Natalia’s house was nothing more than a shack with four walls and a roof. The two windows that looked out onto the street were barred. A crudely lettered sign said KEEP OUT. I stood there looking at the house, thinking Uncle Fyodor was right and I should turn around and retrace my steps. The front door opened, and Natalia ran out and flung herself at me.
“Tanya, the angels sent you. Come inside so we won’t be seen.”
“Where is your father?”
“He goes out every afternoon to see friends.”
“I thought he was sick.”
“He says since I have come home to take care of the house and see that he has meals, he is much better.”
I saw a bruise on her arm. “How did you get that?”
“I must have tripped and fallen against something.”
“Natalia, you are the most graceful person in the world. I don’t see you stumbling about. It was your father, wasn’t it?”
Natalia began to cry. “He’s not a bad man, but when he gets his pension, he spends it all on vodka and he comes home in a mean mood. If I don’t have his supper on the table, he scolds me, but often there’s no money for food, so how can I make him supper?”
“Natalia, come back to the shelter with me. Your father is a grown man. He can take care of himself.”
“No, you don’t understand. He really is sick. He coughs all the time. The vodka is only to make him feel a little better. He says he will die if I go back. Tanya, believe me, he is not all bad. He is discouraged because he can’t find a job. When I was a little girl, he would take Mama and me out into the country, and you should have heard him whistle to the birds, so real the birds would whistle back, and once he brought home a little rabbit for me and built a cage for it.”
“Natalia, what about your dancing?”
Her eyes filled with tears. “It will have to wait.”
“It can’t wait. You are already old to start ballet school. The lessons from me are not enough. Let me talk with Madame about you and ask her to give you an audition. Listen to me, Natalia. I truly believe you have it in you to be a great ballerina, and artists in this country must make use of their talents. They have a responsibility to be the best they can. Great art will always lead to freedom, the freedom that so many people in our country died for.” All the while I was trying to convince Natalia of her responsibility to Russia, I was guiltily thinking how I would soon be deserting my country. My words stuck in my throat.
The door banged as if a strong wind had blown it open. A man, who I guessed was Natalia’s father, stormed into the room. He stared at me as if I were a bit of food that had gone bad. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Someone come to steal my daughter?”
“I’m not trying to steal her, but I think she should come back to the shelter and her dancing.”
“She’s going nowhere. She is my daughter, and it is up to her to take care of me in my dying days.”
“You look healthy to me.”
My words infuriated him. “Who are you to tell me how I feel? You have probably never been sick a day in your life or wanted for food on the table. How can you come here and try to separate a father from his daughter?” He turned to Natalia. “Tell the girl you don’t want to leave your old, sick dad.”
Natalia looked helplessly at me. Earlier in the day I had stuck by my grandfather when he was attacked. Why should Natalia not stick by her father? Who was I to interfere?
“Now get out of here. We have company coming tonight for supper, and Natalia must prepare the food.”
Reluctantly I began to leave. As I was going out the door, I saw the father put a bag of potatoes, a cabbage, and a thick slab of meat on the table. There was a bottle of wine as well.
Natalia stared at the food in wonder. “Papa, where did all that come from?” Curious, I lingered at the door.
Natalia’s father swung around and gave me a rough push. “We want you out of here.” He slammed the door after me, but I stood there listening. The wood was so thin, I could hear everything.
“Have you robbed a store?” Natalia asked.
“Shame on you. What kind of a daughter are you to accuse me of such a thing? The gentleman who is coming for dinner has paid for our food. It will be your job to be nice to the man, and maybe he will give us more than food.”
I ran off. Uncle Fyodor was right. The father would stop at nothing. Natalia’s beauty and natural grace, which would help to make her a great ballerina, meant nothing more to her father than a way to make money. I knew I could not do anything by myself, and the police were so few and so busy they would never listen to me. I needed someone to help me. I thought of Uncle Fyodor, but he was a man of peace, not action. I considered my father, but he always had to think on all sides of a question. By the time he had his answer, it would be too late. I considered Sasha, but with his grandmother’s illness, he had all he could manage. There was only Grandfather.
I rushed breathless into the apartment and began to tug at Grandfather, signaling him that I wanted him out in the hall. Any word in the apartment was overhead by all.
“Tanya, what is wrong with you?” he said. “You are as bad as the riot police. Next you will go after me with a bludgeon and tear gas.”
“I have to talk with you,” I said.
By now I had the attention of Mama and Grandmother. “Tanya, dear, what is it?” Grandmother said. “Surely you can talk in front of us.”
I blurted out my story.
“What are you thinking?” Mama said. “The man is dangerous. It would be madness for your grandfather to tackle him alone.”
Grandfather was already hurrying toward the bedroom. He called over his shoulder, “You say he was in the army? I have a plan.”
Minutes later he returned, struggling into the jacket of his old Red Army uniform, a uniform he put on each year for the May 9 victory parade. Grandfather, who never stood still for more than a minute, was still in fine shape, and the jacket, though a little tight around the stomach after forty-five years, still fit him. “Let us hope the man is so drunk, he will not notice that my uniform is an old one.”
