The Nutcracker Mice

by Kristin Kladstrup

  There were all kinds of reasons not to answer this question.

  When she was a child, Esmeralda had asked her mother, “Why do people set mousetraps? Why do they try to kill us?”

  “Humans think we are pests,” her mother had explained. “They don’t know we like their stories and their music and their ballets. All they know is that we live inside their homes and buildings and eat their food. And, of course, some mice are more careless than others and leave a mess in plain sight; those mice give the rest of us a bad reputation.”

  “We should tell them that we’re not like those mice. We should tell them we’re not pests,” Esmeralda had argued.

  But at that point, her brother had interjected. “Humans don’t know we’re smart enough to tell them anything, Esmeralda. If they did know, they would catch us and put us in cages, just so they could ask us questions and see how we’d answer. They do that with animals, you know. I read about a horse that was foolish enough to reveal that it knew how to count. A man put the horse in a circus and forced it to count in front of thousands of people. He wouldn’t feed the horse if it didn’t do what he said.”

  “My name is Irina,” said the girl. “Please don’t be frightened of me. I’ve been leaving food for you under the cupboard in the costume department. And I left some dresses for you. Did you find them?”

  “Yes,” Esmeralda said without thinking. She clapped her hands over her mouth. Suppose Irina should put her in a circus!

  “What?” said the girl.

  But Irina hadn’t understood her. Gringoire had once explained to Esmeralda that mouse voices were too high for humans to hear properly.

  “I hope you found the dresses,” said Irina. “I loved watching you dance in my room. I wish I could see you dance again!”

  There was a knock at the door of the cloakroom. The door pushed open, and Esmeralda dove for cover behind a pair of boots.

  “Who are you talking to, Irina?” Esmeralda recognized Irina’s mother’s voice. “Come along, now. There isn’t as much work as I thought there would be today. We’re going home soon.”

  “But we’ll come back?”

  “Yes, yes. I’ll bring you again.”

  Esmeralda heard the door close.

  She was safe! She was . . .

  Late for practice!

  Nobody was at the barre when Esmeralda arrived at class. The mice stood talking in small groups. Many of her friends were in tears, and Esmeralda could see Conrad sitting at the far end of the rehearsal space, his head buried in his arms. Gringoire was there, too. And Maksim — dear Maksim!

  Madame Giselle was the first to spot her. “Oh, my dear Esmeralda! You are alive!” she cried.

  Everyone rushed toward Esmeralda. Maksim had to push his way through a crowd of dancers. He lifted her off the ground in a hug. “I thought you were drowned in the Neva River!”

  Conrad and Gringoire came forward, too. Maksim let go of Esmeralda so that her cousin and brother could embrace her. Conrad said, “I can’t believe you’re here! Maksim and Gringoire came up with a plan to rescue you, but we didn’t know where Gurkin had taken you. We were afraid that . . .”

  He couldn’t go on.

  “I’m fine,” said Esmeralda. “I’m safe now —”

  “What happened to you?” said Gringoire.

  “I’ll tell you all about it later. But —” Esmeralda looked around. “Where is Fleur? Is she all right?”

  “Oh, such a tragedy!” said Madame Giselle. “Fleur’s foot is broken. She cannot walk!”

  “Oh, no!” said Esmeralda.

  “Yes, yes! Poor Fleur,” said Madame Giselle. “And poor us, as well! She cannot walk, and she cannot dance. We will have to cancel the ballet.”

  Esmeralda’s mouth fell open. Madame Giselle couldn’t be serious. She couldn’t possibly cancel the new ballet — not when they had costumes and sets and a new scenario. Not when everyone had worked so hard!

  “There can be no performance until Fleur’s foot is better,” said Madame Giselle. And who knows when that will be? Certainly not in time for Clara and the Mouse King.”

  Esmeralda said, “Can’t somebody else take on Fleur’s role?”

  “Nobody else knows the choreography. No one else is good enough.” Madame Giselle’s voice was choked with sorrow.

  Conrad said gently, “We’re going to have to give up on this production, Esmeralda.”

