Ruins

My Dear Brother,

Karl, things are getting bad. I would like to see everything through, but it has become impossible. What follows is all I know. If you hear anything, please let me know. When I have an address, I will be sure to inform you.

I�d known Alexandra only one day�one full day and one evening, really. We met at the embassy, at a party for the consulate�s daughter. She was one of the daughter�s friends, or so I assumed, though now I�m not sure. We talked about architecture�as you know, a special interest of mine�but right away I was more interested in her lewd eyes than in anything made by man. She had a way of laughing that inspired lust, and before the night ended we came within an inch of kissing. I can still taste her breath. I can still see those eyes, eyes I wanted to disappear into.

Before she took her leave, she mentioned a ruins I�d never heard of and asked if I fancied a day trip. �Tomorrow?� she said playfully, �even though it�s really today, and if I don�t get out of here soon will be yesterday.� She laughed again, a stunningly sexual laugh, and again we came within an inch of kissing. �I�ll take care of hiring the car,� she said. �Meet me out front here at ten.�

The next day, that same day really, was a Sunday, and I was out in front of the embassy promptly at ten. Alexandra was waiting. The car was something tiny, a Standard Superior, I think it�s called, polished within an inch of its life. Alexandra introduced the drive, a fellow named Aubin, and apologized that there wasn�t much room. �Do you mind if I sit on your lap?� she asked. �I�d be pleased to be your chair,� I answered. She laughed, and those lewd eyes touched my groin. Already I had the beginnings of an erection.

The roads were smooth at first, but then not. Alexandra discussed horsepower and aerodynamics with Aubin and I breathed her hair and absorbed the bounce and jiggle of her pillow-soft, apple-hard bottom. Several times Aubin stopped along the roadside and got out to tinker with one thing or another. �If we break down irrevocably, will you carry me back on your strong back?� Alexandra asked me. I assured her that I would. �You�re so kind,� she said, �a kind gentleman such as we rarely see these days,� and her bottom shifted and wiggled, even though the car was motionless. By the time we arrived at our destination, at least an hour later than we had planned, I�m sure I had a wet spot in my trousers, concealed, I hoped, by the pattern of the weave.

Aubin said he knew of a place in a town not far away, and he would be happy to bring us some sandwiches and beer or a bottle of the local wine while we explored the ruins. Alexandra readily agreed. I thought she wanted us to have some privacy, but when I sought to embrace her, she pulled away. �Not now,� she said sternly, but I caught a twinkle of lewd tease in her eye which I hoped belied the tone and sense of her statement.

�Isn�t it marvelous here?� she asked, after we had strolled the grounds for the better part of an hour. �The fresh air. The ageless buildings, crumbling to dust. Did you take a camera? You should take some photographs.� I had along my Leica Model II, a present I�d bought for myself with Mother�s birthday money. I removed it from my knapsack and, after adjusting the exposure and aperture according to my estimate of the light, aimed it at Alexandra. �Smile.�

�Oh, no, not of me,� Alexandra said, covering her face. �The pretty scenery.�

�But you are the prettiest scenery,� I said.

�Do you think so?�

�I do.�

�Really and truly?�

�Really and truly.�

�At least you should have the ruins in the background.� She kicked off her sandals and sat on the warm grass on the little hill in front of a crumbling wall.

�So beautiful,� I said, as I framed the picture. And then another, and another. I�m not sure Alexandra realized that because I was below her on the little hill, I could see quite a long way up her short dress, but maybe she was well aware, because at one point she let the dress slide off her shoulder, and I think it was only her erect nipple which kept her breast from being completely bared to the warm sun and the eye of my camera.

With that last tiny click of the Leica, Alexandra made an objection, or pretended to. �Nothing to worry about,� I said. �I ran out of film long ago. I�m just pretending.�

�Oh,� she said. It was impossible to tell if she was pleased or not. �Well, if you�re just pretending...� And she shrugged her dress well off her shoulder. Her breast, now completely exposed, was so beautiful in its creamy roundness, with its fat, pink, upturned nipple, that I almost forgot to take the �pretend� photograph.

�Do you like my breasts?�

�Very much,� I said. I was going to add that they were the most beautiful breasts I�d ever seen, which was true, which I suspect will forever be true, but I recognized just in time the mistake such an admission would be.

Maybe it wouldn�t have mattered, for just then something startled Alexandra.

�What is it?� I asked while advancing the film.

�Oh, nothing. Just a silly stick. For a moment I thought it was a snake.�

Sure enough, in the grass just a few feet from where Alexandra sat, lay a small stick, perhaps a foot long, a foot and a half at most. Alexandra reached for it and picked it up.

�It does have a forked tongue,� she said. �No wonder I was confused.� And she brought the stick to her mouth as if it were a cigar and pretended to take several hearty puffs. Then she waggled the stick, as if knocking off ash or flicking an elongated tongue. �Do you think I make a credible viper?� she asked.

�The finest,� I said. �I wish I were that snake.�

�Oh, you do, do you? And if you were a snake, you�d like to come into my mouth?�

I wasn�t sure how to answer this. Finally I decided on the truth. �Yes, in your mouth.�

�I see. And where else, Mr. Snake Man, sir?�

I used the camera to cover my inability to formulate a response.

�Here?� Alexandra said, stroking the snake stick between her breasts. �Or here?� and she moved the stick between her legs. I couldn�t be sure if the end of the stick actually penetrated her, and if it did, which orifice. I couldn�t even be sure if the stick touched her down there. The wretched camera was in the way.

