“I understand,” he said, trying to cushion his fall.
“No . . . Yuri, I would like to see you again. But I’m leaving tomorrow for the Black Sea. I’ll be gone for some time.”
“Oh . . .”
She lay her hand on his arm in a gesture, incredibly intimate for all its simplicity. “Do call on me when I return.”
Later, when he told his friends about the meeting, their reactions surprised him.
“You’ve never heard of Countess Zhenechka?” said Kozin. “But, I forgot, you had yourself practically entombed in that university.”
“I don’t understand,” said Yuri.
“Listen, Yuri,” said Vladimir, “Countess Zhenechka has . . . well, a bit of a reputation, if you know what I mean. Of course, we here in Petersburg only know the half of it since she spends a great deal of her time in Moscow, but I have heard that she is—”
“Don’t say it, Vlad!” Yuri interjected harshly. “I don’t want to hear it.”
“I won’t say she is a fallen woman, Yuri, but she is extremely modern. She goes out with men unchaperoned. I’ve heard she even drives a motorcar.”
“I never thought you were such a prude, Vlad. Those things are hardly immoral.”
“Leave him be,” said Kozin. “She’s beautiful and rich. Who cares about her reputation?”
“You have no idea what you are talking about,” retorted Yuri. “It’s because of people like you, spreading wild rumors, that decent women like Katya are ruined. You should be ashamed of yourselves.”
He left his friends in a huff, forgetting to offer them a final thanks for their part in his attending the Youssoupov party. He had met an angel tonight, and he’d never believe any slanderous remarks about her.
16
“You are doing what?”
“I’m going to the Crimea tomorrow.”
Andrei shook his head with disgust. “What about Talia’s performance? You can’t miss it.”
“She’ll understand.”
“I’ve never seen you so anxious to see Grandfather before,” sneered Andrei.
“Andrei, I’ve met a girl—a wonderful, beautiful girl. I have less than two weeks left of my holiday before I have to start working at the hospital. If I don’t go now, it could be months before I will see her again.”
“And when did you meet this girl?”
“Yesterday at the Youssoupov party.”
“Youssoupov? No doubt she is some aristocratic—”
“Don’t start, Andrei! Because no matter how hard you try to hide it, you are an aristocrat also.”
“All right. Let’s not get into that. But will you devastate Talia for a girl you’ve only known one day? You are more self-centered and crass than even I thought.”
“This girl is different. She is the girl I plan to marry.”
“Love at first sight, eh?”
Yuri ignored the mockery in his brother’s tone. “I’m going to go talk to Talia now.”
“You’ll never get in; you know how they are at that ballet school.”
“That’s why I’d like you to come along.”
“Me!”
“I need some moral support.” That was hard to admit considering Andrei’s response thus far, but Yuri knew it would go easier with Talia if Andrei was there. Besides, the element of intimidation afforded by Andrei’s size and bearing could impress upon the school officials and perhaps get them in easier.
In the end Andrei agreed to go, as Yuri knew he would. Despite their many differences, they were still brothers . . . and friends.
The ballet school was a few blocks off Nevsky Prospekt, down a quiet street that bore all the characteristics of a place that didn’t want to be bothered with the strife and demands of the real world. The first obstacle presented to these two outsiders was the closed and locked outer door of the school. But they didn’t have to stand there long, wondering how they would get past this barrier. As a young student exited, Andrei rushed up the steps and grabbed the door before it could close automatically and lock them out again. Slipping quietly inside, they found themselves in a small outer room with a few chairs, which the brothers knew to be a visitor’s waiting room. They had waited there twice before to meet Talia. But then, unlike now, they had been expected.
Yuri hitched back his shoulders and tried to look the aristocratic doctor that he was. He spoiled the effect, however, when he glanced at his brother for confidence. Andrei shook his head and smirked, then took the lead himself and strode into the next room where they met their most formidable barrier yet. She was a petite, gray-haired lady whom Andrei had once nicknamed the Gray Cossack. As the school receptionist, she took her job as seriously as an Imperial Guard.
“How did you get in here?” she asked in an ominous high-pitched voice.
Andrei said with authority, “My employer”—he indicated Yuri with a nod—”Prince Yuri Sergeiovich Fedorcenko, wishes an interview with one of your students.”
Yuri smiled to himself. He knew that what Andrei was doing went against his political grain, and it made Yuri that much more grateful to his brother. Yuri tried harder to keep up his part by striking a haughty pose. He hoped the woman didn’t recognize them, but he didn’t see that it would matter if she did.
“Has he made previous arrangements?” asked the woman. She shuffled through some papers. “I don’t see his name on my list.”
“An emergency has arisen.”
“A death in the family?” Her tone made it clear that anything less would be unacceptable.
Andrei snorted derisively. “Do you think he would trouble the school for something trivial?”
The Gray Cossack tilted her head back and studied the two young men. “You’ve been here before.”
“Of course we have.”
“Who do you wish to see?”
“Miss Sorokin, Prince Fedorcenko’s adopted sister.”
