Sissi and Me

We were both precocious, and life had well and truly opened up for us. By the time I was 17, I found myself one of the most sought-after painters in the world. Even before graduation, I had exhibited in London several times to great acclaim, and I'd even been praised by Sir James Dyson himself. The Telegraph had written a major story about "the young American genius." I couldn't believe all that was happening.

And Sissi had found fame as a novelist. Her murder mystery, Ring a Distant Bell, was a huge hit, and there was now even talk of it being optioned for a movie. That she would find such success and a contract with Knopf, even before graduation, was nothing short of extra-ordinary. I was honoured to paint the cover for the book's US and UK editions, and Sissi was especially pleased by this.

But the fame and success were not going to her head. One afternoon on Skype, she told me how she was volunteering with the Massachusetts Coalition for the Homeless. She was teaching teen-aged mothers to hone job skills; teaching illiterate old men to read and write; and donating food, clothing, blankets and much of her own money in this worthy cause. My sister is a saint; I've always known that. Her altruism struck such a resonant chord with me, I was inspired to go out and do the same thing with a comparable organisation in East London.

The time flew by, and the months fell like autumn leaves. Before I knew it, Sissi and I were both graduated summa cum laude, and we were due to return to Triebschen. I was on the cusp of my 18^th birthday, finally and officially a man in a couple of days, and there was to be a huge soirée in honour of the occasion. Dad was coming home, and he had arranged everything.

It was good to be home again, at long last. In our prolonged absence, Marthe had kept Triebschen running like a top. A local cowboy had been taking care of the horses and maintaining the fish in the lake. Marthe herself had decorated the house for our homecoming and my party. She greeted me warmly when I arrived.

Now I stood in the drive, breathless with anticipation. Sissi had called my cell 'phone to announce her own arrival. In a reversal of my departure, five years earlier, now it was I, waiting in the driveway for her to come.

At last, she was here. And when she emerged from her taxi, she took my breath away.

"Sissi!"

"Hi, Joey!"

Smiling and laughing, we ran into each other's arms. We collided happily to-gether and hugged each other tightly, our hands roaming firmly and fondly across each other's back.

She was somewhat tanner than she'd been when last I saw her, and she appeared even more voluptuous and delightfully so. Standing here before me now was no longer a girl but a 19-year-old woman, a princess----nay, a queen. She smiled at me and I, at her. Her chocolate eyes were aglow with happiness, and her perfectly straight, blindingly white teeth dazzled in the dusk. Her extra-ordinary hair was tied in a long queue behind her. In the setting sun, she seemed to look even more gorgeous than ever before.

"Welcome home, big sister!"

"Thank you, baby brother. It's so good to be home!"

She smelled wonderful, and I seemed enveloped in her perfume, a delicious fragrance that reminded me of French flowers. She was warm and soft and everything I remembered and cherished, everything I still carried privately in my heart ever since I first realised, all those years ago, that I loved her in a more than brotherly way. It seemed an eternity since then, yet somehow only yesterday.

"Ah, Sissi! Sissi!" I cried out, and I actually began to weep, tears of joy staining my cheeks as I whispered in her ear, "I've missed you so damned much. Oh, sweet Christ, I've missed you!"

"I've missed you, too, little boy," she said softly, "more than you realise."

She suddenly drew apart from me but not by much, only enough for me to gaze upon her beautiful face and see that she, too, was crying. Yet she flashed her million-watt smile at the same time as she gazed up at me in what I recognised was pure, utter love.

I moved lower and kissed first her right cheek and then the left, brushing away her tears with my lips.

"Just like when we were little," she said, her voice so soft.

"Just like when we were little," I repeated, smiling as she reached up a delicate hand to wipe away my own tears.

Her hands now moved from my back to my arms. She felt a bicep, bulging somewhat now beneath my polo shirt.

"You've put on weight. Muscle! I like that. Let me look at you some more."

She moved back and regarded me approvingly.

"Josey, kiddo, you've never looked so good. My handsome baby brother----all grown up now!"

"Thank you, Sis," I replied, grinning at her.

She reached up and playfully tousled my moppish hair.

"You need a haircut," she teased, her voice breaking into musical laughter as she raked her soft hand several times through my bangs and the top of my head.

"Mmmm, I s'pose I do," I replied, smiling back at her. "Well, the party's to-morrow night. Dad's coming. Big crowd. You'll love it. Stacey and Tracey, your favourite twins, are coming, too."

