Obligatory Art Museum Piece
Elena continued wandering. For a college art museum, the gallery rotated their collection frequently enough to keep her interest piqued each month. Yet like an old lover, there was one piece she always returned to each time she paid a visit. Although it was a reproduction of the one she had seen in the Palazzo Rosso in Genoa, she still felt herself drawn to the painting. She stood within reasonable distance, shifting weight on one foot, settling in for the long haul.
“I see you’re examining St. Sebastian.”
Shaken from her reverie, Elena frowned as she turned her head to face the stranger. He was a young man, presumably a student like herself. What could have possessed him to use such a word choice as “examining?” Perhaps he was pre-med. She could not help the slight hint of distaste in her mouth at such a clinical term upon it rolling into her ears.
Choosing not to reply, she faced the painting once more. Granted, the male figure was in the full bloom of youth: hair in short curls, beardless and almost nude, his loins barely draped by a strategically placed cloth. The painter, Guido Reni, had even given life to the wrinkles in the cloth, as if the viewer could hear the faint rustle of the cloth unfurling from the juncture of the hip, ready to drop down Sebastian’s lithe legs. His arms were tied above his head to a tree. His back arched, skin taut on the frame of his torso Yet the agony on his face was not from the strain on his back muscles, but the arrows penetrating his ribcage and breast. His eyes rolled up to heaven, full lips parted with a faint flush on his cheek.
“He looks quite alive, considering the fact he’s about to be shot to death with arrows, doesn’t he?”
Elena turned from Sebastian again to face the strange young man next to her. “He wasn’t shot to death. This is the miracle of St. Sebastian. The emperor Diocletian had him tied to a tree, shot full of arrows and left for dead because hew as a Christian. Sebastian walked all the way home to preach again, only to be beaten to death later.”
“Oh.”
Hoping he would be satisfied enough with that explanation to leave, Elena turned once more to the eternally frozen scene.
“So, are you religious?”
Elena took in a deep breath. She had been raised a Catholic, but after leaving home, her only fascination with the religion was with saint iconography, particularly that of St. Sebastian. However, she did not feel like it was any of this stranger’s business what she believed. It seemed like she would not gain enough peace to fully appreciate the painting unless she answered her unwanted companion’s banal questions. However, he did recognize St. Sebastian. Perhaps he had seen the piece before or just read the plaque by the painting.
“Not really. I just find this painting fascinating.” She took pains to sound casual in her answer.
“I can tell.” The stranger said, leaning to whisper into her ear. “You’ve been looking at that painting longer than any of the other pieces in the art museum.”
Elena took a step back. “How would you know that.”
“I’ve been watching you since the Greco-Roman period.”
Her mind raced back. The Greco-Roman gallery was somewhere near the entrance of the museum. This meant that this young man had been following her for quite awhile. Perplexed, she stood frozen. Realizing she had not formed a reply to his statement, Elena opened her mouth to speak.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just felt drawn to you–struck, as it were.” He laughed sheepishly at his own pun.
Elena laughed as well, more at his pitiable sense of humor than the joke itself. She noticed for the first time that others were milling about the museum besides them. For a moment, she pictured herself the way he may have seen her, taking small slow steps through each gallery, coat folded on one arm, the other hand occasionally tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She could not quite understand this young man’s fascination with her. She certainly was not doing anything particularly exciting in the museum.
“Be careful.” She warned. “Arrows of love are still arrows.”
“I take it that I’ve been shot down, then?”
A delighted smile crossed Elena’s face. Some men just did not know when to give up, yet his insistence at playing upon words charmed her. “Not exactly.”
The two sat down on a bench further away, yet still facing the painting.
“You know, I’ve seen so many interpretations of the martyrdom of St. Sebastian: 14th century frescos, Renaissance oils, even modern photography.” Elena grasped her wrist behind her back and stretched, popping her shoulder.
“So why the Reni? Why do you like this one so much?”
“I don’t know. Considering how many painters used different styles and mediums to convey the martyrdom, there are many key similarities.” Elena’s eyes met his intensely as she explained her attraction. “For one thing, St. Sebastian is almost always nearly nude. His hands are either tied from behind or above. Yet the difference, at least for the Reni, has to be in the face.”
“The face?”
“Oh yes. Especially the eyes and the mouth. Sebastian has such an expression of rapture of his face, as if–” Elena looked away for a moment.
“As if what?” The young man took her chin in his hands, pulling her to face him.
“Promise you won’t laugh, or think I’m weird. Please.”
“What?” A grin spread, stretching his cheeks.