“You say this is a family emergency—”
“Never mind this!” Yuri interceded sharply. “I do not have to stand for this cross-examination as if I were some subversive. I’ll just go see the grand duke. Come along, Andrei.”
“Which grand duke might that be?” asked the woman, the threat diminishing from her voice.
“What grand duke contributes most to this school?” Yuri couldn’t have answered that question himself, but he felt fairly certain some grand duke must support the school. He prayed the woman pressed no further.
“I don’t think there will be a need for you to bother him,” she said. “You wanted to see Miss Sorokin, correct?”
Yuri and Andrei nodded.
“Please have a seat in the waiting room.” The Gray Cossack lifted her telephone receiver.
As the brothers settled themselves to wait, Andrei said, “Yuri, under no circumstances must you tell Talia why you are going to the Crimea.”
“And why not?”
“She wouldn’t understand.”
“Talia? She’d be the first to cheer me on. You know what a romantic she is.”
“For an intelligent man, you are incredibly dense.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing. I just think—”
But just then a side door opened and Talia entered the room. She looked pale and her large eyes were even larger than normal, filled with fear. They stood as she entered and she rushed toward them.
“It’s Mama, isn’t it? She’s dead.”
Suddenly Yuri realized his and Andrei’s scheme had not been very well thought out. They had never considered what Talia would be told.
“Your mother is fine,” said Yuri reassuringly.
“Not your mother . . .” Talia gasped.
“Everyone is fine. No one is sick or dead.”
“But—”
“We’re sorry, Talia. We were just trying to get past the Gray Cossack. We didn’t think—”
“I didn’t think,” said Andrei. “It was my scheme. Forgive me, Talia.”
A sob bro
ke through Talia’s fine, soft lips and tears came in a rush. Yuri placed his arms around her and patted her head, trying to comfort her.
“There, there, Talia dear,” he cooed. “Come and sit down.”
“I hate to think what you would have done if one of us had been dead,” said Andrei, in an obvious attempt to lighten the situation. Talia only cried more.
“In those few minutes,” she said through her sobs, “my whole world ended. My mama and Aunt Anna, and you two—” She sobbed again. “You’re all I have.”
“You have your career,” said Yuri, trying desperately to lift her dismay.
“Don’t you know I’d give it all up, throw it all away, for you? It’s just something to do, it’s not my heart and soul.”
No one could respond to that. They just sat quietly for several minutes as Talia collected her emotions. Yuri reproached himself again and again for what he was about to do and wondered if he could go through with it. But he kept trying to convince himself that she would understand. Nevertheless, he began to formulate a plausible lie to tell her. But still he could not find the nerve to tell her his plans.
Finally Talia took a deep, calming breath and said, “Now, why are you two here? Surely this isn’t merely a social visit.”
“Are you going to tell her, Yuri?”
Yuri’s head jerked around. Was there a touch of smugness in Andrei’s voice?
He swallowed. In his mind he conjured up an image of Katya; it wasn’t difficult to do since she had been at the forefront of his thoughts since last night. Her iridescent blue eyes, her hair the color of gold reflecting a vivid sunrise, her throaty, pure laughter . . .
Talia would understand.
“Talia, something has come up and I won’t be able to attend your performance.”
“Oh, Yuri, no!” She looked as if she might start crying again.
“I promised my grandfather I would visit him this summer,” he went on quickly. “He stayed only a short time for my graduation because of that promise. Now, it appears this week and part of the next will be the only time I’ll have off from my hospital work for months. Your performance comes right in the middle of that time, so it will be impossible for me to do both. I wouldn’t even think of doing this to you, but Grandfather is getting old—who can say how much longer he will be with us.”
Yuri felt like a scoundrel, but it was done now. He’d make it up to Talia somehow.
“I see, Yuri,” she said. Did she really?
“I feel terrible about this.”
“You mustn’t disappoint your grandfather. He is an old man.”
“Oh, Talia! You are the best person . . . the best friend! And I’ll never miss another of your performances—”
“Don’t make another promise you’ll have trouble keeping, Yuri.” Her voice was almost too controlled.
Yuri tried not to think about how much he might have hurt her. Someday she would fall in love, and then she’d truly understand.
17
Ensconced in tulle of pale pink that billowed around her like the first tentative clouds of morning, Talia was poised like a statue on the stage. The light that picked her out from the other dancers was dim at first, only gradually brightening as her performance progressed.
Andrei sat in the third row from the front with his mother and Aunt Raisa. Not an enthusiast of ballet, he had waited patiently for Act III of the ballet Coppélia. He had tried to enjoy the preceding acts by viewing it with an artistic eye, seeing shape and color and even texture more than sound and movement. This was not his first ballet, but the fact that this was of particular importance to his best friend Talia made him far more attentive than at other times. He made a real effort to not only make himself sit still for such a long time, but also to appreciate it. He knew that as long as Talia was a dancer, he’d be attending many more ballets.
So, as the light settled on his friend, he prepared himself to concentrate. Before he realized it, he was so caught up in the enfolding scene that he was leaning forward in his seat, eyes fixed, heart pounding.
She was “Dawn.”
