I. The Appointment
At last, I'm here! … For days I've been hesitating, always finding lame excuses to put it off. I step into the hallway.
Before I go any further, let me introduce myself. My name is Claude and I am alone, separated. It is my own fault. I never knew how to rise to the level of the woman I loved — and still love — but she left. I sickened her with my misogynistic remarks, dragged along by buddies into a posture of the dominant male that I no longer recognize. I never insulted her, never struck her; violence against women turns my blood to ice. Deep down, I was full of admiration: the children, the house, a flourishing business — she ran it all. When she left, taking the children with her, I understood my mistake and dropped those friends. My efforts to be forgiven came to nothing. I am a wretch.
A few weeks ago, I hurt myself at work. In the emergency room I was tended to by a night nurse who had just come on duty. Everything in me was hypnotized by her composure: an enchanting, firm voice, a perfect dexterity. She questioned me about my accident, and without realizing it I told her my whole life: my loneliness, my mistakes, my desire to redeem myself before women. I told her that, if it were possible, I would submit — that it was obvious women should be the ones in charge, and that if a country existed governed solely by women, I would ask to live there.
To my surprise, the nurse smiled and slipped a business card into my hand. I read: « Mistress Amélia, expert in gynarchic conditioning ». I stood there, doubtful. She walked away. Back home, I looked up the word in the dictionary; its definition startled me. That night I woke — not because of my arm, but because of the memory of her smile. I wept.
In the days that followed, I kept setting my eyes on the card without knowing how to answer it. Then one morning, after a restless night, I dialled the number. A small disappointment: an answering machine. I stammered a few words and hung up, regretting it. A few minutes later a message dropped onto my mobile: « Hello Claude. If you are interested, we can receive you for an interview at 6 p.m. at 69, rue de la Tentation. » The day before, I had read in a newspaper this line: The undecided man will always remain in his ignorance. I answered for that Friday. The reply came: « Hello Claude, we await you … be punctual. »
All day long, my thoughts were turned towards the appointment and the order to arrive on time. After work I went home to shower, then made my way to the address. Who is Mistress Amélia? I realize I have not really thought about it. The district is a business hub; the building bears an unfamiliar nameplate. I re-read the message: this is the place, and it is the hour.
I go in. An intercom panel, two names. One bears the initials M.A., G. practice. I ring. A voice addresses me: « Yes … what is it about? » — Hello … I have an appointment. — And you are? — Claude M. — At the end of the corridor, the waiting room. The latch releases before I can even thank her.
The waiting room is windowless, lit by a neon tube, two chairs, a low table covered with women's magazines. A woman comes in, white coat, perfectly coiffed and made up, high heels. « Claude M. — Yes. — Here is the form. Your answers must be precise. I'll be back in 10 minutes. Do not skip any question. — But … — Answer! — Uh … yes, Madam. »
The questionnaire is pointed: What services have you rendered recently to a lady? When did you last respond to a woman's desires and honour her? Have you caused a woman pain recently? Are you ready to atone for your faults? At the end it asks for my full details — marital status, social-security number, bank account. Lifting my head, I notice a small dome on the ceiling: a camera.
The door opens. « It is time. Hand me the form. » — Yes … here it is. — Good. You may go home. Be back tomorrow at 1 p.m. sharp for your medical examination. — I'm sorry? — You heard me. Do not make me repeat myself. — Uh … yes, Madam.
Once outside, a dull anger seizes me: I feel as though I'm being led around. I tell myself I would be wiser to drop the whole thing. That is my resolution. Later in the night, while I'm asleep, my phone rings: « Thank you for your visit. I shall receive you tomorrow after your medical examination. M.A. » The words capture every one of my faculties and sleep flees from me. I think back to the lady in the white coat, to her coldness, to her authority — and I'm hard under the sheets. My hand closes around me as though she were ordering it. I come without being able to control myself.
To calm myself, I turn on the television. The screen lights up on a history programme: the great queens who changed the world, Elizabeth I, Catherine of Russia. I am captivated by the aura of these sovereigns. I picture myself in the middle of their court: chancellors, dukes, churchmen … on their knees at the foot of the queen. How did these women manage to bring all those men to heel?
I fall asleep in front of the television. When I open my eyes, the screen reads 9:17. Shower, coffee, and back to Mistress Amélia's. For the medical examination … why a medical examination? Again this struggle inside me. I no longer know whether it is my own will that is driving me. I think it is the desire to repent.
On the metro I come across a free newspaper. A film is out: Sisters in Arms — the story of Kurdish women warriors fighting Daesh. The subject shakes me. How can madness be this contagious? I become sensitive to the slightest hint that might wound.
The stations roll by. I get off and walk to the building. The district is deserted on this Saturday afternoon. It is exactly the hour of my appointment.