The “file” I’ve put together about Him tells me His birthday is May 13. After hesitating for a long time between a black tie, white orchids, and a pair of handcuffs, I opt for a Lalique statuette of a woman, in a prostrate, almost huddled position. I recognize in it all the suffering of a woman dependent on the desire of the Master to whom she has given herself.
The statuette is perfectly smooth and perfectly round, and the sanded crystal has a sensuous feel, at once sophisticated and primitive. Its symbolism is clear.
When the day comes, I have it sent to His office.
One day, He’ll tell me He doesn’t want it on His desk, it has no place in His life. I’ll receive this strange thank-you like a bird, a bullet in flight.
He’ll see fit to add: “You know, dear Élodie, it’s good to be disappointed by one’s friends, that way nobody has any illusions.”
I’ll never know what became of the statuette.
Sometimes, I think about that crystal woman kneeling submissively. I wonder where she is, if she survived to be cherished and caressed by other hands, or if she’s half dead half alive in her gray coffin, waiting for a tender look to wake her one day.