Andrei immediately felt from her a certain melancholy of a day as yet unrealized. Her head was bowed, her shoulders slumped slightly, her hands clasped in front of her—her whole bearing was one of sadness, not hope. Was Dawn weary of having to begin another day of unrealized dreams? Or was the dreariness of night simply too encompassing to shake off easily?
Andrei was close enough to see her face, eyes closed with a drawn look of suffering. He sensed the struggle of the character she was playing and felt his own tension rise. He had never truly realized until now what passion had been locked inside sweet, shy Talia. Or was her melancholy real because she was thinking of the empty seat in row three where Yuri should have been sitting?
Then the still figure of Dawn began to move. Her toes, on pointe, shuffled slightly, and her bent shoulders trembled. Andrei held his breath. Her head began to lift and her arms to reach out, physically pushing away the darkness of night. As she moved toward the audience an incredible transformation occurred. The day was victorious over night; the Dawn grew and the frail beauty of the dancer became as powerful as the hope of a new day. Her large eyes opened, glimmering; the expression she wore brightened, and Andrei felt certain the increasing light was emanating from her rather than from some mechanical source.
The sun had risen. And for Andrei, he glimpsed a new facet of Talia that only deepened his love for her.
Following the show, there was a lengthy time of congratulations and praise. The matushkas hugged Talia, and Raisa lost no opportunity to brag about her daughter to passersby in the theater. Everyone said she had stolen the show. Then Raisa and Anna took their leave, the crowd dispersed, and the performers disappeared into their dressing rooms to change.
“Would you wait, Andrei?” Talia asked. “Remember, we talked about going out to celebrate after the performance.”
“That was when Yuri was to be here.”
“I still want to celebrate. I want to be with you.”
He smiled. “Where do you want to go?”
“Most of the performers are going to The Club to await reviews.”
The Club was a cafe about a block from the Maryinsky where the show people often socialized. After Talia changed from her costume into an evening dress of pearl gray satin and lace, she and Andrei walked to The Club. The night was sultry. It had rained earlier in the day, and the streets shimmered under the evening gloaming. A passing automobile drove through a puddle, splashing water onto the sidewalk. Talia and Andrei sidestepped and barely missed being soaked.
“That was a pas de deux worthy of Pavlova and Nijinsky,” Andrei quipped.
“Perhaps you missed your calling, Andrei.”
“Imagine me in tights, flitting around a stage—”
Talia burst out in laughter.
“It’s not that funny,” Andrei said, pretending to be insulted. But on visualizing the ridiculous scene, he, too, erupted into laughter.
They fell on each other in their uncontrollable mirth, and it seemed to grow rather than subside. It took a full three minutes before they had regained their composure enough to start walking again. All the tensions and disappointments and exhilarations of the day were absorbed into the merriment and, at least for a time, healed by it.
“Thank you, Andruska!” Talia was trying hard to recapture the proper reserve of a ballerina.
“For what?”
“I needed so much to have a good laugh.”
“Well, you know you can always count on me for that.”
“I can always count on you—period!” She put her arm around him and squeezed him affectionately. She had no idea what that gesture did to Andrei.
As a man who thrived on impulse, he quickly returned the gesture and neither let go until they reached their destination.
When they arrived at The Club, everyone cheered Talia’s entrance, and she blushed and smiled demurely at the attention. She changed a bit i
n the crowd, seeming to close in on herself. There would be no way that she’d laugh as freely in this group as she had when she and Andrei were alone on the street. She had been different on the stage, too, more like the laughing girl on the street, more animated and alive. Talia was as at home on the stage as she was with her family, Andrei mused. As the enfolding Dawn, it was the only other time, besides with him and Yuri, that Andrei knew Talia to be completely uninhibited and free. In the cafe, he could feel her draw closer to him as if for protection.
After exchanging greetings and words of encouragement, Andrei and Talia found a vacant table for two, near enough to the others so as not to be obviously isolated, but apart enough so that Talia began to relax a bit. They ordered two piroghi and tea. Occasionally they were drawn into the banter of the larger group, but for the most part they talked quietly together.
“Did you see Mama?” said Talia. “I thought she was going to explode.”
“She had every reason to be proud.”
“She hardly knows a thing about ballet.”
“One doesn’t have to know anything about the art to appreciate the beauty and power of your performance. Talia, while that light was on you, every person in that audience was under your spell. It was inspiring. In fact, it’s given me an idea for a painting. I can hardly wait to get home to start it.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “Andrei, when I’m up on that stage, I . . . it’s so hard to describe, but something happens to me.”
“I saw it, Talia. All your timidity crumbles, and that passion I know is in you emerges. It was like rebirth, truly the dawn of a new day, the beginning of spring!”
“I wish you were one of the critics writing the reviews.”
“You have no need to worry. They will shower you with praise.”
“There were times when I knew I was off my mark and when my extension was poor. I fumbled one pirouette—”
“Even you must know, Talia, that the bottom line is not mechanics, but the emotion a performer evokes from the audience. And you did that without a doubt!”
“I didn’t know you had such an understanding of ballet.”
The Russians Collection Page 201