Letters from Yelena (14 page)

As time progressed I saw the unusual manifestations of this pressure on the students. They gradually turned from slight, elegant humans into walking works of art. Poised at all times, utterly
focused. They retained a childlike enthusiasm and a singular dedication, as well as a pretty strong sense of entitlement. I was one of the eldest, and yet there was noticeably no outlet for my
relative worldliness. The students merely supported one another in the moments when they could. When Sunday finally arrived we were usually too tired to do anything other than watch DVD’s or
go for pizza in the nearby square (hunger was a persistent problem, and we all waged our personal wars with it).

But even during those quiet times, the sense of history was ever present. It was in the framed pictures of Nijinksy that watched over us in the studios. It was in the sterile atmosphere of the
canteen at lunch times, where a few slices of fruit were given to sustain you. It made you feel important, worthy of focused attention. It was a new feeling, and one I tried to welcome into the
core of my being.

On the few occasions I was able to leave the academy I would often walk, pulling my tattered coat around me to protect me from the cold. I liked to take the short walk to the Church of Spilt
Blood, and though I didn’t feel able to pray there I found the powerful, orthodox sense of calm there nourishing. I would then cut into the Mikhailovsky Gardens, where performing musicians
once drew in great crowds before it was banned. That perhaps explained the sense of absence that pervaded there. It was the start of autumn, and the secretive wind that swept around the trees
confirmed that this was where I should be. Cast against the attainments of history, battling to assert myself. I would mutter to myself, and giggle amongst the trees, and wonder what I had done to
bring myself here.

At night, a curious feeling would arise in me the moment the lights were turned off. I began to long for something, but I didn’t yet know what it was. The days were streaking by in a
flurry of pain and expectation, but despite my newfound sense of purpose I still felt lost. Where exactly did I belong? I had only ever wanted to escape from home, and to do so I had needed a
destination. But this was clearly not a new home, simply a means to an end. Sometimes, when tiredness got the better of me, I felt a pulsating sense of anxiety. Could I really get through these ten
months? What was all this leading to? Sometimes I feared that having got what I wanted, I now felt more lost than ever. Being here didn’t answer my questions, it only provoked me to ask new
ones. But at least it was something. And at least I now felt able to ask questions, even of myself, with a clear and crisp voice.

Living with the other students, I was unable to employ my usual strategy of wilfully isolating myself in order to focus upon a goal. I saw that the next issue I had to address was how to endure,
and perhaps even enjoy company. The difficulty was that Bruna was still a part of my inner audience, assuring me that any moment I would be found out. This made being sociable even harder, as I
tended to feel that being in the company of others meant I was distracted. But I knew something must change, and so I started to try and develop a kind voice, which I used to nurture myself during
the gruelling sessions and the nights of uncertainty. I began to self-medicate, banning myself from using words like ‘failure’, ‘fat’ and ‘useless’, and instead
saying under my breath statements like ‘well done’ or ‘keep at it’. Self-loathing was just too easy and I credit the Vaganova for making it redundant as a coping mechanism.
I was determined to purge myself of all self-pity. Self-pity might have driven and nurtured me for many years, but here it would be of no use. I knew that I would never be naturally light hearted,
but I could at least learn to smile and laugh. A ballerina may be exhausted and underfed; her toes may be bleeding, but ultimately all that is of no consequence. She has to learn to smile, because
deep down she loves every second of what she is doing.

The more approachable I looked, the more the other students started to come up to this reticent stranger. The other girls had bonded with one another immediately, and I was determined I
wouldn’t be far behind. Ultimately it was my passion for dancing which brought me out of seclusion. Some of the younger girls admired my dancing and looked to me for advice. I felt so
honoured that they had turned to me that I gave them all I could. Soon I learnt that they too could help me in ways I had not imagined. When all I wanted to do was be alone, they encouraged me to
join them for films and I started to see this was better than isolation. We messed around with makeup, painted one another’s nails, and practiced our
retires
on the radiators. Many of
the girls could still only do this slowly, and with some wobbling. I taught them the technique Natalya had shown me – to take a sharp intake of breath just as you snap your foot into
position. When it spared a couple of them the rod in our next session at the barre, they were very grateful for it. I soon found myself turning to these girls for laughter and comfort instead of
bottling it all inside.