When Grandfather put on his military cap and threw out his chest, he looked very impressive. He had even pinned on some of his medals, which he always kept shined.
Mother and Grandmother followed us out the door calling words of caution to us all the way down the stairway. The last thing we heard was Mama’s plea: “Papa, think what you are doing. Come back!” Grandfather only hurried the faster. I knew that he was eager to help Natalia, but I could also see his uniform had brought back memories, and now he was not only ready but anxious for one more battle. I began to have hope for Natalia.
We marched through the streets, Grandfather far in front of me. It was dark now. The cars caught us in their headlights as we hurried along. People nervously gave way as Grandfather plowed through the crowds as if he were on some official mission. When we reached Natalia’s house, Grandfather slowed and began cautiously to approach the window, motioning me to stay back, but I stayed right behind him.
“Grandfather,” I whispered, “that’s Natalia crying.”
The next minute Grandfather was kicking in the front door. Natalia’s father and another man were sitting at a table, a bottle of vodka in front of them, the remains of their dinner on the plates, the wine bottle empty. Natalia’s father had her by the arm. As they rose to their feet, Natalia escaped and ran toward me.
In a loud authoritarian voice Grandfather shouted, “Pyotr Vasilyevich, the army has sent me to tell you that your behavior is such that your pension will be withdrawn.”
Natalia’s father cringed. “Withdrawn? What for? How will I live?”
The other man said, “Shut up, Pyotr Vasilyevich.” He turned to Grandfather. “I am sure this is just a misunderstanding. We are all friends here. Have a little glass of vodka with us and let us see if we can’t find a way to compensate you for your trouble in coming here.”
Grandfather reached over and slammed
the bottle of vodka against the table, breaking it in two and splashing the liquor over the startled man. He grabbed the man by the shoulders and shook him. “Get out!” Grandfather thundered. The man hastily scuttled out of the room.
Grandfather turned to Natalia’s father. “Pyotr Vasilyevich, I know what you are up to, selling your own daughter. For that you could not only lose your pension, but be put away for a dozen years. For the sake of your daughter I won’t turn you in, but you must promise never again to approach Natalia or to communicate with her.” Grandfather strode out of the house, Natalia on one arm and me on the other.
Once we were back at the shelter, with Uncle Fyodor pouring out hot tea for us, Natalia told us her story. “I didn’t understand at first,” she said. “I thought the man who gave us the food was just kind-hearted. I even fixed up the house a little, dusting and putting out dishes with no chips or cracks so that we would not be ashamed in front of the man. Of course I should have known better, but I wanted more than anything to trust Papa. It’s hard to admit to yourself that your father is an evil man.
“The man brought a bottle of vodka with him, and I saw him give Papa some rubles. By the time I had dinner on the table, Papa and the man were drunk. The man began to put his paws on me, calling me his pretty princess. When I slapped his hand away, Papa said that was no way to act toward a friend. I tried to get away, but Papa hung on to me. I was frightened and started to cry, but Papa only hung on harder. That was when you came.” She turned to Grandfather. “What kind of soldier are you?”
Grandfather laughed. “I belong to a special branch of the army organized just to carry out Tanya’s orders.”
“Whatever kind of soldier you are, you saved me, but I can’t stay here in the shelter. I’m even afraid to stay in this city,” Natalia said. “I don’t care what Papa promised about not seeing me again. I know him. He will hunt me down. I have to run away.”
“Natalia,” I said, “I have a better idea. Your father won’t dare to show up at the shelter tonight. Wait here until tomorrow.”
CHAPTER 6
A CONFESSION
The next morning at the first break during rehearsal, I approached Madame. She had been in a good mood, hardly scolding us at all and even complimenting Aidan on her playing, telling us the accompanist was not there just to pound out tunes, but to put her soul into the music as we must put our souls into our dancing.
Taking a deep breath, I asked, “Madame, can I have a word with you?” I told her Natalia’s story, leaving out the part about Grandfather and his uniform, telling her only that Natalia had been rescued and needed to get away from Leningrad. “Please let me bring her here and show you how she can dance. She should be in a ballet school.”
“You say she is twelve and has no formal training. It’s much too late for her.”
“I’ve been trying to teach her for over a year, but whatever you decide, just think of her miserable life, Madame; think how much it would mean to her to have the chance to dance just this once for the great Pleshakova.”
Madame shrugged. “Well, nothing will come of it, but bring her by this afternoon.”
Natalia was so nervous when I gave her the news that at first she refused. “I couldn’t. She will laugh at my clumsiness.”
“Natalia, this is your one chance. Madame will be truthful, but I promise she won’t laugh.”
Mercifully, except for Aidan, Madame and I were the only ones in the rehearsal hall to witness the audition. Self-consciously Natalia warmed up at the barre. I explained to Aidan the little ballet I had devised for Natalia from The Red Shoes.
“Yes, yes, I know the story,” Aidan said, and began to play, nodding her head at Natalia. Natalia paused in the third position as if waiting for the lifting of some spell that would free her to dance. For a moment I was afraid she had been overcome with shyness and had panicked. She was staring at Aidan. I realized that never in her life had she heard music coming from a human being. At the shelter I played records, and when in her miserable life had someone taken her to a concert or a live performance of ballet? The music enchanted her, turning her into a statue.