"Oh, goodie! It'll be nice to see them again. Golly, how long has it been?"

"Not sure. Y'know, come to think of it, won't they be jealous? Here you are, already graduated from Harvard and a famous, published novelist. And they're only sophomores at Montreat!"

"Yeah, well----"

"Oh, yes. And Georg Silberbauer is coming, too. Sorry!"

"What? That creep?"

"Well, he is the son of Dad's old business partner. Marthe made up the guest list. I'm sure she doesn't know about----"

"No, of course not."

"Look, don't worry. I'll stick to you like glue. He'll never have a chance to----"

She pressed her right index finger to my lips. It was soft, and I could smell the gorgeous perfume on her wrist.

"You're sweet, baby boy. And I love you."

"And speaking of Marthe, she's making dinner right now. She can't wait to see you! Here, let me carry your stuff."

I picked up two suitcases, while Sissi hoiked a duffel bag over her shoulder. I shifted the smaller suitcase between my right arm and chest, holding the other case in my right hand, while with my left I grabbed the duffel bag from my sister.

"Joey, let me----"

"Nope. Sorry, Milady," I said, imitating a Cockney servant, "but the only thing you should carry is yourself with grace."

"Ha-ha! Well, thank you, kind sir."

My birthday was actually two days hence. But the following day was Saturday, hence Dad's choice for the party. I couldn't wait.

The next evening finally arrived, and Triebschen was filled with guests. Dad and I were in matching tuxedoes with white tie and tails, and about 50 or so guests in formal attire looked wonderful, the men in gleaming black and white and their wives and girlfriends in glittering ball gowns.

But outshining them all was Sissi. My sister had styled and piled her luxuriant hair atop her head, so that she resembled nothing so much as a Victorian Era countess or perhaps some noblewoman from the Kaiser's Germany. She wore a designer evening gown in electric blue, which only brought out her skin tones. It also featured a pronounced décolletage, accentuating my sister's beautiful bosom.

She turned many heads when she descended the staircase. But none more so than mine. She stood before me, beaming both at me and our guests. A collective "good evening" and other greetings rose from the crowd, and Sissi politely reciprocated.

"Happy birthday, dear brother," she said softly, her dewy eyes sparkling at me as she kissed my cheek.

I tenderly kissed her soft hand.

"You look ravishing," I whispered in her ear.

Suddenly, our father came striding up, his long German legs moving very fast for his age. With his short, greying hair and trimmed moustache, he looked very professorial or perhaps like an aristocrat from former, happier times. And he, too, bent and kissed my sister's hand.

"Sissi, my dear, you look beautiful zis evening," he said with a smile. "Maestro, music, plees!"

Dad waved his hand, and a pianist in one corner of the room began to play one of those understated Austrian pieces from the glorious late 1800's, the time of the zenith of Western civilisation. He was accompanied by a cellist and two violinists, all of them set up in front of the grand piano. Soon the crowd was dancing gracefully, swaying slightly to the gentle music. I couldn't place the composer, but the piece was lovely.

"May I have this dance, miss?" I asked my sister.

"I've been waiting on you my whole life, little boy," she replied, her eyes flashing.

Soon the musicians struck up a Strauss waltz, specially arranged for their four instruments. Sissi and I whirled round the room, both of us becoming positively giddy. Quite what our guests thought, I could only guess. But truthfully, I neither knew, nor cared. After all, it was all very innocent in appearances. And up to now, Sissi and I had been very innocent in every respect. Perhaps we were not----well, I was not----unimpeachable in private behaviour in every way. I was crazy about my own sister, truly, madly, deeply, irresponsibly and passionately over-the-moon in love with her, and I didn't give a damn about the right or wrong of it all. But that was between us, Sissi and me, and it was none of the rude outside world's bloody business.

Still, even as we danced, I couldn't help overhearing some of our family friends, murmuring among themselves.

"Don't they make a lovely couple?"

"How charming. Such innocence!"

"I don't know. They seem a bit too close for a brother and sister, if you know what I mean."

"But they've grown up to-gether. Practically twins!"

"Different mothers. I don't know."

"Nonsense! What a dirty mind you have. Hark at you!"

"He doesn't have a girlfriend. She doesn't have a boyfriend. Apparently, neither of them ever has. I'm just saying that----"

"You're saying too much. Now shut up! You're drunk."