  She stared at him in disbelief. The new production wasn’t all they would be giving up. Without Clara and the Mouse King, the Russian Mouse Ballet Company might not survive. “No!” she said. “No! We’re not going to give up! I — I know the choreography!”

  Everyone fell silent. Madame Giselle and Conrad looked at her without blinking.

  Esmeralda’s tail twitched. She willed it to lie still and flat on the floor. She said, “I’ve been practicing in private — Fleur’s dances as well as my own. I’ve been working on keeping my tail in position without the training ribbon, and I think — well, I’m pretty sure — that I can do it.”

  Madame Giselle looked skeptical.

  But Conrad’s face lit up. “That’s wonderful, Esmeralda! This is the solution we need, Madame!”

  The ballet mistress hesitated. She looked carefully at Esmeralda. “I wonder, my dear, if you have thought this through. If you dance the role of Clara, you will be viewed as the company’s prima ballerina. It will be essential that the audience love your performance. They must admire and adore you. And if they do not . . .”

  Esmeralda nodded. She understood what Madame Giselle was telling her: if she failed, if her tail fell out of position, or if she couldn’t dance with sufficient emotion, she might very well destroy any chance she had at a career in ballet.

  The ballet mistress looked at Esmeralda, holding her gaze. “Can you do this, my dear? Can you make the audience love you on opening night?”

  A great part of Esmeralda wanted to cry out that no, she couldn’t. How could she possibly take on something so difficult? What if she were to fail?

  Then Esmeralda thought of her fellow dancers — her friends, rehearsing even when they were hungry, even when they were tired from extra scrounge patrols, even as they lived in terror of a cruel custodian bent on their destruction. They were all looking at her now, waiting to hear what she would say.

  She thought of rewriting the scenario for the ballet with her brother and cousin — how excited they had been. She thought of Gringoire and Conrad stealing the sets. She thought of Maksim, helping her to find food — and taking her to the Balalaika Café so that she could dance for an audience. Maksim was looking at her now, nodding to show that he had faith in her ability. Conrad and Gringoire were nodding, too.

  Esmeralda thought of Irina donating costumes to the mice — and then saving her from Gurkin. She thought of Irina’s last words to her: I wish I could see you dance again.

  Her head felt light, her throat dry. She hadn’t slept . . . she hadn’t had anything to drink or eat since — well, she really couldn’t remember. She had been caught in a mousetrap, had spent the night in prison, thinking she would be drowned or thrown into a fire, and she had been rescued by a human girl. Esmeralda felt as if she had gone on a long journey and returned somehow braver than before.

  Madame Giselle said, “Can you do it, Esmeralda?”

  She took a deep breath. “Yes, Madame. Yes, I can.”

  MONSIEUR TCHAIKOVSKY WILL be in the audience today!”

  The announcement one afternoon several days later that the great composer would be in the theater caused more than a little excitement among the members of the Russian Mouse Ballet Company. Of course, Monsieur Tchaikovsky would not be watching their small mouse stage. Still, it was inspiring to think of him being so near.

  The company would be performing the battle scene in the first act. Rehearsal had not yet started, and the stage was filled with dancers getting themselves ready: the mouse king and his army of mouse soldiers; the evil nutcracker sorcerer and his army of
toy soldiers. Conrad, wearing a crown made of gold foil appropriated from a box of chocolates from Mademoiselle dell’Era’s dressing room, was adjusting his sash. “Full orchestra this afternoon,” he commented. “The musicians will be giving it their best, what with the composer being here. You can bet there will be fewer interruptions than usual.”

  “I suppose you’re right,” said Esmeralda.

  Her cousin must have heard the quaver in her voice. He said, “Oh, Esmeralda! You’re not nervous, are you? Madame Giselle and I both think you’re going to do fine today! Not just fine — you’re going to be fantastic!”

  She smiled weakly. She was nervous. For the past few days, ever since she had agreed to take on the role of Clara, she had been working in private with Madame Giselle. The ballet mistress had closed the afternoon rehearsals to all the dancers but Conrad, so that Esmeralda could practice the choreography — and practice dancing without the training ribbon. Today would be Esmeralda’s first performance with the rest of the ballet company. She said, “I’m relieved it’s the battle scene today. Clara has less dancing to do. And no solos!”