“Promise.” She pulled away from him. “I’m being perfectly serious.”
“Ok, so am I. Now will you tell me what you mean. I’m not an art major so I don’t get these things.”
“The expression on Sebastian’s face in the painting, it’s so exquisite in its pain . . . almost erotic.”
He was silent.
“You’re freaked out, aren’t you?” Elena stood up to leave. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No. It’s not that.” He took her wrist, holding her back.
She turned around to look down at him sitting on the bench. “What is it then?”
“I didn’t think anybody else thought that way, saw the painting the way I did.” His eyes widened as he looked up at her.
She smiled and sat down next to him, moving closer to the center than she had been earlier. “You know, you never told me how you knew about the painting.”
“St. Sebastian was the patron saint of the parish near where I grew up. They had a large mosaic of the martyrdom in the vestibule of the cathedral. It had nowhere near the lavish detail of the Reni painting, but it made me curious enough to actually crack open a book and do research outside of school.” He chuckled, continuing to hold Elena’s hand.
“And this is how you discovered the Reni piece?”
“Yes. Although I didn’t like the other painting of St. Sebastian he did. In that one, Sebastian is kneeling with his hands tied behind his back.” He grimaced. “He has too much of a look of supplication than ecstasy, the wrong sort of surrender. Also, the background is too dark without the beautiful detail of the tree. Too somber. Too funereal.”
“I couldn’t agree more. It was obvious that the Italian artists were making a shift from the brilliant lit works of the Renaissance to the darker Baroque period.” She leaned closer to him. “But in the one at our museum, or at least the reproduction of the one at the Palazzo Rosso, doesn’t it look like Sebastian has a look of anticipation as well?”
“Yes, like he’s asking himself ‘Is this next arrow going to be the one that will kill me?’”
“I can’t believe this. This is far too incredible.”
“What?”
“That I’ve met someone who actually sees these things the way I do.”
Deciding that carrying on a potentially distracting conversation in the quiet museum would not be the best idea if they ever wanted to enter again, the pair decided to leave. The young man collected his backpack at the coat room before reaching the entrance.
“What about the other renditions?” He gestured, causing Elena to look down the hall into one of the other galleries.
“For the most part, I believe that the Italian Renaissance painters perfected their representations of Sebastian, especially since the Reni is the most flawless one I’ve seen.”
“Why Italian? The Germans painted the same subject matter in that time period.”
“I don’t know. Many of the German painters rendered Sebastian with a beard.” She explained. “For some reason, that always bothered me.”
“Too manly or too old?” A guttural growl escaped his throat at uttering the word “manly.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t think Saint Sebastian wore a beard.”
The tolling of bells in the distance drew the young man’s attention away from his conversation. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to get to class. I certainly wasn’t planning on having such enchanting company.”
Elena smirked. “Sure you weren’t.”
“I’m serious.” He removed his bag and withdrew a pen and a pad. “Would you like to have lunch with me sometime and continue this conversation? Perhaps tomorrow? I could call you, or I could give you my number and expect to never hear from you again.”
She laughed. “I would most definitely like to continue this conversation. There’s a place I like to go that’s not far from here.”
She took the pen and pad from his hands. “You may call me, but I never answer my phone. Leave your number, and I’ll call back.”
“Thank you so much.” In a quick, fluid motion, he took her in his arms and spun her around before taking off running toward the sound of the bells.
Just as Elena processed what had just happened and realized that she had never even caught the stranger’s name, he was gone.
* * *
Elena proved true to her word, right down to her quirky habit of letting her machine pick up messages followed by immediately calling the person back as soon as they had hung up. The next afternoon, they met in a café near the art museum.
“Granted, Botticelli was a master of displaying the beauty of the human figure.” He shook his turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich at her as if it would aid in proving his point. “Yet his Sebastian just looks bored, like he’s waiting for a bus.”
Elena laughed. “I never thought of it that way, but I know precisely what you mean. That seems to be the problem with a lot of painters. They’ll paint Sebastian’s body flawlessly, as if he was some sort of homoerotic pin up figure, but they don’t pay enough attention to his face.”
“Sort of off topic, but a friend of mine once sent me a link to a website with video clips of people having orgasms.”
“Yes, I would have to agree with you.” She took a sip from her coffee. “That is off topic.”
“Well, the thing about the videos was that they were shot from the neck up, so all you could see was the face.”
“Are you comparing a high state of religious rapture with the silly faces people make during sex?”
“I wouldn’t call it silly. You even said that you found the Reni painting of St. Sebastian to be erotic.”
