Letters from Yelena (18 page)

The audience’s fervour was such that we came back for eight curtain calls. And you may be surprised to hear this, Noah, but for once I did not shy away from enjoying it. I had been so
immersed in getting it right that I had never thought of the sheer elation I would feel if I managed it. I had considered, in intricate detail, what it would be like to fail – but never this.
I felt every part of my soul sing with delight, because deep down I knew that nothing could affect this moment of triumph. I had faced my own legion of personal demons, and beaten them. When it had
seemed that I could no longer resist the forces of darkness, I had just continued to dance until they were finally overcome. As I retreated from the stage, I knew that I had guaranteed myself a
second night in the role, when you would be there to see me. A second night that would be mine to enjoy.

When I stepped into the wings, Michael seized my arm. He held my left cheek in the cup of his hand.

‘Astounding,’ he said. ‘Simply astounding.’ I looked around to see the
corps de ballet
beside him, all still slightly breathless, jumping up to applaud me. In my
dressing room as I sat amongst the huge bed of flowers, I didn’t recognise the slim woman in the mirror with the huge smile on her face. I picked through the lush array of flowers and
couldn’t help looking for one signed with your name. I found a bunch of snow-white lilies, with ‘See you tomorrow, N’ scrawled on the attached card. I felt ecstatic. Ecstatic and
tired.

My last night as Giselle was an entirely different proposition. Having got it right once, I’d alleviated most of the pressure. I even enjoyed the brief rehearsal that morning. Alina was
far less competitive, having seemingly acknowledged that she had had her moment. In practice, Michael was softer, as if not wanting to upset whatever alchemy had induced the last performance. After
Alina, Erin and Eve had gone home, Michael and I stayed on to fine tune a couple of moves. And then it was time to sleep, in a home that felt more comfortable than ever.

By the closing night, my body was starting to rebel. It had grown intemperate during the sustained rigours I had put it through on tour, and I took a couple of painkillers before the
performance. There were queues around the block to see my final show, and even with the spirited ticket bartering, many were left disappointed.

Hearing the clamour outside my dressing room, I felt like a true ballerina for the first time. Dabbing on makeup, I now fully understood the aesthetics and demands of the job. I knew that I
could draw from something personal to make the role dramatic, and I knew I had trained so hard technically that I could fulfil those requirements too. That night, charged with success perhaps, I
felt ready for the life of a dancer. Alina, once  so  aggressive  and  attention-seeking  in  her  dancing, was calmer, more generous, and my Albrecht was devoted
and loving to the end. I decided to be more sensuous, more assured. My heartbreak was perhaps slightly more aesthetic at the end of the first act, and I kept something back for myself. I simply
could not go through that torrid heartbreak in quite the same way again. But wanting to imbue the second night with something special, in the second act I imagined Noah that you were Albrecht. It
was at the close of the first act, just before the spiral into madness that I saw you, sat just on the edge of the orchestra pit. The idea came to me then. And when the curtain rose for the second
time, I imagined that you and I were Giselle and Albrecht dancing. Of course, I did not know at the time how much that dance would represent what would happen between us. I had only just overcome
the intoxicating challenges of the role, and at that moment I would not have had the strength to even begin to fight the spectres that were about to encroach on me. But I had seen in you someone
like me, fighting for something that they suspected was a lost cause. As Albrecht grieved over the death of someone he lost through his own betrayal, I too felt that you would grieve over something
you’d lost – the hope of a nourishing love perhaps. The piece seemed to predict not only my future sufferings but yours as well. As Giselle danced to save him from death I felt I too
was dancing to give you hope. I felt as if I had risen from the grave, the grave of silence that I had long buried myself in. And when my dancing had finally fought off the spirits, and saved you
from death, I shot you a glance. How, through the dance, I became able to map out our lives, is beyond me. I had searched out this medium as a way to create something that resonated in time, and
somehow I had succeeded. When, at the finale, I felt I had overcome those obstacles I wanted you to see that it was possible. The look you returned seemed to acknowledge that it was. And yet we
could never have spoken of this strange and secret dialogue. How could we ever have possessed the tools by which to do so?

