THE DEVIL'S BIT (serial) 2

Chapter 2 Walking to the Studio

Iliana stepped out lightly from the patio to the streets of Paris. She wore running Nikes and calf warmers over her running tights. Her white tissue cotton shirt hung loosely over her warm up outfit as she began jogging in the direction of the Tour Eiffel, in a kilometer she would be at Fine Arts to continue her conditioning and prepare for a small vignette in Swan Lake.

She pushed her ear buds tighter into her ears and spoke into her Watch, “connect me with mama and papa.”

When her mother picked up she looked around at her intersection, she was already past the tourist laden Tour Eiffel. She stopped in front of a Starbucks and entered.

“I’m fine mama, you?” she nodded to the Barista and mouthed out her request. “Tall, sugar free vanilla, lactose free whole milk and double shot.”

“Papa? Your hip ok?” With her latte in hand she sat at the outdoor table and looked out at the street.

It was mostly clear, the occasional street worker or café worker swept the street after wetting it down. No other business showed any sign of life, it was a little before 6 am.

A man in a business suit covered with a classic dark beige London Fog style long coat, all buttoned, seemed preoccupied, turned his head away, seemed to have dark hair slicked to one side, and unusual dress for a morning French man, seemed more like an Italian banker, or a politician from her old country.

“Yes, I’m listening mama, I’m on my way to the studio to prepare for the dance, it’s only a little part, I will make sure to send it to you, a friend of mine is taping it.”

Iliana looked down the street again, the man had disappeared.

“You have given me too much already, there is no need to come to this, when we have more I will make sure you come.”

The coffee was now cool enough to finish.

“I have to go, don’t attempt to travel yet, wait until all of your papers are in order, and I am more settled, it will all work. I must go, I only have a few more minutes. I love you.”

She pulled out the ear buds and continued along the empty street and the air had started to warm, she still shivered a little as she picked up her pace to jog to the studio. The streets were so wide and now she ran along the Seine. The walls and bridges were too high to see the river but the mist continued to obscure a clear view to the other side.

When she got to the Fine Arts building she entered through a side gate and used an encoded ID card to enter into the door of the building. The second the door opened the excited voices of the other dances poured out.

“Iliana,” and they waved.

“So good to see you” and she touched each one on the shoulder or arm or embraced them with the traditional kiss to both sides of each of their faces. One by one they entered into the studio after leaving their bags in the locker. The floor of the ballet studio was oak, closely fitted so their shoes were not ripped by the floor. Each one took their place at the bar and continued a warm up that each had initiated in their own little places before showing up at the studio.

After about 15 minutes a man with a long grey scarf, and hat tilted to one side, unshaved from overnight, turtleneck and looser jeans and loafers with books of music under his arm approached the piano at one end of the studio and started the warm up routine as the ballet instructor entered on the other end of the studio.

“Atencion! Un, duex , trois, quatre.” And continued repeating the numbers. The piano continued with arpeggios and strains from the more famous ballets, but all in time to the instructor. For the next hour besides the stretches the twenty students went through form, criss crossing the floor. “Remember les Six of you, the small vignette from Swan Lake, you should know it by now.!” Six of the dancers, men and women approached the floor, the men faced the women, pairing off in a perfect mirror of each other.

The gazed into each others eyes and turned and breathed as one, three pairs, one indistinguishable from the other, except to the instructor. He pointed to Iliana, “you seem a little stiff today, I sense some hesitation.”

“Thank you maestro, I understand.”  Iliana gestured to her partner and then to the pianist and began again. Before she began she visualized the small plant in her patio and imagined that she could communicate with the plant, that her breaths created a life force for the plant, and that her movements gave the plant life. She nodded her head and began her pas de deux.

A loud applause erupted from her fellow students and shook her out of her trance. She nodded slightly and applauded her partner, the pianist, the maestro and then the rest of the students. “We are one, and so much more with each other.” Iliana beamed and later wondered how she could ever explain this experience to someone outside of dance, more specifically to her parents, who were used to the world of competition.

It was through being better than anyone that she won her place in this magnificent dance studio, one with so much potential, one that granted a complete education in the arts, all at the expense of the country of France with no expense to the student or the parents. She could only explain it to her parents if she could show them and somehow or other share her experience with the world.

