The Dance Teacher

Allegra isn’t there when Nadal comes to meet her. Earlier this morning, Nadal said goodbye to her father before he went down to the harbor with their dog Harley. She wished them a good day out on the water with the other fishers. Then she wished the same to her mother who supervised the village farms where they grew herbs and vegetables and cared for animals.

After they had left, Nadal walked next door to the mint green house where Allegra - the dance teacher in the village - lives with her brother. Every morning, Allegra waits in front of the house for Nadal, but today she isn’t there and Nadal doesn’t know what to do.

Days in the village come and go without variance. Everyone in the village wakes up at the same time. Those who work on the boats like Nadal’s father go to their boats, many accompanied by their dogs. On the water, they catch cherry colored lobsters, and fish with scales that flash silver and green and pink and blue. Those who don’t work on the water usually go up to the village farms. 

Apart from these to ways of life, the village prides itself on its art and culture. In the pink house lives Danya, the music teacher, and his little girl Natalia. Danya comes from St. Petersbourg, but Nadal can’t remember when. It seems like they’ve always been there. 

When ribbons of pink thread themselves through the overcast sky, the fishers bring their boats in for the evening, loaded with the day’s catch. The farmers come down from the hills, their baskets full of radishes, cauliflower, eggplant and carrots, each one a perfect example of symmetry. The day’s work finished, the people of the village gather near the water to share a communal meal and talk about the day - which was just like the one before, and the one before that. The skies are always silvery and overcast during the day without the threat of rain. There are no bad days, nor spectacular ones. Each day is as good as the last and is a perfect copy of the ones that will follow. 

At night, when the village lights are out and the sky is black, that Nadal becomes aware of other sensations. That darkness has a texture which can feel thick and intrusive. Often she is unable to rest for the stray thoughts bouncing around in her mind. Some nights they are musings without context. One night she wonders why Danya and Allegra never offer joint music and dance classes for the childen. Other nights she thinks about people from the village, straining to remember how long they have lived there. Her ability to reach into the past feels like racing across the water in one of the fisher’s boats, only to slam into a wall that is painted to resemble their pure grey sky. These are nights when she feels the flutter of anxiety in her chest when she thinks about their life in the village.  

By the time morning comes, Nadal never remembers these thoughts, or if she does she pushes them to the furthest corner of her mind. Village life is one of beauty because of its tidy structure. In spite of the thoughts that bother her at night, life carries on as it should. Until this morning, when she goes to meet Allegra in front of her house and instead meets her brother Dolo as he’s leaving for the harbor.

Dolo is never happy, he leaves for the harbor, as if the weight of life drags behind him. When he returns with the evening's catch, it could be piles of fish or piles of jewels; the sorrowful expression will never lighten. Dolo today is very different. Nadal stops him as he is strutting out of the house, the family dog hopping beside him.

Good morning signorina! Lovely weather today eh? The dog bumps Nadal’s legs in agreement.

Is Allegra at home? 

Pardon?

I can’t find Allegra. Has Allegra gone missing before? Nadal starts to question if they have had this conversation while Dolo frowns in confusion.

Nobody but me signorina, and I’m on my way to my boat now. He pats the dog on the head and continues towards the water. Have a lovely day! 

Just like the one before and the one to follow, Nadal thinks as she glances up towards the fish belly sky.

Every morning Nadal walks with Allegra to the music school where she participates in the morning dance lesson, mostly to humor her friend. Nadal's broad, strong feet are useful for scaling the rocks along the water and bracing herself on the slipperiest ones as she leans down to cut away handfuls of mussels. They aren’t quite as useful when she’s trying to navigate the foxtrot.

Nadal walks alone up the familiar path to the music school. It’s the smallest building in the village. Two levels like the others, but only six windows in the front. The building is white, unblemished by sea air and salt wind. 

Inside, Danya is leading an advanced group in violin lessons. Danya is in the middle of demonstrating a piece when Nadal walks in. He stops and puts his bow down.  

Good morning Nadal. Are you joining us this morning?

No, I'm here for the dance lessons. We’re meant to be starting the waltzes this week.

Danya glances across the room at his students. They are mostly teenagers. Shy and serious, they have a great respect for Danya’s teaching. I'm afraid I don’t understand.

Allegra always has this room in the morning for her ballroom lessons. I’ve been learning from her for as long as I can remember. Even as the words leave her mouth, Nadal has the sensation that this might not be true. 