A moment later, as if bitten, Alexandra jerked the stick away, flung it to the grass, and got to her feet. It was Aubin, the driver, approaching our grassy hillock. He carried a basket. Alexandra hurried to him, her sandals in hand. �Yahoo, Aubie!� she called out, �I am so famished.�

I packed the Leica in my knapsack. As an afterthought, in addition to a heart-shaped leaf that Alexandra may have been sitting upon, I picked up the little snake stick and stowed it in the sack, but not before determining that the tip of it was perceptibly moist.

We sat in the shade of a large tree, perhaps the very tree from which Alexandra�s snake stick had fallen, ate the excellent sandwiches Aubin had obtained, and drank the bottle of cold white wine. It was delicious. For dessert Aubin had brought cheese and apples, but Alexandra patted her tummy and insisted she was too full for another bite. �Maybe when we get back,� she said. And then she asked Aubin to take a photograph of us. I don�t know if she had forgotten about the exhausted film or was on to the deception. Not sure what to do, I simply unpacked the camera, adjusted the settings, and instructed Aubin on the shutter. Alexandra was seated on a tree stump. I stood next to her. I shall always remember the way she smiled at me, though what it meant, exactly, I couldn�t possibly say.

�Shall we be getting back, then?� I asked Aubin. The fellow looked skyward and said a storm might be coming in and that it would be best, the roads being what they were, to stay in the village that night. We could make a fresh start in the morning. He assured us that the inn was quite suitable. �Besides,� he said, �I have to return the basket and crystal.�

It seemed to be a pleasant and well-built place. Alexandra and I secured adjoining rooms. We were the only two for dinner. I�m not sure where Aubin had got off to. In any event, the soup was good and the veal was tender. We had another bottle of that excellent dry white wine. By the time we finished, the sun was almost down. �Shall we go up?� Alexandra asked. Side by side we mounted the stairs to the bedrooms. We were almost to the landing when Alexandra said, �Before you go to your room, could you do something for me?�

�Of course,� I answered, my heart beating ferociously, my groin thickening.

It turned out she needed help getting the window open. It was stuck. �Maybe it�s not meant to open,� I suggested, after some minutes of embarrassing futility.

�Oh dear,� Alexandra said. �I do so like fresh air at night. I do so hate stuffiness.�

�Maybe my room...� I started to suggest.

Alexandra pounced on my words. �A trade! That would be so dear of you. A moment later we entered my room.

�What�s this?� Alexandra asked, for I�d left the stick and the leaf on a little table in front of the window.

�Souvenirs of the ruins?� I said.

�Silly man. Could you light the candle? It�s almost dark.�

I struck a match and did as she asked. Then I fetched my knapsack. Alexandra was still standing in front of the little table near the window. There was an oval mirror on the facing wall. The stick and the leaf were still on the table. I was sure when she opened the window, the breeze would blow the leaf off the table. It would probably extinguish the candle�s flame as well.

She was staring into the mirror. Her breasts were bare. She was so beautiful. I removed the Leica from the sack, opened the lens all the way, and took one final photograph, even though I knew there could not possibly be enough light. Instead of taking the picture, I should have taken her to bed. Possibly that�s what she wanted. I know it�s what I wanted. But I didn�t do it. I whispered good night. Sleep well. See you in the morning. She didn�t answer. It was as if I wasn�t there. Or as if she were the reflection, and the real Alexandra was on the other side. Quietly, I slipped out of the room and closed the door. That was the last I saw of her.

As you know, all inquiries have proved fruitless. The local police remain baffled. Her bed had not been slept in. There was nothing in the room to indicate she had ever been there. The little stick was where I had left it on the table. The leaf had disappeared, and I didn�t see it on the floor. For some reason I didn�t mention to the police of the stick�s or leaf�s existence�I�m not sure why. They asked me how much the candle had burned down, and I was unable to tell them. For all I know it had not burned down at all.

�It would be helpful if you had a photograph of her,� the chief inspector said. I thought of the film in my camera, of Alexandra sitting on the hillock, her legs spread, her breasts bared. �I�m sorry, I don�t,� I said. �Well, can you describe her.� Lewd eyes. A sexual laugh. Beautiful round breasts with fat, pink, up-turned nipples. A slim waist. And a gently curved bottom, soft as a pillow, firm as a pair of apples. �Average height and weight,� I said. �Short dark hair. Um, she was wearing a plum-colored dress. It reached just above the knee. And sandals spangled with gold.� �Gold?� the inspector asked. �Gold colored,� I said, �Not real gold, of course.� �Of course.�

The police were naturally concerned why we had switched rooms. I explained about the stuck window. Mysteriously, the police had no problem opening the window in Alexandra�s original room. More than anything, that may be what caused them to suspect me, though it was never clear to me what exactly they suspected. I remained in the inn for another week, answering the same few questions again and again. Gradually, the questions began to focus more and more on me. Who were my parents? Did I know so-and-so? What was the real reason I was here? I should have thought they�d ask about Alexandra, about her friends and her parents, but they didn�t.

For the first two nights I slept in Alexandra�s original room, and then I switched to the room from which she�d disappeared, thinking I might learn something, but I learned nothing. The driver, Aubin, was allowed to leave the next day, and when the police finally permitted me to return to the city, making transportation arrangements proved difficult.

Now it is a month later. In that time, I have had several frustrating conversations by telephone with the local inspector. It is not clear to me what they believe happened or what they might do to investigate further. But I feel I am being watched. I fear that they are more interested in apprehending me than in finding Alexandra. I am hesitant to go out. Much as I want to see the images I made of Alexandra, I dare not take the film to the developer.

Oh, Karl, I know you�ll think this silly, but I was in love. Deeply, helplessly in love. And now I don�t know what to do. I know I can�t hide the film in my room any longer. I am fairly certain my things have been searched when I�ve been out. So I�m sending the roll to you for safe-keeping, along with the stick.

My best to Mother,

Your loving brother,

Andreev

story by Mat Twassel