The Shadow-Merchant's Ledger: Correspondence with Madame Vionnet

Fiction

Paris, July 14, 1794 To Monsieur Lemaire, My husband has become a vacancy. He occupies the chair in the library, yet he does not displace the air. Since the blade fell at the Place de la Révolution, he has forgotten the weight of his own limbs. He is a pale thing, a sketch of a man. I am informed that you act as the intermediary for the collector who acquired the silhouettes of the fallen nobility. My husband's shadow was among them. I wish to purchase its return. I expect a prompt reply. Do not mistake my desperation for a lack of means. Madame Vionnet *** Paris, July 16, 1794 Madame, The shadow of the Marquis is indeed in the collection. It is a specimen of remarkable density. It possesses the texture of heavy, dampened velvet, with a deep, obsidian saturation that is rare even among the high court. However, you must understand the nature of the commodity. A severed shadow is a perishable thing. Without the anchor of the soul, it begins to evaporate. The collector is fond of the Marquis's silhouette; it provides a certain architectural gravity to his gallery. To remove it would be to create a void in his arrangement. If you wish to reclaim this ink, you must offer more than mere currency. The collector desires rarity. Sincerely, Lemaire *** Paris, July 19, 1794 Monsieur, I have spent the last three days watching my husband stare at a wall. He does not blink. He is a hollow vessel, and the silence he emits is deafening. I offer you five thousand livres in gold and the deed to the estate in Provence. Furthermore, I include the sapphire pendant of the House of Orleans. I am aware that the shadow is fraying at the edges; I can see the thinning of the silhouette in my mind's eye. I will accept it regardless of the decay. I will stitch it to his heels with silver thread if I must. Deliver the jar to the garden gate at midnight on Tuesday. Come alone. Madame Vionnet