The Mammoth Book of Best New Erotica 6

by Jakubowski Maxim

  “He’s very far along. He’s going to die.”

  “I think we should drive him to Al Adra.”

  “Leprechauns,” said the Englishman. “Fairies and leprechauns.”

  “It’s worth a try.”

  “All right,” he said. “If it’ll make you happy. But the Arab has to pay for the petrol. It’s gotten bloody expensive lately. We’ll leave in the morning.”

  “Roger, this man will be dead in the morning.”

  “I am not driving this man out to some fairy oasis in the middle of the night.”

  “The heat will kill him if we take him during the day. Even if he survives the night, and you know he won’t.”

  The Englishman grumbled.

  He looked up at her as she wiped his face with an alcohol swab. She had a name, he was sure of it. He opened his mouth to say it, thinking it would come to him before he spoke, but it did not. All that came out was a strangled gasp.

  “You’re sure you weren’t crying?” The doctor again, grabbing his wife’s wrist.

  “Roger, don’t be ridiculous. Let go.”

  “This is the turn, right here.”

  “How can you recognize it? Looks like one big flat plain of hard-baked nothing, to me.”

  “To me, too,” said Majid. “That’s how I can recognize the turn.”

  “How’s our friend doing?” said Thornhill, puffing on a thin Egyptian cigar.

  “Worse,” said Elise. “How much further is it?”

  “It’s impossible to know,” said Majid. “It varies.”

  “Well, isn’t that just the cat’s pajamas,” said Thornhill spitefully. “What’s supposed to be special about this place, anyway?”

  “Once there were three sisters there, married to three brothers who were very wealthy and powerful merchants. Their husbands were cruel to them. The husbands went off to trade with the French—”

  “Always a bad idea,” said Thornhill.

  “– and they did not come back for many years. The sisters were happy, and learned to live happily without men.”

  “This sounds like one of those Tijuana Bibles again,” grumbled Thornhill.

  “Roger!” spat Elise. “He’s telling a story!”

  “Al Adra had been an outpost for many years before the French came. There was water there, an oasis, very important on the trade routes north, which is why the brothers were so powerful. Beautiful baths were created from the natural waters. While the brothers were gone, the sisters because leaders of their village, and slowly the men became less and less important and the women began to run things. The three sisters became the leaders of the village.”

  “Sounds like America,” said Thornhill, and Elise frowned bitterly at the back of his head.

  “When the three brothers came back from trading with the French, they were furious that their wives were now in charge. All at once, they pulled out their knives and stabbed the sisters, who bled to death in the waters of Al Adra.”

  Elise looked into Perry’s eyes and began to cry again. She wanted to kiss him very badly, and would have done so even with Thornhill and Majid there, if she hadn’t been terrified that the kiss might kill him.

  “That’s what happens when you piss off an Arab,” said Thornhill.

  “Instantly the town was swallowed by a sandstorm,” said Majid. “My English friend, that is what happens when you piss off a woman.”

  Thornhill swallowed and fell silent. Majid began to laugh heartily.

  “Ever since then, the baths have been known for their healing properties. But only for women: men are not allowed to bathe in the waters of Al Adra.”

  “Then why the hell did we bring your friend here?” Thornhill spat testily.

  Majid was silent for a long time.

  “There are consequences to everything that is done,” he said.

  “Speaking of which,” said Thornhill. He stopped the car in the middle of what passed for a road, got out and stumbled over to the side a bit, as if annoyed that it was improper to urinate in front of his wife.

  “You and Perry were lovers,” said Majid. “He cared for you very much.”

  Elise felt a stab of fear, as if her secrets had been wrested from her. “How . . . how did you know?”

  “He talked of you often. He loved you very much. He looked for you in Algiers after the war, but he could not find you.”

  “I . . . I’d changed my name,” she said, her voice hoarse. She looked down at the unmoving Perry, whose breathing had slowed to an alarming rate.

  “I now gather. Your husband and you are not well suited for each other.”

