Catharsis (Part 1)

/ authorfrancomarincola

I am back with Giselle story! Sorry it is taking so much time but I do have a day job!

It has been a chaotic time for me particularly in relation to the death of my beloved father. But life must go on.

This is the continuation of Tidal Lock as follows:

Tidal lock:

        a. The story of Giselle, Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3,

        b. The dark side of the sun, Part 1, Conclusion

        c. There is no such thing as everlasting love

d. Back where we belong

The monolith – Piazza del Duomo at Christmas time – Photo by F. Marincola, Milan, December 18th, 2021

Catharsis

But love is an arrogant proposition, a capricious and omnipotent god. What made sense before, doesn’t anymore, and what didn’t, now it does. Fantasy turns into reality; gratification comes from dreams that hoard infinity mirrors and cloud the mind. What made Paul’s sophisticate mind hesitate for a lifetime, was clear to the young Giselle: love is an incoercible desire to see someone again, an impulse to unravel the mystery of happiness by unearthing treasures buried in the promised land. In the impulsive infatuation of a fifteen-year-old, Giselle nurtured the yearning to close a conversation prematurely interrupted and the pride to deliver on the promise of growing into a great ballerina. All the positive influences that inspired her youth converged into the image of Paul, who with his charisma elevated her dreams to the ultimate altitudes.

Thus, at age fifteen the village took the backstage, so did medical school. A poster of Paul substituted the painting of the elegant ladies in her room and the piano resounded with Paul’s music. Since Giselle was not a skilled instrumentalist, she repeated the pieces over and over till, upon satisfaction, she recorded her own performance, and choreographed a dance in front of the mirror, imagining that Paul was there watching. In her mind, her interpretation of Paul’s music, though imperfect, was more melodious than its commercial versions, and more suitable for ballet.

***

A few months later, Giselle was walking along Corso Vittorio Emanuele when she heard Paul’s music played from the distance. As she approached, she saw a young drummer, rolling and juggling the drumsticks in between beats complementing with rhythm melodies and harmonies coming from a soundbox. She stood entranced at the margins of the crowd. Then a foot began to tap, and then both did. Then the body moved, and twisted, and rocked, and jumped, and flowed from pirouette to pirouette as if she was still the little girl in front of the fiddler and his band at the village. She forgot about classical moves and positions and danced with spontaneity. But the body, the legs, the arms, the torso, and the neck did not forget the hard-learned discipline, and the improvised pantomime revealed the talent of a master. The people around started to pay more attention to Giselle than the drummer, who kept playing harder and faster while smiling at Giselle. When the piece was done, Giselle was surrounded by an admiring crowd. Many coins poured into the drummer’s hat together with compliments to both as passersby assumed that they were a couple.

Then the drummer asked in English:

“Do you like this music? Isn’t it a perfect blend of everything; classical, pop, rock, African, Asian, Western? And rhythm makes it alive. I love Paul Vincente’s work. He might be crazy, but the music is magnificent.”

Giselle stood in silence. She looked at the handsome young American drummer, blond and with blue eyes. He was so different from Paul, yet she felt closeness.

“Yes” she answered “I like his music and I love him! Do you know him?”

“Of course, I know him! Who does not know Paul Vincente?”

“I mean, do you know him personally?”

“Of course, I don’t! If I knew him, I would not be playing for a few coins in a foreign country! This is a poor man tour! I am no Credence Clearwater Revival and definitely not a band recognized by Master Vicente!”

“But you are good! You are very, very good! I really like your interpretation of his music. I play it myself at the piano, but I am not that good! I want to buy your recordings.”

“Anyhow, nobody knows him as a human being. Probably, not even Paul knows himself. People say that he is a lunatic. Rumors are that he is depressed and on drugs all the time. He is rarely seen in public. They say that he moved to California and lives in seclusion in the redwood forest like a mountain lion.”

That last comment resonated with the power of a thunder in Giselle’s heart. Now, it was not she who needed Paul. Paul needed her! As for Professor Federico before, Paul’s dark side aroused her maternal instinct. She was now bestowed the mandate of finding and saving her hero. She knew with certainty that the nice man that she met and who looked straight in her eye with paternal affection could not be a lunatic or junkie. Paul just needed someone; someone who could prove him true love.

…Giselle, Giselle, how could you be so naïve and correct at the same time? What did you know about life then? What intuition kept alive the shadow of an occasional encounter? What instinct determined a future that was not meant to be otherwise?

***

A few evenings later, Giselle announced at dinner:

“I changed my mind. I will become a prima ballerina.”

