While Esmeralda had been battling Sasha at the Chernovs’ home, Gringoire and Conrad and a small contingent of mice had carried out their own expedition, transporting the set-design illustrations from the director’s office to the mouse stage. Unfortunately, Madame Giselle had said no to the mouse-size sets when she saw them the next morning. The paintings were too distracting, she said. And so the beautiful set designs were now propped up backward against the wall behind the stage.
As for the costumes, not only had Esmeralda failed to retrieve them, but her actions had caused Irina’s father to lose his job. It was her fault that the Mariinsky Theater now had a new chief custodian.
Within hours of Mikhail Danilovich Chernov’s departure from the theater, his successor, Konstantin Grigorovich Gurkin, had begun outlining proposals for treating what he called the theater’s rodent infestation. So far, these proposals had included cats (rejected because they made people sneeze), poison (rejected because the mice would die inside the walls, causing a terrible smell), and dogs (rejected because these animals were expert rat-catchers, not mouse-catchers).
“I am glad about the scenario,” said Esmeralda. “But I’m worried about Gurkin.”
“Don’t you worry. The man’s got lots to say, but so far it’s all just words.”
It was strange that Conrad should say that. For just then, they heard Gurkin’s gravelly voice. “We’ll start up here!”
The attic stairs creaked. The mice quickly withdrew behind Gringoire’s stacks of books. They couldn’t see, but from the sound of things, there were several people with Gurkin. The mice heard a clatter as something was set on the floor.
“So, here’s how the new mousetrap works,” said Gurkin.
The mice exchanged looks.
“You simply drop in the bait like so,” Gurkin continued. “Notice that I’ve chosen an especially fragrant cheese, so that the unsuspecting rodent cannot help but be attracted by the smell. The mouse climbs into this hole at the top, falls in, and there you have it!”
“You mean, we put poison in the cheese?” said another man.
Gurkin chuckled. “No need for that. As you can see, these sharp spikes prevent the rodent from getting out the way it came in.”
“What about that hole at the bottom?” asked a third man.
“Ha! That just happens to be the most ingenious part of this mousetrap. It’s what makes our job easy. You simply slide a thin board underneath like so, pick up the entire mousetrap, slide the board out, and shake the rodent into this pail. Slam the lid down on the pail and you’re done! Rebait this trap and move on to the next one. Simple, fast, and effective!”
“What do we do with the mouse in the pail?”
“Mice, my good man. You can fit quite a few in there before you dispose of them.”
“Dispose of them how?”
“However you like. Drown them . . . chloroform them . . . crush them with a rock . . .”
“Can we throw them in the furnace?”
“Well, there could be a smell. Still, it might be worth a try. I guess we’ll know when they catch fire, eh?” Gurkin laughed again. Then he and the other custodians tromped back down the stairs.
A sound halfway between a gasp and a sob escaped Esmeralda. “What a horrible man!”
But Gringoire was pragmatic. “Let’s go have a look.”
The new mousetrap was a domed metal cage with narrowly spaced bars. It was about five times as tall as a mouse and had a round, funnel-shaped hole at the top. The hole ended in a circle of spikes that pointed down toward another hole in the metal plate that formed the bottom of the mousetrap.
Gringoire said, “As traps go, it is rather clever. You can slide in easily enough, but you’ll be impaled if you try to climb back out.”
“How about the hole at the bottom?” asked Conrad.
Gringoire shook his head. “No good escaping that way unless you can get through the attic floor. Maybe we can lift the trap.”
Together they tried, but the three of them couldn’t even push it sideways.
Esmeralda said, “This is awful! If they’re all baited with that smelly cheese, we’ll have a terrible time keeping the children away!”
Gringoire said, “Not only that, but the bars are too close together for us to get at the bait. We’re not going to get any food from these traps.”
“We’ll have to increase the number of scrounge patrols,” said Conrad.
“Or hope that Clara and the Mouse King will be a success,” said Gringoire. “If the ballet company can start collecting food for admission again, we’ll be all right. In the meantime, I think we’ll have to propose food rationing.”
