In the Shadow of the Greats

The salesgirls were giggling and speaking quickly in Japanese. They looked at us curiously, as if trying to determine what planet we were from. The supervisor’s supervisor now appeared. And the entire group was repeating, “Cornflakes, cornflakes, aha.” Shoppers gathered, stopped around us and raised their hands, and remarked quite correctly, “Cornflakes.”

It was hopeless. Finally, I grabbed the hand of one of the service girls, who initially attempted to jump away. As I dragged her out the door and towards the display window, the whole procession of employees followed. I pointed my finger at the window and the ensemble yelled, “Aha, cornflakes, aha cornflakes.” We marched back into the store and I was finally served, as spectators nodded in approval, “Cornflakes, cornflakes.”
I attended a Japanese performance similar to a Radio City Music Hall extravaganza. Instead of thirty-two girls in the kick line, there were sixty-four! I was amazed at the precision of such a large group. Of course, physically, they were much smaller than their Western counterparts. Their showmanship was very apparent. They performed five shows per day, non-stop from 10:00 a.m. until 10:00 p.m. Astonishingly all the shows were very well attended.

When Japan’s young emperor married a non-royal bride--an exceptional event--the women from our company, including Mary, were invited to perform at the Imperial Palace as part of the wedding ceremony. Excerpts from Les Sylphides were chosen for the occasion. Unfortunately, our men were not invited, so we opted to spend the evening watching the showgirls at the Ginza. I went with Stefan Wenta, who usually danced the poet in Les Sylphides, as he was Galina’s partner. Before the show, we ate some doubtful-looking green soup. It looked so awful, as if it was dished out from a swamp or from stagnant water--and teased each other about who had the guts to eat it. It really tasted good and we did not get sick afterwards.

Mary reported that our girls arrived at the palace, were escorted through very elaborately decorated hallways, and led into a beautiful hall where the stage was erected. The emperor and his entourage, plus members of the royal household, sat on gilded chairs. The royal party was quite reserved in their reception of the dancers, who sensed that their hosts were unfamiliar with Western dance. The ballerinas did their job and departed, but not without a tour of the sumptuous royal gardens.

We performed the following day in Tokyo’s Kyoritsu Hall to full houses and appreciative audiences. The performances were successful, but the newspaper critics responded with mixed degrees of enthusiasm.

On the bill were Igrouchki, Les Elfes, and Islamey. Les Sylphides opened the program. That night, I danced the title role in Igrouchki (The Russian Puppet), plus the pantomime role of the Shah in Islamey.

Igrouchki is a comic Russian folk tale about young love. In true Fokine fashion, it was highly demanding of my technique, requiring polzounok, prisiadki, and a manège of coupé jeté en attitude (barrel turns). My most vivid memory of this ballet is pulling a donkey cart onstage with one hand, while simultaneously traveling towards center stage executing prisiadki (the Russian squat). I relished this role, as it required both character dance technique and mime.

Islamey was an abbreviated Schéhérazade. I personally did not care for it. Both the story and music were weak. Vitale Fokine’s staging did not uphold his father’s reputation. This particular ballet was appropriate for charity benefits. My impressions were later echoed by a Bombay critic, who panned it.

We spent New Year’s Eve in Tokyo waiting to ring in 1959. It was one of the most memorable holidays of my life. Since we were not performing, we collectively agreed to celebrate in a Japanese bar, similar to a British pub. The waiter brought over a bar list boasting an outstanding selection of liqueurs. We chose whisky, mostly because the price suited our purses. After the third or fourth round, we were quite cheerful and very much in the celebratory mood for ringing in the New Year. We decided to greet it on the Ginza, the Broadway of Tokyo. We asked for the bill and when it came, we nearly had heart attacks! It was ten times more than we had expected. We summoned the waiter and attempted to explain that on the price list, a shot was about thirty-five yen (about twenty-five cents). We could not understand why our drinks were charged at 875 yen--$1.50 per drink! With at least ten of us at the table, the bill totaled 26,250 yen! Collectively, we could not come close to shelling out that much money. When we explained to the waiter that according to the menu prices, we should have owed 1,750 yen, he replied, “You ordered Johnny Walker! The thirty-five yen is Japanese whisky!” Well, we could not pronounce the names of the Japanese whiskies and had no idea there would be such a price difference between Japanese and American bourbons!

Now the heat was on. We stared at each other until the police arrived. They were at our table in no time!

They yelled and screamed at us in Japanese and in broken English. Some of the girls got hysterical--both laughing and crying! We tried to explain what had happened, and who we were. We offered to bring the money the following day, as we simply did not have the billed amount with us. A great commotion erupted among the bartenders, owners, waiters, and police. During the peak of the tension, one of the owners agreed to accept whatever sum we had, which was about five thousand yen--about a third of the tab--and they let us go.

