BLACK WIDOW

ataraxia

ataraxia
(n.)
calmness or peace at mind

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"We all eat lies where our hearts are hungry."

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1942

<Natalia!> Headmaster Alonya growled as the young ballerina fell off her toes and onto her heel. A grave mistake and a sign of weakness. The Bolshoi permitted few girls to individual lessons. Natalia was grateful, but Headmaster Alonya was very strict.

<An arabesque is no hard task for you!> the Headmaster fumed, her face rigid as stone. Natalia's turquoise eyes fell in disappointment. She had been dancing all day. Her pointe shoes were beginning to hurt her feet, and her impeccable red bun was causing a headache. The tight leotards that clung wet to her strong frame did not improve her comfort.

<I am very sorry, Headmaster,> Natalia apologized, putting her feet together, flat on the hard, wooden floor and her hands to her side waiting for further instructions.

<Again, but now you hold it for twice as long! I was told that you were the best. Prove it.>

Headmaster Alonya Sirmnov was the head of Bolshoi Ballet Academy. She had been a ballerina her entire life until age couldn't allow it. She then became an instructor, climbing her way up until now. She was a very ill-tempered old woman. No doubt, the headmaster was beautiful, but the constant expression of entitlement and disappointment made her seem hideous.

But she was a good dancer. And a good teacher. And she did not allow mistakes in her studio. Natalia recognized this, and she respected it.

She rose again to the tips of her toes,  arching her back with the grace of a swan, lifting her left leg up from behind, over the top of her head. She looked forward with intensity, making sure the Headmaster saw her focus.

To hold the position was not very hard. Holding it for an hour and a half is a different situation altogether.

Natalia knew she could not, shake, shudder, become off-center, or even break a sweat on her face, or else Headmaster Alonya would extend her time.

It was not so hard for Natalia until the minutes got longer and her leg grew fatigued. Each minute—each second felt like an hour. At forty minutes, holding an arabesque became unbearable. Her strength was giving. It was too much for her.

<Shuddering shows weakness, Romanova. You are not weak,> Headmaster Alonya spoke with a steep harshness to her steel voice. Still holding her determined face, Natalia worked her best to stop shaking but failed. She collapsed to the floor with a thud, her legs feeling a wave of relief, but still shaking uncontrollably from the amount of stress she put on them.

Madame looked upon Natalia with sheer disgust. Natalia could not look her in the eye. Instead, she focused on the grains of the wooden floor. <Get up and face me, girl!>

Natalia knew what was coming. It happened all the time. It was a rare occasion when she will leave the studios with bruises only on her feet. She stood up, her feet flat on the floor, hands fell at her side, facing the woman with no expression.

Then in the blink of an eye, Headmaster Alonya reared back and delivered a blow to the side of Natalia's flustered, pale face with the back of her ring-dressed hand, leaving a small slash on Natalia's pretty face. A purple-red contusion already forming around the laceration.

<You do not fail, Natalia! You do not fail!> Headmaster screamed at her. <You are capable of so much. You will not fail as long as you are standing in front of me. Now I want to see the routine we practiced with a group this morning. No mistakes!>