The Art of Waiting by Christopher Jory Read Free Book Online

at?’
    â€˜Nothing,’ she replied.
    He walked towards the alleyway, then turned round to face her.
    â€˜You can come with me, if you want.’
    She considered the invitation for a moment, then jumped up and followed him along the alley towards the street.
    â€˜Where’s your ballet school, then?’ Katerina asked as they walked.
    â€˜Not far. Past the Mariinsky Theatre.’
    â€˜The Mariinsky! Are you really good, then?’
    â€˜I said past the Mariinsky. Do you think they’d let the likes of me dance there?’
    â€˜Oh,’ she said.
    A short time later they passed the Mariinsky and paused outside to look through the tall windows at the canvas pictures of dancers that hung from golden ropes in the foyer.
    â€˜That’ll be you one day,’ she said, pointing to a dancer in mid-flight.
    He laughed.
    â€˜What are you laughing for?’ She was annoyed now. ‘Why shouldn’t it be you?’
    â€˜Why should it be me?’
    He looked at her and laughed again, an embarrassed disbelieving little laugh.
    A few minutes later they stopped outside an old building. ‘This is it,’ said Oleg. ‘My teacher’s called Mrs Andropova. She’s very beautiful, but also very fierce.’
    Oleg pushed the door open and Katerina followed him up the stairs and into a large hall. Katerina sat on a bench by the window while Oleg and the other students began their warm-up, Mrs Andropova’s voice pursuing them terrified around the room. Then she noticed Katerina sitting on the bench, watching from the sidelines.
    â€˜You, girl! What are you doing sitting there?’
    Katerina looked up, petrified.
    â€˜Are you deaf as well as lazy? What are you doing sitting there on your own? Come on, join in, we’ve already started!’
    â€˜But I’m not . . .’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜I haven’t got the right clothes.’
    â€˜What? Speak up! I can’t hear you if you don’t open your mouth. Carry on, you lot!’
    She marched over to Katerina.
    â€˜I haven’t got the right clothes. I just came to watch my friend. Him over there. Oleg.’
    â€˜Nonsense! You can’t just sit there watching. The others won’t be able to concentrate, and if they can’t concentrate, they can’t dance and I can’t teach.’
    Katerina stood up and began to walk towards the door. Mrs Andropova watched her go.
    â€˜Wait! Girl! Wait! Come with me.’
    She took Katerina into a side-room and began flustering about in a cupboard, muttering irritably to herself as she did so. ‘Here, put these on, and come and join the others. Quickly now!’
    She placed a bundle of clothes in Katerina’s arms and went back into the hall which rang once more with her voice and the drumming of little feet on the wooden floor. Katerina felt the unfamiliar fine touch of the fabric of the tights and the heavy padded comfort of the socks and she looked at herself in the mirror. She put on a white sweater, smelling of dust and age, and edged back into the hall. Oleg caught her eye.
    â€˜Come on, hurry up!’ called out Mrs Andropova.
    Katerina scuttled across towards Oleg.
    â€˜Only for queers, is it?’ he smiled.
    She glared at him, then frowned, and concentrated on mimicking the movements of the others in the room, but she was always out of time, leaping as they fell, falling as they leapt.
    An hour later Katerina and Oleg were passing the Mariinsky Theatre once more and they stopped again to look through the windows.
    â€˜Look, there you are again,’ said Katerina, pointing at the dancer in the picture.
    â€˜And that’s you there,’ he whispered, stumbling over his words.
    â€˜Yes,’ she said. ‘You and me.’ She looked for a moment at the ballerina, cast in hues of blue and grey in the stage lights, her face raised towards the sky, a pale slender arm reaching out to something unseen. They walked