Suddenly the somber mood lifted. We ran out into the street, hugged, and kissed each other in the rain, holding our mushroom-style umbrellas. At last, it was 1959! And we agreed that the Ginza was a superb place to celebrate the New Year!

We left Tokyo in the midst of winter. Six hours later, our plane landed in the tropical climate of the Philippines. That quick seasonal transition was somewhat difficult on our bodies. I was particularly impressed with the countryside and its landscape of profuse palm and fruit trees, yielding pineapples, coconuts, and bananas. And I was also impressed with the bare-chested women, who sold that fruit by the roadside. The local white rum, a little lighter than most rum, mixed with the coconut milk, which I loved, made an excellent cocktail and cooler.

The Theatre Diliman in Quezon City was on the outskirts of Manila, as Manila’s central theater was still in ruins from the war. The Theatre Diliman had been built for the American GIs and was in the style of an army barracks shell. Many celebrities had performed there, including Bob Hope and company. The house held over four thousand.

We were transported from the city to the theater via an open-air minibus. Inside the Diliman, the temperature was surprisingly cool--by contrast to the afternoon heat--an impressive feat of architecture, which generated natural air conditioning.

The day before the first performance, we were invited to the Palace of President Carlos Garcia, who wished to see what dancers from Poland, Russia, Yugoslavia, and France looked like. We were ushered into a great, velvety hall. Garcia, his wife, and many other dignitaries, including Vice President Diosdado Macapagal were seated on a platform behind a long table which was placed in front of a large, red velvet curtain that was adorned with paintings and flags. We walked down a long aisle that was lined on both sides with armed guards, dressed in formal parade uniforms. They reminded me of the British Beefeaters at Westminster Palace in London. It was eerie to be on display and under inspection by statesmen and politicians. A smiling Garcia received us with island hospitality. In his welcoming speech, he immediately attempted to make us feel comfortable, expressing his admiration towards our multi-national company.

The Bayaniham Folk Ensemble hosted an opening night party for us. The gathering was held in a very picturesque park, near a wooden structure that resembled a Chinese pagoda. Here, in a square in front of the building, the folk dancers performed some of their dances in our honor and offered us a buffet table laden with food similar to Hawaiian cuisine mixed with Spanish flavors.

They challenged us to participate in Kon Tiki, their national bamboo dance. This is a kind of game that involves two people, who hold long, bamboo sticks in each hand. They rhythmically hit them on the ground and clap them together while others jump in and out of the moving sticks. The objective is not to get trapped or bumped. It was much harder than it looked, and I was sure that my legs were going to get crushed that night and I would not be able to dance! I must have had a terrified expression on my face, because they did not pressure me to continue for too long.

To save face, I performed a parody of Flamenco dancing, as I knew that this culture was influenced by Spanish dancing, which I had studied from Olga Torez at home and later in Paris with her partner Jose Torez. As I had pretty good zapateados (footwork) and could perform with authenticity, I easily overdid that and exaggerated the emotional demonstration of the Flamenco style. Performing in my party clothes and with two pieces of wood held together by a string instead of with castanets, I stomped through my performance. I must have impressed them, because they were rolling on the ground with laughter as they cheered me on.

We offered all four programs during this successful residency. The first, featured Les Sylphides, Igrouchki, Ballade, and The Adventures of Harlequin. Program II consisted of Les Elfes, Danseuses D’Opera, Islamey, and Le Carnival. Program III repeated Program I, except that Igrouchki was replaced by Spectre De La Rose, and program IV showcased Les Sylphides, Ballade, Danseuses D’ Opera, and Le Carnaval.

The public was enchanted with all of these programs. I deduced that they were impressed because they lacked previous exposure to Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes and could not compare us to the legendary troupe.

As word of our company’s success spread, more than a few autograph chasers surrounded us after each performance. I was especially popular with the local dancing school students, who toward the end of the run became our close friends. They lingered around the theater to watch rehearsals and preparations for the performances. I called them our “Philippine Balletomanes.” One girl in particular, must have had a crush on me, because she presented me with a rosary for good luck. As she bid me goodbye, I saw tears in her eyes. Overall the Filipinos were warm and hospitable people.

On January 10, 1959 we headed for Hong Kong, where we resided at the Cate Pacific Hotel, which was near Tiger Balm Garden.

We arrived a week prior to our residency and welcomed the break. We now had time to explore the city’s shopping Mecca and purchase inexpensive jade, silks, and other fruits of the land. The hustle and bustle of the shopping district had an infectious high energy. The local street artisans busily prepared their wares and lured the tourists to buy. I was very impressed by the dried ducks sold in the open markets. Some were chained together in a line that resembled a banner. For the most part, they hung by various body parts looking like they had been run over by a truck; their legs in perfectly turned out second position! Everywhere were great varieties of cured and roasted pork, which filled the shopping plazas with a thick, meaty aroma.

