Âåëèêèé Íóðååâ Ïîñëåäíèé ãîä 400 äíeé çà äíåì AIDS

2021 Writer : Journalist : academician Iouri Runtu: French / Þðè Ðþíòþ : Russian / Uri Runtu: English : Yuri Ryuntyu / Canberra ACT Australia / Celebrities RU Telegram : Ñòàòüÿ àâòîðà Ðþíòþ Þðè : 2024

© 18+ : Âñå ïðàâà ïðèíàäëåæàò àâòîðàì, 2000-2022. Ïîðòàë ðàáîòàåò ïîä ýãèäîé Ðîññèéñêîãî ñîþçà ïèñàòåëåé. Èíòåëëåêòóàëüíàÿ Ýëèòà Äåìîêðàòè÷åñêîé Ðîññèè : 18+ Russia 2022.

2022 -  Photo : Backcover : Êíèãà Ðþíòþ Þðè : " Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ 10 000 äðóçåé è 400 èíòåðâüþ " : ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia /  http://proza.ru/2016/05/05/1200 / 2016-2022: Published in Canberra ACT Australia / http://proza.ru/2022/07/15/1374 / 2022.

2022 : Ðîññèÿíèí è Ãåíèé Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ ( 1938 - 1993 ) ñîçäàë Áàëåò Ôðàíöèè XXI-âåêà: 1938-2022 / 1993 - 2023

 Ìàðãî Ôîíòåéí è Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ áûëè - ' ÎÁÚÅÄÈÍÅÍÛ ÊÀÊ ÑÊÀÊÎÂÛÅ ËÎØÀÄÈ ' ( ñî ñëîâ Òàìàðû Êàðñàâèíîé ) äëÿ Ðåâîëþöèè ïî Îìóæåñòâëåíèþ Áðèòàíñêîãî Áàëåòà - XX âåêà / 2022

     Êàðñàâèíà Ò. - áûëà ó÷èòåëåì Ì. Ôîíòåéí è Ëàóðåë Ìàðòèí â Ëîíäîíñêîé Øêîëå Áàëåòà - è äàëåå áîëåå 20 ëåò îíè ðàáîòàëè âìåñòå...

    Ìóæüÿ Êàðñàâèíîé è Ôîíòåéí áûëè - Âûäàþùèìèñÿ Äèïëîìàòàìè ñ Ìèðîâîé Ñëàâîé â Áðèòàíèè è ýòî äåëàëî Ðóäîëüôà Íóðååâà - " íåïðèêàñàåìûì " äëÿ ïîëèöèè ( è ä.ð. îðãàíèçàöèé ).

     Ïðèñóòñòâèå - æåíû äèïëîìàòà Ìàðãî ñ Ðóäîëüôîì - ïîâñåìåñòíî è ïîâñåäíåâíî - ñïàñàëî åãî æèçíü îò ïîêóøåíèé â Åâðîïå è ÑØÀ.


2022 : Telegram : Runtu, Uri TikTok : Þðè Ðþíòþ : " The general purpose of PROSE is to preserve language as it is spoken by the people. Language is the key to expressing civilization itself. The most complicated and mature language embodies the highest level of civilizations across time and history. It is how we view and remember events, a lingo to record the world around us. Here we stand for the history of Russian literature in Australia. This prose represents Australian citizens who still enjoy writing in the mother tongue of their Russian heritage. Anyway, this Russian-speaking literature belongs to Australian Modern Culture and flourishes equally alongside its Anglo-Saxon counterpart. The previous background of writers is pleasantly mixed with the new style of life they experience in Australia ". / http://www.proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2020-01-11 / Iouri Runtu: French / Þðè Ðþíòþ : Russian / Uri Runtu: English Yuri Ryuntyu / Celebrities RU : Telegram : 2022.


