Letters from Yelena (31 page)

‘People are watching,’ I said.

‘Twelve weeks,’ you said.

You smiled, and rather disconsolately turned to make your way out of the driveway. I didn’t want to watch you fade into the distance; that would have felt so melodramatic. After all, there
was little reason to mourn. I had these letters to write, with all their secrets, longing and regret.

Two days later, just as you were arriving in Strasbourg, I wrote my first letter. In which I told you about the recurring dream I’d had of when you first watched me dance.

With love from,

Yelena

Dear Noah,

I am still not quite able to accept that in three days’ time you’ll be back in England. I’m glad that the final European leg of the tour has not been too bad.
I know you were worried about Russia after the visa issues last time. I’m glad to hear you’re safe in France now, I know how much you love it there. When you get this, you’ll be
about to head north once more. I hope you’re looking forward to coming home as much as I’m looking forward to seeing you.

Five days ago I moved out of The Cedars and in with Inessa. It’s surprised me just how differently I see the world now that I have been allowed back into it. In the past I just accepted
that the world whirled around me. It felt full of distractions and obstacles. I never took the time to appreciate its colours and vibrancy. Anything I couldn’t immediately contain I saw as a
threat. I see now how that mindset would always struggle in a world of such glorious chaos, in which so much of our happiness is contingent not on expectation, but on perspective. The chaos that I
previously feared, I cannot help but now enjoy. It feels reckless and bold to do so, and that encourages me. My months of denial have given me a hunger for life that I now cherish.

After a couple of weeks of haggling, Inessa and I secured an apartment not far from the quayside. It caters to Inessa’s cultural pretensions well, but I also find it pretty homely. I think
you will approve of it, Noah. It is next to a music venue, and we hear the strains of distant melodies late into the evening. Inessa has filled it with modern sculptures and reproductions of
paintings and already the air is constantly filled with the unique fragrances of her experimental cooking. She is trying to brush up on English culture. Last night we watched Dickens adaptations
and had fish and chips. I’ve never seen her so happy. She keeps taking photos of us undertaking relatively mundane activities, and then texting them to God knows who in the Ukraine.

I enjoy the ordinary pleasures of this fragmented and sumptuous world so much. This morning I went shopping, and I loved being amongst that array of colours, being pulled in by the boisterous
cries of the market traders and then sampling exotic dishes from around the world. I particularly love the walk from the Monument down to the quayside – the misty site of so many of our
delirious adventures. At night I savour the experience of watching the moving water and the glittering skyline. In the dark, the city seems to breathe with laughter and possibility. It feels
incredible to be able to walk amongst it all again.

Still, I have to ease myself gently back into the pool of life. I sometimes wonder about how to live, about what the rules are. To be honest, I still have no idea how I am expected to conduct
myself on a daily basis. I know it sounds strange as I was only away for six weeks, but I sometimes wonder how long it is reasonable to stay in a shop for, how long I can sit alone in the square
without looking odd. It all makes me wonder how you gained the confidence to live a life governed by its own rules. Due to your profession, we both now seem well acquainted with the interiors of
the cracks in society. We must just be cautious enough not to become caught in them.

I found your last letter very soothing. You stated that there were no rules on how to conduct your life. I will get used to that ethos. Any difficulties I currently have adjusting are
overpowered by my new hunger for experience. It’s already led me to enquire about night classes, to go out into the city for drinks with Inessa, to sit in diners and watch the city shake off
its shroud as evening gently arrives. Inessa and I are both learning to seek out enjoyment together. I feel as if the wounds of the past are being gradually treated.

This brings me to our letters. When we first began exchanging them we hoped that they would function as maps of ourselves, maps which would lead us right to the heart of one another. The first
few, we agreed, would probably be successful only as rough outlines and each progressive missive would hopefully fill in more details, plot uncharted territories, and define vague boundaries. But
as the date of your return draws closer it occurs to me that as a consequence of these letters I now exist. I’ve realised that although I can credit you for that development, I must now start
to see beyond you. I understand now what a pedestal I put you on; how I saw you as I someone I always needed to please and keep close. But now I am starting to understand that another person should
never be needed in that way, and that I should look only to myself for comfort.

When the letters began, in the real world I felt like something of a non-entity. I was physically weak, practically lost,  and  emotionally  damaged.  But  through 
words  and letters I gradually rebuilt myself, and I feel proud of my act of reconstruction. If someone held all of the letters I’ve sent to you in their hands, they would be holding the
real Yelena. Far more than they could if they ever tried to lovingly gather up this bag of bones in their arms. In justifying and detailing myself to you, I became flesh and blood. How strange it
is that such thin, weak slips of paper can become durable pillars of a person’s being. And so I can never thank you enough, for provoking me to write these letters. We always feel that those
lonely, cold moments that we experience will continue to exist just inside us; that they will never be brought into the light for consideration by others. I am glad to see now how untrue that is.
The world applies suffering to us in whatever rational and wild methods it sees fit, and yet by chronicling each act of suffering, though it is not always easy, those dark moments cease to be yours
alone.

These letters were intended only for you, and yet now they have been written anyone could read them. Through the exquisitely intimate act of letter writing, my fears have been ventilated one by
one. And so I see why people guard their letters so furiously, because in the end they contain blueprints of themselves.

For my part, I do not feel a need to protect them. They were meant for you, and after that I feel too much gratitude towards them to feel I have a say in their future.

