CHAPTER 3

Madame Métier, Monsieur Sorbonne, and Mademoiselle Objet Have One More Reunion

It was not long after this that, one night, upon entering her bedroom, Madame Métier found every inch of it, from corner to corner, bathed in a huge rectangle of brilliant white light.

The pillow also, on the far side of the bed, seemed, more than usual, to smell distinctly of clary sage, was it? or saxifrage?—and clasping it to her heart and feeling finally free to weep for all the losses of her life, she cried in a way that she hadn’t cried for years.

In the morning, she went to work as usual, but in the afternoon she told Mademoiselle Objet she was tired and she went to her room to lie down. She slept and dreamed that she had awakened in her bed and looked up at the ceiling to see a huge pale orange butterfly, its shimmering wings spread out so flat it seemed to have been painted, tromp l’oeil, against the wall. It fluttered a moment as she watched, then slowly it dissolved.

The following morning, she was unable to rise from her bed, and she called to Monsieur Sorbonne and Mademoiselle Objet to come in. “Sit down, my Dear Ones,” she said when they arrived.

Monsieur Sorbonne would not sit down, but stood at the head of the bed beside her, and Mademoiselle Objet, on the blue embroidered hassock, sat near the foot of her bed.

“Thank you for coming,” said Madame Métier. “Soon now, I will slip through my body, and I wanted you to know. I can feel it. And I wanted also, before I leave, to have a little time with you.” At the foot of the bed, hands folded, Mademoiselle Objet began, a little, to cry; and for the first time ever, Madame Métier was unable to reach out and touch her hands.

“Don’t cry,” said Madame Métier. “It’s just a change of address. We’ll see one another again. But before I go, I have a few little gifts for you.”

Mademoiselle Objet stood up and joined Monsieur Sorbonne at the head of the bed and, as they stood there together, Madame Métier handed them each a smallish square package, then watched as first Monsieur Sorbonne opened his. Inside its red paper wrapper was an elegant black box, and inside the box, in a cradle of gathered black velvet, was a crystal ball. Monsieur Sorbonne held it up to the light, which was pouring in through the bedroom window. “A new lens for you,” said Madame Métier. “So you will see, always, the mystery and the wholeness of life.”

“Thank you,” said Monsieur Sorbonne, and as he did, a ribbon of tears threaded its way down his cheeks. Then Mademoiselle Objet opened her gift, which was wrapped in white paper and tied with a white satin ribbon. Inside it, beneath a golden lid embossed with its namesake flower, was a cachepot of calla lily creme. “In case you should ever have need of it,” said Madame Métier. “And because you were so patient,”—she laughed a little, remembering—“while I was creating it.”

Stilled by the elegant beauty of her gift, a stream of tears flooded Mademoiselle Objet’s eyes. She turned to Madame Métier and whispered a “Thank You,” and Madame Métier smiled. Then she looked across at the two of them. “I’m tired now,” she said quietly. “And it’s time. I want to say good-bye. Thank you for being such beautiful friends. We have had a most beautiful life here together. So many beautiful moments. So much love. Such a long and beautiful journey of healing and compassion.”

So saying, she gathered her strewn-with-red-roses white silk dressing gown a little more closely about her, and lifting her arms to embrace each one of them one more time, slipped free of her cocoon.