Song to a Siren
Long afloat on shipless oceans
I did all my best to smile
'Til your singing eyes and fingers
Drew me loving to your isle
And you sang
Sail to me
Sail to me
Let me enfold you
Here I am
Here I am
Waiting to hold you
Did I dream you dreamed about me"
Were you here when I was forced out
Now my foolish boat is leaning
Broken lovelorn on your rocks
For you sing, Touch me not, touch me not, come back tomorrow
Oh my heart, Oh my heart shies from the sorrow
Well I'm as puzzled as the newborn child
I'm as riddled as the tide
Should I stand amid the breakers"
Or should I lie with death, my bride"
Hear me sing, Swim to me, swim to me, let me enfold you
Here I am, here I am, waiting to hold you.
-This Mortal Coil (Tim Buckley cover)
https://www.youtube.com/watch"v=LQV_80VKVLM
"10 minutes, Josie." The stage manager's knock ripped the ballerina from the quiet reverie of her dressing room backstage.
"Merci." Called out absently in her mother tongue to confirm that she had heard. An unconscious thing perhaps, due to the elegant white card she held, stamped with the familiar sigil of Mother's fashion house in Paris. Slender fingertips lingered over the hand written note penned in her Mother's elegant hand—a lost art, she often used to say. The ballerina's eyes roamed over the graceful loops and delicate little flourishes that seemed all too fitting for Madeline Batiste.
The empty seat she had reserved for her Mother for the final performance of Ondine had not gone unnoticed, but Josette held out hope for a late arrival. Her Mother had her own unique way of making an entrance after all.
All through the first Act, Josette's gaze was unwittingly drawn to the empty seat. So often in fact, it inevitably became her focal spotting point for nearly every one of her pirouettes. It was not until she reached her dressing room backstage that she discovered a large white box along with the usual, obligatory flowers that she knew for sure that the seat would remain empty.
The story of the ballet was one that Josette thought her Mother would remember and appreciate. Madeline's Grandfather owned a beautiful, love worn copy of the original story, Undine, by Friedrich de la Motte Fouque that Josette had rescued from a dust filled attic in Paris during one of her Mother's frenzied, ruthless Spring cleaning sessions. The designer demanded a thorough, Marie Kondo worthy purge of anything that had outlived its usefulness and banished anything that offended her eye or detracted from her desired aesthetic from her sight.
"One must leave enough room for the Muse to return come Spring, ma petite fee.†However the two had shared a moment together afterwards, sequestered in one of their favored cafes as Josette enjoyed a cloud like pate et choux and flipped through the pages, admiring Arthur Rackham's beautiful illustrations within. She showed her Mother her favorites while reading a few passages aloud, while Madeline internally battled with her desire to smoke in front of her daughter, restless fingers channeling the nervous energy into scrawling ideas for future designs on dozens of tiny cocktail napkins.
"Ridiculous story." Madeline sniffed in disdain and she tacked on a bit of colorful french that made Josette's young eyes widen and wonder if she'd heard her Mother correctly. "A woman should no more enter into a marriage to secure mortality anymore than she should sell her soul to keep one afloat. Trust me, Josette, you'll end up dead in the water either way." Her tongue hugged the inside of her cheek, a distinct note of bitterness lingered on Madeline's tongue that had absolutely nothing to do with the coffee she sipped.
There was a subtle softening of the designer's beautiful face however, as Josette asked her why she had saved the book for so long if she did not enjoy the story. Madeline's jaw hardened again and a moment later and she dismissively waved a hand. "Really, I forgot it was even up there." Several heartbeats later, the mask slipped just a touch and she continued. "My Grandfather used to read that to me when I was a girl. It was..." Madeline trailed off, her eyes ticking out the cafe window to stare off at something only she could see— well beyond the streets of Paris. "It was a different time." There was a sharp clink as she set her coffee cup down with a punctuation of finality that Josette read as a clear indication that her Mother did not wish to discuss it any further.
Later that evening however, Madeline came to Josette's room with her original sketch book, as well as photographs from one of her first shows in Paris. Clearly the story had made a lingering impression on her Mother, as her designs called up images of beautiful sirens, mermaids and naiads. Flowing silhouettes of tulle and organza—like ripples on the sea, embellished with all manner of minuscule delicate crystals. Vivid arrays of Ocean-blues, Botticelli Venus pinks, intricately corseted bodices that were meticulously designed to accent the decolletage and strongly recalled sea sculpted coral. Crowns and hair accessories were painstakingly constructed with tiny seed pearls and glittering Swarovski encrusted star fish. Heels designed to look like beautiful sprays of sea foam sprang up at the model's ankles, perhaps only revealed with a gust of an ocean breeze or a well timed swish of a skirt.
Snapping back from the memory, Josette read her Mother's message written on the card over again, as if it would somehow change the longer she looked at it. There was no apology for her absence of course, even though it had been a considerable amount of time since the two had seen each other. Madeline hardly ever saw the need to apologize. However, she took pains to remind her daughter that the run of her ballet most inconveniently coincided with perhaps the busiest time of year for her (which of course was fashion week in Paris.) The enclosed gift was an olive branch—in her own way, signed off with a reminder that it was a thing of extraordinary beauty and Josette should have a care not to break it.
The ballerina reached for the box on her dressing room table. Slender fingers lifted the lid and removed the many layers of delicate pieces of tissue paper—white, flimsy, things littered the floor like the remnants of delicate wings around the dancer's pointe shoes. The bowl within was an exquisite, opalescent design by Lalique, fittingly named, "Ondines." Six swirling sea nymphs circled the interior of mesmerizing blues, minuscule water bubbles within the glass catching the light when she held it just so.
There was a sudden, uncharacteristically violent impulse within the dancer to hurl the exquisite glass design across the room— just for the pure satisfaction of watching it shatter against the wall. The impulse was checked a moment later as the sudden rapid patter of pointe shoes heading towards the stage could be heard outside her door. She quelled the impulse and delicately laid the bowl safely within its nest of remaining tissue paper, albeit with with slightly trembling hands as the energy still coursed through her.
The petite ballerina adjusted her pointe shoes one final time and fixed a smile in place as she exited her dressing room and spotted Pearl and the other Naiads of the corps who were bubbling with excitement for the final act. Suggestions of where they all might go to celebrate the end of the run were traded back and forth between the dancers as they dipped their pointe shoes in various boxes of rosin to help provide them with better traction onstage. She gave a wink to Merethyl, the elven beauty serenely stretching nearby, before helping Eeva her adjust her bridal veil. It was secure enough to stay in place while she danced, but easy enough for her to remove without any difficulty when the proper moment came onstage. Such things could lead to awkward and sometimes comical costume malfunctions. Each one of the ballerinas no doubt had multiple horror stories from prior shows that were frequently traded behind the curtain and at many a cast party.
She finally came to Jamie's side, a slight tremor passing through her due to all the emotions within her still whirling around, before she took a deep breath and slipped her hand into his. She gave it a light squeeze, comforted by his ever steady presence before she put her focus on finishing out the show. Being her dancer partner these many years with the Shanachie ballet company, he never once let her fall. Jamie certainly carried her through a lot more than the difficult lifts for that final performance...more than he would ever know.
