In Hindu mythology, diamond has a great importance. It is the vajra (lightning, the weapon of Indra, main god of the Hindus), and by the six points of the octaedra symbolises the true man who resists to attacks from the north, south, east and west, from the infernal powers and celestial powers. Therefore a diamond bearer is protected from fire, poison, thieves, water, snakes and evil spirits.
—www.diamondgeezer.com
When I awakened, Paul was not beside me. I sat up straight, blinking, and called out his name, listening in case he was in the shower or something.
Only silence greeted me.
I hate it when people leave me sleeping. It no doubt loops back to my mother, and I ought to get over it, but my fear of abandonment is quite strong.
Which Paul knows. It was a trauma even when we were in Nice, long ago. He would not leave me like this. Not while I slept.
Unless he took the Katerina.
With a cynical smile, I stood up and padded across the room naked. The Katerina was still there, as bright as if she was a star, or a lightbulb. She glowed, as if she had some internal source of light.
Next to her was a gray envelope with my name written on it in Paul’s continental hand. My heart sunk.
It was hard to read the note at first, because my tears blurred the page. If I’d been looking for the truth of my feelings, I suppose I had them now.
He’d written in English:
My dearest Sylvie,
I know you will be angry with me for leaving you as you slept, but I do it to protect you. This morning, you will look into your heart and you will know what you feel for the world, for yourself. You’ve made it through your divorce. You have accomplished a major coup by capturing this lost gem. You are beautiful, and brave, and sensual and smart. There is not a woman on this earth who is your equal. You are a tiger, burning bright. The world is yours, my sweet.
The one thing I would ask is that you not let our one digression affect what has been the source of my strength for many, many years. Without you, I am lost. Without me, you have no champion.
I am ever your servant,
Paul
PS I think her name now is Katerina’s Heart, don’t you?
I picked her up. She was still a very powerful stone, but now it seemed there was a radiance to her, a beauty that had been washed clean of greed and unholy desires.
And it suddenly occurred to me where it should go. What I should do. Lifting the beautiful, storied gem to my lips, I kissed her and said, “Now that I’ve brought you home, I must ask a petition.”
As if she heard me, the spirit of the stone, it felt like it was buzzing in my hands. I pictured the life I wanted, with my love, the one I had longed for all these years. “I will take you to your rightful place,” I said aloud. “In return, let me go to mine.”
For a long time, we sat in the quiet, Katerina and I, and then I looked at the clock and saw that it was nearly ten.
My father’s race! In a rush, I ran to the television and started flipping channels. Surely someone carried the race!
The sound of engines alerted me to the right channel, and I sat down in my robe, the remote control in one hand, the Katerina nestled in my other. The cars were lined up, and the camera panned over my father’s, a sleek yellow beauty he called—what else?—Sylvie.
“Go, Dad!” I whispered. And bit my lip for an hour until the race was done.
Gordon Montague, oldest Formula One driver in the world, won.