Necropolis Read Free

series of names that drew my attention, and I copied them into my notebook:
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    Leonidas Kosztolányi. Hungary, 62 years old, antiquarian, specialist in 17th-century rolled plate glass and marquetry. Lives in Budapest. His most recent works are
The
Life and Achievements of Baron Sarim Bupcka
,
The Calends of Ptolemy
,
Return from Tasmania,
and a
Dictionary of Brevity.

    Edgar Miret Supervielle. France, 64 years old, bibliophile, specializing in Jewish religious texts. Has spent much time in Israel, Lithuania, and New York. A great lover of chess, he is the author of
Life of Boris Alekhine
and
From Nabokov to Stefan Zweig:
Writers and Chess
. On other subjects, he has published
The Essential Thought of Ben Yehuda
and a three-volume biography of Herod Antipas.
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    All of them had sent extensive résumés, full of details of travels and stays abroad. Mine by comparison was fairly concise, just a list of books and the few jobs I had done.
    The shortest was the following:
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    Kevin Lafayette O’Reilly. Island of Santa Lucia. Author of
Memories of the Purple Ghost
. I am black.
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    And the most eye-catching:
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    Sabina Vedovelli. Italy. Porn actress and founder of Eve Studios. Among her many films are
The Graveyard of Lost
Sex
and the trilogy
Screw Me, Screw Me, I Don’t Want This to End!
(sketches for a “Pornography of the Left”). Author of
Kevin McPhee: The Legend
,
Marcello Deckers
or the Modern Priapus
and
Aaron Sigurd, the Twelve-and-a-Half-Inch King
.
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    I looked her up on the internet and found 320,000 results. There was a website of her production company, which listed her movies, and another that seemed to be her official website, the name of which, translated from Italian, would be something like www.letmesuckit.com. It contained photographs, short videos, and a section for short stories, entitled
Holocaust of the Hymen
. I opened one from Mexico, which read as follows:
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    I was by the side of the swimming pool, wearing only a tiny G-string that plunged into my shaved cunt and no top because they leave ugly marks on the back. Frank was swimming, taking no notice of me until he came closer and said, what’s up, Mireyita? I turned without saying anything, just stuck my ass in his direction, I wanted him to see that I was still a virgin and get the message, the idiot. Frank emerged from the water, opened my legs and thrust it into me, all the way, or as they say in Sinaloa, all the way up to the glottis and back again. It didn’t hurt because I was wet, and I’m not referring to the turquoise water of the pool but my own fountain, because with his muscles and his pale skin and his mummy’s-boy face he made me sopping wet, and I would have given my life for his wretched cock to be ten or twenty inches longer and reach all the way up to my duodenum. Then, when he came, he shot so much spunk into me that I was dripping for the next three days.
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    Apart from the writings, there were photographs of Sabina Vedovelli. In one of them a man had his arm up her anus and she was smiling and biting on a white nurse’s cap. The man was wearing a white coat with a stethoscope around his neck. It was going to be strange, meeting her at the conference.
    Let me continue with the most striking of the delegates. In some cases, this will serve as an introduction to future characters, insofar as time, as in the novels of Balzac, can be measured in pages.
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    Moisés Kaplan. Colombia, 64 years old. Historian, philatelist, and stamp collector. Divides his time between New York and Tel Aviv. His best known books are:
From Palestine to the Aburrá Valley
,
Biography of Antón Ashverus,
and a book on grammar entitled
Against the Diphthong and the Hiatus
.

    José Maturana. Miami, 56 years old, former evangelical pastor, former convict, former drug addict. Served seven prison sentences for armed robbery in Florida and Charleston before finding the light with the help of