I wondered if you had seen what I was privately doing up there in front of all those people. The strange and mysterious dialogue I was undertaking with my past and my future. Only art can allow
us such vague and resonant interactions. That night I didn’t dance to seduce you, I danced to save you. And I did not yet know it, but the act of saving you would herald the moment the season
ended, thereby bringing to a close a difficult but triumphant chapter in my life.

Love,

Yelena

Dear Noah,

How could you worry that I might have felt overwhelmed by your last letter? You needn’t ever think that your interest in my life could seem excessive. I had never been
able to thaw out the frozen river inside me for anyone before I met you, but now that I have it is all there for your consumption, Noah. And besides, you know how the details of your life fascinate
me.

I remember that when
Giselle
finished you went out of your way to collect all the press cuttings you could find from my two nights. Every time we met you seemed to have another one. I
didn’t recognise the pale woman in the photos, she looked like a frightened fawn from a fairy tale, her body barely covered by a white tutu. I was keen to put that chapter of my life behind
me, as a triumph I could recall if I wanted to. I couldn’t help but be reminded of it intermittently though. After  all,  you  insisted  on  quoting  the 
articles  whenever you could. A favourite of yours was
The Observer: Yelena Brodvich was born to play Giselle. Her performance was a triumph.
And you’d always follow the quote by
saying, ‘He’s never given
me
notices like that. Or even at all.’

I remember my last morning at the studio, yes. It brought to an end one era and heralded the start of another, one that would offer challenges that I could not have foreseen.
Giselle
had
just ended and that morning, for the first time, the studio seemed  like  a  playground  to  me.  It  always  surprised  me that you found that studio
such an evocative place. To me that glass panelled building simply represented work. That building represented the ultimate challenge to me because not only was it where I had honed Giselle, but it
was also where I first struggled to connect with the dancers in my company. At first it felt as if a desert stretched out between them and me, a desert where language, culture, idealism and
temperament floundered. And yet the desert did not only exist on that plane, it existed too on the endless expanse of the dance floor.

When I first began training there the sheer vacancy of the dance floor overwhelmed me, but it is only with fire, passion and a loss of the ego that one can emerge from them with dignity.
Self-consciousness is no longer important when you are on the dance floor. Do you feel self-conscious when you write? It occurs to me how similar an empty dance floor is to a blank page, both wait
lethargically for someone to come and ignite them. They are often brutal with their demands; although when those demands are dropped how wonderful it is to use that space as you wish. To write and
to dance without purpose, simply because you enjoy being in the act. That was how I felt the day after Giselle ended.

The light from the high windows of that dancehall usually made  the  unblemished  floor appear  intimidating,  but  that day the luminescence excited me. The light
now marked out parameters of possibility; how exhilaratingly wide they seemed. That day, for the first time in my life, I danced out of sheer pleasure. I’m glad you were there to be a part of
this new chapter of my life.

I see now how accustomed you already were to that world, even without having visited it. There is an imperceptible gulf that dancers and writers traverse when they begin to work. With their head
down, mute to the indifference of the world, throwing themselves into a task without a thought for themselves. They often fail, and they often fall down. They smear their sheets and kick at the air
in protest. And then they stand on the precipice again and wait to leap across a divide that many don’t know exists. The last we see of them, as they brace themselves for the fall, is the
final moment when they gather themselves before diving once again. Every time, blindly trusting they can make something beautiful out of their next descent.

It was Erin’s birthday, and the studio was empty except for her, Michael and me. The July heat made the air outside the studio shimmer, and the surrounding city became beguiling and
enticing. The vast, metal doors to the studio were open and you were stood outside, leafing through your red notebook, and as I approached, I could hear the strains of OutKast’s
Miss
Jackson
. I greeted you with a kiss. You and Michael conferred, his hand on your shoulder as Erin turned the music up. I stripped down and began to dance.

