"Many men are deeply moved by the mere semblance of suffering in a woman; they take the look of pain for a sign of constancy or of love." -Honore de Balzac
I recently had the opportunity to attend an event during which scenes were enacted. A confusing group of four, then a young woman with a man clearly not her own...all of it seemed a bit...dull.
Then a man and a woman entered the stage. He started slowly, working up in both instrument and intensity. At the end, the crack of the whip stung my ears. As I watched her face, watched her manic and uncontrollable laughter...her strange hand movements as if to grab this moment out of the air, a friend leaned over to whisper that it was almost disturbing to watch. I nodded, half aware of what my friend was saying, I was so intent on watching the woman cross from reality to this place she'd gone.
Her head was slightly tilted to one side, and her eyes were cut in the same direction, looking at a point in space just over our heads. Her gaze did not waver, no matter how sharp the blow or how strong her reaction. I could see the welts forming.
My friend's words finally sank in, and it occurred to me that yes, it was disturbing, but only because I so wanted to be on the receiving end of that whip.
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