"Maybe. Maybe I just need a little more Merlot. Hey, isn't that Uwe Silberbauer's boy?"

"Yes, I think it is."

"What's his name? Johann, Joachim..."

"Georg."

"Yeah, that's it. Didn't he used to have a thing for Sissi?"

"Hush! He's too old for her."

"Only in his late 20's."

"Well, at least that's what Sissi says."

"Wonder what the real reason is?"

"Look at him scowling! Pure jealousy, I'd say."

"Where is he? I don't----oh. There he goes. He's headed down to the wine cellar!"

"Drunken son of a bitch. There's an accident waiting to happen."

Twirling like a colourful top, Sissi at last spun round and sat down upon a bench. I joined her, collapsing against the wall.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "That was fun. Baby brother, you're gonna wear me out! You're gonna kill me, Fred."

"What a way to go, Ginger," I observed, grinning.

"I propose a toast. It is your birthday."

"Well, to-morrow, at any rate."

"Let's have some wine. Dad has a nice bottle of Henkell sparkling wine put by in the cellar fridge. Even better, there's a yummy-looking bottle of spätburgunder----basically a German pinot noir----and from a good house, too. Saw it down there the other day. What do you say?"

I scanned the room uncomfortably, looking for the hulking Georg.

"Umm, I don't think that's such a good----"

"Oh, come on, Joey," she replied, slapping my shoulder and giving me the impression that she'd had at least two glasses of something already. "It's your day. Let's celebrate!"

Against my better judgement, we soon found ourselves down in the wine cellar. I looked round, and to my relief, Georg was nowhere to be found.

Thank God, I thought.

It was cooler down there. The heavy door, left only slightly ajar, managed to muffle much of the noise from upstairs. We were surrounded by innumerable bottles of the best German, French and Italian vintages, all well taken care of year-round in perfect, temperature-controlled conditions.

"Hmmm," said Sissi, her chocolate eyes sparkling in the dim overhead light. "Where was it? Ah! I just saw it the other day."

I stood beside a barrel of Bavarian schwarzbier and felt a sudden urge to sit down. The barrel was enormous and made a fine stool as I looked over at Sissi. I was privately amused, watching my petite sister stand upon her tiptoes as she strained to reach the top rows of bottles. This inadvertently caused more of her ample cleavage to come out from her gown----a thing which at first she didn't notice.

"Ah!" she exclaimed, frowning slightly in frustration and jumping up and down several times in her girlish impatience, causing her breasts to jiggle even more. "Where on earth is it?"

I couldn't take any more of this. I got up and strode over to the section in question. Reaching up easily, I retrieved the requested bottle. There was a folded cocktail napkin in my vest pocket, and I removed it to wipe a small amount of dust from the bottle's neck and label.

"Here we are."

"Look at you! You're just the perfect boyfriend, aren't you? Killer of bugs, grabber of high-shelf objects. Thanks, little brother. Hail, King Josey of Wales! Hahaha!"

She pulled me down and kissed my cheek. I grinned reflexively, and a shiver of delight went up my spine. And quite involuntarily, my lower body felt a thrill as well. There was suddenly a growing bulge in my trousers, and so I held the bottle strategically in front of them, pretending to still wipe a schmutz or two from the glass.

"You're most welcome," I softly replied, somewhat nervously repeating, "Well, here we are!"

"And here I am!"

Sissi and I turned round, our hearts pounding with astonishment. Suddenly standing before us was the immense Georg Silberbauer. Emerging from his evident hiding place behind one of the cellar's large brick columns, he lumbered toward us, the gaze of his bloodshot eyes squarely fixed on my sister. He was obviously drunk. He was also a good six inches taller and a hundred pounds heavier than I.

"Vell, Sissi," the Bavarian behemoth bellowed, his accent thick and his words slurred. "Here ve are, alone at last!"

"But you're not alone with her, you crazy Kraut," I shouted back, "and you never will be. I'm here. Now leave her alone!"

With a will of their own, both my arms wrapped themselves protectively around Sissi. Tears stung her eyes, and she shook dreadfully.

"It's OK," I said softly. "I'm here, darling. He can't hurt you."

"Look at you!" Georg shouted with a sneer etched into his ugly, pock-marked face. "Are you her bruzzer or her lover? You are sick, Franz Josef. Sick!"

