by ILIL ARBEL
“We will be filming tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock,” said M. Danilov. “This is the only day the film crew is available. Do you still wish to come?”
Madame Koska thought for a moment. She really was terribly busy at the atelier… but not only had she promised the inspector to be at the filming, but something was tugging at her consciousness. She was certain she would discover a clue, whatever it would be, at the filming. Still, she would have to rearrange some of her appointments. This would be most inconvenient… She drummed her fingernails on the table and said, “Yes, I vill be there.” She sat at the front desk for a few minutes, musing. Then she picked up the phone and called Inspector Blount, who answered the call himself, an uncommon occurrence.
“Inspector,” said Madame Koska, “the filming is tomorrow at one o’clock. There is one or two things I vanted to arrange vith you before I go.”
“Yes? What would you like me to do, Madame Koska?”
“I vould like you to be at the filming, unknown to anyone, and bring a man vith you,” said Madame Koska.
“I can do that, of course,” said the inspector, “but why? Have you discovered something new?”
“No. But I have a hunch that there vill be an arrest during the filming.”
“Very well, Madame Koska. I will also bring Korolenko, just in case the person I arrest speaks only Russian.”
“Thank you, Inspector Blount.”
“When we last worked together, I learned to respect your hunches,” said the inspector.
Madame Koska laughed, a little apprehensively. This hunch promised nothing but sadness and trouble.
On her way to the theatre the next day, Madame Koska stopped at the atelier. “Miss Van der Hoven, I am leaving now. The afternoon should be quiet since ve rearranged all the appointments, but I am sure you vill be able to handle anything that happens.”
Gretchen nodded distractedly and gazed at Madame Koska, musing. “Why are you dressed all in black on such a lovely afternoon?” she asked. “I would have thought beige, or dusty rose. Why all black so early?”
“I don’t know,” said Madame Koska. “I suppose I vas in a sombre mood. I am apprehensive about the ballet. Seeing Le Spectre de la Rose on the same stage vhere Solange vas killed. Still, you are right, but I have no time to go upstairs and change.”
“I know what to do!” said Gretchen. “Miss Saltykov showed me several hats that came as samples. One of them is a pretty cream cloche with a large pink rose.” She ran out of the room and came back with the perfect hat. With Madame Koska’s white gloves, the outfit became lively and appropriate.
“Very nice effect,” said Natalya, who had followed Gretchen into the room. Madame Koska felt her mood improving, and she cheerfully thanked the girls and went on her way, but she could not really shake off the apprehension and unpleasant expectations.
The theatre was dark and empty, since only the first row was expected to be occupied when the dance would begin. For the moment, everyone was on stage, in preparation. The film crew were pacing back and forth, measuring some distances and fussing over the placement of certain objects. M. Danilov stood at the center of the stage with Tanya Lavrova, discussing last-minute details. The musicians were already in the orchestra pit, tuning their instruments to perfection. Madame Koska wondered how the sound of music would be recorded, since she had no idea how films were made. She looked into the dark cavern where normally an elegant, lively audience would be gathering, chatting and laughing. The silence of the empty theatre was, in contrast, quite eerie.
Turning around, she saw that Victor had come on stage. He seemed his normal self, she thought, a bit vague as always when not dancing, but certainly neither haggard nor faint. Madame Koska felt relieved – obviously, the medications and rest were helpful to the young man. She hoped he would recover and be able to dance for many more years. He was attired in the freshly cleaned pink costume, into which all the roses were reattached. Of course he would do the usual and lose a few roses and petals on the floor, thought Madame Koska, amused. It was a charming part of this wonderful pas de deux, and M. Danilov would love to have it filmed for posterity. Victor’s feet were clad in pink slippers. Strange, thought Madame Koska. Why is he wearing the slippers? Didn’t M. Danilov tell her that Victor was practising dancing barefoot, to get into the habit for the innovative new ballets, starting with Icarus? No, of course he would wear the slippers for this occasion. They were part of the classic Spectre costume… this is how he would want it to appear.
