The Turning by Gloria Whelan Page A

realize how impossible that would be. “How could we marry? You haven’t finished school. We would have no place to live and no money.” As soon as I dismissed the idea, I saw how much I liked it. If I stayed, in a few years Sasha would be out of school. Perhaps he would find a job teaching, or maybe his paintings would sell. I would be dancing more roles. What if I gave lessons as well? If, if, if. With the way things were now in Russia, it was an impossible dream.
    We were holding hands and the fight had gone out of both of us. “Sasha, you’ll be a famous artist and your paintings will be in the Paris galleries, so you will be traveling to Paris all the time.”
    “And you will be a world-famous ballerina and will come back to perform in your native Russia, where everyone will crowd around you and I will have to get in line to have a word with you.”
    We were laughing now and the arguing was behind us. But the words of the quarrel were still in our hearts, and when we said good-bye, the laughter disappeared altogether. I went away wondering if the dream I had chosen would make me as happy as the dream I was abandoning.
    At the apartment it felt as if everyone in the family was holding their breath. It was clear that though no one seemed to know what it would be, something important was about to happen. Night after night I had found the family sitting around the kitchen table, discussing politics, more excited now than ever. Everyone had an opinion; voices were raised and fists pounded.
    Grandfather complained, “Gorbachev is back at his dacha on the Black Sea, walking over marble floors and splashing around in his very own swimming pool. Meanwhile the starving miners are still on strike and industry is shutting down for lack of coal. All the money is going to the military.”
    “What is this treaty that is about to be signed?” Mama asked.
    “It’s Yeltsin’s idea and Gorbachev has had to agree,” Grandfather said. “Ukraine, Georgia, and all the other republics will have their own governments but will still be a part of the Soviet Union. I suppose it is like Australia’s and Canada’s relationship with the United Kingdom. The arrangement makes sense, but the old-line Communists are furious about giving the republics any independence.”
    “What is the difference then between Gorbachev and Yeltsin? Why is everyone taking sides?” Aunt Marya wanted to know.
    “It’s very simple,” Grandfather said. “Gorbachev is against private property, and Yeltsin is for it. Gorbachev tries to clean up the corruption in the Communist party, and Yeltsin says as long as we have a one-party system, we will never clean up the corruption. He says the Communist party has to go. The most important difference is that Yeltsin wants everyone to be able to vote.”
    “There is something else,” Grandmother Yelena said. “Gorbachev has started to censor the newspapers and the magazines again. No one is taking my poems now, because my husband is fighting for Yeltsin.”
    “Gorbachev and Yeltsin can fight all they want to,” Papa said. “The real danger is with the old Communist party members. They see their days are numbered. In a democratic country they won’t be running things anymore.”
    “You are exactly right,” Grandfather said. “Look for a last gasp, a last move on the part of the Communist party to take over the country.”
    I thought as usual Grandfather was just looking for a fight. After a few minutes of listening to the discussion I kissed everyone good night and pulled the curtains on my little cubbyhole. I didn’t care about politics. I was going to be far away. For the thousandth time I took my suitcase from under my bed. My clothes for the trip had been packed and repacked. Tucked among the clothes were pictures of the family.
    When I had asked for them, Mama had said, “Tanya, you are only going to be away for a little while. Surely you can remember us for so short a time.”
    “I’ve never been