That was the summer Erin introduced me to R&B. I instantly loved that sensual, glacial music, perfect for nights of cocktails and flirtation. That morning Erin taught me how to bump and
grind to Justin Timberlake, and Michael laughed at the sight of two Principal ballerinas dancing like that. Erin taught me how to grind my hips, the two of us dancing to the rolling, melodic music
until our bodies were covered in a sheen of sweat. We had the whole summer ahead of us, and we couldn’t stop giggling.

‘If you like this sort of music,’ she said, ‘then there’s a club you must come to tonight.’

‘I’d love to,’ I said.

Afterwards I came over to embrace you, surprised that you didn’t blanch at my shining, panting body. My hair was pinned above my head, and one leg of my tracksuit was rolled up around my
thigh. ‘She’s not bad, your girl,’ Erin said. ‘Are you coming out tonight for my birthday too?’

‘Of course,’ you answered.

That night, I was able to enjoy the city for the first time. I had seen how, as the weekend approached, the city built a unique melody. By Friday the girls were in their finest dresses, and the
streets were throbbing in one lilting song. It swam around the city walls, and I so badly wanted to discover the source of that sound.

We all met at a faux-exotic bar, on a roof garden high above the city. It seemed full of painted mouths, lustrous plants and elegant limbs. As I arrived, it occurred to me that some people lived
their whole lives in places like this. My life had so far demanded I move from one precise venture to the next, never pausing to enjoy an atmosphere.

Erin, Eva and I were in our best summer dresses, and we headed out to toast the end of the season. We’d knocked back a few shots by the time I saw you moving towards the bar. Your friend
Nick was at your side, and you were laughing as you met my eye. This would be the first time I would see you in your element, as a creature of the night. I saw the way you gripped Nick’s arm
as you laughed with him, just like you were brothers. I saw the way you effortlessly moved amongst all the women greeting you at the bar. How keen they were to be draped over you, photographed with
you. How readily they laughed at any humorous intonation in what you said. Erin nudged me as Nick made his way over to us, with you just behind him.

‘My friend Noah claims that he knows you girls,’ he said. ‘And that it would be alright if we sat with you. But if he’s lying we can easily go somewhere else.’

‘Well, there isn’t much room here,’ I said, trying not to smile.

Nick turned round. ‘Noah, she says she doesn’t know who you are.’ He turned back to me. ‘I’m sorry, he does this all the time.’

You came past him, laughing as you kissed me on the cheek. ‘Yelena, this is my friend Nick. Nick, Yelena is a ballerina from the Ukraine. Yelena, Nick is an idiot. And a film
maker.’

‘You’re a ballerina? How interesting,’ Nick said. ‘How long have you been in England?’

I remember that you and I kept our eyes locked on each other as I answered. Soon he had caught Erin’s attention, and he started to untie balloons from nearby moorings, to offer her as
birthday presents.

I felt your arm curl through mine. ‘Are you relieved now that it’s all over?’

‘I am. It’s kind of strange,’ I said. ‘For the first time in my life I feel I can really let my hair down.’

‘Starting from tonight,’ you said, with a smile.

As the people swirled around us, you kept your attention focused on me. You asked where I had found the distinctive silver ring I wore on my right hand, and I told you that Inessa had bought it
for me just before I left home, and I hoped it was the first step in us growing closer again after our childhood, how we had grown more comfortable with each other once she started working with my
Uncle Leo. I told you my plans, of where I wanted to travel, of how I wanted to be a choreographer one day when all this physical work was no longer required of me. I remembered wishing all my
intentions were like yours, sharp as arrows, apparent to anyone present. As we talked, I finally felt like the woman people had always described me as. I had never recognised her in my own
self-image before, but your attention made it all fit.

‘Where are we going tonight then?’ Erin asked, over the music. ‘The club won’t get going until half eleven at the earliest.’

‘I’m having a few friends over for a party at mine,’ Nick said. ‘We’ve just finished wrapping a film I was working on so we thought we’d have a few
celebratory drinks. And with you three also having a cause for celebration as well I’m thinking…’ He weaved his fingers together, biting his bottom lip.