After roaming through the gluttonous wealth of the shopping districts, we visited the Tiger Balm Garden, a miniature replica of Chinese monuments and statues from ancient Chinese folklore. This hybrid was part Disneyland in its entertainment value and part Colonial Williamsburg in its historic preservation. It was on the honky-tonk side, but also very interesting and amusing.

We were invited to dine at the residence of a wealthy local developer. His skyscraper designs defined Hong Kong’s cityscape and have become familiar through films starring Jackie Chan. Our host (who resembled movie villain Fu Man Chu), had grandiose manners and welcomed us with an unforgettable Chinese feast.

Four gorgeous Chinese servants offered dishes in tiny serving bowls. Initially, we suspected that we would be underfed, as each vessel held a tiny portion. More was coming. The food was of the highest quality; we gorged ourselves. When the thirtieth dish arrived, we were already full; as the fortieth appeared, we thought that we were going to explode. We could see each other expanding like blimps. We looked like Mr. Fu Man Chu, himself!

Russian exiles from Harbin, who had been expatriated by the Red Chinese, populated the hotel. They were en route to Australia. The Chinese were extremely harsh, even vicious with these Russians because of the escalating political situation. Hong Kong was the only escape route from Communist China to the democratic world.

Isabelle Borgeaunad, Annie Dolbeu, my wife Mary, and I were invited by a Russian family to join them in their hotel room for a Russian Orthodox Christmas celebration. Festivities began in the afternoon, with the traditional Russian zakuski, (hors d’oeuvres) and high-octane vodka, as we sang «Paie do dna!» (“Drink to the bottom!”)

Among the guests were two British sailors, who were courting our host’s daughters. After two or three hours of toasting, both sailors were sprawled on the balcony, fairly green and nearly passed out. Our girls were admirably wasted. I, on the other hand, had balanced food and drink, and was the only one available to carry them back to their rooms. Their hangovers lasted for two days. I was very proud of myself for only getting slightly blitzed and living up to a good Russian guy’s self-image.

The Hong Kong engagement opened at the King’s Theatre with the Asian premiere of Léonide Massine’s Ballade, a contemporary ballet created especially for our company. The piece featured one male dancer with a female corps. As I recall, it was not particularly successful on tour.

The bill offered the Far East tour’s standard repertory of Les Sylphides, Igrouchki, and The Adventures of Harlequin. Hong Kong’s critics were more receptive than those in Japan. On January 16, the South China Post printed a review by Ruth Kirby, entitled, “Full House at Last Ballet Night--Brilliant Final performance Well Received by Audience--Popularity Established.” She opened with “…This Company of cheerful, gay and spirited young dancers has achieved success in Hong Kong.”

We added two ballets to the second program: Carnaval and Islamey. Fokine’s popular Carnaval (1910) was one of his most successful works for Diaghilev’s Ballets Russes. It unfolded as a series of character sketches set to Schumann’s music. Our production recreated Bakst’s scenery and costumes, which critic Ruth Kirby noted were integral to the success of this period piece. The original starred Tamara Karsavina and Vaslav Nijinsky, as Columbine and Harlequin, respectively. I danced the role of Pierrot, created for Adolph Bolm. I researched the ballet thoroughly through reading material and from information provided by Vitale Fokine. I gave my all to live up to Bolm’s original interpretation. Likewise, Conrad Derevsky and Anna Galina worked to uphold the Karsavina and Nijinsky roles. Of Islamey, Kirby noted in the January 16, 1959 issue of the South China Morning Post:
Islamey is in a Persian setting, somewhat reminiscent both of Schéhérazade and the Polovtsian maidens. Balakirev’s music can be both caressing and rousing, and finally rises to a pitch of high excitement, when Islamey, the Shah’s favorite, indulges in a wild orgy with the Shah’s slaves and serving maids. There was some beautifully synchronized dancing by Carmen Valesca as the favorite and Conrad Derevsky as the slave-lover; they seemed to dance as one. Nicolas Petrov as the Shah was a fierce and unbending character, a contrast to the mobility of the slave. There was a mounting dramatic tension about this short ballet. It is also a creation of Fokine, but less well known to audiences than some of his others.

We arrived in shabby Singapore at the end of January. There was no need to acclimatize; the humidity was higher than Manila’s, but the tropical climate was similar. Instead, we needed to adjust to our less luxurious surroundings and to the downtrodden and unkempt Chinese and Indian people. Like all port towns, the city was bustling with activity from the markets and import/export traffic. The bars were packed with sailors, and the streets strewn with vagrants begging for handouts.