You must be mistaken. My students and I have met to play the violin here every morning for as long as I’ve lived here. 

That feeling that comes at night and keeps her awake has suddenly appeared. The flutter, the anxiety that skitters across her bones and makes her shiver. 

How long have you lived here Danya?

Danya laughs, though he shifts in his seat. He is anxious for her to leave so he can return to his lesson. Many years. Natalia was only eight when we came.

I see. Excuse me for disturbing you. Perhaps I've made a mistake.

Nadal excuses herself and leaves the music school. Danya came to the village when Natalia was eight years old. That is how she and the others in the village think of him. But as she reaches the front door, Natalia skips past, a flutter of messy golden hair, carrying a stack of music books under her arm. She is wearing her favorite red dress. She waves to Nadal as she pulls open the door to the classroom. After all this time, Natalia is still eight years old. 

~

William Derby’s house is a stoney, depressing contrast to the colorful homes along the harbor. A short walk from the dance school, it’s a long, mournful building with tiny windows and a crimson front door which is not in the center of the ground floor unlike every other front door in the village. 

The community devotes fifteen minutes at every evening meal to discuss William Derby. He lives life as a recluse but he is the one people would turn to if they needed advice. Nadal knows all of this, but sometimes when she thinks of him, he feels like a complete stranger. William lost his wife at a young age, and since then he’s isolated himself in this stone house with their collection of books and their spotted cat for company. 

She pounds on the door in case he doesn’t hear her.

Desist! 

Nadal stops pounding and opens the door partway, apprehensive. She has never seen him; for all she knows he could be the sort of angry recluse that chases people away with pointed sticks. But Allegra is missing and she needs answers, so she ventures into the entrance hall, dim and vast, and absent of any furniture except for a bright pink table the color of Danya’s house. On the table is a battered metal clock on two spindly legs. Very out of place in this somber setting. 

Mr. Derby?

However valid your reason for disturbing me, it does not make you welcome! 

Please, Mr. Derby. I need your help. In the village they say you can answer any question we might have. Of course some people also claimed he was a vampire, who couldn’t come out in the daylight, but she omitted that.

From beyond the front hall echoes a derisive snort. I would, if any of the idiots down there had any questions. And for goodness’ sake will you stop yelling at me across the room and come closer? 

Allegra edged forward, not without certain reservations it was true. She flinches as something soft curls around one of her legs. A cat with an absurdly long body and little ginger spots on a white coat, purrs its approval of her.

William Derby is pallid, probably from lack of natural light. But he has sharp blue eyes set in a narrow, serious face and watery blond hair that is beginning to go silver. He is leaning an elbow on a pile of books stacked on an old wooden table. He clicks his fingers, impatience at how slow she is moving.

Chester likes you, he never greets visitors like that.

Did Allegra come to visit you too?

I don’t know that person.

She's my friend. She's gone missing all of sudden, but it seems like everyone in the village has simply forgotten about her. Although, that’s not exactly why I’m here. 

You have the feeling this has happened before. 

Unexpectedly correct. Has it?

William glances into the front hall at the clock on the table, and Nadal notices the loud ticking for the first time. Well this is quite the brain bender. It’s really a question of falling trees and barking dogs. If I told you one of those mangy fisher dogs was at this very moment, barking in its boat as it sat beside its faithful master, would you believe me? 

He plunges on before she can respond. You aren’t on the water, so how can you verify if I’m telling the truth? What if I tell you that one of the fisher’s dogs barks like mad at exactly this time every day? Would you have any reason to believe me? It’s highly probable isn’t it? Dogs bark at the slightest provocation. But it’s this business about the exact time that makes you unsure.

The idea makes the certainties of her life suddenly shaky, but she tries to cling to them. You spend every day in this house. You can hear them barking. 

Ah yes, but how do you know this is where I spend every day? Maybe you’ve seen me somewhere else in the village.

Of course not. Everyone here knows what a stran- what a recluse you are.

Then how do you know I'm really William Derby?

Please don’t play philosophical puzzles with me Mr. Derby. I just want to know if others have gone missing before Allegra.

Probably. And probably more will come and go, though I admit not as frequently as in the past.

The answer is direct and unflinching. That’s not possible. I’ve lived here all my life. I would notice. Yet as the words leave her mouth, Nadal knows it isn’t true. Again, she wonders how long she’s actually known Allegra. Were they really best friends?

Chester is on the table beside the stack of books, grooming one paw. William studies Nadal’s mounting confusion. I like you Nadal, you’re one of the only ones in the village who doesn’t ignore those unanswered questions.

