The Nutcracker Mice

by Kristin Kladstrup

  Esmeralda nodded.

  “What?” said Conrad. “What does it mean?”

  Madame Giselle said, “How can Esmeralda dance the role of Clara?”

  Esmeralda explained matters for her cousin. “In Clara and the Mouse King, Clara is a young lady mouse. She isn’t a child, so she can’t wear a training ribbon. Fleur will have to be Clara.”

  “But you deserve that role!” Conrad looked around to make sure nobody was listening, then added in a low voice, “Besides, you’re a much better dancer than Fleur is!”

  “Not if I can’t keep my tail in position.”

  “But you can practice —”

  “I’ve been practicing, and I know I’ll get it someday. But it’s just too risky to hope that I’ll master dancing without the training ribbon before the ballet opens. Just suppose I were to fail. Think of the reaction of the balletomanes in the audience!”

  “Perhaps it is better that we not use this new scenario,” said Madame Giselle.

  Esmeralda shook her head. “If you heard what mice are saying about The Nutcracker, you wouldn’t say that. Besides, there will be another ballet for me. There’s more likely to be a new ballet if this one is a success. For the sake of the company, we have to stage Clara and the Mouse King.”

  Madame Giselle sighed. “I suppose you are right, my dear. It certainly is safer to have Fleur dance this role.”

  Conrad said, “But you know she’s not as good as Esmeralda!”

  Madame Giselle said, “Fleur does not bring as much emotion as Esmeralda does into her dancing, but her technique is flawless.”

  Costumes would help Fleur dance with more emotion, thought Esmeralda. So would sets. But she and Conrad had agreed not to tell Madame Giselle about their plans — not until they had the costumes and sets in hand.

  The ballet mistress continued. “I hope you know that this decision is difficult for me, Esmeralda. I have said it before and I will say it again: you have the makings of a great ballerina.”

  Her words of praise brought a lump into Esmeralda’s throat. “Thank you, Madame. I promise you, I’ll work harder than ever. And I’m sure Fleur will be wonderful in Clara and the Mouse King.”

  Conrad was angry. “But what about Esmeralda, Madame Giselle? What role will she dance?”

  The ballet mistress looked pained. “She will have to play one of the children.”

  That day at class, Esmeralda was determined to focus on her dancing. She tried to take comfort in Madame Giselle’s words of encouragement. She recalled what she had learned at the Balalaika Café. “I can control my tail,” she reminded herself.

  She tied on the training ribbon. She wasn’t ready to dance without it, but today she would behave as if she, not the ribbon, were keeping her tail in the correct position.

  She kept her mind focused, and her tail twitched only occasionally during practice at the barre. And, during floor practice, she managed to perform twelve fouetté turns — nothing like the thirty-two she had performed at the café, but a respectable number all the same. Unfortunately, her tail popped out of the ribbon on the thirteenth turn. Still, Esmeralda felt encouraged. She was sure she could have performed even more fouettés if she hadn’t allowed herself to grow excited by success.

  After class, as she was untying the training ribbon, Esmeralda overheard Fleur talking to Franz: “Madame Giselle told me all about the new scenario. Clara and the Mouse King, it’s to be called, and of course, Madame Giselle wants me to play Clara. After all, we can’t have our prima ballerina wearing a training ribbon.”

  Franz glanced toward Esmeralda. Fleur looked around. Esmeralda couldn’t tell whether her look of surprise was real or feigned.

  Fleur said brightly, “Oh! There you are! You must be so relieved, Esmeralda.”

  “Relieved?”

  “To still be playing one of the children in the ballet,” said Fleur. “So you don’t have to worry about your tail.”

  That hurt, and Esmeralda was pretty sure Fleur had meant it to hurt. “It’s for the sake of the company,” she told herself as she walked away. “There will be another ballet, and I will improve. And —”

  Her next thought lifted her spirits.

  And tonight she would see Maksim. Tonight they would get the costumes.

  THAT EVENING IN THE cloakroom, in the woolly darkness of the hem of Mikhail Danilovich Chernov’s coat, Esmeralda reviewed her plan for the night.