“That’s not going to make anybody very happy,” said Conrad.
Esmeralda thought of Fleur, who never went on scrounge patrol but always felt she ought to have more than everyone else. The prima ballerina wasn’t the only member of the Russian Mouse Ballet Company who felt so entitled. It was going to take quite a few extra scrounge patrols to keep the dancers from complaining.
“I can hunt for food more often,” she said. “Now that I’m not playing Clara, I’m not rehearsing as much. I’ll have more time.”
“Listen to you,” said Conrad. “You’re nearly killed by a cat, Russia’s greatest composer kicks you across a room, and you’re already planning to head out for more danger.”
“When you put it like that . . .” Esmeralda said, laughing.
Perhaps she was being a bit foolhardy. But she was partly — if not mostly — to blame for the current situation. She wouldn’t feel right if she didn’t do everything she could to help.
Besides, there was a note of admiration in Conrad’s voice that she found enormously cheering.
WITHIN DAYS, EVERYONE had been warned about the new mousetraps. The Mariinsky mice understood that for the time being, the food brought in by the scrounge patrols would have to suffice, and that they must subsist on a small daily food ration from the community stockpiles.
Scrounge patrols were sent out every night, and Esmeralda’s brother volunteered to collect and guard the food they brought back. Gringoire was on duty one evening when Esmeralda and Maksim returned from a food-hunting expedition. Esmeralda had found a small radish, and Maksim half a rubbery carrot.
“There just wasn’t much to find tonight,” Maksim explained.
“Go ahead and add the food to the pile,” said Gringoire in a dull voice.
“What’s wrong?” Esmeralda asked.
Her brother sighed. “I’m tired of complaints about the short rations. You’d think the mice would be grateful to have food to eat — that they wouldn’t be picky. But no, we’ll hand out food in the morning, and the mice will be sure to complain that they don’t like what they’re getting.”
“It’s hard to blame them!” Esmeralda had taken a test nibble of her radish. Her tongue still burned from the taste of it.
Gringoire said, “To make matters worse, Franz has been stirring up all kinds of fears and bad feelings. I can’t tell you how many mice have asked me if it’s true that the rations are going to run out in a few days. I’ve had mothers and fathers come to me in tears, begging me to figure out how to outwit the new traps. Nobody can blame them for worrying about their children getting caught, but Franz has convinced them that their children are going to starve to death!”
Esmeralda said, “I think Fleur is almost as bad. I heard her talking with Franz the other day. She was saying how it wasn’t fair that the dancers have to work in such conditions, and he was saying how they really needed to do something about the situation.”
Gringoire frowned. “I’m afraid Franz will do something rash! He said to me today, ‘Gurkin wants to exterminate us! We mice got rid of the last custodian! Now let’s get rid of Gurkin!’”
“How would he do that?” Esmeralda wondered aloud.
“I have no idea. But I wish Franz could understand that there are worse things than what we’ve got now. People are always thinking of new ways t
o torture mice. Before you know it, someone’s going to invent an electrocuting mousetrap.”
“What’s that?” asked Maksim.
“Trust me. We don’t want to find out!” said Gringoire.
The food shortage could not be allowed to affect rehearsals, especially because the late change in the scenario meant extra work for many of the dancers — particularly Fleur and Conrad, who needed to learn completely new choreography.
As for Esmeralda, Madame Giselle asked if she would be willing to supervise the children at rehearsals. Esmeralda was happy to be useful, and she found out that helping the children gave her insight into her struggles with her tail.
“You must pretend that the training ribbon isn’t there,” she told the children. “Wrap your tail around tight and concentrate on not letting it move.”
“But my tail wants to dance to the music!” said one of the young dancers.
Esmeralda hid a smile. “I know that’s how it feels! But this is ballet. Just as you’ve worked to perfect your port de bras, and just as you’ve taught your feet all of the basic positions, you must learn to control your tail. This time, as you perform those steps, concentrate on not letting your tail twitch. Success will come to you if you practice.”