  She was also relieved that Fleur wouldn’t be at rehearsal. Fleur had begun hobbling around with the aid of a crutch fashioned from a twig. She might easily have come to watch — and criticize! But Esmeralda knew from her brother that Fleur was going to sit in the tsar’s box today. She and Gringoire were going to watch the human rehearsal. Gringoire was excited because he had heard that the humans were going to fire off a real cannon.

  Conrad was struggling with his sash. “Bother! I’ve put it on too tight again.”

  “Let me help you.”

  Her cousin looked around as Esmeralda retied his sash. Conrad said, “That’s odd. I think we’ve got only about half the dancers we’re supposed to have. Do you suppose they didn’t get the call for today’s rehearsal?”

  But Esmeralda was thinking about the cannon. She didn’t know exactly how it worked, but she had gathered that there might be an explosion involved. It sounded exciting, and she almost would have preferred to be up in the tsar’s box with Gringoire and Fleur.

  What happened was exciting, though not in the way Esmeralda had expected.

  It happened partway into the battle scene.

  On the mouse stage, Clara was looking on in terror as the mouse king and his army of mice faced off with the evil nutcracker sorcerer and his army of toy soldiers. On the human stage, the cannon went off with a crack!

  The crack was followed by a human scream. The music came to a shrieking halt. There were more screams, and then a giant crash.

  On the mouse stage, the nutcracker sorcerer’s toothpick wand fell to the floor.

  The mice froze, listening to the sound of thundering feet coming from the human stage. And above that sound, screams of real terror.

  “What is going on?” said Conrad.

  As soon as he could, Gringoire found them and described the scene of catastrophe he had witnessed. “The human stage was crowded with dancers,” he said. “People in mouse and soldier costumes and so on. Then the cannon went off — I’m sure you heard that — only a little puff of smoke, by the way. And then, suddenly, Franz showed up with about twenty or thirty mice! Not people in mouse costumes, mind you, but real mice. They ran across the stage, making every effort to be seen. And somebody — it might have been that girl playing Clara —”

  “Stanislava Belinskaya,” said Esmeralda.

  “Right! She knocked over the Christmas tree! It’s a wonder none of our mice were crushed — or stepped on!”

  “Did everyone escape?” asked Conrad.

  “Yes, yes! The idiots got away! The whole thing was well planned — I’ll give them that much credit. And then Monsieur Ivanov was up on the stage, shouting for everyone to calm down. Unfortunately, his advice didn’t have any effect on Tchaikovsky. The composer was in hysterics, scrambling over the backs of the chairs and trying to get out of the auditorium without touching the floor!”

  “Oh, dear!” said Esmeralda.

  “Meanwhile, Fleur was there beside me, cheering everyone on! It seems that she and Franz planned this whole thing together. Their aim is to have Gurkin fired from his position.”

  Conrad said, “Instead, Franz has been fired.”

  “What?” said Esmeralda.

  “Didn’t you hear? Madame Giselle has suspended him indefinitely from the ballet company. She was furious that an entire rehearsal was upset.”

  “But Franz wasn’t the only mouse involved. What about Fleur?” said Esmeralda. “Surely Madame Giselle didn’t fire her!”

  “I don’t think Madame Giselle knows she was involved. And there’s no real point to suspending Fleur, since she can’t dance anyway. As for the other mice, if they were to be suspended, we wouldn’t have enough dancers for Clara and the Mouse King.”

  “Do you think Franz and Fleur’s plan worked?” Esmeralda wondered aloud. “Do you really think Gurkin will be fired?”

  “I wouldn’t be surprised,” said her brother. “The question is, at what cost to us mice?”

  MAKSIM CAME TO THE Mariinsky for supper the next evening. He brought along a feast: an entire mushroom dumpling, a tea cake, and four sugared almonds — one for each mouse.

  “It feels like a party!” said Esmeralda.

  “It is a party,” said Maksim. “We haven’t yet celebrated your escape from that monster with the mousetrap.”