  She had her supplies: a handkerchief and a coiled length of string. The handkerchief was one Conrad had found under a theater seat. It was embroidered with a pink letter E. Most likely, a lady named Ekaterina or Elizaveta had once owned it. “But I don’t see why E can’t stand for Esmeralda,” Conrad had remarked. At any rate, Esmeralda liked to sleep under the handkerchief. And tonight, it would be perfect for carrying the costumes. As for the length of string, Esmeralda planned to secure one end to a coat button and the other end to the bundle of costumes, so that she could hoist them up into the coat hem.

  She had everything she needed except her accomplice.

  “Esmeralda?”

  And here he was! She was relieved to hear Maksim’s voice. She called, “I’m in a black coat. . . .” But there was more than one black coat. “There’s a red scarf hanging on the same hook,” she added.

  “I see it! I’ll be up straightaway!”

  But he wasn’t.

  Esmeralda waited . . .

  and waited . . .

  She was about to poke her head out of the hem to look for Maksim when he said, “You did say a black coat with a scarf.”

  “Yes! A red scarf.”

  He gave a groan. “Oh, no! I’ve got the wrong coat. This scarf is green —”

  At that moment, the cloakroom door opened. Maksim fell quiet and Esmeralda’s heart lurched.

  A voice said, “Ah, Mikhail Danilovich. You’re leaving. But your wife and little girl are not with you.”

  Another voice, closer and somewhere above Esmeralda’s hiding place, said, “My wife did her sewing at home today, so they are waiting for me there.”

  “Well, then. Good night to you!” said the first voice.

  “Good night!” said Mikhail Danilovich.

  Suddenly, Esmeralda was jerked up in the air. She was jostled up and down and sideways inside the coat hem. The custodian was indeed leaving, and it was too late for Maksim to join her inside the hem.

  She felt the air change from warm to cold: Mikhail Danilovich must have left the theater. She could hear feet shuffling, wheels creaking, hooves clattering on pavement, and snatches of conversation. She could smell horses . . . and fish. Mikhail Danilovich must be walking along a canal or river.

  A new noise assaulted her ears: a rhythmic yap, yap, yap. A dog!

  “Down, you crazy mongrel! Down!” said Mikhail Danilovich.

  Esmeralda felt herself bounced and jostled inside the hem as Irina’s father began to jog. The dog’s barking fell behind.

  “You’d think I was carrying a pound of sausages in my coat!” muttered Mikhail Danilovich as he slowed to a walk.

  Esmeralda’s heart was pounding. What if the custodian had a dog waiting at home?

  Or a cat?

  Or a dog and a cat!

  What a fool she was to have come up with this plan. Forget about getting the costumes. She would be lucky if she survived the night!

  At last, Esmeralda heard a jingling of keys. She heard the sound of a door squeaking on its hinges and the stomping of boots. The coat shifted, and Esmeralda felt as if she were falling. A second later, she was swept upward and the coat stopped moving.

  She heard a clatter of footsteps and a girl’s voice. “Papa!”

  “How’s my Irinushka?”

  “I’m good, Papa. Did you see Sasha outside? She went out earlier.”

  “I didn’t see her.”

  Esmeralda wondered who Sasha was.

  “Mama made dumplings for supper,” said Irina. “Come in the kitchen to see!”

  “I
can smell the dumplings! Delicious!”

  Esmeralda could smell them, too. She heard Irina’s mother say, “Put the plates on the table, Irina. How was work today, Misha?”

  Mikhail Danilovich made a noise of despair. “Those mice will do me in!”

  Mice! Esmeralda listened as Irina’s father continued. “You already know how clever they are — how they’ve learned to set off the new mousetraps without getting caught. It seems that Gurkin fellow I told you about has informed the director that the traps were my idea.”

  “I thought it was Gurkin who suggested you buy them,” said Irina’s mother.

  “So it was. But Gurkin is devious.”

  “Speaking of mice, did you know that Irina has been leaving food for them in the costume department? Madame Federova caught her at it yesterday. You should have heard your daughter, Mischa! Telling Madame that the mice are hungry!”

  “The mice are hungry!” said Irina. “And that Gurkin is mean, Papa!”

  “Now then, you mustn’t say such things,” said Irina’s mother.