For my part, I must admit that your letters have worked very effectively as maps of you as well. In those crisp, hidden missives, I firmly believe that there enough shards of Noah that I could
put back together, with care, the shattered mirror and present you with your own beautiful reflection. It may surprise you to know that I find the Noah in your letters a beautiful proposition. The
Noah in your letters – particularly in the ones describing the darkness of your working life before you found writing – is a very different Noah to the suave, earnest man I was
introduced to at the launch party. In your letters I have often found you alone, frightened, disappointed and cynical. I take it as no small achievement that I remain more willing than ever to
stand by your side despite that, that in fact I feel more closely bonded to you for it.

When we were finally reunited in the rose garden, we were like foreigners to one another, with no common language. But through this exchange I now feel that we have developed our own language,
and our own comprehensive maps to which we can always refer for the other. How few relationships have that starting-off point? Has it ever occurred to you, Noah, that when we next meet we will be
building from the very place that every couple strives towards? All we have to overcome now is the social awkwardness that’s arisen due to a few months’ separation. Something both our
cultures might tell us is hard to overcome, but a challenge which you and I, with our private reservoirs of courage, both know is relatively small. Finding our way to one another for the first time
was by far the most difficult part. The next and perhaps final step, I think we both know, will be far easier.

If, for that reason, this feels like a moment of revelation, or celebration, then I am glad. But something occurred to me last night, when I awoke from my usual recurring dream of the first time
you saw me dance. That it’s not the journey we described in the letters, which was where the greatest hardship took place. The hardest part was getting to the point where the journey began. I
realised, in the dead of night, that I always recall the moment you first saw me dance in my subconscious because that is the moment I was first discovered. That was the moment that the hardest
chapter of my life drew to a close. I was able to describe my loneliness so precisely from then on, because no matter who separated us or what country you were in, I was never alone.

I feel I have learnt solutions to problems only a few are familiar with, and am already more confident. I feel ready to take on the world by myself, on my own terms, not looking to another for
guidance. Instead drawing from all that I have learnt and now become. By coming to terms with my past I have began to build a secure base for myself from which I can explore the world.

I hope you get to write to me again before you return. I am so excited to see you, Noah. Even if getting to know one another again is a little awkward, knowing how we can be together makes the
challenge all the more worthwhile.

With love from,

Yelena

Dear Noah,

I understand you are now in La Rochelle. Thank you for your postcards, they are now pinned to our new fridge, which hums with domestic joy. It gives me pleasure to see how each
progressive  postcard  resembles  my  current  surroundings more and more, as you draw closer to home.

Going to the theatre on the Sunday of your return sounds like a lovely idea. However, I cannot help but think of Dr Ibarra’s advice, that I adjust slowly to life and do not expect too much
of myself. But the production sounds wonderful, and I would love to go to the theatre again, as it is has been so long. Wait for me there on Sunday night and if I do feel up to meeting you, then
rest assured that I will. There is just so much to adjust to right now!

With all my love,

Yelena

Dear Noah,

I just wanted to send you a brief note. Firstly, to say how glad I am that I did decide to come and meet you on Sunday, and that we are now ready to include one another in our
lives again. Secondly, to say how wonderful your company was, and how much I enjoyed the theatre. And lastly to say, given what happened afterwards, this will most probably be the last of the
letters I will need to write to you.

With all my love,

From

Yelena

Dear Margaret,

I’m sorry it has taken me so long to reply to your letter. The truth is, when I received your package I instantly dropped everything and started to read my mother’s
letters immediately. After a few days of gorging myself on them it feels like only now I am coming up for air.

I can’t thank you enough for handing these letters over to me. When reading them, at times, I finally felt close to my mother. How can I ever explain the value of that to anyone? It was
not always easy to read about the hard times she endured, but it was a very necessary journey for me to undertake. I became able to understand, given the pain she experienced as a young person, why
she found it quite so difficult to be close to me during her lifetime. I have started to stop blaming myself for not being closer to her, now that I have seen the bigger picture. The letters also
allowed me to understand where my name came from, from the one woman who I think first gave my mother hope during her life. I like to think she named me Natalya because when I was born I
represented hope to her too.

Reading the letters I was in fact struck by how fortunate my mother was to have met Mr Stepanov. If she had not, I think she most likely would have gone through life without ever opening up to
anyone. I feel fortunate to have been given this legacy. How often do people strive to completely capture themselves in the written word? There were good reasons why my mother felt she had to do
this. Fortunately, they eventually were of great benefit to me.

Had I known in advance the important role Mr Stepanov played in her life, I would have taken the time to properly thank him when I briefly had the chance. I hope that when he passed away he
understood that he had offered me something I had craved for many years. Nevertheless, his offer would have been meaningless without your support. Between the two of you, you have given me an
understanding of where I came from, and who I am now. It is rare indeed for us to experience such clarity in life. I feel it has cleansed me, invigorated me. Allowed me to lay the past to rest. In
all honesty, I suspect even if my mother had taken the time to speak to me she would never have been able to communicate as candidly as she did in her letters. The wait has been worthwhile, because
it has belatedly allowed all my questions to be fully answered. These letters have allowed me not just to get to know my mother, but to make my peace with her too.

With my warmest regards to you and your family,

Natalya

This is dedicated to Professor Graham Beaumont,
with thanks for his support.