Everyone stopped to take a drink of water and massage the knots out of the IT bands and the small nodules that developed in everyone’s feet.

One more hour of practice and they would be ready for lunch, everyone carried their own lunch and ate in a small kitchenette area, some make cappucineo others had cut vegetables, a small bolillo sandwich, enough calories for the lunch.

“Would you go to the market with me?” Iliana asked one of the other dancers.

“You’re right we have an hour, lets go over to the fresh market and pick up a few things to take home.”

They each pulled out a stuff sack and carried some cash with them. The market was still open, although noon was a busy time for them. Iliana picked up some fresh strawberries, guyere cheese, a small sandwich loaf and some vegetables. She didn’t like to eat late, no dancer did, and if they cooked it was only to grill some vegetables to take with lunch: a potato a carrot, some onion.

As she walked through the stalls with her friend Muriel they chatted an talked to the grocer. “Some strawberries that would be good for 2 days from now please, half a dozen carrots, a potato, a sweet potato, an onion, half a dozen eggs.” The grocer carefully packed all the fresh vegetables in paper and helped her pack it in her stuff sack. “dix euros, s’il vous plait.” The grocer smiled and thanked her. “Aux countraire” Iliana answered.

“The French are so lovely,” said Muriel.

“They have been so kind to us.”

“It helps make some attempt to speak French.”

“Just like when they speak our language, it feels like home.”

“I’m sure they get sick of having to explain everything to people who are uninteresting in understanding all of the nuances of being French.”

“Remember when we sat outside for hours one day, just drank water and only had a little to eat.”

“It felt like we were at home, didn’t it.”

“All of Paris is like being at home.”

“Time to get back to the studio.”

When they returned they left their groceries in the locker room and stretched again. It felt like starting over. “Dancing is so different from life, every time I move on the dance floor I feel alive.”

“I feel cooped up except when I am here also.”

“I think we all do.”

“Atencion.” It was time to get back to a little more creativity. Each student created a small bit of choreography and enlisted several of the students to exhibit the piece. The pianist was unique, he wrote music for the more advanced students.

Iliana had explained her concept to the pianist. “I want to show the full strength of human emotion in dance, and I want to create a dance that anyone could do easily, of course the dancers will be able to perform it at a different level, but it should be a dance of joy, where anyone can literally jump right in.”

“Oh like once of the flash mob dances.”

“Something like that, I would like it to be teachable on Youtube and that includes the musician, can you help?”

“Of course, ma petite, whatever you want.”

“You know where I come from?”

“I know all the dancers.”

“I would like something,”

“I know it would be something from Karelia.”

“well you know this is very exciting, I have seen some of the art from the Nordic cultures, you were thinking of the Finnish culture?”

“Yes I was, you know that have a special tango group, I believe  in the central part of the country.”

“Well it is well known all over Europe, quite well known, has an Argentine flavor to it, with the accordion the languish and the sensuality.”

He started to play the tune and Iliana moved with a step slide, extremely slowly, moving backwards across the stage with a slight lean forward as though one breath and she could fall forward.

“I will start out as the petals of a flower leaning in as though it was night, my clothes will have a bright red to them and my partners will be black, as we dance back and forth, we will become each others shadow.”

“I would like to work with Eric.”

“The maestro, will not allow it until you have perfected the dance.”

Iliana  motioned to Jean, it is ok, I will work with Jean, forget it and she moved towards him. He lifted his palm and looked into it as if it were a mirror, the signal for the partner in tango to accept or not the invitation to the dance. Iliana nodded and moved towards him, folding her palm into his and almost imperceptibly wilting into the first position and the music suggested the dawn and gently introduced the weaving and throbbing of the traditional Tango. The pianist started with one line and added two lines of melody and the pair grew closer together and touched their chests as though they could not keep themselves apart. She rested the top of her head into his shoulder and breathed in as he breathed out and they took their first steps, an ocho as though intertwining the leaves of a complicated vine into a braid and continued in a circle growing even closer together. The first minute of the choreography was complete.

Iliana murmured, “Jean I don’t know what I was thinking, you, are perfect for this, I can feel we are created an image of sensuality with our movments.”

Jean blushed, “Yes of course.”

Iliana felt her heart rush, “more tomorrow?”