Letters from Yelena (15 page)

I didn’t normally drink. But he made every offer of wine seem decadent, yet also perfectly natural. At the end of the meal, he suggested that we go for a walk. It was spring by then, and I
had barely left this quarter of the city for months. It was late on a Saturday night, and the sun had just begun to descend behind the high buildings. I told him that I didn’t know where we
should go. I wasn’t going to take him to the Mikhailovsky, that belonged to me. ‘You mean to tell me that you live here, but have never seen the city?’ he asked, as we made our
way down the Nevksy Prospekt.

During that walk, St Petersburg reached inside me and took a hold of something, for the first time. We were passing the Kazan Cathedral and maybe it was the wine, but as we walked past, the two
wings of the building suddenly seemed to spread out in an encompassing embrace. Its high pillars towered above us, solemn and patriarchal. The cathedral was bathed in a gold glow, and the
city’s lights flickered over its exteriors. It reflected them, resolute amongst the tides of history. Around it, vendors loudly announced their wares and I could hear eighties pop music
emanating from a nearby car. The combination of the music’s plea and the building’s resolve was suddenly gripping. I felt as though time slowed to a pace in which all the sensations
around me were absorbable. Advertisements bristled with colours and persuasion, capturing lifestyles most of us would never have. I thought how, regardless of the era, people were always sold
dreams that they could never fully consume. They never ceased in their striving, they consumed ravenously and wanted lustily too. Vlad saw that I was moved by the spectacle, and he placed his arm
around my shoulder. ‘At last, you are fully seeing the city.’

That night we walked down to the Admiralty Gardens, which skirted the great, ice blue River Neva. It was where our quarter of the city ended and the next province began. We came to the fountain
in Alexander Garden, which spurted thin jets of silver in glistening arcs. All around the fountain couples clung to one another in the fading light. Vlad invited me to sit down on one of the
benches, and as I did I felt part of a couple for the first time. We fitted in so neatly amongst the other nestling couples around us. In the dark I felt him reach to put his arm around me, and
something inside me gave way as I leant against him. It had stood resolute for many years, but it had been eager to crumble so readily.

In the weeks that followed our romance moved quickly. His apartment, a chic, lavish affair just around the corner from me, became my second home. I did wonder as to what degree this affluence
was a result of his achievement, or parental funding. On his wall was a pop art portrait of himself and his new business partner. Photographs of him at Spanish and English festivals emblazoned the
wall, his eyes curiously glazed in each. On Sunday mornings there was the cleaner, who eyed him narrowly as he fussed over breakfast for us.

It was inevitable that I would want to seek out his company the minute I was free. After all, it came with such immediate rewards. He would often arrive to meet me laden with flowers. When I
came for dinner there would inevitably be some small, wrapped present waiting on the table; a poetry book perhaps, with  the  sections  that  reminded  him  of 
me  underlined.  I had never been courted, and so being fussed over made for a pleasant change. Sometimes it seemed impossible for me to say anything he disagreed with. The only time his
sleek, immaculate exterior became threatened was when he was in the company of somebody he felt was superior to him. In late night dinners, or moonlit walks, he was always the same: self-enclosed,
eager to praise, and yet always resolute. For some reason I didn’t find the sense of distance at all concerning, merely charismatic. I tried to address this boundary by opening up to him in a
way that I had never done before. I told him a little about Bruna, and that I had always felt sure I would never be able to share these dark chapters with anyone. I explained that because of what
had happened, I’d wondered if I would ever be able to have a relationship. He replied that we were simply very lucky to have found one another.

There was another Vlad, which remained out of reach. In his absence, my sense of excitement was maintained by his constant messages. He wanted to cook dinner for me on any night he could and
show me off at social occasions, telling people what I did before he explained who I was.

