When She Danced
By Martin ShermanParis, 1923. The legendary modern dancer Isadora Duncan, now a matronly 46, is living in Paris with her tempestuous brutal, and much younger lover, the Russian poet Sergei Esenin. Sergei speaks no English and Isadora no Russian. Isadora's manager, Mary, decides she should have an interpreter "so you can understand what that slob is saying."
Miss Betzer is that shy, self-effacing interpreter. Her first task is translating a torrent of verbal abuse between Sergei and Mary. She is embarrassed and shocked by the language, but tries to oblige. Finally both parties storm off, and Belzer is left in the room with a weary, depressed Isadora. She asks Belzer, "Do you ever think of killing yourself?" Belzer simply says, "Yes."
Isadora pours out her troubles - romantic, financial, artistic - and goes to her room. Belzer addresses the following speech to the audience.
BELZER:
I saw her dance. I was very young, perhaps twenty. It was her first tour in Russia - in St. Petersburg. We had heard about this strange creature from America who danced barefoot on an empty platform, wearing only a tunic, and behaving - well, they said in very strange ways. The audience was there, I think, to laugh. When she first appeared they made noises - you know, hissing noises. She was standing. Simply standing. Standing still. The music was playing. It was - I think - Chopin. And then - very slowly - she began to move. But it was not the way anyone else moved on a stage. I do not know exactly what it was - I think perhaps she simply walked from one side of the stage to another - and then it was hard for me to see, because my eyes were burning - that is what happens when I cry - but I do not know why I was crying. I thought I saw children dancing, but there were no children. I thought I saw the face of my mother as she lay dying. I thought I remembered the rabbi's words. I thought I was kissing my child before tehy took him away from me. I thought I felt the lips, the lips of a man in a great white hat on a train to Kiev - and all she was doing on the stage was walking, just a few steps up, a few steps down, but this walk of hers, it was like a comet shooting through my body - and then, suddenly, she stopped - and that was it - it was over - and the audience that had been making these noises, this hissing, were on their feet, cheering, but my eyes were still burning. And this is why I do not like to cry. And I never cry since that night - since eighteen years. No matter what has happened, I never cry. But sometimes when sleep does not come or when the dreams have frightened me - sometimes... then... I make myself think of Isadora - dancing!
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