Sasha’s words: “Look what you plan to do—cheat the ballet that has trained you and made you the fine ballerina you are,” kept me awake, but the next day Vera would be there to tug me in the other direction, talking of all the excitement of Paris. “Tanya, you are sure to be a great success. You will perform in theaters all over the world.”
To tell the truth, there was little time for thinking of anything. There were new costumes for the tour, so in addition to practicing for hours we had to stand still for fittings. The Firebird had been completely revised, requiring additional work. In the August heat the rehearsal room was punishing. We had to wring out our practice leotards when we took them off. The Leningrad summer was rushing by, and I saw it only in snatches on my way from the theater to the apartment and back.
The week before we were to leave, Maxim Nikolayevich had a fight with the choreographer. Finally, in a temper, he sent everyone home for the afternoon. I went at once to Sasha’s to beg him to come out with me. I was happy to see Nadya Petrovna was a little stronger.
“I was so relieved to have St. Vladimir back, I have been improving ever since. Don’t tell me the icon has not performed a miracle. Yes, Tanya, take Sasha out with you. He spends all his time at his painting. The poor boy needs an airing.”
“Grandmother, I am no goosefeather quilt to be taken out and shaken, but I can see Tanya needs a little airing herself.”
The city was full of summer afternoon. The kiosks were selling ice cream. Women were in summer dresses. Shops had set out pots of geraniums and petunias. We saw a few soldiers walk by, their caps pushed back on their heads, their collars open. In the Summer Garden where we settled on a patch of grass, the fountains were attracting children who dashed surreptitiously in and out of the flowing water while the attendant’s back was turned.
Sasha lay down and closed his eyes. “Are you going to fall asleep and leave me sitting here?” I asked.
Sasha peered at me from beneath his long black lashes. “How can you talk, Tanya? Aren’t you going to leave me, and not for a few minutes but forever?”
“Sasha, it’s no good discussing it. Anyhow, if Yeltsin has his way, people will be able to travel in and out of the country. You can come and live in Paris.”
“Visit Paris, yes. I long to see their museums, but live in Paris! Never. I’m a Russian. My art is Russian. Why would I leave this country just when it’s finally going to be free?”
“Don’t talk politics to me, Sasha. I hear it all the time at home. My family sit around the kitchen table and argue as if what they say can make a difference.”
“It does make a difference. Your grandmother has been writing poems about freedom of the heart and mind for years, and without your grandfather risking his neck, Yeltsin wouldn’t be where he is. Have you forgotten your past, Tanya? Your great-grandfather died from his days in a prison camp and your great-grandmother was exiled to Siberia. Your own grandparents were sent away after the war just because they had been heroes of Leningrad. You should be proud of them—you shouldn’t be running away.”
I jumped up and stood over Sasha, suppressing an urge to give him a kick. “I’m not running away. I’m going to live in a country were there is freedom.”
Sasha was on his feet. “That’s someone else’s freedom. What about freedom in your own country?”
“I don’t believe it will ever come.”
“If you have so little faith, then you ought to leave.”
We were standing there glaring at each other when Sasha put his arms around me and held me. I could smell all the old familiar smells of turpentine and varnish and something he used to tame his hair. I said, “I don’t care about the country, but I hate leaving my family and leaving you.”
“Don’t leave. Stay and marry me.”
I was startled into silence, but it took me only a moment to
To tell the truth, there was little time for thinking of anything. There were new costumes for the tour, so in addition to practicing for hours we had to stand still for fittings. The Firebird had been completely revised, requiring additional work. In the August heat the rehearsal room was punishing. We had to wring out our practice leotards when we took them off. The Leningrad summer was rushing by, and I saw it only in snatches on my way from the theater to the apartment and back.
The week before we were to leave, Maxim Nikolayevich had a fight with the choreographer. Finally, in a temper, he sent everyone home for the afternoon. I went at once to Sasha’s to beg him to come out with me. I was happy to see Nadya Petrovna was a little stronger.
“I was so relieved to have St. Vladimir back, I have been improving ever since. Don’t tell me the icon has not performed a miracle. Yes, Tanya, take Sasha out with you. He spends all his time at his painting. The poor boy needs an airing.”
“Grandmother, I am no goosefeather quilt to be taken out and shaken, but I can see Tanya needs a little airing herself.”
The city was full of summer afternoon. The kiosks were selling ice cream. Women were in summer dresses. Shops had set out pots of geraniums and petunias. We saw a few soldiers walk by, their caps pushed back on their heads, their collars open. In the Summer Garden where we settled on a patch of grass, the fountains were attracting children who dashed surreptitiously in and out of the flowing water while the attendant’s back was turned.
Sasha lay down and closed his eyes. “Are you going to fall asleep and leave me sitting here?” I asked.
Sasha peered at me from beneath his long black lashes. “How can you talk, Tanya? Aren’t you going to leave me, and not for a few minutes but forever?”
“Sasha, it’s no good discussing it. Anyhow, if Yeltsin has his way, people will be able to travel in and out of the country. You can come and live in Paris.”
“Visit Paris, yes. I long to see their museums, but live in Paris! Never. I’m a Russian. My art is Russian. Why would I leave this country just when it’s finally going to be free?”
“Don’t talk politics to me, Sasha. I hear it all the time at home. My family sit around the kitchen table and argue as if what they say can make a difference.”
“It does make a difference. Your grandmother has been writing poems about freedom of the heart and mind for years, and without your grandfather risking his neck, Yeltsin wouldn’t be where he is. Have you forgotten your past, Tanya? Your great-grandfather died from his days in a prison camp and your great-grandmother was exiled to Siberia. Your own grandparents were sent away after the war just because they had been heroes of Leningrad. You should be proud of them—you shouldn’t be running away.”
I jumped up and stood over Sasha, suppressing an urge to give him a kick. “I’m not running away. I’m going to live in a country were there is freedom.”
Sasha was on his feet. “That’s someone else’s freedom. What about freedom in your own country?”
“I don’t believe it will ever come.”
“If you have so little faith, then you ought to leave.”
We were standing there glaring at each other when Sasha put his arms around me and held me. I could smell all the old familiar smells of turpentine and varnish and something he used to tame his hair. I said, “I don’t care about the country, but I hate leaving my family and leaving you.”
“Don’t leave. Stay and marry me.”
I was startled into silence, but it took me only a moment to
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