“Yes, well that is different.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know–”
“I don’t believe it.” His eyes widened as he smiled.
“Believe what?” Elena shot him a sideways glance.
“You’ve never had sex, have you?”
“I have.” She insisted. “I just don’t think that it’s exactly up to par with the sublime.”
“Then you’ve been with the wrong people.”
“And you’re telling me that you’re the right man for the job.”
“No. I was just saying–”
“Right. I believe this lunch is finished.” She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and moved her seat back from the table.
“Wait, please don’t leave.”
“I’m serious.” She smiled. “Look at the table. I’m done with my salad, and your sandwich is gone as well.”
“All right. I see your point but–”
“Do you have anywhere else to be later?”
“No, not really.” He paused. “My last class finished before I came here.”
“Good. My car is parked a block from here.”
“Where are we going?” He asked, dropping a couple of dollars on the table for the waitress.
Elena took his hand and pulled him to the exit. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
* * *
If there were any rhyme or reason in how Elena’s car followed the faded yellow lines painted on the cracked concrete, they were not readily apparent. At the occasional stop light, Elena glanced at her companion. She had a feeling that this day would be special. All she could do was hope that he felt the same way, considering how she noticed the way he watched with no small amount of concern their college town disappearing from the passenger side window. Yet she knew there was nothing to worry about, seeing as he stopped asking her where they were going as soon as he got into the car.
The gravel road she inevitably pulled into was a path she had gone down many times before, more often than not, alone. The landscape transformed from ripe, autumn fields of corn into the mellow muted earth tones of dying leaves. These were not the flashy crimson and gold of the maple, but the browns and tans of oak trees. On either side of the road, trees with dark, thick trunks rose from the earth, towering over the small car and its passengers as if to remind them that they were merely trespassing in the domain of a force greater than they could ever comprehend. Even the gravel road they drove on acted as another reminder of the temporary encroachment of humankind, as it stopped at a dead end, fading into a small grassy clearing.
The pair stepped out of the car. Other than the sound of the doors closing, little else disrupted the air of the clearing. The tall grass had faded from green to a pale gold. An occasional twig snapped amidst the rustling of feet against the grass. Elena had nearly made it to the other edge of the clearing when she sat down, almost hidden by the grass. She watched the young man wander cautiously, looking around to find where she had gone while he had been distracted by his surroundings.
When it was obvious he would not find her again, she called out to him. “Over here!”
“Oh.” He smiled, waved, and walked toward her. “Why have you brought me out here?”
“Isn’t it beautiful here? No sounds of traffic, people talking obnoxiously on cell phones or pompous professors who delight in proving you wrong.” She hugged her knees, long pleated skirt rising high enough to reveal her ankles.
“What’s in the bag?”
Elena slid the strap off her shoulder and unzipped one compartment of a long duffle bag. She pulled out a bottle of wine, and a corkscrew but no glasses.
“It’s probably not five o’clock in the afternoon yet, but what the hell? You only live once, right?” The cork came out with a loud pop.
“Agreed.” He took the bottle after she had taken a drink from it.
The two continued drinking and talking about nothing in particular for awhile, occasional lulls in the conversation filled by the near silence of the forest around them. At times, they would exchange glances, somewhat tinged by the blood red wine.
“Last drink. It’s yours.” She passed the nearly empty bottle to him.
“Are you sure?”
“I insist.”
As he downed the last drops of wine, he felt a bit dizzy. He wasn’t exactly a heavy drinker, but he knew that it would take more than just a half bottle of wine to take him under.
“Wow. This is really good stuff.”
“Definitely beats cheap beer from kegs, eh?” She stood up and took his hand.
“Yeah, I guess.” He stood up, legs wobbling, nearly falling into her. As he leaned in, their lips met. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She asked, wide eyes looking up at him.
“If I’ve been too forward.”
“Don’t be. If you were, you would know it.” She kissed him again, stepping toward him.
Elena could hardly believe it. This afternoon was going better than she had anticipated. She was certain that he had been a little more than surprised as well. He ran his fingers through her hair, tucking errant strands back behind her ear so they would not interfere in the meeting of lips again. The soft point of his tongue traced her upper lip, followed by her bottom lip before penetrating her mouth, soaked in the sanguine wine. Elena took a few more steps forward, then pushed him against a tree.
“Oh, well then. I had no idea you were that sort of girl.” The words slowly slurred off of his lips from the back of his throat.
“What sort of girl is that?” She purred, undoing the buttons of his shirt before pulling it from his shoulders down his arms.