Suddenly, Victor looked around. “Where is Galina?” he asked.
“Galina is in Switzerland,” said M. Danilov. “You know she had been ill for a while and needed to go to a sanatorium.”
“Yes, I know,” said Victor, somewhat agitated. “But I thought she would dance one last Spectre with me, for the film, so posterity can see her.”
“No, no, my boy, she cannot,” said the impresario, kindly.
“You will be dancing with me, Victor,” said Lavrova sharply. “It will be the best Spectre you have ever danced.”
“With you?” said Victor softly. “But… we never danced Spectre together.”
“We will now,” said the ballerina brusquely. “And everyone will love it. Lavrova and Parizhsky, their first Le Spectre de la Rose together, for future generations.”
Victor stood motionless for a minute. His big black eyes were thoughtful, assessing the new situation.
“Very well,” he said. “We will dance, of course. But Sasha, I must go for a minute to my dressing room. I forgot to take one of my medications, and the doctor said they keep me strong if I wish to dance.”
“Don’t delay too long,” said M. Danilov. “The crew will want to start filming very soon.”
“No, it won’t take any time, Sasha. I just want to swallow this medicine.”
It took about ten minutes for him to come back. Danilov and Lavrova seemed annoyed. The film crew left the stage and went further into the darkness where their equipment was waiting. Madame Koska left the stage and settled at the front row, ready to watch.
Finally Victor reappeared on the stage and went to Danilov and Lavrova. “I am ready,” he said. Danilov motioned him to take his place behind the opened “window” in the wings. Lavrova followed him. The orchestra began to play the short introduction and Madame Koska suddenly realised that Victor was not wearing his slippers. What could that mean? She wondered. First he wore them, then he did not… strange. But how can it be significant in any way, and who is telling him when to wear them and when not to? Did he suddenly remember that he wanted to practise dancing in bare feet? Surely this occasion was not one for experiments?
Suddenly, in a flash, Madame Koska knew exactly how Solange died, in every little detail. All the pieces fell into place and the scenario of the murder became so clear that Madame Koska could not believe that she had not seen it long ago. But could she prove it? Who would believe it unless it happened again? And in a second wave of shock and horror, Madame Koska knew it was about to happen, right there in front of her. But she was helpless to act – she had to wait, in agonising tension, for the first indication.
The young girl caressed and dropped her rose on the floor and sank into her chair, falling asleep. The Spectre leapt from the window, light as a feather, landing softly on the stage and dancing around the sleeping girl. Madame Koska felt a tight knot in her stomach and her throat became dry and constricted. It was almost the end of the performance. The Spectre kissed the sleeping girl, and in a few seconds he would make the final leap through another “window.” After that, the girl would wake up and pick up the rose. And Madame Koska saw the Spectre do a tiny, but incongruous move with his foot.
Madame Koska jumped to her feet and screamed, “Stop the show! Stop the filming! Tanya, don’t touch the rose!” The whole company present froze in their seats, and Victor turned to Madame Koska and smiled. “How clever of you, Madame Koska!”
Madame Koska could not talk. She could hardly breathe. Her throat was
entirely shut and she was trembling all over.
“What the hell is going on?” said Danilov, looking at Madame Koska as if she had lost her mind. “Why are you doing this? Do you realise how much it will cost?”
“At least it won’t cost the life of Tanya Lavrova,” said Madame Koska, recovering her voice. As always when terribly upset, she forgot to change her W’s into V’s. At that moment, Inspector Blount advanced from the dark back of the theatre with another policeman. They walked on stage and stood near Victor, who was gazing at them with mild surprise. “Where did you come from?” he asked the inspector.
“Victor Parizhsky, I am arresting you for the murder of Solange Forestier,” said Inspector Blount. “You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later…”
“Wait a minute, Inspector, please,” interrupted Madame Koska. “Let me talk to him.”
“But we have to stay next to you, Madame Koska,” said the inspector. “I am about to arrest him.”
“Of course,” said Madame Koska. “But you know he is not dangerous to any of us. Let me just speak to him for a few moments.”