  Elise began to cry, unable to hold back the tears any longer. “Alec left me.”

  “He was very sorry he did that. He never forgave himself.”

  Elise sobbed, her face sinking to Perry’s chest. “You pig,” she whispered. “You fucking pig.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Majid, laughing. “That is the spirit of Al Adra.”

  Thornhill got back in the car and started the engine.

  “My friend would like your wife very much,” said Majid enigmatically. “He only liked spunky women. My wives would have been perfect for him if they hadn’t already been married to me. But then, that is not as much of a challenge in my home as it is in yours.”

  Elise felt her anger flaring still more; she sat up and stared at Majid.

  “What’s that supposed to mean? That you two had a harem together? That you like spunky women too, you pig?”

  Majid laughed, harder than ever.

  “Contrary to what your ‘Tijuana Bibles’ might say, Mrs Thornhill, no man ever has a harem. If he’s selected his wives properly, the harem has him.”

  “Well, that’s all very titillating,” said Thornhill. “Who lives at this place, anyway?”

  “The town is gone, but the baths remain. As do the three sisters, more beautiful than ever.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” said Thornhill. “I should turn this car around right now.”

  “Don’t you dare!” snapped Elise.

  “There’s no need,” said Majid. “We are here.”

  What was left of the town had the look of a colonial outpost, which made Elise wonder about the truth of Majid’s story. Perhaps he had just been making something up to pass the time. There were just a few scattered buildings looking weathered and worn, and there was no one on the streets – if you could even call them streets. It was all deserted.

  The sun was just coming up as Majid and Thornhill carried Perry’s unconscious body into a large building. It had a sign in a script that didn’t appear to be Arabic. There was no door on the building, but inside it was strangely dark and smelled of spices.

  “Through here,” said Majid, jerking his head to indicate a hallway. Elise followed. She could smell a wet kind of scent, one that awakened her senses and made her a little frightened.

  “I say,” muttered Thornhill. “I wouldn’t mind having my revolver.”

  Majid laughed. “No bandits would ever think of coming here.”

  “Seems likely to me. We could end up dead in those fairy tale baths of yours.”

  The building was furnished with broken-down tables and corroded cushions and tapestries, like it had all been abandoned in an instant. It looked like a cross between one of those Old West towns and a fortune-teller’s tent. Deep inside, they found a big wooden door. Majid motioned and he and Thornhill set Perry on the ground.

  “You and I cannot go any further,” said Majid.

  “What? Are you crazy?”

  “I should have mentioned it before. Beyond this door are the baths. It is dangerous for us to continue.” He looked at Elise. “Can you carry him?”

  “I . . . I don’t think so.” Perry easily had seventy-five pounds on Elise.

  “Then you’ll have to drag him. If we go in, it will be very dangerous. It’s risky enough taking Perry himself. Men are not allowed.”

  “See here, I’m not letting you send my wife into s
ome bandit stronghold where she’s going to get raped and—”

  “Roger, please!” shouted Elise, feeling her anger flare again. “Don’t make this more difficult than it is.”

  Thornhill fumed. “If you’re going in alone, then I’m getting my revolver.” He stormed back down the hall.

  “Why didn’t you tell us this before?” asked Elise, looking at Majid.

  “Because your husband never would have let us come.”

  “Spoken like a true liar.”

  “Please. I swear, this is not an elaborate trick. You know Perry. You know he is a good man. Would he allow himself to be used like this? And to what end?”

  “You promise me I won’t be hurt?”

  “I promise you that since the day the three sisters died, no one has ever been hurt at Al Adra.”

  “Except that paraplegic man who died,” said Elise angrily.

  Majid laughed. “Ah, yes. That’s an interesting story. Remind me to tell it to you some day.”

  They heard Thornhill’s footsteps down the corridor. Majid leaned close to Elise and grabbed her arm.

  “You need to know something,” he said. “Al Adra means ‘the virgin’.”

  “Why do I need to know that?”

  “Each person who bathes in the waters becomes a virgin.”