“The sort of girl I like.” He watched her kissing him all over, traveling down his chest and stomach before she hit the buckle of his pants.
Elena smiled up at him, almost fairy-like with the mischievous gleam in her eyes. As if in a flash, the belt buckle was in her hands and his pants around his ankles. She was so beautiful, or would be if she didn’t go blurry so much.
“Wait a minute, what’s going on?” He murmured as she raised his hands above his head.
“Don’t worry about that.” She kissed him again and knelt before him once more.
“I can’t move my arms.”
“You won’t need to.” She carefully took his erection out of his boxers, cradled it in her hands for a moment before caressing it in her fingertips. “I must warn you. I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing. I’ve never done this before, but I’ve always wanted to.”
Elena pictured the tableau she had placed herself in. This was not a pieta like that of Michaelangelo, with Mary cradling the dying Christ in her arms. This was different. She wondered what this was meant to be: she the quiver to his arrow shaft. No more hesitation, she had to take this shot.
“All right.” His head lolled back and forth, peaceful and content as he felt her mouth engulf him in smooth heat. As much as he wanted to enjoy the free ride, he had difficulty keeping his eyes open. Eventually, they closed entirely.
* * *
The young man was not quite sure what woke him first, the sudden breeze against his bare flesh, or the searing pain which stabbed throughout him after that. He never imagined that it would take all of his strength just to lift the weight of his eyelids. Looking down, he could not believe what he saw. Elena was no longer kneeling before him. Instead, he saw an arrow piercing through the right side of his ribcage. Dully lifting his head, his eyes met with Elena’s some distance away.
“You know, I wasn’t lying to you when I said I’ve never done this before.” Elena keenly locked one narrowed eye at him as she drew the bowstring once more. “At least I’ve never done this before in broad daylight. Most of the time I could never get young men to come out here willingly, let alone during the day. Although, there is something to be said the way a nearly nude young man looks beneath the moonlight.”
He parted his lips in an attempt to speak, only resulting in a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth down to his chin.
“I’d go to bars, you know. Go through the whole rigamarole of small talk and ‘let’s go back to my place’ after pretending to be drunk.” She laughed as if shrugging the whole thing off like a funny joke she heard a long time ago. “In all truth, I had drugged them the same way I drugged you.”
She put down the bow and arrow and walked over to him, as if a change of heart came upon her. Elena kissed him, licking the stray blood from his face. “We can’t have that now. It wasn’t in the painting.”
His eyes widened more as he tensed, bare back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. The arrow shifted slightly in his side, causing his jaw to drop in a scream, or at least an attempt to scream. His eyes swam, rolling upwards, nothing but the whites visible.
“Now where was I?” Elena took up the bow and arrow once more, but frowned upon turning around to view her subject. “I swear. Young men these days have no fortitude or physical constitution.”
His body relaxed again, neck drooped, head slumped with his chin to his chest. He slowly lifted his head to glare up at her, snarling, yet still silent.
“That’s entirely the wrong sort of look.” She sighed, breathing slowly, finally releasing the arrow between heartbeats. “Oh well.”
Knowing what was to come, he barely had time to close his eyes before the arrow hit its mark on his left pectoral muscle above the nipple. Gasping, he looked down for a moment at the shaft, along its length to its flight path back to the one who had sent it to him. She smiled warmly at him the same way she had over lunch and coffee earlier that day.
“Oh God. That’s it, right there. Perfect. You’re so beautiful.”
Elena pulled a camera out of her bag and started snapping pictures. Each click and whir of the mechanism hit him in the ears as her arrows had struck him in the chest before. His mind told him that each photograph taken was a mere second, yet the rest of his body wondered how much longer it would be until the end. To his horror, he looked down and realized that his erection had not yet subsided. All he could do was watch as Elena knelt before him, but not in supplication. He felt her hands running up his thighs to his boxers. The cotton slid down his legs around his ankles.
“In a way, I almost envy you.” She said, running her fingertips down the shaft of his erection to the head before kissing it. “You get to experience le grande mort.”
He closed his eyes, knowing it would not change what he was about to feel. In a way, he had always been curious, but he did not think he would meet death like this. Despite the pain of the arrows imbedded into his body, he was still able to feel the warmth envelop him, her lips softly wrapping around, followed by her tongue. Was it possible that this felt better than when she had been doing it before? The idea was monstrous, yet it still lingered. He felt additional moisture on his body, most likely the blood draining out of his wounds down his chest and legs. Eventually the warmth fully spread throughout him. Wracked with convulsions, he attempted to open his eyes to meet those of his executioner for the last time, only to meet with his own, reflected in the cold glass of the camera lens.
