Letters from Yelena

by Guy Mankowski

  There was a spirit amongst the English people that I recognised as my own – perhaps my mother had passed it onto me, and it had lain dormant for many years. When we stayed in Manchester the company director took us for post-performance drinks, and many ended up in the city’s Northern Quarter, knocking back vodkas and dancing to The Stone Roses until the small hours. During those snatched nights I felt freer than ever – as if it was now for the first time okay for me to openly enjoy myself.

  Once we arrived in the north, I was taken to the house that would be my home for this final stretch. It sat just above a gentrified quayside, which reflected the city lights when the sky grew dark. It was my home for now, but after that I had no idea where I would go. A severe looking matron owned the house, and as she waved me into my room I suddenly felt very alone. I put my suitcase on the floor, and felt a kind of rising nausea within me. It soon collected, and knifed into a feeling of distinct sorrow as I suddenly realised I didn’t have a home. It felt so odd to arrive somewhere and to have no-one to call, no-one wanting to know if I had arrived safely. By now I had grown used to not contacting Inessa, for fear of undoing any safety she had secured for herself. I felt unable to contact my father too, as I couldn’t bring myself to accept why he had not done more to protect us as children. Although the hostess at the residence was warm towards me, I also knew that the smiles that ushered me into this room existed purely while I had a function to serve. I saw that once I stepped off the narrow precipice of hospitality afforded me as a Principal, I was utterly alone.

  I opened one of my shoe boxes, in which I kept my most cherished possessions. They were all photos of people I had known in St Petersburg, along with the odd faded photo from my youth. I saw that almost all of my memories related to my work; that for me there was no life without it. I realised then that I had to learn to open up, to overcome my suspicions and move on.

  I continued to unpack, but then gave up and looked out of the window at the city. In the evening light it appeared hunched, cautious, like the rest of the world – a shell that I couldn’t work out how to prise open. It was then that a new fear set in, a fear you would see when you first saw me dance a couple of days later. I feel that what happened after somehow belongs to you.

  But where was I before I plunged back into my childhood, and the journey that brought me to England? Yes, I remember now. I was in your sheets, nuzzled against you, only hours after our first date had begun, with my first performance as a Principal dancer only four days away.

  Erin had danced exquisitely on the opening night of Giselle; however, her second lead performance suffered after the arrival of Alina. It was remarkable how much impact the weight someone’s intention could have. Although Alina never said that she was pursuing the lead role, her every movement and expression implied that she was. As a result, by the third night she had been promoted to the role of Myrtha, Queen of the Wilis. Personally, I felt there could not have been a more fitting role for her to play, as Queen Myrtha has to be cold, aloof and resolute – no matter what. Even when men beg for leniency she has to still command her legion of female spirits to dance them to their death. Something told me Alina would be able to do this.

  Although this casting made for a great performance, it also meant that as my first Principal performance approached, I became increasingly unsettled. She seemed to represent the ghost of anxiety from my early days at the Mariinsky. In her determination to prove herself a more worthy lead, she also represented the ghost of potential failure. It amazed me how fate could blend all my fears into one person.

  During her final performance alongside Erin, Alina terrified me in ways that I could not have envisaged. On stage she was a dark, commanding force of nature. She conveyed the drama of the role by completely embodying it. As she danced men to their death it seemed she was acting not as a result of her own will, but as an agent of nature, as a pawn in a game that she had been unwittingly cast in. I began to fear that I would find it too overpowering to fulfil the demands of my role alongside her. I began to dread the scene in which I would beg her to spare the life of the man I loved, resisting her demand that I join the Wilis. I feared it would not only be the ultimate test of my ability, but the ultimate test of my character too.

  I feared people like Alina, because I was jealous of their surety. I was reminded of her powerful confidence on Erin’s final night in the lead role. During it, Erin looked completely overpowered by her, despite her usually unshakeable veneer, struggling to find her composure in the key scenes. On stage Alina ruthlessly asserted her presence, to the point that when Erin’s Giselle resisted the Wilis it seemed an act of mercy on the part of Myrtha, rather than a triumph. I saw this, but more importantly Michael, and the audience, saw it too. I knew that if an established Principal like Erin could be unsettled by Alina, then one such as me could be completely dismantled.

  Following Erin’s second performance, young Eva was due to take the role of Giselle in the following show. But after Alina’s dominating performance, Michael pulled Eva to one side.

  ‘I am sorry,’ he said, ‘but it is my job to respond to what I see on stage. I have to be sensitive to who is on form. You will not be playing Giselle tomorrow night, Eva. Alina will.’ And with that, Eva had suddenly lost her opportunity to play the ultimate role in ballet.