  Esmeralda remembered the cookie she had found under the cupboard in the costume department. She had found other things to eat there in recent days. She hadn’t known Irina had left this food.

  And here I’ve come to steal her doll dresses, thought Esmeralda with a pang of guilt. If only she could tell Irina how much the mice needed costumes. Surely, such a kindhearted girl would understand.

  The Chernovs’ supper was followed by a good deal of noise, which Esmeralda gathered was caused by something called washing the dishes. Afterward, Irina begged to be allowed to stay up and play with her doll. Her mother agreed, and apparently the family sat down close to the coat hem, for their voices were easy to hear.

  Irina’s mother said, “Hand me my sewing basket, please.”

  Irina chatted with her father. “I’ve made a new dress for Lyudmila, Papa.”

  “She looks very fine. I hope she won’t be going to visit the tsar anytime soon.”

  “Why, Papa?”

  “She’ll outshine all the ladies at court; they won’t allow that!”

  Irina giggled. “Lyudmila belongs on the stage, not at court, Papa! Even Mademoiselle dell’Era says she’s a dancer. This dress is a ballet costume!”

  Esmeralda wondered what Irina would think if she knew that mice might soon be dancing in her doll’s ballet costumes.

  Presently, Irina’s mother said, “It’s time for bed.”

  “No, Mama!”

  Irina’s father said, “Do as Mama says, and I’ll tell you a story.”

  Irina left the room and her father soon followed. Esmeralda strained to hear, trying to guess where they might have gone. Had Irina taken the doll — and the clothes — with her?

  Some time passed before Irina’s father returned. As he and Irina’s mother readied themselves for bed, Esmeralda listened to their conversation.

  “I’m more than a little worried about Gurkin,” said Mikhail Danilovich. “He goes out of his way to curry favor with Monsieur Vsevolozhsky. Why, just the other day, the director asked me if I didn’t think Gurkin deserved a promotion. What was I to say, when the only promotion available is my own job?”

  His wife said, “I’m sure the director appreciates the hard work you do, my love! He would never think to replace you.”

  “I hope you’re right,” said Mikhail Danilovich with a sigh.

  Irina’s mother yawned. “I’m still not finished sewing this costume. I’ll go in with you to the theater tomorrow. Irina doesn’t have school, so she can come with us.”

  “Off to bed, then,” said Mikhail Danilovich.

  When the house was quiet, Esmeralda pushed the handkerchief out of the tiny hole she had made in the coat hem. She watched it fall to the floor, then put her arm through the coil of string and pushed her way out of the hole. She gripped the rough wool and crawled along the bottom of the coat. She climbed up the front until she found a wooden button. She looped one end of the string around the button several times, then let the rest of it snake down to the floor.

  As far as thievery goes, there is nothing quite so thrilling — or satisfying — as sliding down a rope. Esmeralda slid down hers and looked around with something close to pleasure. She was standing on the edge of a carpet in a small sitting room. The windows let in enough light for her to see two chairs pulled up in front of a heating stove whose grate still glowed red from the evening’s fire. A sewing basket sat on the floor next to one of the chairs, its lid partially open. A bundle of tulle — the skirt of a ballet costume — tumbled out; Esmeralda could see the glint of a sewing needle stuck in the cloth.

  The door leading outside was behind her; she could feel a cold draft flowing beneath it. Ahead of her, across the floor, were two other doors, both slightly ajar. Esmeralda would have to guess which one would lead her to Irina and the doll dresses. If only Maksim were here!

  But he wasn’t, she reminded herself. If the Russian Mouse Ballet Company was to have costumes, it was up to her to find them.

  She gave the rope another tug. Still secure.

  She gathered up the handkerchief, tucked it under her arm, and set forth.

  THE DOOR ESMERALDA HAD chosen opened into a kitchen. She was about to turn back when she spotted another door, also ajar, just past the cooking stove.

  It was beyond this door that she found Irina. The girl lay fast asleep in bed, one hand dangling out from under the covers. Up close, the child’s hand was enormous, and Esmeralda shuddered. How awful if Irina were to reach out and grab her, the way people grabbed pet dogs and cats. Esmeralda’s impulse was to flee. She might have done so if she hadn’t caught sight of Lyudmila.