“I see you’re examining St. Sebastian.”
Shaken from her reverie, Elena frowned as she turned her head to face the stranger. He was a young man, presumably a student like herself. What could have possessed him to use such a word choice as “examining?” Perhaps he was pre-med. She could not help the slight hint of distaste in her mouth at such a clinical term upon it rolling into her ears.
Choosing not to reply, she faced the painting once more. Granted, the male figure was in the full bloom of youth: hair in short curls, beardless and almost nude, his loins barely draped by a strategically placed cloth. The painter, Guido Reni, had even given life to the wrinkles in the cloth, as if the viewer could hear the faint rustle of the cloth unfurling from the juncture of the hip, ready to drop down Sebastian’s lithe legs. His arms were tied above his head to a tree. His back arched, skin taut on the frame of his torso Yet the agony on his face was not from the strain on his back muscles, but the arrows penetrating his ribcage and breast. His eyes rolled up to heaven, full lips parted with a faint flush on his cheek.
“He looks quite alive, considering the fact he’s about to be shot to death with arrows, doesn’t he?”
Elena turned from Sebastian again to face the strange young man next to her. “He wasn’t shot to death. This is the miracle of St. Sebastian. The emperor Diocletian had him tied to a tree, shot full of arrows and left for dead because hew as a Christian. Sebastian walked all the way home to preach again, only to be beaten to death later.”
“Oh.”
Hoping he would be satisfied enough with that explanation to leave, Elena turned once more to the eternally frozen scene.
“So, are you religious?”
Elena took in a deep breath. She had been raised a Catholic, but after leaving home, her only fascination with the religion was with saint iconography, particularly that of St. Sebastian. However, she did not feel like it was any of this stranger’s business what she believed. It seemed like she would not gain enough peace to fully appreciate the painting unless she answered her unwanted companion’s banal questions. However, he did recognize St. Sebastian. Perhaps he had seen the piece before or just read the plaque by the painting.
“Not really. I just find this painting fascinating.” She took pains to sound casual in her answer.
“I can tell.” The stranger said, leaning to whisper into her ear. “You’ve been looking at that painting longer than any of the other pieces in the art museum.”
Elena took a step back. “How would you know that.”
“I’ve been watching you since the Greco-Roman period.”
Her mind raced back. The Greco-Roman gallery was somewhere near the entrance of the museum. This meant that this young man had been following her for quite awhile. Perplexed, she stood frozen. Realizing she had not formed a reply to his statement, Elena opened her mouth to speak.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I just felt drawn to you–struck, as it were.” He laughed sheepishly at his own pun.
Elena laughed as well, more at his pitiable sense of humor than the joke itself. She noticed for the first time that others were milling about the museum besides them. For a moment, she pictured herself the way he may have seen her, taking small slow steps through each gallery, coat folded on one arm, the other hand occasionally tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She could not quite understand this young man’s fascination with her. She certainly was not doing anything particularly exciting in the museum.
“Be careful.” She warned. “Arrows of love are still arrows.”
“I take it that I’ve been shot down, then?”
A delighted smile crossed Elena’s face. Some men just did not know when to give up, yet his insistence at playing upon words charmed her. “Not exactly.”
The two sat down on a bench further away, yet still facing the painting.
“You know, I’ve seen so many interpretations of the martyrdom of St. Sebastian: 14th century frescos, Renaissance oils, even modern photography.” Elena grasped her wrist behind her back and stretched, popping her shoulder.
“So why the Reni? Why do you like this one so much?”
“I don’t know. Considering how many painters used different styles and mediums to convey the martyrdom, there are many key similarities.” Elena’s eyes met his intensely as she explained her attraction. “For one thing, St. Sebastian is almost always nearly nude. His hands are either tied from behind or above. Yet the difference, at least for the Reni, has to be in the face.”
“The face?”
“Oh yes. Especially the eyes and the mouth. Sebastian has such an expression of rapture of his face, as if–” Elena looked away for a moment.
“As if what?” The young man took her chin in his hands, pulling her to face him.
“Promise you won’t laugh, or think I’m weird. Please.”
“What?” A grin spread, stretching his cheeks.
“Promise.” She pulled away from him. “I’m being perfectly serious.”
“Ok, so am I. Now will you tell me what you mean. I’m not an art major so I don’t get these things.”
“The expression on Sebastian’s face in the painting, it’s so exquisite in its pain . . . almost erotic.”
He was silent.
