out commonsense and replaces it with superstition and uncertainty. Our vampire tour guide said there are many people in the city who "believe they are what they are" and you know what? I am now one of them.

I believe what I saw. I believe what I felt. That raw, supernatural feeling. I am certain about what he was . . .