The alarm clock did not work. The newlyweds ran out of the hotel only half dressed and just managed to reach at the station in time for the train that would carry them to the port of Bremen. There they boarded the Weser, an impressive ship whose first-class passengers included members of the Imperial Ballet, on their way to Buenos Aires for their debut in the famous Colón Theatre. The Weser boasted cabins in Chinese-French style, dinners enlivened by a string quartet, steam baths, spacious entertainment rooms, and long passageways with wood paneling that imitated ebony. In third class — that is, in the hold or on the poop deck — were packed 1,200 Russian Jews accepted by the Argentine government on the condition that they work on the pampa as farmers.
No sooner had Jashe set foot on the packet boat’s ladder than she sensed a threat to her happiness. Someone, one of the group of dancers who leaned on the railing of the upper deck, was watching them with a look like an invisible larva full of hatred. Alejandro too felt the ominous attack. His face pale, he said between his teeth, “Walk behind me and carry the bags as if you were a servant. I’ll explain later.” When they entered the spacious bedroom assigned to him as a principal dancer, the giant embraced Jashe, muttering apologies.
The situation was complicated: in a sense, he belonged to the Imperial Ballet, and the members of the corps were not allowed to marry. This of course was not written in their contracts, but it was accepted as an unspoken rule. The Director General, whose real name no one knew, went by Vladimir Monomaque in honor of the ancestor of the princes of Moscow. In the eleventh century, one had distinguished himself with his talent as an organizer and administrator. He enforced a ferocious discipline on the dancers, making them to rehearse all day long, never giving a thought to whether they had time for satisfy their emotional needs.
Monomaque’s possessiveness kept outsiders from the intimate life of the Ballet. Equally possessive was the sublime Marina Leopoldovna, the prima ballerina and the tyrant’s pampered pet, whose many caprices were tolerated because the success of the tours depended on her. Her immense talent and technical perfection attracted multitudes in every country.
Well, he was telling her all this because there was something very unpleasant he had to confess. One afternoon, yielding to the demands of the temperamental diva, Vladimir Monomaque entered Alejandro’s dressing room and, after reminding Alejandro of everything he owed him and the school — a refuge for the orphan such as him — ordered him to satisfy Marina’s sexual appetites, which seized her on the twenty-first day of every month. No one argued with the Director General. Unfortunately, because of the precipitous nature of events, Alejandro had not had the time to communicate to — let’s call things by their proper names — his lover the news of their marriage.
The news — he was sure of it — was going to cause a lot of trouble. Knowing Marina as he did, he knew she would faint and then wake up a few seconds later, foaming with rage. Then she’d refuse to dance, and finally, forced by the steely Director, she waged silent war by spreading animosity among the troupe until she made their lives impossible. All this could stop if Vladimir only found her another lover in the group — impossible, as they were all effeminate.
“I’m very sorry, Jashe. You have to eat and sleep in the servants’ area. The crossing will be long; it will last thirty-five days, and the tour will last six months or more. Aboard the ship, we will make love when you bring me my breakfast, and on land, if they give us a day off each week, we’ll go to some discreet hotel. When the tour is over, when we’re back in Moscow, we can finally return to normal. But if the star of the show finds out the truth and we have a crisis, Monomaque will instantly find someone in the school to replace me.”
Jashe held in her bitter tears, knowing that there was no solution but to accept the arrangements for now. The only thing she couldn’t understand was how her husband could have lied to her and said she was his first. He lowered his eyes in shame for five minutes that seemed like five hours. Finally, he whispered in a broken voice, “Tomorrow is the twenty-first. Marina Leopoldovna’s desire comes on with mathematical precision. Any moment now she will walk into this cabin. You should leave without looking back and wait in your place until the next day. I suggest you not talk with the servants, because they will fill your ears with obscene gossip. Ah, Jashe, how we suffer! You have to believe that this repulses me and that I suffer as much as you.”
Jashe’s love knew no limits. They threw themselves into each other’s arms and made more passionate love than ever. A gong sounded, announcing dinner. The liner was now rocking on the high seas. They said goodbye with a deep and furtive kiss, and Jashe, despite her seeming fragility, showed her impeccable moral strength. She picked up her suitcase, went to the servants’ quarters, accepted the suspicious looks of the little old ladies in charge of costume, and did not argue when she was given a tiny cabin with no windows that smelled of rotten beets. Impassive, she turned on the faucet, ran water onto the floor, and set about cleaning until everything sparkled. Every once in a while, some stagehand would open the door and look her up and down obscenely or mockingly.
The foreman, a fat Ukrainian who breathed through his mouth, emitting a slight but perpetual whine, escorted her to the dining room and gave her a place at the shared table. Barely able to keep from vomiting, she had just tossed a sack of gelatinous beets overboard. Now, as the only accompaniment to her breaded cutlets, she was served a few of those red tumors. A sour wine, made from powder and water, was passed around freely. Men and women, drunk, began to mimic a ballet. Showing their backsides, which they kept bare under heavy, long skirts, the assistants, the makeup women, and the seamstresses all spread their legs shamelessly so the workers could slip their calloused hands into the dark stains of their sex and raise them like awkward swans.
Up in the air, they imitated flying birds, erupting with crass squawks, and dropped onto the table chest-to-chest with their men. Trying not to call attention to herself, Jashe got up from the table and walked along the passageways to her cabin. Like an immense pelican, the Ukrainian, reeking of sugary sweat, fell on top of her. Staggering, he dragged her out on deck and laid her down under a lifeboat. She offered no resistance. She allowed him to raise her skirt and pull off her panties. She spread her thighs and took his fat member in both hands as if to show him the path. Then she delicately slid her fingers toward his testicles and crushed them with murderous intensity. The brute twisted and howled, but she kept squeezing until he fainted. Then she went to her pigsty of a cabin and slept peacefully.
The next morning she ordered a breakfast at the first-class kitchen and brought it to her husband, to whom she said told nothing, to spare him suffering. When he finished his tea with lemon, he gazed with anguish through the porthole, drew the curtains, and bolted the door. Then he undressed Jashe and took her to bed. After an hour, when the two of them had forgotten where they were, Marina Leopoldovna urgently knocked on the cabin door. Jashe had barely enough time to dress, snatch up the brush, kneel at the toilet, and pretend to be cleaning it.
Alejandro, without bothering to cover his nakedness, let her in. The diva stood in the center of the bedroom, stamping her little foot. Her steel toe smashing against the linoleum floor made a thunderous echo. Jashe exited with averted eyes and closed the door, biting her lip. She felt the click of the lock like a knife in her heart; the ballerina’s light steps were like bullets as she ran to throw herself into her giant’s arms. She had difficulty making her way along the passageway, which seemed soft and sticky, back to her own dark room. She wanted to vomit, to expel blood from her sex in a violent gush. Her face became violet red, the soles of her feet were burning. Stifling a roar, she made a half turn and with bared teeth returned to the cabin and peeked through the window.