Even now, I cannot trace the exact moment when he decided I was no longer worthy of his attention. Just as his immediate affection had seemed unearned, so too did his sudden disdain. I was too
young to notice when someone liked me for what I was, rather than who I was. His messages gradually became terse, his disdain for me more apparent in public. It was as if he found it distasteful
that I was not everything you’d assume a rising ballerina to be. I was unashamed of the fact that I had got to this point through sheer application. But Vlad had fallen for a package, so he
felt cheated when it was not all as he had hoped it would be. At first he had found my lack of cultural sophistication charming, but it now frustrated him. If someone would mention an English band
I didn’t know, his brow would crease as if somebody had just vomited next to us. In my heart, I was still the same girl who had felt lost even in Donetsk, so I certainly did not have the
confidence to apply myself in social situations here. I was not prepared to fake myself either, and so floundered in the middle ground. As a result, his messages suddenly dwindled, and he took much
longer to reply when I tried to get in touch. It was a fortnight later when one of the Korean girls told me she had seen him having dinner with Freijer.

When I called him to ask if this was true, his phone was turned off. After agonising for another day, I called again the following evening. This time it rang out. When he finally answered his
phone, his first words were, ‘Come over.’

It’s hard to dwell on the vaulting feeling that overwhelmed me when he answered the door.

‘Is it true that you have started seeing Freijer?’ I asked, as I stepped over the threshold. His eyes widened, and he grabbed his coat. He looked at me with an expression that I
struggled to see as anything other than pity. ‘Let’s go out,’ he said, ushering me back through the door and closing it behind him. As we turned I saw how quickly certain areas,
once conducive to a bond of some sort, could be closed off. A couple of months ago he had urged me to treat his home as if it was mine. But now something had shifted, and like any spurned lover I
was expected to immediately relinquish any intimacy with place as well as person.

‘Why can’t I come inside to talk?’

He pulled the coat around himself. ‘You can do if you want. It’s just, I thought you might prefer to walk and talk.’

‘I’d prefer to know what has happened between you and my friend, Vlad.’

He continued walking, half a step ahead of me. We passed down a series of side streets, and I sensed him growing out of breath. ‘Slow down,’ I said. ‘I can barely keep
up.’ It was only when we came to the canal that he finally slowed. ‘Just tell me if you took her for dinner.’

He stopped, and leant against a rail. ‘Well we went for dinner, yes. I don’t see the harm in that.’

‘You invited her out?’

‘There were things she wanted to talk about.’

‘What things?’

He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He stood agape for a moment, looking slightly ridiculous. His aggressive sensuality was not attractive now, but somehow bohemian and distasteful.
‘I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.’

‘So you’re saying she asked you?’

‘Yelena, what do you want me to say? I thought we were just friends, but we just... kind of hit it off whenever we saw each other.’

‘And so you thought you’d follow that interest up with a date, without telling me first?’

‘I’ve had a difficult year,’ he said. ‘Don’t make this harder for me.’

I bargained and pleaded with him. What about all the gifts and flowers and meals, how could he so quickly change his mind? But he just looked at floor, and hugged himself, and said ‘These
things happen.’

It reminded me of the way Bruna had left me feeling; that no matter how much I developed, or what I proved to myself, I would always be beneath contempt. I felt so embarrassed by this turn of
events. Everyone at the academy had known we’d been dating, and now everyone would see him with Freijer. I said this to him, but he just shrugged. I had never before known that feeling, of
suddenly being unable to engage with someone who you’d felt close to. When you are wanted by people like Vlad, you can do no wrong. Everything you say is funnier and more interesting than
what anyone else can say. But when they have consumed you, it is as if you have an aroma that is unbearable. And if you are unsure of yourself, it can serve to confirm your darkest doubts. Which is
what began to happen the moment I left him, mute and inarticulate, his resolute air only temporarily bruised.