“Very well,” said the inspector. Madame Koska turned to Victor who was standing placidly, not saying anything. M. Danilov was standing a short distance away, seemingly too shocked to say or do anything.
“My dear boy,” said Madame Koska softly. “You really must tell me why you killed Solange.”
“Oh, you know about Solange?” said Victor, surprised. “I thought no one knew.”
“Yes, I know,” said Madame Koska. “And you must tell me, because everyone thinks Madame Danilova killed her.”
“What?” cried Victor, his face turning bright red. “Why would they think that? No, I killed her! Galina is a saint, she would never hurt anyone!”
“You love her very much?” asked Madame Koska.
“She is like a mother to me,” said Victor, now sobbing openly. “She is the only one in the world who understands me. She is an angel, a fairy, a pure spirit!”
“So you killed Solange for her?” asked Madame Koska.
“Yes. Sasha wanted to replace Galina. He thought she was getting older, and he wanted a young girl to take her place. I could not allow that. I knew Galina would suffer if she could not dance.”
“But you know this was not the case at all, don’t you? You know the truth is that Galina is sick with tuberculosis, and had to go to get the cure?”
“I did not know it then… I only found out after I killed Solange, and then when I realised my mistake, everything went black, just a huge black pool, and I fainted, and when I woke up, I was at the hospital. I don’t remember much of what happened in between, Madame.”
“So how did you kill her? I don’t want to hurt you, my dear, but if I don’t know the details, they may never believe it, and they may keep Galina in jail forever, or maybe even execute her.”
Victor started trembling, his face white and strained. “I will tell you everything, Madame Koska. Everything. Just make sure that they don’t hurt Galina. I’d much rather they execute me.”
“They will not do so, my dear. You are not well, you will have to stay some time in a nice hospital, and be taken care of, but no one will hurt you, I promise.”
“But I will never dance again, will I?”
“I don’t know, Victor. Do you want to dance?”
“Yes, I want to dance. That is all I want in the world. But I will accept it as my punishment. You know I fly, don’t you? When I do the grand jeté, or any elevation, I don’t fall to earth like other people?”
“Yes, I know that. When I saw you rehearsing for Icarus, wearing these wings, I knew you could fly.”
“Icarus,” said Victor thoughtfully. “His wings were clipped. Mine will be clipped, too. I deserve the punishment.” He put his head in his hands and seemed to drift into another world.
Madame Koska stroked his hair gently. Poor Icarus, she thought. Poor, insane boy. He will never fly into the sun again.
“Now tell me everything,” she said, pressing his hand. “We must save Galina.”
“I could not stand it. I was so confused, my mind felt on fire. I kept seeing these big dark eyes looking at me from everywhere, and I was hearing voices that told me to save Galina’s place. I had to kill Solange. I thought if I killed her, Galina would not be banished.”
“So how did you kill her? You were on stage with her all the time!” said Madame Koska. The young man looked at her with agonised eyes. It was as if they were entirely alone – the people around them were silent.
“I had a vial of poison which I had kept for years. You see, I had been thinking, on and off, about suicide. When I became a great success, I forgot about it, but when I wanted to kill Solange I remembered it.”
“And it never occurred to you that once Solange was gone, M. Danilov would find another dancer?”
“No, I was not thinking very clearly. I just knew I had to kill her. I thought about the plan carefully, though. It involved the silk roses. You know, there is a rose that the girl brings from the ball, it falls to the floor when she sleeps, and she picks it up and smells it at the end of the dance. If that rose could be poisoned, I would accomplish the murder on stage, and no one would suspect me. So, I had to find a way to substitute a poisoned rose that the girl would pick up. During the dance, some petals and a few roses always fall to the floor, so if I kept one silk rose from a previous performance, while the others were removed to be reattached to the costume, I could poison it. I attached it, loosely, to my arm band, tied with a bow. All I had to do was pull on the string, and the rose would fall on the floor.”
