Scene 26
Scene Twenty-six...Thirty-two Fouettes
Time: Afternoon, Saturday, March 30, 1946
Place: Ballet school
Storyteller: Janet
"Why did Sergey give me the role of an ordinary swan? Anna appeared to be considering me for the black swan, Odile." It feels good to vent while driving to ballet class.
"I don't know dear," answers Mom.
"Well, I'm not giving up without a fight. Have you seen me practicing fouettes for the last two weeks?"
"Now remind me again. What's a fouette?"
"In French it means 'whipped turn.' The raised leg never touches the ground, providing propulsion. It looks like it's being whipped in and out. Odile revolves on one leg thirty-two times, in Act III."
"Oh, my goodness. How many times can you do it?"
"Thirty-two."
"You need to show Anna!"
"Where are you going today?"
"I'll stay and watch you fouette."
Wouldn't you know it. Anna is absent for the very first time. Sergey teaches our class. He places me with Nancy and the other non-special swans. How boring.
Finally we are dismissed. Most of the students exit. Sergey says, "Good afternoon Mrs. Robertson," on his way toward the door.
Mom replies, "Mr. Brodsky, my daughter has been practicing fouettes all month. Do you have an extra minute to see where she might improve?"
He turns white and then red. "Why...of course. Janet, please come here."
What have I done wrong now? I scurry over.
"Have you been doing fouettes en pointe?"
"Yes, sir."
"Change shoes and demonstrate."
I obey.
He motions for me to move closer to the east windows, ocean to my back.
"Try the fouettes in the coda, if you can."
Coda means he wants to see thirty-two!
I begin to whip around...and around...and around...
Sergey counts each turn. He counts to thirty-two! He counts the entire coda!
Mom springs out of her chair like the cheerleader she used to be.
Sergey says nothing. He rubs his chin. At last he smiles, shakes his head in disbelief, waves goodbye, and leaves.
Mom and I do a little "happy dance" before it's time to change clothes.
We're on our way across the bay, Mom concentrating on her driving.
"There goes Dad. He just passed us."
"No, Janet. He's playing golf. It must have been a car like his Hudson."
Yes. 1942 Hudson Commodore. Silver and navy. Dad behind the steering wheel. This is one of the few times my mouth stays shut.
Time: Afternoon, Saturday, March 30, 1946
Place: Ballet school
Storyteller: Janet
"Why did Sergey give me the role of an ordinary swan? Anna appeared to be considering me for the black swan, Odile." It feels good to vent while driving to ballet class.
"I don't know dear," answers Mom.
"Well, I'm not giving up without a fight. Have you seen me practicing fouettes for the last two weeks?"
"Now remind me again. What's a fouette?"
"In French it means 'whipped turn.' The raised leg never touches the ground, providing propulsion. It looks like it's being whipped in and out. Odile revolves on one leg thirty-two times, in Act III."
"Oh, my goodness. How many times can you do it?"
"Thirty-two."
"You need to show Anna!"
"Where are you going today?"
"I'll stay and watch you fouette."
Wouldn't you know it. Anna is absent for the very first time. Sergey teaches our class. He places me with Nancy and the other non-special swans. How boring.
Finally we are dismissed. Most of the students exit. Sergey says, "Good afternoon Mrs. Robertson," on his way toward the door.
Mom replies, "Mr. Brodsky, my daughter has been practicing fouettes all month. Do you have an extra minute to see where she might improve?"
He turns white and then red. "Why...of course. Janet, please come here."
What have I done wrong now? I scurry over.
"Have you been doing fouettes en pointe?"
"Yes, sir."
"Change shoes and demonstrate."
I obey.
He motions for me to move closer to the east windows, ocean to my back.
"Try the fouettes in the coda, if you can."
Coda means he wants to see thirty-two!
I begin to whip around...and around...and around...
Sergey counts each turn. He counts to thirty-two! He counts the entire coda!
Mom springs out of her chair like the cheerleader she used to be.
Sergey says nothing. He rubs his chin. At last he smiles, shakes his head in disbelief, waves goodbye, and leaves.
Mom and I do a little "happy dance" before it's time to change clothes.
We're on our way across the bay, Mom concentrating on her driving.
"There goes Dad. He just passed us."
"No, Janet. He's playing golf. It must have been a car like his Hudson."
Yes. 1942 Hudson Commodore. Silver and navy. Dad behind the steering wheel. This is one of the few times my mouth stays shut.