  Although this only gave Alina one night as Giselle, with my two nights following consecutively on, I knew she would not relinquish the lead without a fight. That evening, I could only watch helplessly as Alina’s performance commanded the stage. Any hopes I had that the dramatic demands of the role would be too much for her were not borne out. In the first act, she played a Giselle who was whiter than white, brutally ravaged by deceit. As the ghostly Giselle in act two she was spectral and yet formidable too. Eva was cast, malevolently perhaps, as Myrtha. Whereas Alina had been imperious in this role, Eva had no such surety. Alina’s presence rendered everyone else as mere supporting fodder. It felt somehow violating to see Alina dance the role I was born to do, on the night before I was due to play it. I had no choice but to put my heart and soul into rehearsals the following day, to prove that I was still worthy of the role. But Alina did all she could to prevent me having my moment.

  It was a Sunday, and the stress of it being the final leg of the tour was starting to show, but Alina’s appetite for success seemed unaffected. She flirted with Michael, she hogged the floor, and she disrupted my sequences by laughing. I desperately hoped that my hard work would allow Michael to still think me as worthy of dancing Giselle, and that these tricks would not be enough to prevent me having my turn.

  During those two days of practice, Michael seemed deeply contemplative, his focus switched constantly between Alina and me. For him, this was a quandary of the highest order. The theatre had only recently been re-opened, and it was essential that the company constantly garner the best reviews. The shows were sold out each night, but a dip in form would affect demand for the next season.

  The personal importance of playing this role was beyond question. It would symbolise to me the possibility of triumph over doubt, failure, and even darkness. And so I approached that opening night like a warrior, ready to fight to the death. And in Alina, all of my adversaries – real or abstract, past or present – were captured in one person.

  You once said that there is nothing more solitary than the act of creativity, but based on my own experiences I would take that sentiment ever further. I would say there is nothing more solitary than the act of achievement. That night, as I prepared for the first time in the brightly lit Principal’s dressing room, I felt completely alone. Though the room was festooned with flowers, I knew that at that moment their presence was entirely cosmetic. Michael had not confirmed the role was mine, but he had not confirmed a change in the casting either.

  I knew that under the circumstances, when I went on stage I would feel more isolated than ever. Fighting tides of fear, wave by wave as they battered like the relentless movements of the Wilis. No-on
e would have a kind or comforting word to whisper in my ear as I took to the stage. Now, at the pinnacle of my achievement, I would have to draw from wells of strength that others did not know existed. That night, people would expect me to be the commanding presence. Alone on that stage, there would be no pause for corrections. If I made a mistake, I would be more visible than ever, under the brutal glare of the lights and the myriad eyes of the audience. If there were any small gaps in my performance, Alina would be there to pull them into gaping holes. And if I was to keep the role for another night, I would need to learn the precise whereabouts of my resources for the moment I needed them.

  Although I feared I would be tested to my limit, I didn’t yet know where my limit was. In the opening act, I was all too briefly the wide-eyed country girl, sprightly and innocent. In the scenes when Albrecht courted me, my heart went so readily to him. I danced as if buoyed by love; I tried to feel untrammelled by doubt. Dancing became an act of seduction, exactly as it was always intended to be. I was dancing to show him my vitality, how young I was, how I had saved myself for him. At that moment I fully believed that those aspects would capture him, and yet my sense of darkness never felt very far away. That being the case, I was still surprised by the sudden pang I felt in the scene where I learnt that Albrecht was engaged. Her other suitor, Hilarion, shows Giselle the badge on Albrecht’s sword and at this moment Giselle is required to suddenly unravel. In that instant something in me unhinged. I suddenly felt very aware of all the women who had danced this role, and how they too had expressed the way it spoke to them. I felt as if I was summarising the pain of all women whose love had been rejected for one more worldlier, more sophisticated than her, the sickening moment when you see how purity counts for nothing. This was the altar on which young desire was recklessly destroyed, and as I danced on it I felt the pain pour out of me. Somehow, I was able to make public the private acts of humiliation I had felt in my past. In dancing to capture my own pain at that moment I expressed it, with total clarity, in front of all of those people. You were not there that night, Noah, and my awareness of that made the experience even more acute, because I knew that you would only get to see me dance as Giselle if I got this right. At the end of that first act, when I died from a broken heart, part of me was glad that you were not there to see it. It felt all too real. I felt the weight of experience bludgeon my twenty-four year old shoulders. I was all too aware, from the bottom of my heart, of how the world worked. That events do not go to plan but you soldier on, maintain your steely smile, and hope no-one has noticed your mistakes. Even when you know that they have seen it all, and that you have probably already lost. I had not made a mistake yet, but I dreaded the moment I would. As I withered on stage, and died from a broken heart, I was grieving at the thought of what would happen when Alina came on stage. And as act one ended, and the applause roared in my ears, there were tears in my eyes. I was already grieving for my inevitable demise.