Madame Koska looked at Madame Lavrova. This was the exact way she had advised Natalya and Gretchen to attach the roses to the silk hat… a stage trick. Lavrova nodded, understanding the question in Madame Koska’s eyes. The great ballerina was crying silently and Madame Koska felt for her.
The inspector looked at Madame Koska. “But how could he exchange the roses?” he asked. “The whole audience would see him bend down to do so.”
“That is why he danced barefoot, Inspector. Madame Danilova revealed to me that his secret for the long ‘flights’ when he was doing the grand jeté was that his toes were exceptionally strong. He would land on his toes instead of on the ball of the foot, like other male dancers do, almost as if he had toe shoes and danced en pointe. While performing the complex pirouettes, circling around the sleeping girl, he used his strong toes to pick up and place the clean rose under the chair, then used his toes again to pick up and put the poisoned rose at the exact place the girl was expecting to find it at the end of the dance.”
Victor looked at her with vague admiration. “You are so clever, Madame Koska. Yes, Galina told me I could trust you.”
Trust me to find out you are a murderer, poor boy, thought Madame Koska. Trust me to have you locked up for life in an insane asylum. Trust me to clip your wings... But what can one do? He did murder, and he would murder again if he could. Madame Koska sighed. “Where is the poison, Victor?” she asked.
“In my dressing room. When Sasha told me I had to dance with Madame Lavrova, I hated her so much for taking Galina’s place that I knew I had to kill her, too, and this was my opportunity. So I went back to my dressing room, attached a rose to my armband, poisoned it, and removed my slippers.”
Lavrova moved closer to look at Victor. She was sobbing openly. “I am so sorry, Madame Lavrova,” said Madame Koska. “I had no idea you liked Victor so much… or is it nerves because of his attempt on your life?”
“No,” said the ballerina. “Like Victor? No, I don’t like this miserable little madman at all, nor do I have nerves or worry about my escape. I am crying because of the huge loss for the world of ballet. The film of Lavrova and Parizhsky will not be finished… Posterity will not have it as a treasure.”
“For Heaven’s sake,” said Madame Koska, irritated and amazed. “Solange was killed,
you were almost poisoned, a man goes insane, and that is all that worries you?”
“All? That is the only thing, Madame Koska. Only the ballet matters. We are nothing… just small parts of the huge entity of the arts. You will not understand it, but Sasha would. Please, please, Madame Koska, let us finish the filming. Let us have the film for posterity, it really is the only important matter here.”
Madame Koska looked at M. Danilov. He came forward and took Lavrova’s hand in his. “Yes, I agree, Tanya. Please, Madame Koska, Inspector Blount, let us finish the filming.”
Victor looked at them mildly. “What do you mean? Of course we must finish the filming. Why not?”
Inspector Blount looked as if he were in the midst of an insane asylum. “What do you mean, you want to finish the filming? We have a murderer here, who should be arrested!”
“Inspector,” said Madame Koska, regaining her calm enough to remember her Vs and Ws. “He can’t escape. The last giant leap through the vindow takes him into the arms of four men who stand there to catch him and cover him with warm towels. Send the police officer to stand vith them and all vill be in order.”
“And what about the poisoned rose?” asked the inspector. “You don’t tell me you will allow Madame Lavrova to smell any rose from the floor of this stage?”
“We will remove that rose for police inspection,” said Madame Koska, “and I will give Madame Lavrova a similar rose; I have one attached to my hat, Inspector.”
“You brought a rose with you?” asked the inspector, surprised. “Why?”
“Just a hunch, Inspector Blount. Just a hunch it vould be needed.”
“Very well,” said the inspector, looking at Madame Koska with mixed incredulity and admiration. “Tomorrow morning I will think I had lost my mind for agreeing, but never mind. Go ahead, M. Danilov. Finish the film.”
M. Danilov sprang to life and started giving instructions. Lavrova returned to her chair. The poisoned rose was carefully put in a bag by the police officer, and Madame Koska’s rose was put on the freshly swept floor. The film crew who had been standing wordlessly around returned to their equipment. And Victor stepped into the spot he was about to occupy before taking the giant leap.