Esmeralda could give this advice with some confidence. Though she still practiced with the training ribbon during morning class and at afternoon rehearsals, she also practiced in secret without the training ribbon. At first, she worked on the relatively simple children’s dances she would perform in Clara and the Mouse King. When she had mastered these, she began practicing more difficult dances, including those that Fleur would be performing in the role of Clara. It wasn’t easy: concentrating so hard on her tail tended to interfere with what Madame Giselle called musicality. This awareness of rhythm and melody came easily to Esmeralda when she danced at the Balalaika Café; if only she could feel that same awareness when she danced ballet!
One afternoon, she did feel it. She and the children were at rehearsal. Madame Giselle stood in front of the stage, watching them dance. Esmeralda was wearing her training ribbon, but she was following her own advice and pretending that she wasn’t. She was concentrating on not letting her tail move even as she listened to the music. The orchestra was playing; it was thrilling to dance to the actual score, not the piano version they had been hearing for weeks. Esmeralda crossed the stage, performing a series of chaîné turns. Perhaps it was only because the choreography was simple, but suddenly she felt something close to what she always felt at the Balalaika Café. She could feel the music flowing through her body.
“Très bien!” Madame Giselle called out.
That Esmeralda’s tail popped out of the ribbon a moment later had less to do with the ballet mistress’s words of praise than it had to do with a distraction in front of the stage. The girl mouse to Esmeralda’s right stopped in the middle of a turn. “Look!” cried the girl mouse, and Esmeralda bumped into her. The boy mouse to Esmeralda’s left bumped into Esmeralda. The music went on, but the dancing came to a halt.
The arrival of Fleur and Conrad at rehearsal did not usually cause a commotion. But today, there were gasps from all around.
Esmeralda was astonished to see Fleur wearing a dress — a pale pink dress with crystal beads that sparkled in the light from the candles in front of the stage.
No doubt reveling in the attention, Fleur performed several piqué turns. She came to a stop in front of Madame Giselle and dipped herself in an elegant stage curtsy.
“What is the meaning of this?” Madame Giselle’s voice was sharp.
“It’s a costume!” Fleur pirouetted. The beads on the dress twinkled, inspiring oohs and aahs from the mice on stage.
Madame Giselle said coldly, “I suppose this so-called costume is the reason why you are late for rehearsal?”
Conrad said, “Not costume — costumes!”
Esmeralda saw that her cousin had been dragging a familiar white cloth bundle across the floor.
Conrad now began untying the bundle. He said, “Our apologies, Madame. We couldn’t help being late. When we found these costumes upstairs, we felt we must bring them to show you.” He lifted the corners of the handkerchief, revealing a rainbow of colors.
There were squeals of excitement from those on stage. Esmeralda’s fellow dancers jumped down and crowded around the pile of costumes.
“Let me see! Let me see!” they cried as they snatched up the dresses and ribbons.
“Oh, look at this! Just right for the party scene!”
“These white dresses will be perfect for the ‘Waltz of the Snowflakes’!”
“Say, we soldiers can wear these ribbons, can’t we? Like military sashes.”
Now the mice were trying on the costumes. Madame Giselle had to shout three times for attention.
The mice, in varying states of dress, fell silent.
“We do not need costumes in our ballet!” said Madame Giselle.
Her stern declaration was met with a chorus of protests. Fleur pushed her way forward. “We may not need them, but we want them. I want them,” she said. “And I am going to wear this dress when I dance the role of Clara!”
Madame Giselle looked taken aback, but she adopted a softer tone. “Now then, my dear, the costumes will be a distraction for the audience. Furthermore, it will interfere with your ability to express yourself artistically —”
“I disagree! I look beautiful in this costume — I feel beautiful. That’s sure to improve my performance.” Fleur tossed her head. “If you won’t let me wear this costume, Madame, I won’t dance!”
Conrad cleared his throat. He said, “I won’t dance either, Madame. And I’ll wager a guess that everyone here feels the same way.”
“Oh, yes! Yes!” cried the other mice. “We must wear the costumes!”
“But — but — !” spluttered the ballet mistress.