The city was preparing for a religious observance--a day of repentance and reverence to Buddha. The participants engaged in exceptionally strange and unusual practices designed to illustrate suffering. These torture rituals employed needles, sticks, and hooks that were embedded in the body. We saw people with six inch metal rods running through their mouths that pierced both sides of the cheeks, holding the mouths painfully closed. Others wore large metal hooks accessorized with heavy ball-shaped weights that hung vertically from their chests and abdomens. Most disturbing were the men who knelt inside domelike contraptions made of wire. They walked with and carried these structures, as their companions pushed yard-long metal rods, attached to the domes, into their skin and muscle, both front and back. Still others, had their gluteus muscles pierced with large genuine silver hooks, attached to cables, which held carts. They walked through the streets, pulling these carts loaded with flowers, peacock feathers, and hay. Throngs of natives and foreigners lined the streets, encouraging the procession, as it wound its way through the city. The smell of burned meat from street-side hibachis permeated the air. These odors mingled with the aromas of flowers and herbs. The environment was unique and unforgettable. After all these years, I am still impressed by the unexpected oddity and intensity.

Weird religious rituals aside, our Singapore residency was otherwise uneventful, although we were something of an anomaly. Foreign dance companies were uncommon. Our repertory had solidified and our performances had achieved a sense of harmony, which garnered our success. The next stop was Bombay.

Travel to exotic India had been my youthful fantasy inspired by my idol Dancia Zivanovic, the only Yugoslav dancer who performed Indian dance. I wanted to study Indian dance techniques and begged Dimitri Parlic for a recommendation. Parlic, however, thought my idea absurd, and teased me for a longtime; “Here comes the Indian dancer,” forgetting that he always called me “Marble,” (which everybody called me anyway). “Marble” suited my unpredictable behavior. When I left Yugoslavia, they said, “Look how Marble rolled around the world and ended up in Paris!”

Night had fallen in Bombay. From the plane, we saw an illuminated city. Thousands of light bulbs swathed the big landmark buildings, as if lit for Christmas. It was a spectacular sight. We wondered for an instant, if this was in honor of our arrival! The next day, we learned that it was actually part of a major Hindu holiday celebration--Diwali, the festival of the lights, honoring goddess Laxmi, the goddess of wealth.

India is a country with many fascinating surprises; some pleasant and some not. It is neither as clean as Japan nor as industrious as China. Masses live in the streets, using straw rugs as places of meditation and sleep. These professional beggars subsist on handouts. The street dwellers roll themselves up inside rugs to sleep. Those who overslept were whisked off the streets by dead-body collectors--manned trucks that picked up the bundles and deposited them at the dump. After witnessing this practice first hand, I wondered why such an atrocity could be common place and acceptable! I was reminded of the Paris clochard--the street vagrants--who lived in far less numbers on the entranceway vents of the metro stations. Our hosts explained that according to Hindu belief poverty earns favor with the gods. Consequently, practices have evolved to avoid work and the possibility of becoming wealthy. Similarly, for economic reasons, some fanatics mutilated their children by breaking their fingers or dismembering their limbs in order to keep them as beggars for the rest of their lives.

We stayed in a modern, European-style hotel in central Bombay that offered suites with two enormous rooms, plus an equally spacious bathroom. I remember wondering why we needed a rehearsal hall in the bathroom. Possibly, the hotel was constructed without plans for bathrooms and as an afterthought; tubs were shoved into any available room.

Our balcony directly faced a Parsi cemetery. The faithful do not bury their dead. Instead, the body, wrapped in leaves, is placed on a t-shaped pedestal, known as the “tower of silence.” Naturally, this attracts crows, which in India, are the size of large eagles, sometimes bigger. The crows eat the body, thereby disposing of the cadaver’s flesh. On our second morning, Mary and I slept late and ordered breakfast in our room. We took full advantage of the spacious bathroom, lingering in the bath while our breakfast arrived and was wheeled into the living room, in front of the open French doors that led onto the balcony.

We planned to eat our quiet breakfast there. A few minutes after we finished dressing, we entered the living room. The crows were feasting on our breakfast! I yelled. I clapped my hands. The obstinate birds refused to move. With Mary hysterical in the background, I beat the birds with a pillow, forcing them to abandon the food and flee through the open doors. We reordered our breakfast from the restaurant, where the waiters had a good laugh--this kind of thing was probably a regular occurrence.

Later in the week, we noticed that some restaurants had postings which read: Dogs and South Africans Prohibited. Naturally, that was very disconcerting for Mary, who was then carrying a South African passport. This indignity aside, the Indian people were very friendly and warm. They took our whole company on tours of ancient temples and caves.

On the outskirts of the city was a revelation of a temple--its entire façade was carved with Karma Sutra positions. (Karma Sutra is the “treatise of sensual love” or explicitly, a sex manual.) Despite the eroded limestone that left a few fine points to the imagination, the remaining graphic details provided a sex education course and an eye-opener for all of us. The caves too, bore interesting carvings and their entrances were framed by heavy limestone columns, which appeared to uphold their ceilings.