With some of the students looking to me for guidance, my instructors made it clear that I was towards the top of the class, with only a couple of the more expensively trained dancers ahead of
me. I wasn’t only becoming popular in class – a couple of the boys would insist on walking with me whenever we moved between lessons. The Korean girls saw this as more of a compliment
than my European contemporaries, and they encouraged me to start wearing more makeup. I was still cautious around boys though. It seemed ugly to use my body for sex, when I felt its purpose was to
dance. Relationships at the academy were discouraged, and that reinforced the feeling I already had that sex was wrong. My whole thinking about it was negative and restrictive. But some of the more
mature boys at the academy helped me to gradually soften my perspective.

Inessa and I started to write to each other. She was not very good at expressing how she felt in writing, but I guessed at her silences and tribulations. I hoped for the opportunity to get her
away from home, but I knew that in time, she would be perfectly able to do this herself. She said she did not recognise me in the letters I sent her. She said it sounded as if my life had become
very glamorous. Once she even said she wished I could have taken her with me.

Slowly, as my guard came down, I started to enjoy my new life. My preparation for the graduation dance, known as the Sdacha, became my welcome distraction. Teachers began to ask me what role I
would like to dance in it; I would be prioritised along with Freijer, a catlike Danish girl who I grew close to when our joint ambitions presented us with similar challenges. I knew that a high
percentage of pupils would not make it to graduation, but I didn’t fear this. One day, my teacher Massine confirmed that he had picked me to dance the famous
pas de deux
from
Romeo
and Juliet
with a young Argentine called Julio. I had never spoken to him, but I had admired his dancing for some time, and so I thought our partnership might work. I had reasons to be
enthused.

Thank you for allowing me to share these hidden moments with you, Noah. By revealing them through a letter I feel I have  excavated  a  period  of  time 
which  otherwise  would have  always  remained  concealed.  It’s  strange  how  when you open up to someone you assume your candour and their
receptiveness will consistently endure. But writing to you today I see instead how miraculous it is if you ever get to reveal yourself at all; how many people must keep their stories supressed for
the whole of their lives. So you allowing me to express myself more than once causes me to owe you a debt of gratitude that I don’t think I can ever repay.

Love,

Yelena

Dear Noah,

It wasn’t a dancer who first overcame my defences. Rehearsals for the Sdacha had just begun when I met Vlad, a man who flaunted his charms almost aggressively. Difficult
as it might be, I feel I should tell the story of what happened with him. Otherwise a key part of who I am now will remain unmapped.

Although at that time we were all becoming more and more focused, a sense of excitement was also building. All the students were exhilarated to think that we would soon be dancing at the world
famous Mariinsky Theatre. Amongst the elite in St Petersburg, taking your children to watch the ballet there has long been part of a cultural rite of passage. The Mariinsky is an elaborate building
not far from the academy – its exterior a unique blend of blue and green, studded with white pillars. It would be the scene at which many of our ambitions would soon either be fulfilled or
dashed.

As the date of the Sdacha grew nearer we started to hear about the many talent scouts from around the world who would be present at the performance. We knew impressing them would be key to
ensuring a career in ballet. As if this was not enough to take on, as a result of my prominent role I was told that some local culture magazines were keen to interview me in advance of the show.
The largest of these would also be interviewing two other dancers from the Vaganova for an article entitled ‘Tomorrow’s Stars of Ballet’. The journalist assigned to interview us
was called Vlad, and when his name was first mentioned I noticed a frisson go around all those present.

It was on one particularly balmy day in April that I first saw Vlad backstage at the Mariinsky. Rehearsals had now transferred from the studio to the theatre itself, and I had just finished
practicing. For the performance a special, sloping stage had been commissioned to match the floor we had all trained on. Looking out from the stage, the theatre itself was undeniably intimidating,
with its infinite rows of red seats framed by gold stalls that rose to the grand ceiling. The centrepiece of the ceiling was a great chandelier, skirted by painted cherubs. The vast stage,
teetering over the orchestral pit, directly faced the Royal Box. I was stood on the side of the stage, getting my breath back and taking it all in, when Vlad first caught my eye.

