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Danse Macabre
by H. D. Gausch Length: 51,000
Blurb/Logline: To an isolated island off the cold waters of northern Maine comes a young ballet dancer to claim a promised legacy of training from the famed but mysterious former partner and paramour of her deceased mother. But there is more than dance to learn in the purificaiton of her art. Will this young ballerina yield her love, her art, and possibly even her life to possess a man who is already possessed?
Synopsis: On the dark wharf, a curt note from Maestro denies her an audience. On threat of calling the police, the enigmatic housekeeper takes her to the island where she discovers an extraordinary dancer, Maestro's son, to whom she is immediately drawn. On seeing them dance, Maestro agrees to train her, insulting her and cruelly driving her to perform the difficult Danse Macabre. She receives an offer to star in a Danish company, but the collapse of the cliff stairs traps her. She is caught by conflicting desires for both father and son. Driven to know the dark secret in Maestro's tower rooms, she climbs over a rain-soaked roof and finds Maestro is only a shriveled corpse. In a delusion to deny his father's death, the son has assumed his persona and trained her. In a trance, she is called to the roof edge to join Maestro in a death plunge. When she nearly falls, the son snaps his delusion and saves her.
Opening: The sea rolled gray and forbidding like a mass of cold molten iron as it met the hard blue steel of the evening sky. On the dim horizon squatted the island, as dark and mysterious as its owner, the famous danseur noble, Gregory Lichine. Karin caught her breath. It was there, it was real, he was real. She'd dreamed about coming here ever since she began the first tiny steps of ballet that her deceased mother had taught her. The plan was for him to take her training to the next level, to continue the legend of the ballet world's two most celebrated dancers. This was the day she'd been training for during the past eighteen years. Now the years of work, sweat and pain were all for nothing. The dream had come to an abrupt end. Her mother was gone, and now so was Karin's hope. She looked out again at the fading outline of the island called Gullhaven, a distant vision that suddenly was unattainable. Karin turned away from the dirty window of the marina shack, her anger rising. She watched the bearded boatman wipe the greasy counter with a wet gray rag. No one was there to meet her or arrange for her to cross the water. Not that she'd needed anyone to put out a welcome mat. She was here to collect a legacy. Capable of being on her own at nineteen, she had sent a note earlier declaring her desire to claim the promised training that was her legacy. What she hadn't expected was the curt reply, typewritten and unsigned, waiting for her on the shore, destroying her dream. Gregory Lichine in Europe for indefinite stay. Arrangements have been made for you to study with Mikhail Lermontov in New York City. This will meet his obligation to your mother Olga Tchernikova. And sending her to Mikhail Lermonov! Her mother would be furious. The man was in no way Lichine's equal; a creator of fragile, effeminate dancers without passion or technique. The legend of would die. Lichine and Tchernikova! The names were still illustrious in the ballet world. The brief note suggested none of the passion and intensity Karin had come to believe embodied Gregory Lichine. Karin reread the message ─ so curt, so cold. It was without the grace and elegance her mother had narrated when she spoke lovingly of him. The way her mother described him, Karin knew, as did the entire dance world, that they were lovers as well as partners. "He is magic, my little one - brilliant, talented and arrogant. He's proud, stern and completely amoral . . . but we shared a magical experience together that I will never forget. One day when you are ready to go to him, you will experience it, too." Karin knew her mother had loved him . . . even feared him. It had come as a surprise to everyone in the dance world when the famous ballerina assoluta had married a young emerging symphony conductor, Per Nordlund, Karin's father, and not the imperious Gregory Lichine. The tabloids had a field day guessing the reason for the ending of a superb artistic and intimate relationship. Still, the promise had been made by Linchine when Karin was born, to train Olga's daughter in the Maryinski style of Russian ballet as soon as she had completed solid classical training. Over the years, Karin developed so far as to be accepted into a regional ballet company's corps de ballet with occasional opportunities as a soloist. She was noticed as a dancer of talent, but was rarely available for the necessary touring, as her mother always held her back for more intense training. It was an obsession that kept Karin relegated to local performances. "Maestro Lichine must find no flaws, Karen. I won't send you to him until you are ready." Unfortunately, Olga Tchernikova died before Karin had achieved a level her mother thought was acceptable. It was well-known that as both a teacher and a dancer, Lichine had no equal. Karin had dreamed of the day when she could display all the years of work for her mother's paramour. Now she was here and felt ready for him. Why had he changed his mind when she appeared today to claim the legacy? He must know of Olga's passing, which was reported world wide. Had Karin studied sixteen years for this rebuff? From the first painstakingly supervised demi-plie to the thirty-two rigorous fouettes of Don Quixote, her mother had reminded her of the promised training. She would shout, "With authority! With ballon! Gregory would never permit such lifeless jetes! For him, dance for him! Make me proud to present you to him." Then a year ago, after her mother's death, those letters, those beautiful letters she'd saved, had all come into Karin's hands. Olga, my beloved. Our souls are forever entwined. You cannot remove yourself from me, nor can I ever be free of you. You will come to know that marriage kills the love it seeks to celebrate, and that such a ritual bond can only strangle the free artistic spirit. You waste precious time from me. Yet I know that eventually you will come and we can be rejoined in our art ─ and our mutual passion. But Olga hadn't gone to him. Whether she'd ever meant to, Karin couldn't know. Apparently her mother was faithful to the gentle, affectionate man she'd married, a man extensively schooled in music, famous in his own right and awed by his wife's fame and talent. He was completely devoted to her. But in the inconsolable grief of her passing, he died three months later. Now both were gone and Karin was alone. But there was still the legacy to claim. What had Olga Nordlund written to Gregory Lichine these past years to keep that love alive, to keep his letters coming? Had she promised to come herself to present her daughter ─ and perhaps renew their love affair? Lichine's latest letter, dated over two years ago: Is it through Karin that we shall find each other again? So be it. Send her if she has the talent you report. My gift to you shall be her art. Shall I teach her to love, as well, if you do not come with her? Certainly you have memories of the all consuming fires of love we shared. Olga died in her studio, alone. She had been working on a masterpiece, a work for Gregory Lichine. Although she seemed driven to complete it, to have her daughter perform it for him, Karin had never seen it fully executed, had only danced parts of it and reviewed her mother's notes after her death. It was a difficult, but inventive gift for her former lover, an extraordinary dance sequence set to music by Saint Saens: Dance Macabre. Prizes: Two short Story Honorable Mentions.
Bio: The author has a Master's Degree in Clinical Psychology. In her younger years, she was a member of the Pennsylvania Civic Ballet and a teacher at the Connecticut Civic Ballet, founded the Ballet Workshop, a small dance company, and is an artist with several one-man shows. She was a Woman Officer in the US Marine Corps Reserve. Her son is a musician, and her daughter is in charge of Harvard's three art museums. |
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NOTE: All material is copyright protected. No portion of this material may be copied or reproduced, either electronically, mechanically, or by any other means, for resale or distribution without the written consent of the author. All copy has been dated and registered with the American Society of Authors and Writers. Copyright 2008 by The Swetky Agency |
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