Dancing in the dark

Sweat poured down my temples as I pirouetted gracefully, mustering all my concentration as I spun round and round like a top, dressed in white like a jasmine opening its petals to the rising sun. Again and again I continued to spin, as the packed auditorium resounded with thunderous applause. ’Just one step more!’ I urged myself, fiercely stretching out my arms in the final sequence of my favourite dance,’The Dying Swan.’
Finally I came to a stop, and bowed as low as I could, elated to see the roses thrown at me by the raving audience. I could still feel the adrenaline pumping in my veins, and after bowing and waving for several more minutes I went backstage and wiped off my lipstick. Suddenly, the door burst open and a burly, heavyset man said, “Anna, we must leave now. I’ll have to escort you. Don’t know what these reporters will do to get you now”.

I smiled, reveling in all the adulation.”Very well, Arnie”.

As I finally escaped from the eager, impatient reporters waiting outside to interview me, my able chauffeur Arnold literally pushed me through the noisy throng and into the waiting limousine. I sat quietly in the back, wincing as I took off my ‘lucky’ ballet shoes and examined my newest toe blister. As the light from the flashbulbs streamed in through the window,I saw the scars of 15 years of ballet on my tiny, rather disfigured feet. Hurriedly, I looked up and opened the little window of the partition.

“How was the performance, Arnie?”

“Ah Annie, it was the most enchanting thing I’ve ever seen! You are such a lovely dancer!”

“Thank you”, I basked in his praise. He was more than just my chauffeur; he was the only friend I’d ever had. Few people realize how lonely the life of a ballerina actually is; since the age of 6, my life had revolved only around ballet, ballet and more ballet. No outings with friends-that would have cut into my practice time. No eating icecreams-I couldn’t afford the extra pounds. Every single aspect of my life had been rigorously censored by my mother, whose only motivation in life had been to see her daughter succeed where she herself had failed…

When she was young, my mother had cherished a burning ambition to be a ballerina someday. But due to financial constraints, her dreams had been brutally thwarted. When I was born, she christened me Anna, after Anna Pavlova, after the famous ballerina who had choreographed The Dying Swan. Indeed, comparisions were inevitable, and just as my mother had predicted, I was being hailed as being even better than my namesake!

At first, I was happy to learn ballet. But after spending many tedious hours crouching, spinning and walking on tippy-toes with heavy books on my head, I instinctively rebelled. My tiny feet would start bleeding after using ‘pointe’ shoes, those satiny ballet shoes that look so pretty but are agonizing to wear. My mother never let me wear any soft padding inside, as that would have restricted my ability to ‘feel the floor’ while dancing. My father, a mild mannered, rather henpecked man, silently supported me but was helpless against his wife’s all-consuming passion to see her daughter dominate the world of ballerinas. He only wanted me to be happy and at some point, my mother managed to convince both of us that my destiny lay in ballet.

We were rather poor, and life was harsh. I remember seeing my expensive make up lying with my father’s ragged clothes one day, and it was then that I realized the absolute necessity of success. I must have been about 11 years old at that time. I was fired with determination; one day I would earn enough to support my parents who quietly mended their old clothes and wore them proudly, just so their daughter could buy a shimmering tulle ballet dress and strappy white shoes and lipstick…

At about 16, I had a chance to participate in ‘The Nutcracker’ which was taking place in our modest town. On the day, I was literally quivering with excitement. I would be on stage! As we powdered our dainty noses backstage, I noticed the other ballerinas furtively glancing at each other, secretly comparing their legs and faces…..None of us spoke, probably due to our rusty social skills. It was then that I realized what an insecure world it was, and what pressure we had to succeed. That night, I found no pleasure from the opening night roses, as I mechanically bowed in unison with the rest of the smiling ballerinas. And I started practicing harder and harder….

“Annie?”

I jerked out of my reverie. Glancing up, I realized that Arnie had been asking me something. With an effort, I said, ”Hmmm?”

“Did you know that the Queen was watching you tonight?”

I was elated. He was watching me in the rearview mirror, waiting for my reply. I opened my mouth and glimpsed a sudden glare of light ahead…

My scream of warning died before it reached my lips….a terrible jolt….screams of pain that sounded near at times, and then distant…warm liquid gushed into my eyes….a million splinters were pulling my skin apart, all at once….