  The doll was sitting on a shelf near the bed. She was leaning against a stuffed toy bear whose gruff presence Esmeralda ignored. It was the doll’s pink gown that she cared about. And the box next to the doll. “A box full of dresses,” Esmeralda murmured.

  She climbed up to the shelf and into the box. She fell onto a pile of soft fabric. Dresses and ribbons! Esmeralda lifted up a lavender silk gown with silver trim that gleamed in the moonlight from Irina’s window. She clutched the dress to her and picked up another, this one pale blue with embroidered yellow flowers. And here was another — a white lace dress that made Esmeralda think of a snowflake.

  “A box full of costumes!” she said.

  She tossed the dresses and ribbons out of the box. When it was empty, she climbed out and unfolded the handkerchief. She piled the costumes on top of it, then tied the corners of the handkerchief together to form a bundle. She was about to push the bundle off the shelf when she remembered that Lyudmila was still wearing the pink dress.

  The doll’s gaze was uncomfortably lifelike. “I’m sorry,” Esmeralda said as she untied Lyudmila’s ribbon sash, “but we need all the costumes we can get.”

  Esmeralda slipped the dress over Lyudmila’s head. The crystal beads dotting the skirt twinkled in the moonlight, and Esmeralda could not resist the impulse to try the dress on. It fit perfectly, as if it had been made for her.

  “It will be the perfect costume for Clara,” she said as she tied the sash. She twirled one . . . two . . . three times before she remembered that Fleur would be dancing the lead role in Clara and the Mouse King. Fleur would be the one to wear this beautiful dress.

  Esmeralda slowed and let out a sigh.

  She turned her head — and her blood went cold.

  Irina was awake.

  It occurred to Esmeralda that looking into the eyes of a human was not unlike looking into the eyes of another mouse. She found herself wondering what Irina was thinking. What would a little girl think if she woke up to find a mouse stealing her doll’s clothes?

  What would she think of a mouse wearing her doll’s clothes?

  Irina yawned. Her eyes started to close, then opened again.

  She was half asleep, Esmeralda realized. Irina probably thought she was dreaming.

  How should a mouse in a little girl’s dr
eam behave? Surely not like the mice in The Nutcracker, running about and frightening poor Clara.

  Esmeralda didn’t want to frighten Irina. If she was going to be in Irina’s dream, it had better be a quiet dream. She needed Irina to go back to sleep.

  In Esmeralda’s mind, an imaginary celesta played the delicate notes that began the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy.”

  In their new scenario, it would be Clara Silvermouse who danced to this lovely music. Fleur would dance the role of Clara on the Mariinsky stage. But now, here in Irina’s room, Esmeralda pretended that she was Clara Silvermouse. She let the music play in her mind and danced, taking tiny, mincing steps. She looked up and saw Irina’s mouth twitch in a sleepy smile. The imaginary celesta played on, and Esmeralda danced on tiptoe, aware of her costume floating around her as she pirouetted, aware that the crystal beads were shooting out sparkles of reflected moonlight. She danced as she had at the café, letting her arms and her legs and her tail move to the music. Gradually, she forgot about Irina. The music cast its spell and Esmeralda felt as if she really were Clara Silvermouse, dancing by moonlight because she was in love with the mouse king.

  Only when the imaginary celesta had spun out its tune did Esmeralda remember who and where she was.

  Only then did she remember that she had an audience.

  Only then did she see that Irina was asleep.

  THE BUNDLE OF COSTUMES was heavier than Esmeralda had expected it would be. She pushed it off the shelf, then pulled it along the floor. She had to push and pull and lift the bundle when she reached the door to the kitchen just to get it over the doorjamb. How would she ever manage to hoist the costumes into the coat hem?

  She had just reached the cast-iron stove when Irina woke up.

  “Papa?” Then louder: “Papa!”

  Esmeralda darted under the stove. There wasn’t time to grab the bundle. She watched as a pair of slippered feet shuffled across the kitchen floor. “What is it, Irina?”

  “There was a mouse in my room, Papa! She was dancing! She was wearing a dress!”