The Woman With the Bouquet by Éric-Emmanuel Schmitt Read Free Book Online Page A

Prince and the shepherdess, no? However, I’m very sorry, I have no sheep, I have never kept any sheep, I fear I cannot even stand to be around them, they smell so dreadful! I’m a lost cause.”
    At least I seemed to be amusing him. He grabbed my hands to calm my feverishness.
    “Don’t ever change. If you had any idea how your ignorance delights me . . . Ordinarily, young girls swoon in my presence.”
    “Do be careful, I too am apt to swoon. I am sorely tempted, I confess.”
    The conversation continued pleasantly. He wanted to know everything about me, and I wanted to know everything about him, however, we were well aware that the purpose of our meeting was not to tell each other our past histories, but to invent a present for ourselves.
    He came to see me every afternoon.
    I must admit that it was thanks to him, and not to me, that we did not sleep together right away. I—or rather that very feminine woman inside me—would have offered myself already by the second visit. He insisted however that it should not happen too quickly. No doubt he wanted the moment to have its true value.
    We went on meeting like this for several weeks, exchanging words and kisses. Until the day that it became unbearable for our lips to part.
    Then I understood that, having proven his respect for me by preventing me from giving myself right away, he was now counting on me to give him a signal.
    Which I did.
     
    Emma Van A. interrupted her story. She cleared her throat and grew thoughtful.
    “There is nothing uglier than a ragged old bag of bones talking about sensuality. I do not want to subject you to that. From the time one reaches a certain level of decrepitude, one ought not bring up certain topics, on pain of provoking disgust, despite one’s belief it is concupiscence. Therefore, I shall go about it differently. May we leave the table?”
    We went into the living room, among the books.
    Adroitly, she maneuvered her armchair in front of the antique secretary, activated a mechanism that unlocked a secret drawer, and removed a delicate notebook of peach colored leather.
    “Here. When I decided to become his lover, I put it down in writing.”
    “I feel terribly indiscreet . . .”
    “No, no, please take it. Sit over there under the lamp, read it. That’s the best way for me to continue my confession.”
    I opened the little book.
     
    To my lord and future master
    THE ALBUM OF LOVE
    by Emma Van A.
     
    As I find there is nothing more degrading in love than improvised, banal, or rough embraces, I am offering this menu to the man I fancy. As with any menu, he will use it, night after night, by pointing to what he would like.
     
    1—The ordeal of Ulysses and the Sirens
    Ulysses, you may recall, had himself bound to the mast of his ship to resist the hypnotic chanting of the sirens. My lord will be bound in like manner to a column, wearing as little clothing as possible, a blindfold to keep him from seeing, and a gag to keep him from speaking. The siren will walk around him, grazing him without touching him, and will murmur in his ear everything she wishes to inflict upon him. If the siren is gifted with imagination and my Lord is too, the scenes evoked will produce as great—or greater—an effect as if they had actually been performed.
     
    2—The delights of Prometheus
    Prometheus, punished by Zeus, was chained to a rock and subjected henceforth to the attacks of an eagle who came to devour his liver. I propose to chain my lord to something as solid as a rock but to devour something else. As often as he would like.
     
    3—The visit in a dream
    For the ancient Greeks, a dream was a visitation of the gods. My Lord shall be the dreamer, in the bed, stretched out naked on his back, and I shall persuade him that Aphrodite, the goddess of delights, has come to join him in his sleep. On condition that he does not open his eyes, or reach out his hand—in a word, does not move, except his hips, slightly, and I shall see to climbing