  Elise started to laugh, hysterically, like she had finally cracked. She grabbed Majid’s wrist and pushed him away.

  “Just because I’m more open to your culture than my pigheaded husband is, that doesn’t mean I’m a complete idiot.”

  Majid shrugged. “Suit yourself. If you do this you will most certainly save my friend’s life, but there are always consequences to things that are done.”

  “Like what?”

  “If he recovers, will you go away with him? Leave your husband?”

  “That’s none of your business,” snapped Elise.

  “But it is. Alec Perry is much more than a friend to me. It would kill him to remember you again and then lose you . . . again.”

  “In the first place, he didn’t lose me last time; he left me. In the second place, I’m married, Majid. Married. That’s a sacred pledge I’ve made, and it’s ‘Till death us do part.’ ”

  “You don’t believe that any more than I do. Go into the waters, Elise. Perhaps you will save your lover’s life for a third time.”

  “Christ, it took me forever to find those cartridges,” said Thornhill as he appeared around the corner holding his ancient service revolver. “All right, now, Majid, if this is a trick, you’re in serious trouble.”

  “If it is a trick,” said Majid, looking pointedly at Elise, “it is our friend Perry who is in trouble.”

  Perry looked in such a shambles that it terrified Elise to move him, much less to drag him down the rough-hewn stone stairs into the basement of the building. He was wrapped in a white cotton robe stained with his filth. His skin was dry; where her fingers dug into the flesh at the top of his arm, there remained four deep imprints, as if his skin could not rebound from its previous trauma.

  But Perry was not a heavy man to begin with. Elise managed to get him down the rough-hewn stairs a few at a time, her body aching with the effort and hurting in sympathy with his. She made it halfway down. She was getting tired. Below, she could smell the baths, wet and earthy. Three more steps. She had to sit down and rest. She sat on the stairs, her back against the wall of the stairwell, her hand brushing softly through Alec’s hair. She could hear voices below, softly whispering as if in prayer. She felt her heart pounding. She realized that she was terrified, and that she felt hot.

  “Oh, God,” she whispered. “What have I done?”

  She fought a sudden urge to run back upstairs, until she realized that she was equally terrified of going there. She tried to stand, felt herself swaying, looked down at the man’s face. She wondered who he was.

  “Alec,” she said. “Is your name Alec?”

  His eyes came open and he stared at her, dully, recognizing nothing.

  “Christ, what have I done?” she heard herself whispering, wondering almost as soon as it was said why she had said it. She knew all of a sudden that she must get this man, whoever he was, downstairs, that she must bathe him in the waters of Al Adra. But when she bent over to take hold of his shoulders, she felt her entire body convulse. The world spun around her.

  Her stomach seized and a torrent of vomit and water poured over the nameless man’s feet and down the stairs. She could hear his flesh sizzling, burning. Then all she was aware of was the overwhelming pain throughout her body. Her tear ducts began to work violently, pumping tears into her eyes so they spilled over her cheeks and onto his flesh, sizzling, sizzling, steam rising everywhere as she felt her bladder voiding, hot urine running down her legs.

  “Elise? What the devil is going on down there? I’m coming down!”

  She did not know whose voice it was, but she knew it was very important that he did not come down here. She spat, turned toward the sound, speaking with a voice that came from another life. “No, no, darling, don’t. Don’t come down, you’ll spoil it. Everything is fine. I’m doing fine.”

  “Are you sure? It sounds like a cholera ward down there!”

  “Everything is fine. Please don’t come down.”

  Then her whole body seized again, and she voided once more, and she fell across the man’s body and felt his skin burning hers. She looked down at her soiled khakis and shirt, and knew she must get rid of them.

  Her muscles felt paralyzed, tortured. She pulled at the buttons, managing to get the pants and her blouse undone, her body purging water still as she wriggled out of her clothes and, then, out of her undergarments. She began to slide down the stairs, knowing that she must fight down the screams that rose in her throat. More water came pouring out of her eyes, and she could feel her body slick with sweat.