“You’re freaked out, aren’t you?” Elena stood up to leave. “I knew I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No. It’s not that.” He took her wrist, holding her back.
She turned around to look down at him sitting on the bench. “What is it then?”
“I didn’t think anybody else thought that way, saw the painting the way I did.” His eyes widened as he looked up at her.
She smiled and sat down next to him, moving closer to the center than she had been earlier. “You know, you never told me how you knew about the painting.”
“St. Sebastian was the patron saint of the parish near where I grew up. They had a large mosaic of the martyrdom in the vestibule of the cathedral. It had nowhere near the lavish detail of the Reni painting, but it made me curious enough to actually crack open a book and do research outside of school.” He chuckled, continuing to hold Elena’s hand.
“And this is how you discovered the Reni piece?”
“Yes. Although I didn’t like the other painting of St. Sebastian he did. In that one, Sebastian is kneeling with his hands tied behind his back.” He grimaced. “He has too much of a look of supplication than ecstasy, the wrong sort of surrender. Also, the background is too dark without the beautiful detail of the tree. Too somber. Too funereal.”
“I couldn’t agree more. It was obvious that the Italian artists were making a shift from the brilliant lit works of the Renaissance to the darker Baroque period.” She leaned closer to him. “But in the one at our museum, or at least the reproduction of the one at the Palazzo Rosso, doesn’t it look like Sebastian has a look of anticipation as well?”
“Yes, like he’s asking himself ‘Is this next arrow going to be the one that will kill me?’”
“I can’t believe this. This is far too incredible.”
“What?”
“That I’ve met someone who actually sees these things the way I do.”
Deciding that carrying on a potentially distracting conversation in the quiet museum would not be the best idea if they ever wanted to enter again, the pair decided to leave. The young man collected his backpack at the coat room before reaching the entrance.
“What about the other renditions?” He gestured, causing Elena to look down the hall into one of the other galleries.
“For the most part, I believe that the Italian Renaissance painters perfected their representations of Sebastian, especially since the Reni is the most flawless one I’ve seen.”
“Why Italian? The Germans painted the same subject matter in that time period.”
“I don’t know. Many of the German painters rendered Sebastian with a beard.” She explained. “For some reason, that always bothered me.”
“Too manly or too old?” A guttural growl escaped his throat at uttering the word “manly.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t think Saint Sebastian wore a beard.”
The tolling of bells in the distance drew the young man’s attention away from his conversation. “Look, I’m sorry, but I have to get to class. I certainly wasn’t planning on having such enchanting company.”
Elena smirked. “Sure you weren’t.”
“I’m serious.” He removed his bag and withdrew a pen and a pad. “Would you like to have lunch with me sometime and continue this conversation? Perhaps tomorrow? I could call you, or I could give you my number and expect to never hear from you again.”
She laughed. “I would most definitely like to continue this conversation. There’s a place I like to go that’s not far from here.”
She took the pen and pad from his hands. “You may call me, but I never answer my phone. Leave your number, and I’ll call back.”
“Thank you so much.” In a quick, fluid motion, he took her in his arms and spun her around before taking off running toward the sound of the bells.
Just as Elena processed what had just happened and realized that she had never even caught the stranger’s name, he was gone.
* * *
Elena proved true to her word, right down to her quirky habit of letting her machine pick up messages followed by immediately calling the person back as soon as they had hung up. The next afternoon, they met in a café near the art museum.
“Granted, Botticelli was a master of displaying the beauty of the human figure.” He shook his turkey and Swiss cheese sandwich at her as if it would aid in proving his point. “Yet his Sebastian just looks bored, like he’s waiting for a bus.”
Elena laughed. “I never thought of it that way, but I know precisely what you mean. That seems to be the problem with a lot of painters. They’ll paint Sebastian’s body flawlessly, as if he was some sort of homoerotic pin up figure, but they don’t pay enough attention to his face.”
“Sort of off topic, but a friend of mine once sent me a link to a website with video clips of people having orgasms.”
“Yes, I would have to agree with you.” She took a sip from her coffee. “That is off topic.”
“Well, the thing about the videos was that they were shot from the neck up, so all you could see was the face.”
“Are you comparing a high state of religious rapture with the silly faces people make during sex?”
“I wouldn’t call it silly. You even said that you found the Reni painting of St. Sebastian to be erotic.”
“Yes, well that is different.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know–”
“I don’t believe it.” His eyes widened as he smiled.
“Believe what?” Elena shot him a sideways glance.
“You’ve never had sex, have you?”