Fleur folded her arms. “Furthermore, I insist that we use the sets that Conrad and Gringoire obtained for us! It will be easier to dance with costumes and sets.”
“They’ll make the story feel more real to the audience and to us dancers. We’ll dance with much more emotion!” Conrad added, throwing a look in Esmeralda’s direction.
The other dancers agreed. “Yes! Please, Madame Giselle!”
Esmeralda held her breath, sure that the ballet mistress would not give in.
But Madame Giselle threw up her hands. “Very well,” she conceded.
Rehearsal could not continue, not until every dancer had found a costume.
The dresses were too big for the little girl mice. “Never mind,” Esmeralda told them. “I won’t wear a dress either, but we can wear different colored ribbons. And just think! By the time we put on our next ballet, you’ll have grown. You’ll be able to wear these beautiful costumes!”
Conrad walked up to her, looking resplendent in a red military sash. He said, “I think I’ve tied it too tight.”
Esmeralda adjusted the ribbon and regarded him with pleasure. “You look just like a mouse king! Except I think you need a crown; we’ll have to make one. Oh, Conrad! Wherever did you find the costumes?”
He said, “They were under a cupboard in the costume department. They were wrapped up in your handkerchief. You’re sure you didn’t leave them there?”
She shook her head. “I told you! I left them at Irina’s home. I wonder . . .” Esmeralda thought of the food Irina had left in the costume department. Was it possible that Irina had also left the costumes as a gift for the mice?
When she suggested this to Conrad, he shrugged. “That’s a little hard to believe. But there they were, nonetheless. I was gathering everything up so I could bring the costumes to rehearsal when Fleur showed up. She took one look at that pink dress and put it on. She insisted on coming with me to confront Madame Giselle.” Conrad grinned. “I suppose it’s lucky she came by just then. When our prima ballerina wants something, she makes sure to get it! Can you believe it, Esmeralda? We’re going to have sets
and costumes, after all!”
WHEN IRINA FIRST SAW the trap on the floor of the costume department, she thought it was a cage. “It’s for catching mice,” Mama told her.
When she and Mama got home, Irina drew a picture of the mousetrap for Papa.
He said, “See this hole? The mouse climbs in and can’t escape. The custodians have to get the mouse out through this other hole in the bottom.”
“Then what?” Irina asked.
“Then they’ll kill it.”
“That’s mean, Papa! How could anybody kill a mouse?”
“That’s what mousetraps are for, Irina,” said Papa. Perhaps he sensed her horror, for he added gently, “I suppose you’d like something a bit more . . . humane?”
“What does humane mean?”
“It means being kind to the mice.” Papa looked at the drawing again. “Has Gurkin caught very many mice in his new traps?” he wondered aloud.
Irina shook her head. “I don’t think so. Gurkin says his traps have chased the mice out of the theater. He says they’ve moved out because they can’t get free food anymore.”
Papa looked dubious. “No more mice! What do you think?”
Irina wasn’t sure. Today was the first day since Papa had lost his job that she had been able to go to the theater with Mama. She had left the bundle of Lyudmila’s doll clothes under the mouse cupboard. She said, “I hope the mice are still there.”
Papa laughed. “I suppose it makes me a pretty bad custodian, but I hope the same thing. I confess, I always enjoyed seeing how those clever mice outwitted my traps.”
“You’re not a bad custodian, Papa!”
Her father didn’t answer, and Irina knew he was thinking about losing his job. She had overheard Mama and Papa talking about how hard things were going to be this winter. There would be less coal for the fire. Even now, the sitting room was chilly; Irina was wearing two sweaters! Mama had started making stew without meat because she couldn’t afford to shop at the butcher’s. And Irina couldn’t go to her school anymore. “We’ll find you a new school after Christmas,” Mama had told her. “One that doesn’t cost as much.” Irina hadn’t cried when Mama told her about school. Nor had she cried when Mama said they couldn’t have a Christmas tree this year and that she shouldn’t expect many presents. But she had wanted to cry.
The Nutcracker Mice Page 8