We held each other’s gaze until someone called his name. As he turned to respond I took in his profile. He had a high, almost aggressive jaw line, further pronounced by the
half-light  backstage.  He  scribbled  something  in  his  notepad, and while he did so, people came over to him in a manner that suggested his presence was
somehow validating. I was not sure exactly what it was that made people consult him so much, but when I later spoke to him I realised that every movement he made was imbued with an unusual
confidence.

Freijer came over and told me that this young man apparently wished to interview the two of us. He was keen to see our dressing room, and Freijer and I exchanged amused glances. Throughout 
the  interview  I  couldn’t  help  but  be detached and distracted, and at the time I barely noticed how this seemed to intrigue him and make his advances even
more overt. The other ballerinas were vying for his attention, and yet I was treating him with total disregard.

Afterwards, the girls started to make their way to drinks at a nearby bar, and I heard the photographer ask Vlad if he was coming. He loudly said that he would if I accompanied him
and…

Are you sure you want to know these things? I remember how badly it stung me to read about you and Catherine’s past. I’ll gloss over the parts that might be tricky to read, but you
cannot ever be jealous of Vlad, Noah. The only important point to make is that for the first time, I genuinely intrigued someone; at least that was how it seemed. At some point over the course of
the evening we ended up alone together, and he was keen for us to talk into the small hours. And not only talk. I had never known someone be so intrigued by my answers that they expressed a
compulsion to chase the numerous implications within them. I felt helpless, overpowered. It seemed that everything about me amused, unsettled, intrigued him. I told him about Natalya and he wanted
me to physically describe her: how exactly had she inspired me? I mentioned Donetsk, and he wanted to know all about my friends there, what the school had been like to live in. A pithy answer
provoked some minor deconstruction of my personality, and yet however much I dismissed or belittled his attention, every time he implored me to reveal more I felt myself weaken. All the time he
drew physically closer, and all the time I was made to feel that was natural, and not overly intense at all. He was masterful at seduction.

He had this very easy way of being tactile without seeming intrusive. Freijer took me to one side during the course of the evening. ‘You know,’ she said. ‘He is quite a big
deal. I know that he only seems interested in whoever looks to be the next big name, and that’s probably the case, but he’s making quite a name for himself as a journalist. You could do
a lot worse than have him as a boyfriend.’ I laughed the remark off, but there was no denying that his focus on me drew the attention of everyone around me. Suddenly, I was not only a
promising dancer, but a talking point too.

At the end of the night he offered to walk me back to the academy. As he did so, I remember him expressing some jealousy towards me, which I found quite strange. ‘You’re going to be
famous,’ he had said. ‘Aren’t you?’ I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to confirm or deny this. At that moment his eyes narrowed, and I laughed to dispel the tension.
‘If I’m not careful, you’ll outshine me,’ he said. I thought nothing of it. When he asked me if he could take me for dinner that week, I found myself accepting.

He met me at the Vaganova, and he seemed keen to see as much of the academy as was permitted. He had arranged for us to have a choice table at the Rossi restaurant, on the end of my street.

The conversation had a level of intensity I had never known before. The smile when greeting me seemed warm, but was somehow predatory too. The pauses between statements were never longer than
they needed to be. He again pushed for details, but knew when to relent and give me space. All the while, everything was tended to – did I have the right kind of wine? I had never experienced
how on a date a person can anticipate your next response, and always have something ready to intrigue you with next. I know that you don’t like being reminded of another man’s romantic
cunning, but I didn’t want you to think that I yielded to Vlad easily. I didn’t think that the careful appliance of attention might be the actions of a slick salesman. Vlad had done his
research on me, and had decided in advance that he was impressed, regardless of what I said or did. When I in turn enquired about him I always met a curious blank. I see now how clever that was
– in not revealing himself he urged me to strive and understand him. By catching myself in the act, I would therefore think myself taken with him.