“I have.” She insisted. “I just don’t think that it’s exactly up to par with the sublime.”
“Then you’ve been with the wrong people.”
“And you’re telling me that you’re the right man for the job.”
“No. I was just saying–”
“Right. I believe this lunch is finished.” She wiped the corners of her mouth with her napkin and moved her seat back from the table.
“Wait, please don’t leave.”
“I’m serious.” She smiled. “Look at the table. I’m done with my salad, and your sandwich is gone as well.”
“All right. I see your point but–”
“Do you have anywhere else to be later?”
“No, not really.” He paused. “My last class finished before I came here.”
“Good. My car is parked a block from here.”
“Where are we going?” He asked, dropping a couple of dollars on the table for the waitress.
Elena took his hand and pulled him to the exit. “If I told you, then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
* * *
If there were any rhyme or reason in how Elena’s car followed the faded yellow lines painted on the cracked concrete, they were not readily apparent. At the occasional stop light, Elena glanced at her companion. She had a feeling that this day would be special. All she could do was hope that he felt the same way, considering how she noticed the way he watched with no small amount of concern their college town disappearing from the passenger side window. Yet she knew there was nothing to worry about, seeing as he stopped asking her where they were going as soon as he got into the car.
The gravel road she inevitably pulled into was a path she had gone down many times before, more often than not, alone. The landscape transformed from ripe, autumn fields of corn into the mellow muted earth tones of dying leaves. These were not the flashy crimson and gold of the maple, but the browns and tans of oak trees. On either side of the road, trees with dark, thick trunks rose from the earth, towering over the small car and its passengers as if to remind them that they were merely trespassing in the domain of a force greater than they could ever comprehend. Even the gravel road they drove on acted as another reminder of the temporary encroachment of humankind, as it stopped at a dead end, fading into a small grassy clearing.
The pair stepped out of the car. Other than the sound of the doors closing, little else disrupted the air of the clearing. The tall grass had faded from green to a pale gold. An occasional twig snapped amidst the rustling of feet against the grass. Elena had nearly made it to the other edge of the clearing when she sat down, almost hidden by the grass. She watched the young man wander cautiously, looking around to find where she had gone while he had been distracted by his surroundings.
When it was obvious he would not find her again, she called out to him. “Over here!”
“Oh.” He smiled, waved, and walked toward her. “Why have you brought me out here?”
“Isn’t it beautiful here? No sounds of traffic, people talking obnoxiously on cell phones or pompous professors who delight in proving you wrong.” She hugged her knees, long pleated skirt rising high enough to reveal her ankles.
“What’s in the bag?”
Elena slid the strap off her shoulder and unzipped one compartment of a long duffle bag. She pulled out a bottle of wine, and a corkscrew but no glasses.
“It’s probably not five o’clock in the afternoon yet, but what the hell? You only live once, right?” The cork came out with a loud pop.
“Agreed.” He took the bottle after she had taken a drink from it.
The two continued drinking and talking about nothing in particular for awhile, occasional lulls in the conversation filled by the near silence of the forest around them. At times, they would exchange glances, somewhat tinged by the blood red wine.
“Last drink. It’s yours.” She passed the nearly empty bottle to him.
“Are you sure?”
“I insist.”
As he downed the last drops of wine, he felt a bit dizzy. He wasn’t exactly a heavy drinker, but he knew that it would take more than just a half bottle of wine to take him under.
“Wow. This is really good stuff.”
“Definitely beats cheap beer from kegs, eh?” She stood up and took his hand.
“Yeah, I guess.” He stood up, legs wobbling, nearly falling into her. As he leaned in, their lips met. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” She asked, wide eyes looking up at him.
“If I’ve been too forward.”
“Don’t be. If you were, you would know it.” She kissed him again, stepping toward him.
Elena could hardly believe it. This afternoon was going better than she had anticipated. She was certain that he had been a little more than surprised as well. He ran his fingers through her hair, tucking errant strands back behind her ear so they would not interfere in the meeting of lips again. The soft point of his tongue traced her upper lip, followed by her bottom lip before penetrating her mouth, soaked in the sanguine wine. Elena took a few more steps forward, then pushed him against a tree.
“Oh, well then. I had no idea you were that sort of girl.” The words slowly slurred off of his lips from the back of his throat.
“What sort of girl is that?” She purred, undoing the buttons of his shirt before pulling it from his shoulders down his arms.
“The sort of girl I like.” He watched her kissing him all over, traveling down his chest and stomach before she hit the buckle of his pants.