Reacting to such assertion, Professor Federico and Signora Maria looked at each other. Then Professor Federico felt that the minestrone was in substantial need of salt. He reached across the table with the stretched arm for the salt cellar and poured the precious mineral into the palm of the other hand. Then, he sprinkled the ingredient over the soup, mixed the concoction, tasted it, and decided that more was required. After several repetitions, satisfied with the outcome, he looked at Signora Maria and asked:

“Do you need salt Maria? The minestrone tastes insipid this evening.”

Signora Maria nodded, extended the hand, and mimicked Professor Federico’s ceremony.

“Would you like some salt, Giselle?” She then asked.

But Giselle was content eating her soup without qualms.

Having bought sufficient time to reflect upon the current predicament, Signora Maria addressed Giselle.

“…And what made you change your mind, Giselle?”

Giselle continued to chew with composure as if the matter had been settled by her opening statement and answers to Maria’s questions were superfluous. The truth was that she could not articulate why and how things evolved so abruptly. Isn’t the beauty of youth? Like a kitten chasing a butterfly, at this stage of life, the mind can fly over the pastures of haven lifted by capricious breezes disregarding the boundaries of accountability.

“Seriously, Giselle, what made you decide to become a professional ballerina rather than a doctor?” insisted Signora Maria.

“Because I met Paul at the cafeteria of the school.  He asked me what I wanted to do when I grew up! At the beginning it felt that it was a silly question, and I did not know what to answer. It was like being caught into a math test without being prepared. I needed to think about it. But, before I knew, my mouth had already spoken:

– I want to become a ballerina – I told him.

He then told me that if that was what I wanted, then I should do it, like he chose to become a musician. So, I vouched to become a prima ballerina. I realized, when our eyes stared into each other’s, that an eternal bond was established; a marvel had occurred, and my destiny was locked to his. I cannot forget him, and I want to see him again.”

“And who would this Paul be?”

“He is a very famous composer. He came and sat by my side because it was the only open space. He told me that I should put no limits to my imagination.”

“I thought that you wanted to become a doctor. Isn’t what you told us just a while ago? I thought that you did not want to become a ballerina. in fact, you felt that it was an imposition bestowed upon you since birth. Isn’t it what you told us? So, if you should do what you want, you should become a doctor, or am I missing something?” Hammered Signora Maria with aggravating logic. 

“The thing is, Mom, that I love him. And becoming a ballerina is the only way I can see him again.”

“You love someone whom you just met in a cafeteria? And how old is this prince charming?”

“I don’t know, maybe 40? I can look it up if you want me to.”

“Don’t you think that it is inappropriate for an adult man to come onto a young girl? What else did he do to you? What else did he say?”

“Nothing, he patted me in the shoulder and told me good luck when he left. He told me to never give up.”

“Have you seen him again?”

“No.”

“Did he leave his contact information with you?”

“No.”

“Did he say that he wants to see you again?”

“No.”

“And why do you think that he loves you?”

“I never said that he loves me. I love him. And, one day, he will love me.”

“And what if he doesn’t?” continued Signora Maria quasi amused by the grotesque conversation.

“I think he will! I know he will! They say that he is depressed, drinks too much and he is a junkie, and he hates to be with people. So, I think that he will be happy meeting someone who truly loves him.”

“And my dear Giselle, why would you love someone who is much older, who barely knows you and who has all possible drawback that I man could have?”

“Because I know that deep inside, he is a wonderful man. I remember the way he looked at me, I recollect his gaze into my eyes, how he listened to me carefully, and how he talked to me as if I was a grown up. I felt that he was very sincere, and he cared for me, just for a few moments but he really did. And I felt a warmth inside my heart that I never felt before. And then I knew, …I know, Mom, that he is the man of my life.”

***

There was absolutely no way, that one could add more salt to the minestrone. Professor Federico could not think of anything else that could help circumnavigating the conversation, even for a few moments, just enough to take a deep breath at minimum.

Life had been perfect since Giselle entered his life. This beautiful, thoughtful, caring girl. But suddenly, he was afraid that Giselle was turning mad. Being his first time to navigate the turbulent waters of teenagerhood, this interaction was, to say the list, disturbing.

He, therefore, called:

“Lori, can you come here please?”

“What can I do Mister?”

“If I remember correctly, I bought tiramisu yesterday and we forgot to eat it. Should we have it this evening?”

“Certainly!” replied Lori concerned.

“Something wrong must be going on.” She thought.

“Should I bring grappa for the tiramisu, or maybe brandy?”

“Grappa please. This is a great idea!”