  “Speaking of that monster,” said Conrad, “Monsieur Vsevolozhsky has indeed fired Gurkin.”

  “Good-bye and good riddance,” said Maksim. “How about some more tea cake, Esmeralda?”

  She had already eaten too much, but she took another helping anyway, just to please Maksim. “I can’t believe Gurkin is gone!” Esmeralda commented.

  Gringoire said, “Monsieur Vsevolozhsky has yet to hire a new chief custodian. Let’s just hope that Gurkin’s replacement won’t be even worse than he was.”

  With a shudder, Esmeralda recalled what her brother had said about an electrocuting mousetrap. She said, “I wish people would stop setting traps for us.”

  Gringoire sighed. “I couldn’t agree more. Mousetraps are bad when we can’t outwit them, of course — witness what happened to Fleur! But to my mind, mousetraps are almost as bad when we can outwit them. As soon as people know we’re in the building, they make up their minds that they’ve got to get rid of us. If they could, they would come after us with cannon fire!”

  “People hate us,” said Conrad through a mouthful of tea cake.

  Esmeralda objected. “Not everyone. Irina likes mice. She rescued me!”

  “For which we are grateful,” said Gringoire, “but you cannot deny that her father was a setter of mousetraps.”

  “He might not have set them if Gurkin hadn’t been pushing him to do it,” said Esmeralda. “I’ve heard Mikhail Danilovich call us clever. I think he admired us!”

  Gringoire made a face. “I wish he’d had a different way of showing his admiration. Something less threatening to our lives.”

  “Like peppermint oil,” said Maksim.

  They all looked at him.

  He said, “They use it in the house where I live to keep us out of the cupboards.”

  “Doesn’t it make you sick?” asked Esmeralda, remembering how the peppermint candy had made her feel.

  “Not if we stay away from it. We just find other ways to get in and out of the cupboards. The humans are none the wiser.”

  Struck suddenly by an idea, Esmeralda sat up straight. “Are you saying that if the custodians at the theater were to use peppermint oil instead of mousetraps, we would all be safe?”

  “Certainly — if you stay away from the peppermint oil,” said Maksim.

  Esmeralda leaned over and gave him a kiss — just behind his whiskers. “That’s it!” she said. “If we can convince the custodians to use peppermint oil — and if we can convince the mice to stay inside the walls here at the theater — then the humans will think they’ve chase
d us out at last. We’ll never have to worry about another mousetrap again!”

  Conrad scratched the back of his head. “Without mousetraps, how will we get enough food?”

  Esmeralda looked to her brother. “Gringoire has already said we won’t need to worry about food once mice start paying admission for Clara and the Mouse King.”

  “You have a point,” said her brother, “but exactly how are we supposed to make the custodians use peppermint oil?”

  Everyone pondered. Maksim said, “Couldn’t you just leave some where your custodians will find it? It comes in little bottles. I could bring you one from the house where I live. Modest and Pyotr will help me. It shouldn’t be too hard.”

  Gringoire said, “We could put the bottle on a shelf in the supply room. . . .”

  But Esmeralda was shaking her head.

  “What’s wrong with the supply room?” said Conrad. “The custodians are sure to see the bottle in there.”

  Esmeralda said, “I think we should leave it where Irina can find it.”

  “Irina! The girl with the costumes?”

  Esmeralda explained. “If we were to leave the bottle of peppermint oil under the cupboard in the costume department, and if we were to wrap it up in my handkerchief, Irina would know that we mice had left it for her to find. She’ll want to help us. She’ll make sure the custodians use it.”

  Conrad looked unconvinced. “How can a girl do that?”

  Esmeralda didn’t know how, but she felt sure that Irina would do all she could.

  Maksim shared her conviction. He said, “It seems to me that this girl has already helped you mice quite a lot. I think you should give her a chance to help you again.”

  WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS?” said Papa.

  He was in his chair in the sitting room at home, his newspaper set aside so that he could examine the small glass bottle Irina had given him.

  “I found it in the costume department at the theater,” Irina told him. She shifted from one foot to the other, watching as Papa removed the stopper from the bottle and sniffed the contents.