Deadly Communion

28

Heinz Vogl accepted that he could do nothing more for his patient. If there was a God, then the old general’s fate was very much in His hands now. The veteran soldier had coughed up blood and his lungs had made ominous noises that suggested their imminent collapse. Vogl remained at the man’s bedside for two long hours, waiting for the ‘attack’ to run its course. Eventually the coughing stopped and the old general sank back against his pillows. He showed no obvious signs of discomfort and his shallow breathing became stertorous.

As Vogl left the hospital a flash of lightning turned night into preternatural day. A rumble of thunder released a shower of unseasonal hailstones that landed on his hat with casual violence. Such inclemency, thought the doctor, was downright inconsiderate — although he had no idea who he was blaming. This vague sense that the weather was being manipulated with spiteful intent was reinforced when the arrival of a cab coincided with the sudden cessation of the storm.

The journey to his house in the seventeenth district was not a long one. He hoped that his wife would still be awake, but when he finally got to his bedroom there was no light showing under her door. The doctor performed his ablutions, put on his nightshirt and got into bed.

It was impossible for him to estimate how long he had been asleep; however, he sensed that it had not been very long. He was awakened by Kristina, who had evidently risen from her own bed to join him.

‘My darling,’ he said sleepily.

She made herself comfortable, lying on her side with her head resting on her husband’s chest.

They remained in this position for some time — exchanging body heat and caresses. A clock ticked loudly in the darkness. Vogl was on the brink of falling asleep again when the gentle ministrations of his wife’s fingers on his upper thigh prevented him from descending further into oblivion. His subsequent engorgement attracted his wife’s interest, and she shifted down beneath the bedclothes until her lips closed around his rigid organ.

The doctor let out a cry that suggested pain as much as pleasure.

Vogl was a man of the world. He had enjoyed relations with women before his marriage. He was, therefore, highly appreciative of his wife’s readiness to give him such satisfaction. Most women — he had found — were repulsed by the idea.

How fortunate I am, he thought, as he gently encouraged Kristina with the palm of his hand on the crown of her head. I adore her.

Kristina dispensed with the eiderdown and mounted her husband with a swift, easy movement. She bore down hard and rotated her hips — maximising the extent of his penetration. Overcome with desire, Vogl reached up and grabbed her breasts. Kristina placed her hands over his and squeezed his fingers until her accommodating flesh was so compressed that it could yield no further. The hardness of her nipples proved too much for Vogl, who experienced the inevitable consequence of such intense excitement.

‘Oh my darling,’ he gasped. ‘My beautiful darling.’

Vogl’s buttocks rose from the bed, lifting his wife in the process. He felt himself pouring into her. Then, when his release was complete, he slumped back down onto the mattress. Spent. Drained. Empty. He was dimly conscious of his wife changing position.

‘Thank you,’ Vogl whispered into the darkness.

Kristina rested a finger against his lips, admonishing him for his gratitude.

Vogl inhaled his wife’s perfume — a heavy, rich scent — that combined musk with subtle registers of lavender. Its soporific qualities ensured his delivery from the world. When he woke again it was the middle of the night, and he found that the bed was empty. Kristina had returned to her room. He turned his head into the pillow, inhaled the lingering perfume one last time, and slept soundly until morning.