Aidan changed the tempo of the music. It became more lively. Suddenly Natalia began to dance as if she had studied a secret language for years and now, at last, was allowed to speak it. There were fouettés, échappés, jetés, battements frappés, demi-pliés, and relevés. She was using every step I had ever taught her, many I recalled illustrating only once to show the variety of steps. The music had become her red slippers. As long as Aidan played, Natalia had to dance. I was both excited and a little envious. Though I knew I danced well, better than most, Natalia danced as if she were jumping from a tall diving board, with no thought to what might catch her.
When at last Aidan stopped, Natalia’s arms dropped and her feet came to rest in a perfect fifth position. I saw Madame hastily brush tears from her eyes. “I have a friend who is ballet mistress at the Bolshoi Ballet,” Madame said. “She will find a ballet school for you. I will call her at once. Tomorrow you will be on the train to Moscow.”
Natalia flung her arms around me. She then had the courage to do what none of us would have imagined doing. She threw her arms around Madame and danced her about. Madame only pretended to be displeased.
A week later I had a letter from Moscow. Natalia was in ballet school. Her spelling was like her dancing, wild and full of invention, but it was plain that she was in heaven. She wrote, “I O you my life.”
Spring settled on the city. Without coats and boots I felt light enough to float up into the clouds. The wooden boxes were removed from the statues in the Summer Garden, and the Roman emperors and voluptuous women were once again set free. It was the time of the white nights in our northern city—the long June evenings had arrived, when the sun seemed only to fade and never to set. I had seen little of Sasha, for we were practicing long hours on a new presentation of Ravel’s Bolero and Sasha, desperate for money for his grandmother, was working day and night at his icons. When at last I had a few hours off, I dragged Sasha from his apartment. “Come with me to the Hermitage,” I said. “You need some inspiration.” Though I had missed seeing Sasha, I knew that he was nearby; what would it be like when I was a thousand miles away?
Walking along the Prospekt, Sasha turned his face up to the sun, as if some cold thing within him needed warming. Though it was June, you could still see chunks of ice floating down the river from Lake Ladoga miles away. Our city is made up of many islands. With all its rivers and canals there is always danger of flooding from the spring melt. This year the Neva was keeping tidily to its banks.
Sasha said, “People walk through the city, hurrying to get somewhere, missing everything. Look there on the canal, a perfect reflection of the Church of the Resurrection.”
It was true. The church’s reflection, with its brightly colored domes, looked as real as the one that stood solidly on the ground.
“There are two cities, Tanya, one that can be touched and the city that is reflected in the canals and rivers. The city I like to paint is the one that is there one moment and gone the next with a ripple of water or a cloud passing by. The great thing about painting is that if you see something you like, you can make it your own to keep forever.”
“Unlike a dance,” I said.
“No, no,” Sasha reassured me. “I am learning to paint movement. I can capture a dance as well as a reflection.”
I thought of all his sketches of the ballet and had to admit he was right. I was not sure, though, that even he could have caught Natalia’s dancing.
We walked across Palace Square, which is very famous for Bloody Sunday. A hundred years ago the tsar’s soldiers opened fire on people who had come to ask for a voice in the government. Even women and little children had been killed. Now there was always something cheerful going on in the square. Four students, dressed in mismatched evening clothes, were playing their string instruments. They fiddled away, hair tossing about, earnest expressions on their fa
ces, looking as if they were in a great concert hall. A kettle was in front of them for coins. Sasha emptied his pockets. Nearby was a man with a trained bear cub on a chain. The cub looked like a stuffed toy. The man had a kettle as well, and this time I emptied my pockets.
In the middle of the square the Alexander column celebrated Russia’s victory over Napoleon. At the top of the column the golden angel watched over our city. Across the square was the Winter Palace, painted sea green and trimmed with white and gold. A row of statues looked down from the roof where during the Great Patriotic War my grandmother Yelena was a fire warden. The palace was now the Hermitage Museum.
At the Hermitage I asked Sasha to come with me to Aunt Marya’s office. Sasha liked her as much as I did and came willingly. “How I envy your aunt,” he said. “She has been to Paris and has wandered through the Louvre. What wouldn’t I give to see that museum. If I were rich, I would buy postcards of every painting that hangs there.”
I longed to tell Sasha that by the fall I would be settled in Paris and could send him all the postcards he wished from the Louvre, but I had pledged my vow of silence to Vera.
In Aunt Marya’s office there was an older man talking away to her. He was so short, he came only to Aunt Marya’s shoulder. The man had thick white hair, bright-blue eyes, and a mischievous grin that made him look half elf, half man. Aunt Marya kissed us and said, “The very two people I wanted to see. This is Mr. Brompton. He comes from England. He is here to find some paintings for his London gallery. When I heard he was looking for the work of young artists, I thought of you at once, Sasha. You must take him to see your work and give him the names of some of your fellow artists.”