Tanith Lee - The Janfia Tree

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The Janfia Tree

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TANITH LEE

Vampirism is a recurring theme in Lee's work. In this graceful,

ambiguous tale, a woman with no hope invokes a dark god who may or

may not exist, just to conquer her own indifference to life. Vampires

often mesmerize their victims with their gaze. In a neat little twist the

Janfia tree gives off a seductive, overpowering fragrance as a lure.

After eight years of what is termed "bad luck," it becomes a way of life.

One is no longer anything so dramatic as unhappy. One achieves a sort of

state of what can only be described as de-happiness. One expects nothing,

not even, actually, the worst. A certain relaxation follows, a certain

equilibrium. Not flawless, of course. There are still moments of rage and

misery. It is very hard to give up hope, that last evil let loose from

Pandora's box of horrors. And it is always, in fact, after a bout of hope,

springing without cause, perishing not necessarily at any fresh blow but

merely from the absence of anything to sustain it, that there comes a

revulsion of the senses. A wish, not exactly for death, but for the torturer

at least to step out of the shadows, to reveal himself, and his plans. And to

this end one issues invitations, generally very trivial ones, a door

forgetfully unlocked, a stoplight driven through. Tempting fate, they call

it.

"Well, you do look tired," said Isabella, who had met me in her car, in

the town, in the white dust that veiled and covered everything.

I agreed that perhaps I did look tired.

"I'm so sorry about—" said Isabella. She checked herself, thankfully, on

my thanks. "I expect you've had enough of all that. And this other thing.

That's not for a while, is it?"

"Not until next month."

"That gives you time to take a break at least."

"Yes."

It was a very minor medical matter to which she referred. Any one of

millions would have been glad, I was sure, to exchange their intolerable

suffering for something twice as bad. For me, it filled the quota quite

adequately. I had not been sleeping very well. Isabella's offer of the villa

had seemed, not like an escape, since that was impossible, yet like an

island. But I wished she would talk about something else. Mind-reading,

"Look at the olives, aren't they splendid?" she said, as we hurtled up the

road. I looked at the olives through the blinding sun and dust. "And there

it is, you see? Straight up there in the sky."

The villa rose, as she said, in the hard sky above; on a crest of gilded

rock curtained with cypress and pine. The building was alabaster in the

sun, and, like alabaster, had a pinkish inner glow where the light

exchanged itself with the shade. Below, the waves of the olives washed

down to the road, shaking to silver as the breeze ruffled them. It was all

very beautiful, but one comes in time to regard mortal glamours rather as

the Cathars regarded them, snares of the devil to hide the blemishes

beneath, to make us love a world which will defile and betray us.

The car sped up the road and arrived on a driveway in a flaming jungle

of bougainvillaea and rhododendrons.

Isabella led me between the stalks of the veranda, into the villa, with all

the pride of money and goodwill. She pointed out to me, on a long

immediate tour, every excellence, and showed me the views, which were

exceptional, from every window and balcony.

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Tanith Lee - The Janfia Tree

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