Sainte Mal

“Hello, I’m Joel. I was a master thief. A writer with an open mind came by and I inspired him to write my story.”

The “Sainte Mal Museum,” in Quebec, scoffed at Malcom Craverly’s generous offer, one billion dollars. They said the “belle Jeune fille” was beyond pricing, no amount of money would buy it.

Antony Napoleon sculpted it five centuries ago in 1601. It took him three years to carve it from white marble. The sculpture is priceless, and they say the artist died of starvation.

At any rate, Mr. Craverly engaged my services for the same amount he had offered the museum. I could have retired from that one job, but I wouldn’t have. The thrill of the caper, the risk of getting caught, so exhilarating.

I arrived in Quebec on a rainy day. Transport Executif Prestige sent a lovely black Lincoln SUV to Montreal Trudeau airport to receive me. The driver took me to Le Capitole Hotel and waited for me to get settled in, then drove me to the museum. She waited for me there as well. I had prearranged a tour of the museum to ‘case the place’ as they say.

I, and four others, followed the guide through the museum. While he spoke continuously, I heard little of what he said. I concentrated on the layout, to be sure the floor plan I was given was correct.

The “Sainte Mal Museum” certainly lived up to its reputation. Beautiful. It was a work of art in its own right. Every luxury architecture and design could lavish upon it had been incorporated. Tall columns, floor to very high ceiling, proudly welcomed guests. The black marble floors were buffed to a bright sheen. Thick, luxurious drapes hung at each window; their blood red color was captivating.

We walked by many excellent sculptures. I enjoyed looking at each of them. My jaw dropped when we approached the “belle Jeune fille.” I had never seen anything like it. No woman depicted in art, no woman alive, could compare to the enchanting beauty before me. The marble was polished to a gleam. The smooth lines of her petite body were entrancing. Large curls of hair fell over her shoulders and her eyes seemed to look back at me. No matter where I stood, it seemed she was looking directly at me. It should have been frightening, but it wasn’t. It was as if I were being adored. It felt good.

I was never a real emotional man, but I felt heart-broken when the tour guide gestured us to move on to the next attraction. I did not want to leave her. All the wonderful art we saw after her paled for me. Nothing there could compare. With all my being, I wanted to go back and gaze upon her for hours.

After the tour, my excellent driver took me to ‘Le Continental’ restaurant. I had a wonderful filet mignon and an exquisite Chateau Lafite bottle of wine. I invited my driver to join me, as I never liked eating alone. She too loved the wine.

I said goodbye to her when we pulled up in front of my hotel. I had prepaid for the driving, but her charming company deserved the $500 tip I gave her. Mister Craverly had made such extravagance easy for me.

I went to my room, set an alarm, and laid down. I slept for the six hours I had planned to. When I got up, I put on my uniform for work: black slacks, a black turtleneck, and black tennis shoes. I grabbed my satchel, where I kept all the tools of my trade. A final look around my room, and I exited.

When I stepped out of the hotel, I flagged an ordinary taxi. Not my favorite mode of transportation, but I had learned to travel low-profile to and from work.

I had all the access codes and most of the alarm codes. Where and how Mr. Craverly obtained these was beyond me. Money. The one key to all doors. Mr. Craverly had keys to many doors. I strolled into the museum as if I owned the place. There was minimal lighting, just enough for the cameras to get clear images. Of course, I had shut down all the cameras. A simple toss of a gas grenade had sent the security guards to peaceful slumber. I would not be disturbed.

When I approached “belle Jeune fille,” I had to pause, to gaze upon her beauty. In the low lighting, she seemed to glow. Even though she was petite, marble is heavy. I estimated she weighed perhaps three hundred pounds. I had the necessary equipment to tilt and lift her, I had the specialized board on wheels to put her on. It would be easy to stroll out of the building with her at my side. I had plenty of time for the task, so I indulged.

Her beautiful eyes seemed to look back at me as I caressed her arm. Nude, but discreetly covered by her limbs, she enticed me. She beckoned me. Every cell in my body wanted her. I leaned in and kissed her on her full lips. She was made of marble. How could her lips be so soft and inviting?

It was a surreal moment. Blood pulsed through my veins in furious rapidity. My lips joyously lingered on hers. I should have been frightened when her arms lifted and took me into a warm embrace. She kissed me with such an electrifying gentleness. Our tongues mingled while my hands explored every tantalizing part of her body.

We sat on a small bench that was behind her and wrapped each other in a stream of eager limbs. Our lips never parted; we had no need for words. Our hearts spoke sweetly, more eloquently than any words could.

I have no idea how it happened, but I hardened. I became made of marble, the same as her. Locked into an eternal kiss with the most rapturous being I had ever known.

In the days to come over the many years since that night, security and patrons of the museum looked upon us as if I had always been there. Do I miss my life? No. I hunger only for her gentle kiss. Eternity in this embrace is my heaven.

The museum, ‘Sainte Mal,’ holy evil, our home forever.

(End)