Meanwhile, Signora Maria’s deductive thinking was making progress. To guarantee maximal accuracy, she switched to Russian:

“OK, Giselle. Let’s think it through. We are facing two different issues here: the first is that you are in love with someone, whom you don’t even know, who does not know you, who lives God knows where and may be craved. That is fine! Time will tell. But the pressing predicament is your schooling choice. Even for this, you have plenty of time to decide. Federico and I will not try to persuade you one way or another, but don’t you think that a career as a performer is too risky? Are you sure that, for whatever good or bad reason, you want to follow such a difficult path? What if you cannot make it as a professional ballerina? Will you be a ballet teacher for the rest of your life? Don’t you think that it would be most reasonable to consider a plan B?”

Maria’s words made perfect sense. Professor Federico nodded. It was obvious that there was no point arguing against farfetched circumstances. The infatuation with Paul would soon fade and everything would return to normal on that account. But what if irreversible damage to the professional career would result from Giselle’s impulse? A decision that she might regret for the rest of her life.

It was, therefore, then that Federico the “cunctator[1]” interjected:

“Perhaps, it would be best to talk with Madame Petrova and test her judgment. If she believes that you have the potential to become a successful ballerina, so be it. If she discourages such choice, you will never find Paul through that path anyway, and you might just as well follow a mainstream track. What about that?”

That reasoning settled to conversation for the night since Madame Petrova was not there and the only option was to switch the conversation to Federico’s liking and enjoy the tiramisu with grappa for the Professor and tisane for the ladies.

***

And so it was that a few evenings later, Madame Petrova sat at the dinner table with Signora Maria and Professor Federico, while Giselle had been encouraged to spend the evening with friends at a local trattoria.

Signora Maria had prepped her husband suggesting a casual conversation without mention of the current quandary to avoid prompting Madame Petrova’ judgment.

Therefore, Professor Federico, after the customary pleasantries, started:

“Well, it’s incredible to think how far we have gone since the day we brought Giselle to your studio. I remember that you were quite skeptical. Is my recollection correct?”

“Well, it is true that Giselle was quite advanced in age when you brought her, and I was worried about her ability to cope with the new place. Everything was new, environment, people, language, and the rigor of dancing. I didn’t feel it was appropriate to put her though such stress. On the other hand, if we had to give it a try, there was no point procrastinating.

But then, I remember looking straight into her eyes. I remember her humble confidence, I would dare to say her humble arrogance. She looked at me as a tiger would focus on the pray, as if I was the apprentice, and she was the teacher. And she maintained that demeanor day after day. Not a moment of hesitation. She would come to the studio at the right time, never a minute late. She would listen and absorb every word said. She rarely talked unless asked. I never had to repeat myself twice. And she performed with the precision of a natural; as if dance belonged to her, and we were just accidental bystanders.

In a short period, she was on a league of her own. Not just because of the physical performance, but because of her poise, absorption, self-confidence, the control of body and spirit, her charismatic presence. I have never observed anything like that. I guess that this is the footmark of legends. Soon the other students looked up at her in awe. And yet she maintained the humble and reserved demeanor. Beyond the dance, she was a simple, quiet, and unpretentious foreign girl thankful for being accepted. At the end of each lesson, she would return to the bench, collect the garments, put street clothes over the leotard and leave without a word. When the other girls tried to lure her into a conversation, she smiled, listened politely to a few words before saying: – Sorry, I must go home. I have homework to do. –

I felt sorry at times for her, she seemed to be skipping youth, but at the same time, she thrived in determination, she seemed happier than the other students, simply because she had a clear path to follow.

We mostly execute our existence rather than living our dreams; that is what happened to me. I wanted to be a ballerina. I became a teacher instead. Maybe I would be nothing now, but maybe not: I could have lived my dream. The sad thing is that I will never know. I fell in love with a great dancer, I worked hard to impress him. But he never noticed me. When I realized that I was not doing it for me but for this fatuous dream, I gave up. That’s the story of my life.

I have observed Giselle for years now. She is the best student I ever had in all accounts. She is kind, compassionate, thoughtful, and respectful. She is clever, and on the dance floor she is impeccable. Every movement, every posture is natural and perfect. She outperforms expectations by combining soul with teachings. There is no hesitation in a single fiber of her body, and most recently, she added something that lacked before: there is melancholy in her gestures. It seems that her arms are reaching for something missing, that her eyes scrutinize horizons beyond the horizon. Her dancing furthers perfection with subtle deviations from the prescribed geometry that give spontaneity to the scripted moves.”