The raw hurt I felt made me curse my decision to be less introverted. Over the next few days I remained silent in class, and then holed myself up in my room when the day was over. The romance
with Vlad had only lasted a couple of months, and I berated myself for having let it get so public during that time. It meant that my sudden introversion drew more attention, induced more gossip,
but I didn’t know how else to get through the day. The girls in the hall responded with unexpected kindness, wanting to distract me by inviting me to watch films with them. Afterwards, they
would try and get me to open up. Others comforted me with the previously withheld knowledge, that he had a long history of forging public relationships that his vanity could not maintain for long.
People didn’t speak of Freijer though, and what all this said of our friendship. When I saw her in classes she was inevitably smiling, and sensing my gaze she would quickly turn away from me.
I learnt to see her as just another member of the class but it was hard, as we would soon be performing in the same show.

I became acquainted with a new kind of silence, one very different from the type I had cultivated in Donetsk. This was the silence of emerging resolve, and the silence of a great city. In a
strange way, I learnt to draw comfort from it, and see how this short relationship was of so little consequence given all that was happening to me. I knew I had to regroup quickly, as my graduation
performance at the Mariinsky would be my one chance to impress people who could ensure my success. I knew that a good performance could see me being permanently accepted as a dancer at the
Mariinsky. This would give me financial security as well as ensuring my career as a ballerina. Yet at this crucial hour I felt so flat and dejected.

I walked around the fringes of the city, as if hoping to find a place in which all this confusion made sense. But over the course of those many long walks I realised that answers could not
always be found externally. I grew to know the uncompromising silence of the outside world and in abandoning my resentment, started to search for meaning inside myself instead. I learnt that within
me there existed a labyrinthine world of my own making, which I was the architect of. I saw that I could seek infinite comfort from its textures, but I would never be able to share them with
another. It seems strange now that such a shift in my worldview occurred from so brief a romance. But my life had been a wilderness for so long that the discovery of intimacy had seemed a belated
invitation to join the real world. Now it had been snatched back, and I felt like I was an outsider again. It had briefly seemed that I might be able to exist in the limelight of people’s
attention, but this break up confirmed my suspicions that I would always exist on the perimeters. Knowing this, I developed a hunger for solitude that persists even now. Vlad would never know this,
but by prompting me to seek strength from myself, he gave me the tools with which to finally become a ballerina.

I had been mentally preparing for my role in the Sdacha for a while, but now I needed to perform physically too. I was not feeling very strong. My sense of confusion and anger was still very
fresh, but I knew that I would be back to square one if I missed this chance. I had to find the strength to get over this pain and give the performance of my life.

People often talk about channelling despair and anger into a worthwhile activity. At that point, dancing became an aggressive distraction. Sensuous expression was not top of the agenda. To be
considered for the Mariinsky, the next step was to dance well at the end of year exam. That was the only way to be one of the dancers that the director would choose for consideration at the
theatre.

At the exam I consciously tried to channel my hurt and pain. At the barre I would continue to hold a position even when I had been told I could relax, just to show what I was capable of. I was
simply refusing to fail. I was utterly focused, but it was at the expense of any self-expression.

I was told after the exam that although I was still being considered, I had not danced with enough versatility to guarantee anything. My next chance to prove myself would be at the audition for
the theatre, where I would need to dance not only in front of my own teachers, but also the directors.

The days that followed were perhaps some of the hardest of my career. If I failed, I couldn’t use Vlad as an excuse, I would have only myself to blame. This opportunity would not come
again. The exam had taught me that at this level, focus, determination and precision were not enough. I also needed to display something special, something that set me apart from all the other
girls.

I was told in advance that at this audition, I would be dancing alone in front of the panel. The night before I decided to walk around the city, although it was already late, and I was feeling
tired. I wanted to try and reconnect with exactly why I was here. At first I replayed in my mind all that I had gone through, but that only made me feel more anxious. But as I was turning, rather
disconsolately, back towards the halls it came to me. I was here because I was the girl who had sat in the stalls at the Ukrainian ballet and felt sure it was my destiny to one day dance the
greatest role in ballet. All this was nothing more than a means to that end.