Who else knows about this?

About your friend? I'm not sure. But there is that boy, Nicolas, the one who likes red wine. Maybe you should speak to him. Now get out, Chester and I have work to do.

~

Nicolas usually meets Nadal in the late afternoons when she sits on the rocks and cleans the beards off the gathered mussels. Despite his extreme fondness for red wine during the day, Nicolas has the important task of looking after the sheep and goats in the village. Instead of a dog, he relies on his raspy singing voice to herd the animals. He brings them to graze near the beach because he claims that they love the flavored with the salt air - he also jokes this will make them delicious later, but the truth is that Nicolas adores his animals, and they love being in his company.

Nicolas is already sitting on the rock where Nadal usually is. He is halfway through a bottle of wine. His third of the day she guesses. Wine never dulls it senses, it only seems to make him more cheery.

Well that’s a new sight! Shouldn’t you be here already?

Nadal feels a weariness in her body as she sinks onto the rock beside him and pats one of the lambs grazing nearby.

Allegra is missing.

I’m sorry. She was your friend wasn’t she?

Nadal glances at him. His cheeks are flushed pinot red, but he looks sincere. You remember her?

I’ve never seen her, but she teaches dancing right?

Why doesn’t anyone else remember her? 

Maybe they do and they just don’t want to talk about her. Nicolas offers her a swig of wine, and Nadal knows that he offers her his wine every day. She always says no. Today is not any other day so she takes a few strong gulps and cringes immediately after. Nicolas thumps her back.

I went to see William Derby today.

Ah, the hermit of the hill. Did he tell you barking dog riddle?

It's not really a riddle though, is it? 

It's also not a precise answer. But it does help.

I know what you mean. Now I’m not even sure if Allegra was my best friend or if I just met her two days ago. Nadal takes another swig of wine. 

They sit in comfortable silence, looking across the harbour. The lambs and goats snuffle around in the grass, making contented chewing noises that comfort her. All they need is a nice patch to graze and good company to be happy.

When the sky is shot through with ribbons of lilac and tearose, Nadal knows the boats are coming in for the evening, and the community will gather soon. She hasn’t collected any mussels. But she wonders if anyone will notice.

As she rises to leave, Nicolas stops her. I can’t explain anything because I don’t understand it myself, but I can give you one piece of advice. At night, when you start to think about things, don't forget about them. Try not to forget about Allegra tomorrow morning.

Why would I? But Nadal knows this is a likely scenario, even as she tries to convince herself that this graceful young woman with boundless patience has always been her best friend. 

Just keep her locked in your mind.

Nadal waves goodbye and trudges back up the beach towards the bright blue home where she has lived with her parents since she was born. Maybe. Today is a strange day all around. 

~

Mrs. Meissener and her daughter Devon are sitting at an antique table, finishing up a list of items. Dressed in mourning black they feel like characters from a tragicomedy set in Victorian times. Augustine, the matriarch and Devon’s grandmother has only been dead a few days, yet they are already cataloguing her collection of antiques in order to auction them.

Make sure you add bubble wrap to the shopping list, Mrs. Meissener reminds her daughter. The last thing we need are those porcelain figurines cracking like breadsticks before we can sell them.

Mama, try to be a little more sentimental please. They meant a lot to Gran. And to me.

Mrs. Meissener scoffs as she snatches up the list and goes to the glass curio cabinet. The porcelain figures have lived there since before Augustine was born. But Augustine was the one who had loved them as a little girl. When she grew up, she continued to add more figures and rearrange them. Their own little world. She had even painted them an entire village and put it on the back wall of the cabinet so they looked more at home.

Wait a minute, there’s one missing. Where’s the dancer figurine? Mrs. Meissener peers into the little doll village then glances back at Devon. Devon is well past thirty yet she slumps in her chair, guilty as a five year old caught with chocolate on her face.

It’s my favorite one. I couldn’t stand the thought of it being sold. 

You’re rendering the collection incomplete.

Oh come on Mama, a dancer doll doesn’t really fit into the fishing village motif anyway. Besides, Gran always said I could have any of them if I wanted. 

In writing? Devon glares at her mother, a grown woman again. The love for these useless objects has clearly skipped a generation. Mrs. Meissener rolls her eyes but she gives in. Alright, it’s not as old as the others anyway. Just don’t steal any others.

The two women complete their inventory and pull the heavy curtains shut before leaving the house.