  In the second act, I came on stage as Giselle’s spirit, awoken by Albrecht’s love as he visits her grave. In this new persona I felt strangely calm, as if I had already lost in having had my heart broken. Albrecht returned to the grave to proclaim his love, his arms brimming with flowers. Then came the haunting pas de deux, where I forgave him for his deception. My partner was gentle, searching and receptive. I remembered how, as a teenage girl, I had sometimes wondered if it was possible to express a love that reached far beyond the day-to-day world we live in. In the intervening years I had never learnt if it was possible to do so, though I had suspected it was. Now I had to do it in front of all these people. I suspected that I would have to go beyond the limits of physical endurance in order to succeed.

  The beauty of this dance was overshadowed by my awareness of the impending moment I had been dreading. The sharp stabs of music from the orchestra, which herald the arrival of the Wilis, headed by the brutal, uncompromising form of Alina. From where I was positioned on stage, it looked as if her narrow eyes had turned black.

  The orchestra trilled and in a flood of movement the Wilis surrounded me. I experienced them as a whirl of white, their small wings flickering manically. My initial resistance of them was not dramatic, but very real. I tried to come to my senses, and remember the role I had to play. First of all I had to resist their insistence that I join them, and then I had to prevent them from dancing my lover to death. I suddenly had to summon all my strength to protect Albrecht from their fatal influence. I looked over at Alina, more severe, commanding and dominant than I had ever feared she’d be. From the stalls it would not have been possible to absorb the look of sheer ruthlessness that she shot me on stage. With a sharp wave of her hand she ordered the Wilis to dance my lover to death, and when I implored her to have mercy she did not even meet my gaze, did not even register I was there. I lay flowers at her feet, begging for her benediction, all the time knowing it was useless, like trying to speak to a hurricane. And then the music started, signalling the moment that I would need to dance to save my lover’s life.

  I felt too weakened, too chastened to dance, and at first I moved sluggishly. I suddenly sensed in Alina’s eyes a look of dark triumph. The dancer playing Albrecht looked over at me, for a second moving out of time as he implored me to start dancing with his hands. And so slowly, far too slowly, I met Alina’s eye. This was my moment to fight back, and at my first flourish I was sharper even than the orchestra. I visibly saw her retract in shock. And then, as I danced amongst the Wilis, begging each of them in turn, my strength started to build. I circled Albrecht, as if trying with mere movement to seal him from their bitter influence. I danced for my life. At the tip of the stage Alina looked nonchalant, as if at most she was bored by my insolence. Her refusal to respond to my movements, even in character, seemed brutally personal. As the orchestra built, I suddenly felt as if I had broken through a wall, and was able to command the stage. I realised I had already been crushed, a long time ago, and for that I was now unbeatable. I had nothing to fear. I simply had to persevere with it, endure the pressure of the moment and see it through. I thought I could hear Bruna laughing, but in the moment I supressed that sound I felt myself begin to triumph.

  My movements stopped being emotional and became poised, precise, as if I was resolute in my convictions. For much of the second act Giselle has to stay en pointe, and summoning all my strength I was able to do this as if it was now the only way I knew how to move. My spins were quick, sharp. I felt no pain; it was as if bodily concerns were now beneath me. I had wanted to play this role for so long that I suddenly embodied it with ease. It was a relief to be Giselle, to be beyond even the reach of death. I looked over to Alina, as the sheer force of my presence rescued Albrecht, and I saw for the first time that she was merely a woman playing a role. She hadn’t found a blueprint of herself as Myrtha, she wasn’t tracing the path of her destiny through playing that character. Aware of what this moment meant to me, I was finally able to see and overcome what she represented. And with that realisation, I had finally vanquished her.

  As the orchestra faded, the audience detonated with applause. In that glorious second I found that it was suddenly all over. I had just danced as Giselle. I remember how the applause roared in our ears, and Alina looked over at me with an expression I had not seen her have before. Albrecht and I took to the stage as flowers rained down upon us. The audience rose from their seats, the lights illuminated us, and we both basked in the moment. I couldn’t help but smile.

  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.