Mata Hari's Last Dance Read Free

Buddhist or Hindu?”
    He is hoping to trick me. “No one knows. The men who built the temple were followers of Buddha. If you journey clockwise through the five levels of the pyramid, you will witness the life story of Buddha unfold.” I hold my hands before me, as if weighing the weight of a pear against an apple. “Yet the inscriptions on the temple walls suggest Hinduism. There is mystery in the temple.” He looks at my hands. Perhaps they don’t look like the hands of a temple dancer. I quickly drop them to my lap.
    â€œTell me about the stupas,” he says.
    â€œThe bell-shaped stones in which meditating Buddhas sit in quiet bliss contemplating the world? They are part of the temple.”
    â€œYou’ve seen them?”
    â€œMany times.” They are a piece of paradise overlooking Yogyakarta.
    â€œHow many are there?”
    â€œSeventy-two, if you do not include the largest one in the middle.”
    He rises abruptly and I look at Clunet. Have I said something wrong?
    â€œCome,” Guimet says.
    I exhale and Clunet and I share an uneasy glance. We follow himinto an antechamber. The dark velvet curtains are drawn and the air is cool. In large glass cases illuminated books are displayed. He walks to one work in particular and stops. I recognize it immediately.
    â€œ The Kamasutra ,” I say. A book of sex, and this particular volume contains explicit pictures. I move closer to Guimet and begin to read in Malay, the language my barbarian husband hated with such ignorant passion. I make certain to catch his eye each time I pronounce an evocative word.
    After I fall silent, Guimet immediately asks, “Is this book truly held sacred in India?”
    â€œIn certain places, yes.” I gaze deeply into his eyes. “Very much so.”
    He nods and I know he is imagining himself in such places, with lovers capable of gravity-defying sexual positions. Although, in fact, the book is largely about virtuous living.
    â€œWhen you danced in the temple, what did you wear?”
    I look briefly at Clunet. We did not discuss this earlier. “When one dances for Shiva, it is done in the nude. Of course, jewels are like offerings to the gods. They never interfere with the sacredness of the dance. Unlike clothing.”
    I enjoy Guimet’s shock. And from behind me, I can feel Clunet’s approval like warm light. Guimet sweeps back a velvet drape to reveal an astounding collection of jewels: stunning necklaces, bracelets, and a ruby-studded brassiere.
    â€œThis piece is from my last trip to India.” He hands me the silver brassiere. I touch it reverently, holding it up to my chest, pinning his eyes to me.
    Clunet breaks my spell in a clumsy instant. “Is that insured?”
    Guimet pulls his gaze away from my chest and claps Clunet on the back with a sigh. “Everything’s in order.” He turns to me, his new confidante. “He’s a good lawyer, Mata Hari. Always concerned. But does he have an eye for beautiful things? Does he appreciate artand the East like we do? Why don’t you select your favorite pieces to wear for your performance at the launch of my library?”
    I pretend to hesitate.
    â€œPlease,” he says. “I insist.”
    I caress necklaces of gold encrusted with gems. Run my fingertips along silver so pure it’s white. I hold twisted pieces of bronze in my hand, weighing the history in them. In the end, I choose Guimet’s favorites: the brassiere, two snake bangles, a diadem that has pride of place in its own case, and a necklace that—as Guimet observes—will hang at “a lovely length” between my breasts. I pass my selections to Clunet and he locks the jewels in a long metal case.
    â€œMy new library is across the street,” Guimet says. “It is both a house and a museum; I’ve recently added a second floor. It’s home to my greatest collections, gathered from all over the