  She remembered, all of a sudden. The first phase consists of violent purging of all excess water in the body, she heard in her head. She remembered reading the words in a medical journal as she sat in a cafe in Algiers, an annoying Englishman speaking extemporaneously on Russian politics. This occurs only 18 hours after exposure. As unpleasant as the first phase is, Phase two is even more dramatic: The patient’s cells themselves begin to give up their water.

  Then the words were gone, and she knew only that she lay naked at the foot of a long flight of stairs, the damp air burning her lungs as she tried to remember how she had come to be there. And then, inexplicably, she stopped trying.

  He could feel her memories soaking into his flesh as it sizzled; the water her body had purged sent spasms of pain through him even as the visions hit. Him in that same Algiers hotel room, beautiful in a way he’d never seen himself. A hard cock filling her mouth – his own, and his hand gripping hers. His body atop hers, deep inside her, telling Elise he loved her and always would. Then the pain began, and he felt himself purging. Water flowed from his tear ducts; his skin gave off sweat that instantly became steam, boiling into the moist air of Al Adra. It was only then that he realized he couldn’t see. With the purging, the visions had gone, too: now he was alone in his darkness.

  He felt arms around his shoulders, dragging him down the stairs until he felt a hard, flat surface under him. He felt them unwrapping the robes that covered him. Their hands touched him, inspecting his genitals. He heard them speaking, arguing in Arabic: Three voices, and for an instant he knew that they were higher than his own, that these were things called women, that the being whose memories had echoed through him a moment ago was also called that, though he could not remember what those memories were. He also knew that he was thirsty: terribly thirsty, and that when one was thirsty one drank something called water. Then he didn’t even remember that, only that he was nude and being dragged, and that suddenly he felt something warm all over his body and that a high voice was crying out.

  He could feel them against him: two creatures, holding him. Their flesh brought pleasure; he could feel their curves
surrounding him as they guided him into the middle of the pool. His eyes came open and he saw murky strands of sunlight filtering down from far overhead, illuminating two beautiful faces, close to his.

  First one, then the other, pressed her lips to his. He tasted their tongues as they repeated the ritual, moistening his mouth with theirs, naked bodies against his own. He remembered experiencing this before, with many of these creatures, their bodies bleeding ecstasy into his own as he touched them. These women had dark skin and dark hair and were by far more beautiful than most he had touched. They were speaking a language he didn’t recognize at first; then, all of a sudden, he knew it was called Arabic and that at one time he had known it well. He felt the women’s hands on his face, brushing him with water, and then between his legs, caressing him under the surface. He felt himself getting hard.

  In the shafts of sunlight he could see two more women, both naked, one with hair the color of desert sunlight, one with skin and hair the color of the others. The pale one was being bathed by the dark-haired one. She was gasping, sobbing uncontrollably. The two women kissed and the sobbing stopped. The pale woman silently descended and disappeared.

  He felt himself sinking, too, falling beneath the surface.

  He opened his mouth and it flooded. He gulped. He felt himself shuddering. He sank to the bottom of the pool, realizing that this was the thing called water, that it was surrounding him, that he existed only as part of it. Then, as he drew the water into his lungs, he knew that he no longer existed at all – if he ever had.

  She was first aware of the pain in her loins; she tried to recall what it signified, but she couldn’t. Then the pain subsumed itself into pleasure, as she felt a mouth down there, hungry, seeking. A tongue against her sex, something she’d never experienced. A body against hers, a female body: Also unknown to her. Then, suddenly, gently, insistently, she felt another mouth on hers, kissing, tongue pressing in. Another woman. Small, tight breasts upon her belly, smooth, hairless thighs closing softly around her face, her own mouth pressing to another woman’s body and tasting salt and tangy musk. Hearing the softness of moans as her tongue explored the woman’s body. This was a younger woman atop her, she knew, a virgin. From the young woman’s sex, she began to drink, thirst rushing over her as she tried to recall her own name, and the woman’s.