I opened my eyes, struggling against the warmth and pain….hell fire must feel something like this, I thought grimly……”Arnie?Arnie?”My voice was a painful croak.

I couldn’t see him, couldn’t see anything, no matter how hard I tried…I could hear people, strangers, all saying something….someone was calling my name, she sounded very near but I couldn’t see her….And then the blackness became more solid as I fell back and my eyelids closed…

I awoke later, and tried desperately to sit up…I was gently pushed back with soft admonitions not to tire myself…..I was vaguely aware of stabbing pains in my wrists due to IV tubes……

“Unhh”, I moaned, after an interminable time that could have been a few hours, or a lifetime… “Lie down dear. You’re going to be all right”, said a kindly voice.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“I’m a nurse working at the Embarcadero Hospital,” she said softly.

I digested this awhile in silence. I felt numb; anezthetised. But I knew I would be fine soon. My mother had always taught me that I could shape my destiny and my belief in her had been so great, how could she be wrong?

“How is Arnie?”

“Arnie?”

“My chauffeur.

“He didn’t make it, dear”.

Now pain exploded in the pit of my stomach, moving upwards and hurting my throat till my chest heaved with sobs. I didn’t hold back and let the blessed tears come. As I reached up, painfully, to wipe away my tears, I realized that my hands came away rather sticky.

“Huh?”I murmured, confused…

“I’m so sorry Anna….I think you’re going to have an eye problem from now on…Called dry eye syndrome….But don’t you worry, we’re going to get in the best doctors for you. And you will be able to see, though not clearly…”

Reassured by her soothing voice and having no idea of how much my life was about to change, I drifted off into a hazy, drug-induced sleep filled with nightmares of Arnie and broken limos….

The kind nurse had lied to me. My eyes were technically working perfectly, but because my corneas had been permanently scarred, my eyes did not produce enough tears to lubricate themselves. As a result, I never knew how much vision I would have when I awoke each day. It was a horrifyingly new world of despair, boredom and crippling hopelessness.

I had many visitors. They were sympathetic; they held my hands and shed gentle tears as I spoke about the night when everything had changed. But as time passed, the stream became a mere trickle, and soon vanished. In about half a year, I had faded entirely from the public scene and newspapers no longer carried front page articles about ‘Anna Pavlova the Second’. All that I had believed in and worked for was now reduced to nothing….

“How can that be, Ma?”I murmured softly, as I awoke from yet another series of nightmares involving me crying on stage…Arnie helpfully offering me roses but then bleeding and choking before my eyes…..My dear parents had died in a landslide years ago…They had never seen their daughter at the prime of her fame, but atleast they had never seen her blind and lonely.And I still spoke to my mother whenever I needed any advice…

There was no answer. I realized that it was very late at night, and suddenly felt terribly thirsty. ”Mary?” I called my maid. No answer. Quietly, I got out of bed, and was feeling my way along the wall, when I tripped over something and fell. I cried as a sharp pain shot up my left leg, forsaken, forgotten and alone…So alone….Was this my destiny now?

I felt the hopelessness rushing back as I kept calling for someone to help…then I realized that no one would come…Reaching down, I fingered what I had tripped over. It was a soft, ribboned pointe shoe…My heart swelled with indescribable emotion….

I got up, and without even feeling the pain in my leg, I ran swiftly to the music system, knocking clumsily against things as I went along. Once there, I groped for the ‘Ballads’ button. As the sweet, well-remembered music filled the air, I knew I wasn’t alone any longer, that I would never be…I smiled into the darkness and raised my hands to begin the ballet…

“One more step!” I tell myself as I smile at the audience I cannot see clearly. But I can discern the bright glare of flashbulbs, and the soft red roses strewn at my feet. ”Anna, Anna”, the crowd chants, as I spin faster and faster, trapped in the ecstasy of that moment… In blindness, I feel I have a greater empathy with the ‘dying swan’ than earlier, and my every movement is fired with deep emotion…and this night was the culmination of my life’s efforts…I was performing at the Sydney Opera House! At last!

As I stepped forward for one last bow, amidst the cheering of a standing ovation, I could feel a thorn from the roses pricking my foot. I smiled as I realized that in life, you had to take the thorns with the roses. And I knew that I had found myself again, and even though I was dancing in the dark, I could glimpse the light at the end of the tunnel…

Megs