Memories of the Marble Stairs

“Thank you, darling. The way you serve the tea brings back the memories...”

Good. Kinda hoped for it.

“I recall having tea after our first concert in the Palace club,

just like that – white porcelain of the pot, and tiny cups around, and cubes of

sugar, and milk – rich and cold, and most remarkable – that vapor, how it fills

the room, thick and redolent...”

Gosh, I love listening to her. It’s like walking into another

world, rediscovering places as she guides you through. 

“And the boys: Tommy still nervous, twitching; Charlie still

clutching the saxophone, John on ease, reserved in his laughter, that gentleman

attitude he adored so much... And me, of course.”

That slightly coquettish tilt of her head should be the same as

when she sipped that tea with grace and elegance after the concerto. 

“It was our promise, my dear, our intimate secret, a vow born in

the sleepless nights where those endless pots of sweet tea kept the boys’

fingers wonderfully clever, and my voice crystal clear… And we have dreamt that

one night we will play at the large venue where lights are muffled and the

floor is polished, where suits are gorgeous and cigarettes pricey, where

everything screams chic and class, and the demanding audience is leaving

nothing to your luck. And afterwards, having harvested these clapping hands,

these surprised looks, we would sit down and pour the tea; before - to

withstand long sleepless nights, now – to commemorate them. And all those

dressy gentlemen, all those fascinating ladies around – turned out I enjoyed to

hold their gaze, still startled, captivated by me.”

I am so mesmerized by the picture I hold my cup steady, probably

awaiting for John to pour some tea in. Come on lad, what happened to that

gentleman thing you have revered so much. As no hand reaches from the depth of

time I serve ourselves. The Lady drops a cube of sugar in her cup, even that

minimal gesture performed with style. I stretch my legs (performed without style)

and relax in a soft chair, eager to explore. 

Being a nurse in the hospital like the one where I work, that

two-week break at the nursing home seemed like a vacation. Getting there at

nine, fulfilling my duties with care and respect, as one should, and a

five-minute coffee whenever I’d love to, no limits set. Now, while lunches at

the hospital haven’t differed much from military training when you run

full-speed through the canteen and only have so much to fill the stomach, here

it was like sitting at a dreamlike cafe somewhere in Paris, whole, glorious

hour without a single interruption.

I, however, quickly gave up that privilege just to spend more

time with her, the enigmatic resident of room 1119. She moved with elegance,

she spoke with dignity, and every wrinkle on her face promised a story, some

distant memory brought to life when she pulled these threads and weaved her

verbal paintings. 

Staff called her the Lady, rumor being that she was a famous

singer, or an actress, or probably both. I didn’t get any specifics but I

didn’t need them. Why bother with names or dates or places when the majestic

stories come to life right before my eyes. 

“The boys got the cab, yet I refused, of course. How could I cut

myself from that beautiful world, the one which has finally talked to me, the

one which has noticed that I am here, living and breathing and most important -

singing? I wanted to walk alone, to get a sight of every inch of the holiday

streets, to fill my lungs with the summer air, to live - every minute of that

splendid, victorious night.”

“I desired to and I deserved to. See, darling, both must be

true.”

She takes a sip, and I see her eyes twinkling with the distant

street lights, neon signs, flashes of the cigarettes. The nameless City dancing

amiably around my joyful heroine.

“I surprised myself by falling asleep easily that evening. I

thought I never could – with all that jubilance pumping through my veins. Oh,

my dear, that night when I walked through the city.. as if my whole life went

before my eyes – my new, future life. Strangely, it was as if someone outlined it

to me in the finest details, and while I could even make out the shade of my

lipstick – close to the microphone’s sieve, delivering the stellar hit of mine

– I couldn’t recognize neither the place nor the words of my own future song...

How impractical from the providence side, I thought...”

I glance at her dry, tired lips, but I see other ones – plump,

sulky, and gracefully delineated curves that drive them all crazy both in sound

and silence. 

Her hand is trembling, clutching the teapot helplessly, trying

to refill the cups. I became so mesmerized I missed that, surely she must have

struggled for some time, geez! I rush to help, murmuring the apology. She waves

away gently. And those fingers, now wizened, tortured by tremor – how many

strong, tempered, daring hands were honored by the slightest touch? 

“Thank you love... It went swiftly since, frantically

sometimes.. the trains, the cities, the skies, the seas.. clubs, and

restaurants, venues, and halls... Oh, dear, have I ever dared to dream so

boldly! Places I’ve seen, people I’ve met... They asked if I’d like to try to

do a movie. How can you even ask something like that? We went to Italy, they

were mostly shooting here.”

“You know, honey, at the evening events, you go out in the

spotlights, and you enchant them all, and these eyes, radiating admiration,

hands clapping furiously, whispers growing full voice. But the movies, that’s

something else.”