And then she added in French as to underscore the significance of her point:

“Il y a toujours un mouvement au bout de ses doigts comme une prémonition pour le suivant plier, etendre, relever, sauter, tourner, glisser, et elancer.”

Returning to Russian after the trance, Madame Petrova continued:

“Of course, it is easy for me to be biased. I am in love with this girl, and I may not be objective enough. That’s why, I asked the Maestro at La Scala to peek at her performances. He told me after just a few instants:

– I know a rising star when I see one, that girl is made for the high leagues. You give her to me, and I will take care of her. I can make her a prima ballerina. –

And I guarantee that with his connections all over the world if someone can that is the Maestro.”

By the time Madame Petrova was done with the soliloquy, the eyes were shiny. In the absence of a handkerchief, she touched, in an unorthodox move, her cheeks with the napkin leaving makeup stains on it.

 ***

Madame Petrova’s opening statement settled the conversation. No question remained about what Madame Petrova’s expectations were of Giselle.

Yet, Signora Maria was compelled to raise a most reasonable concern:

“But what are her chances of success in such a competitive environment? And what would be of her if she fails?”

“She will succeed in one way or another. She can be a soloist, she has shown it already, and she is quite ready for pas de deux. She performed quite well in a rehearsal of the Swan and Giselle. She memorized everything perfectly. She can transition already from entrée, to adagio, variations and the coda. She has not tried it in a public performance yet, but she is ready for it and she has the confidence to go for it. She will be ready soon to be hired by several companies or simply grow from our corps de ballet. Thus, she will have a career for sure. The question is how far she will go. That I cannot predict. There is politics in ballet just as in anything else. There is luck, opportunities, or most often lack of. But it is promising that the Maestro is on her side. With him behind, she will have a head start. In the worst-case scenario, she could become a lead dance teacher in a high-level studio. She will have a job and if this is what she wants, she will be happy.”

“But the real question remains of whether she really wants to follow this path.” Continued Madame Petrova. “Just of late, she told me that she wanted to go to medical school.”

“Yes, this is what she told us to. But then she met this Paul musician. She said his name is Paul Vincente.  He encouraged her to pursue her dreams, and since then she seems to have changed her mind.”

Realizing that, besides the overture, his wife had carried most of the conversation from the family side, to reassert his relevance to the conversation, Professor Federico asked:

“Would you like some wine? We have this Pinot Nero that goes egregiously with the swordfish.”

Madame Petrova smiled, approached the glass, and continued to converse with Signora Maria.

“Paul Vincente is a great modern composer. His work has been choreographed into modern dance. He visited Milan recently and met with students. I am not sure about what he has to do with Giselle. But she mentioned him to me also. She asked indeed whether she could transition to modern dance. I told her, that it is her choice but if she decided to continue in ballet rather than medical school, the best chances are to first establish her reputation in classical dance, since this is what she has been building on and she already has a path ahead. Modern dance is fun, and I would support her if that was what she wanted but it is less structured than classical and more susceptible to the capriciousness of choreographers. It is less competitive, or the competitiveness is less based on technical skill. She is more likely to succeed within the rigorous boundaries of classical ballet where standards are too high for most.”

“And what do you think about this Paul infatuation?” Asked Signora Maria, who could not control her angst.

“Dreams are dreams! As I told you, I was young and naïve too and I also fell in love for a famous dancer that inspired my career. He never noticed me even when there was a chance. It was a nice dream that never concretized.

I think that Paul represents for her something that she can own. A dream that was not imposed upon her by circumstances. We all need dreams, don’t we? No point killing a young person dream. I would let her be. He is a charismatic and attractive man. But she will get over soon. Besides, he lives in America and rumor is that he is married to his cousin.”

“So be it!” Exploded Professor Federico. “Let her do what she wants! That girl gave us already more happiness that we could have ever dreamed of! And, you know what? Screw medical school! I never wanted to be a doctor myself! My parents made me become one and I can’t complain but I will never know what could have been of me if I followed a dream!”

The “screw medical school” concept did not go unnoticed by Signora Maria, who looked sternly but at the same admiringly at her meek husband.

“Is Federico becoming a real man in his old age?” We suppose she thought.

***

Thus, at age nineteen, Giselle was a prima ballerina. Madame Petrova became de facto her agent and the Maestro her guardian angel in the formidable circle of performing arts.

Continued in: Catarsis, Conclusion

[1] Latin for: procrastinator, byname of Quintus Fabius Maximus Verrucosus, the Roman military commander whose cautious delaying tactics during the early stages of the second Punic War (218–201 BC) gave Rome time to recover its strength.