12 - Mephisto

       The audience has largely hushed, hidden in the vast shadowed area of the floor. The strings of the orchestra are in full flight, swelling as the lights on the stage come up. The sun rises at the bidding of trumpets, and as the light settles into a warm glow, a solo flute beckons a dancer onto the stage. Her steps are brief and rapid, before suddenly giving way to a leap so light and graceful that there seems no reason she ought return to the ground.
       “Ah! Is that the new girl, Meres?”
       “It is – that is Julietta Shastakovich. This is her first solo part, which I feel is long overdue. I came across her rehearsing alone one day, and--- well! You can see for yourself how perfectly suited she is for the part of the nightingale. I insisted to the director that she have it.”
       I nod my agreement, eyes fixed on the distant figure. “She has just the right sort of wild grace to her movements. She--- oh!” Surprised laughter overtakes the conversations running through our private box. The girl has done a rapid sort of backwards flip, such as one sees from circus performers, not from ballerinas! So scandalous an action, in such a regimented form of dance! But she has carried it through with such a natural elegance of motion, that it is as a bird looping merrily in mid-flight, and she leaps lightly around the exotic scenery of an Indian garden, joy in every gesture.
       Meres' hand in the production is quite evident, for the scenery and costumes bear the mark of his endless attention to detail, as well as his fanciful and exotic tastes. The costume of the nightingale is really quite impressive, for she manages to be humble and drab, and yet dazzlingly beautiful in the same moment. She is dressed in shades of brown, but it is such a fine quality of material – is it silk or satin? - that it wraps tenderly around her slim, graceful frame, and finds beauty in her form. There is a flowing swath of some airy organza over the layers of her skirt, which billows into the currents her dance leaves in the air, a visible echo of her every motion. There are long feathers and a few subtle gems around her neck, at her breast and hips and arms. Though she is all in brown, there are a thousand subtleties in it for the eyes to delight in: The cream of her skin, the sepia of her hair, the beige of her satin shoes and ribbons, her skirt of ecru tulle, covered by tawny silk and all dusted in copper sequins and stones. We are at too great a distance to appreciate every detail, but our sight is better than most – and I am certain we shall see the girl at closer range before the evening is ended.
       She is soon accompanied by a swarm of other birds, all more radiantly dressed than she, and my attention is drawn away for a time by the more attractive profusion of colors.
       Adir and Nila's voices swell over the orchestra for a moment, but I refuse to listen to yet another of their disputes. An usher comes by to take orders for refreshments – he is obviously new, for he has stopped in other boxes before ours, and Luce darkly reprimands him for such a slight.
       Our drinks then appear in impressively short order.