Elena smiled up at him, almost fairy-like with the mischievous gleam in her eyes. As if in a flash, the belt buckle was in her hands and his pants around his ankles. She was so beautiful, or would be if she didn’t go blurry so much.
“Wait a minute, what’s going on?” He murmured as she raised his hands above his head.
“Don’t worry about that.” She kissed him again and knelt before him once more.
“I can’t move my arms.”
“You won’t need to.” She carefully took his erection out of his boxers, cradled it in her hands for a moment before caressing it in her fingertips. “I must warn you. I don’t have much experience with this sort of thing. I’ve never done this before, but I’ve always wanted to.”
Elena pictured the tableau she had placed herself in. This was not a pieta like that of Michaelangelo, with Mary cradling the dying Christ in her arms. This was different. She wondered what this was meant to be: she the quiver to his arrow shaft. No more hesitation, she had to take this shot.
“All right.” His head lolled back and forth, peaceful and content as he felt her mouth engulf him in smooth heat. As much as he wanted to enjoy the free ride, he had difficulty keeping his eyes open. Eventually, they closed entirely.
* * *
The young man was not quite sure what woke him first, the sudden breeze against his bare flesh, or the searing pain which stabbed throughout him after that. He never imagined that it would take all of his strength just to lift the weight of his eyelids. Looking down, he could not believe what he saw. Elena was no longer kneeling before him. Instead, he saw an arrow piercing through the right side of his ribcage. Dully lifting his head, his eyes met with Elena’s some distance away.
“You know, I wasn’t lying to you when I said I’ve never done this before.” Elena keenly locked one narrowed eye at him as she drew the bowstring once more. “At least I’ve never done this before in broad daylight. Most of the time I could never get young men to come out here willingly, let alone during the day. Although, there is something to be said the way a nearly nude young man looks beneath the moonlight.”
He parted his lips in an attempt to speak, only resulting in a thin line of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth down to his chin.
“I’d go to bars, you know. Go through the whole rigamarole of small talk and ‘let’s go back to my place’ after pretending to be drunk.” She laughed as if shrugging the whole thing off like a funny joke she heard a long time ago. “In all truth, I had drugged them the same way I drugged you.”
She put down the bow and arrow and walked over to him, as if a change of heart came upon her. Elena kissed him, licking the stray blood from his face. “We can’t have that now. It wasn’t in the painting.”
His eyes widened more as he tensed, bare back pressing against the rough bark of the tree. The arrow shifted slightly in his side, causing his jaw to drop in a scream, or at least an attempt to scream. His eyes swam, rolling upwards, nothing but the whites visible.
“Now where was I?” Elena took up the bow and arrow once more, but frowned upon turning around to view her subject. “I swear. Young men these days have no fortitude or physical constitution.”
His body relaxed again, neck drooped, head slumped with his chin to his chest. He slowly lifted his head to glare up at her, snarling, yet still silent.
“That’s entirely the wrong sort of look.” She sighed, breathing slowly, finally releasing the arrow between heartbeats. “Oh well.”
Knowing what was to come, he barely had time to close his eyes before the arrow hit its mark on his left pectoral muscle above the nipple. Gasping, he looked down for a moment at the shaft, along its length to its flight path back to the one who had sent it to him. She smiled warmly at him the same way she had over lunch and coffee earlier that day.
“Oh God. That’s it, right there. Perfect. You’re so beautiful.”
Elena pulled a camera out of her bag and started snapping pictures. Each click and whir of the mechanism hit him in the ears as her arrows had struck him in the chest before. His mind told him that each photograph taken was a mere second, yet the rest of his body wondered how much longer it would be until the end. To his horror, he looked down and realized that his erection had not yet subsided. All he could do was watch as Elena knelt before him, but not in supplication. He felt her hands running up his thighs to his boxers. The cotton slid down his legs around his ankles.
“In a way, I almost envy you.” She said, running her fingertips down the shaft of his erection to the head before kissing it. “You get to experience le grande mort.”
He closed his eyes, knowing it would not change what he was about to feel. In a way, he had always been curious, but he did not think he would meet death like this. Despite the pain of the arrows imbedded into his body, he was still able to feel the warmth envelop him, her lips softly wrapping around, followed by her tongue. Was it possible that this felt better than when she had been doing it before? The idea was monstrous, yet it still lingered. He felt additional moisture on his body, most likely the blood draining out of his wounds down his chest and legs. Eventually the warmth fully spread throughout him. Wracked with convulsions, he attempted to open his eyes to meet those of his executioner for the last time, only to meet with his own, reflected in the cold glass of the camera lens.
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