"I will not take your nasty insinuations, Georg," I replied, reflexively yet mistakenly moving away from my sister, preparing to challenge him.

"Vat do you intend to do about zat, you Americanised mongrel?"

"You bastard! I'll get----"

But I didn't get to finish my raging riposte. The brew-sodden brute was suddenly upon me, and he picked me up as if I weighed nothing. He hurled me against the back wall, and I crashed into it, knocking loose several shelves. A dozen or more bottles shattered, including several above my head, and I felt my face, neck and hands cut by tiny shards of glass.

"Joey!" Sissi screamed. "You monster! You've killed him! Jooo-eeee!"

She ran to me, but Georg leapt with long legs, drunken yet still sure of his mark. He caught my sister, grabbing her by the waist and holding her against her will.

"Vat do you vant viss him, Sissi? He is choost an artist. An Untermensch. Shtay mit me, and ve vill leaf for Germany to-night! Ve can haf breakfast in Bavaria. A-hahahahaha!"

I was not unconscious, though perhaps I should have been. What I was, was lucky. The back of my head throbbed, and I felt like a broken marionette. Could I move?

My sister continued to struggle against our unwelcome guest.

"Take your filthy hands off of me, Georg! I don't want you! I never have!"

"Don't lie to me, you vicked bitch!"

And with that, he crossed the final line. In a quick, drunken movement, he reached down and tore Sissi's beautiful gown, ripping the top open and off her. My sister stood there in shock, humiliated and naked from the waist up. She screamed and reflexively covered her breasts with her hands. In a split-second, I finally beheld her beautiful breasts, and they were every bit as gorgeous as I had always supposed. But Georg Silberbauer had seen them, too, and that was unacceptable.

What occurred next seemingly happened in slow-motion, though it, too, was only another split-second. Renewed energy and life came rushing back into me, the adrenaline that so often blesses human beings in times of emergency and great stress. I stood, making a computer-like computation about Georg's ribcage and his ursine jaw line. As an artist, I had acquired a profound knowledge of human anatomy. And I knew that a blow to a man's jaw, placed correctly, could render him unconscious.

"You animal!" I roared and flew through the air.

My left hand struck him hard in the ribs, and I heard something snap. My right then came up and struck his jaw, and he fell back upon the floor. I found myself on top of him, straddling his barrel-like chest, and I landed another blow across his face for good measure, dislodging two of his yellowing teeth in the process. They clattered to the floor like marbles. But Georg was already out like a light.

Sissi was awash in profound relief.

"Joey! Oh, thank God! Thank you!"

She knelt and flung her arms round me, crying and covering my cheeks with kisses. The swell of her breasts crushed against my chest. For an instant, I returned her embrace, running my hands across her back and through her hair, now undone and cascading round her shoulders and down to her feet. But then I remembered myself and immediately shucked off my jacket, trying, out of a sense of honour, not to look at my gorgeous sister's bounteous, beauteous bosom, even though it was obscured by an angelic avalanche of brown hair. I looked away as I thrust my jacket at her.

"Here. Take this. It's all right now."

We stood up, and she turned her back to me, thus helping me to cover her and preserve her modesty. Still sniffling, she held the jacket as I placed it round her shoulders, and she then slipped her arms into the sleeves. She embraced me again, her petite yet voluptuous body quivering in my arms.

There then came a pounding of footsteps, and our father flung open the cellar door. Marthe and several guests were behind him.

"Vat's all dis noyce?" Dad shouted. "Vat----"

And then he saw. He raced down the stairs, Marthe right behind him.

Again, Dad shouted:

"Sissi! Sepp! Are you both all right?"

We looked at him and nodded slowly.

"Georg," he said, assessing the situation as he glared at the mess of broken bottles, shattered shelves and one ugly, hulking brute, knocked colder than the floor where he lay, "did he----"

"Yes, Vati," I replied gravely. "He tried. But he did not succeed."

"Zat bastard. I vill kill him for zis!" he growled, and he whipped out his cellular 'phone to call nine-one-one.

Marthe put her arms around us both.

"Gott sei dank," she murmured.

"Yes," said Sissi, softly, as she looked up at me adoringly. "Thank God for my little brother; my big, little brother, the hero!"

Dad turned to his guests, several of them now coming down the stairs toward us, concern and a sincere desire to help in their voices.