“I emerged myself in the moment, just as they said to me, trying

to hide from the killing realization that millions and millions will scrutinize

every turn of my head, my every glance. Of course, I was destroyed, and those

nights were truly nervous, always on the edge. I thought I had to break into the

cutting room at night and cut my scenes – I mean cut them into the fine

celluloid dust from which nobody will be ever able to recover as much as a

single shot.”

“And then one day – I saw myself on the huge poster at the AMC..

of course, I went inside! I got the last row ticket. How strange it was,

hearing them laugh when the on-the-screen version of me performed what I

initially considered mad, loony pantomime only cruel or silly people can laugh

upon.”

“And when I said, that is when big-me said “And that leaves you,

as a person who knew Gregory’s habit to sniff from the open flask to check the

chemistry was going right”, and when I got rapidly and graphically slashed – I

think I even heard some sobs in the audience. Wasn’t that just another miracle

for me?”

“When I went outside, who do you think I saw? Charles Bronson,

in the flesh. He came for the opening night, that is, of course, for his movie.

My heart jumped out, but I somehow managed to ask for a photo – and there we

went, under the storm of magnesium lightning. Can you imagine? He refused a

photo to Vysotsky once and yet here I stood, warm Polaroid square in the palm

of my hand. I’ve kept the photo close ever since, it barely left my purse,

becoming my talisman, my lucky card.”

“Do you... do you still have it?”

She glances at the watch silently.

The merciless minute hand moves inevitably towards the 12 mark.

For all I care I can leave other seniors, much respected and cared about, to

themselves for just some time, for just a little more of that wonderful world

behind the heavy dusty curtain of the time passed, the world where heroes step

from the screen right into the audience and sit beside you and smile when you

laugh and drop tears when you cry although these are tears of happiness. 

“And so my romance with the movies was born. I’ve taken the

roles, even the minor ones sometimes, and I went on tour after tour after tour,

I scribbled songs in my notebook, dying on the stage every night, resurrected

by sunrise. Evening cocktails were my vinegar, and morning coffee was my

Eucharist. And endless revolutions of the black tracks in the gramophone, oh,

darling, I loved them so much, my tender vinyl friends, always consoling...

They are all gone now, oh girl, those who I loved so sincerely, they who were there

for me in the darkest days and most desperate nights.. all gone.”

The echo of a Hippocratic Oath seems nevertheless to reach the

remains of my conscience and I have to excuse myself. 

The Lady ignores my polite coughing completely. 

“They are all gone. And look at us now, look where it all ends.”

“I, in the lights, exquisite silks covering fluidly my grace and elegance, the brightest starlet of those evening venues, the most enchanting voice ever reverberating through those hypnotized streets! 

Oh look now, look where those shiny marble stairs took us!”

“I am... I am sorry I,”

Her voice distorts eerily, pupils dilated, face features suddenly sharpened 

“You are not sorry! You are all fake, mumbling your false greetings in my face, spitting your jealous venom behind my back...”

I feel a sudden rush of panic, jumping up, backing away… 

But the Lady is already dropping back into the chair, the liquid fire in her pupils ebbing away. 

I murmur another sorry and get outside... What the hell do I do, I have to check on her! I turn back, and I see her pointy silhouette, straight but motionless, gaze fixed on something far away. I can’t go. I will get somebody.

And I do, and as Shelley leaves the staff room, head of the

institution, doctor Brad, forty-something, all too familiar lack of sleep

nesting deeply in the hazel eyes. I’ve known Brad since the studies. He pours

me some coffee. I thank him but don’t sip it yet, as the tender tinge of the

tea still lingers on my tongue. 

Don’t worry, she will be fine. 

Does that happen.. regularly? 

Oh yeah. She is a weird one. Still, you took a liking to her, didn’t you?

Sure. I think I can listen for ages. 

You bet. Woman’s room is like a freakin’ DeLorean, you take a seat she will take you places. 

It is.. it is... 

What is it, Beth? 

Just, such a pity.. that she has to see the end like.. I mean after all those...

Would it be no worries if she were a cook or a sales agent? 

No, no, I didn’t mean that!  

I know you didn’t. Okay Beth, see you later. 

He looks at me longer than needed, hesitant, grabs the doorknob, but turns back.

Beth, you’re just for short here, but.. you know that all the Lady tells is just.. stories, right?

What do you mean? 

I mean it didn’t actually happen, she is not some forgotten singer, nor a movie star. 

What?..

She worked in the luxurious club, at the wardrobe, as far as I know since she was seventeen. 

No, Brad, you take a break... 

Sorry? 

You can’t know this! 

Beth, I am the head of this place. Of course, I know this. About five years ago they sent her to us. No friends, no family, she started to behave weirdly at the job. 

Brad, don’t say that.

Beth, you can check her card in my,-

I don’t want to! 

Most curious, she really could become an actress, with all that roleplay,-

Shut up! 

Sorry, Brad. I really need a minute.

I rush out, suddenly the breath is not enough and nausea is filling my chest.

I stop by the window and peer into the grey twilight behind. 

I feel like the Old Lady was cruelly robbed.

I feel like I was, too.