I Was a Dancer - Jacques D'Amboise [194]
The interpreters clarified: “You see, the Afar believe if you speak to one rock you will be addressing all rocks; one tree, all trees; one leopard, all leopards. Especially the leopard back home in the Danakil that ate his goat.”
A few days later, I sought out the Afar children. “Come join me for lunch.” We ended up at a pasta place on Columbus Avenue. Carrie was in the darkroom, so it was just the three Afar children, two interpreters, and me. It’s hard to make conversation when English words and concepts have to go through Amharic to Afar and then back, but we managed. “Here’s a test for you,” I announced. “What is the biggest thing there is? Just absolutely the biggest thing you can think of?” After much discussion among the three, the answer came, “Buildings.” “No, no,” I said, “buildings are only the biggest things around here. I mean the biggest thing you can think of.” I knew I had even the interpreters engaged; I could see them trying to guess what I had in mind. If you asked most college students or professors this question, eventually most arrive at the universe or the cosmos. I sat there smugly, thinking of how I would announce that infinity and eternity are the biggest things there are.
The three children had made their choices. Osis answered, “Human beings”; Zahra, “The world”; and Hussan, “My mother.” Well, I started my questioning. “Tell me, Hussan, why is your mother the biggest thing there is?” His answer: “I feel my biggest when feelings and emotions are so huge inside me that I am exploding from the inside out. That is how I feel when I think of my mother.” “Zahra, you next, why did you pick the world?” “Because, if I could walk from now until I was old, maybe I could walk around it. But, maybe it is too big and I would die before I could.” “Okay, Osis, now you. Why human beings?” He floored me. “Human beings are the biggest thing there is because human beings can think of BIGGER THAN BIG IS.” Infinity and eternity are concepts coming from the imagination of the human mind. From an eleven-year-old illiterate nomad of the desert? WOW. “Human beings can think of BIGGER THAN BIG IS.”
After Rosebud’s Song had its week of performances and the visiting children were due to return to their cultures, we gathered the children from the geographic extremes of the world, their choreographers, the musicians, the interpreters, and our staff—and took a vote. It was unanimous: the Afar children were the most interesting. They had mesmerized us all.
When it was time to say goodbye, we had a party at Tavern on the Green, hosted by its generous owner, Warner LeRoy. I wondered if I would ever see these children again. Perhaps Ilana and Tamara.
Each of the children received a gift of five hundred American dollars, and returned home with those bills entrusted to the hands of their interpreters and chaperones. I have my doubts regarding the Afar children. I was naive; their dollars probably submerged into the pockets of the adults and never reached their tribe or family. Today, with wars and genocide ripping the area of the Danakil, I fear Hussan, Osis, and Zahra are no longer alive.
A decade earlier, I had taken off my costume and put away my ballet shoes. I rarely attended any ballet. But the ghost of Balanchine permeated so much of my teaching and choreography. Within a few years, it would be Lincoln’s ghost, too.
Death of Lincoln
He ended up a recluse, sequestered in his bedroom. I heard he’d died on January 5, 1996, and I missed his funeral but attended his memorial at the State Theater. I don’t know how he died—his heart and energies gave out, I guess—and I’m not sure why, but I miss him more than Balanchine. Maybe it’s because my relationship with Balanchine was clear, complete, solidly set in grooves. Like an old couple,