2022 : Telegram : Runtu, Uri TikTok : ÂÒÎÐß ÑËÎÂÀÌ Äìèòðèÿ Ñåðãååâè÷à ËÈÕÀ×ÅÂÀ: - ' Êàê çàìåòèë ÷èòàòåëü, ÿ, ïðåæäå âñåãî, ïèøó î ëþäÿõ. Ëþäè — ñàìîå âàæíîå â ìîèõ âîñïîìèíàíèÿõ. Ñòðåìÿñü âîññòàíîâèòü èõ èíäèâèäóàëüíîñòü, ÿ âûïîëíÿë ñâîé äîëã — ñîõðàíèòü î íèõ ïàìÿòü. Ñêîëüêî æå èõ áûëî? Êàê îíè áûëè ðàçíîîáðàçíû è êàê èíòåðåñíû! Êàêóþ öåííîñòü ïðåäñòàâëÿåò ÷åëîâå÷åñêàÿ ëè÷íîñòü! Ìíå íàäî áûëî áû ñèñòåìàòè÷åñêè âåñòè çàïèñè, èáî ðàäè ýòèõ âñòðå÷ ñòîèò æèòü. È â îñíîâíîì ëþäè — õîðîøèå. Âñòðå÷è â äåòñòâå, âñòðå÷è â øêîëüíûå è óíèâåðñèòåòñêèå ãîäû, à çàòåì… íå óäàëîñü óäåðæàòü â ïàìÿòè âñå öåëèêîì. È ýòî ñàìàÿ áîëüøàÿ íåóäà÷à â æèçíè. Îñòàåòñÿ íàäåÿòüñÿ, ÷òî ìîè âîñïîìèíàíèÿ î íèõ — íå åäèíñòâåííûå. Íî êîãäà ïîäóìàåøü î òîì, ñêîëüêî æå õîðîøèõ, äóøåâíî áîãàòûõ ëþäåé íå îñòàâèëî î ñåáå íèêàêîé ïàìÿòè… ' / http://www.proza.ru/2016/03/24/221 / Celebrities Media TV Radio Russia / Canberra ACT Australia / : Telegram : 2022.

2017 : Ìîÿ êíèãà î Ãàëèíå Óëàíîâîé : ñòðàíèö: 700 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/09/15/442 /
 2017 : Ìîÿ êíèãà î Ìàòèëüäå Êøåñèíñêîé : ñòðàíèö: 1-692 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/09/16/461 /
 2017 : Ìîÿ êíèãà î Ëàóðåë Ìàðòèí : ñòðàíèö: 1-689 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/09/28/894 /
 2017 : Ìîÿ êíèãà î Ìàðãî Ôîíòåéí : ñòðàíèö: 1-687 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/09/29/228 /
 2017 : Ìîÿ êíèãà î Òàìàðå Êàðñàâèíîé : ñòðàíèö: 1-690 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/09/25/1381 /
 2017 : Ìîÿ êíèãà îá Ýëèçàáåò Òåéëîð : ñòðàíèö: 1-701 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/09/26/1006 /
 2017 : Ìîÿ êíèãà îá Ýëòîíå Äæîíå : ñòðàíèö: 1-703 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/08/31/1159 /
 2016-2017: Ìîÿ êíèãà î Ôðýääè Ìåðêüþðè / Ìåðêóðè : ñòðàíèö: 1-603 /
 2016: Òîì-1 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/07/17/1261 / òîì-1 : ñòðàíèö: 1-304 / +
 2017: Òîì-2 / http://www.proza.ru/2017/07/17/1237 / òîì-2 : ñòðàíèö: 1-299 /
 2016 : Ìîÿ êíèãà î Ðóäîëüôå Íóðååâå : ñòðàíèö: 1-685 / http://www.proza.ru/2016/05/05/1124 /



2022 -  Êíèãà Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ 10 000 äðóçåé è 400 èíòåðâüþ : ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia /  http://proza.ru/2016/05/05/1200 / 2016-2022:


                DEDICATION TO My FRIENDS / http://proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2022-07-16  / 2022


   To MICHEL CANESI who was Rudolf’s person for almost ten years. He reconciled his passions, heart and soul with his dying body. The doctor’s compassion, mercy and patience were healing the pain that no drugs would take away. My gratitude to a lovely friend is in these words.


   To FRANCOIS DOUCE who gave Rudolf unhesitant worship and endless devotion. She was always around when he felt haunted to a tight corner where two sitters are always at the dying man’s bed. We all know their names ‘Solitude' and 'Death'. This faithful extraordinary lady was bearing her cross of despair for thirty years. This is my gratitude to a fine friend.


   To GRAHAM  SMITH  who was a good friend of Rudolf Nureyev (1964-1993) & Freddie Mercury (1978-1988). Who were noticed speaking Farsi-language between lovers at the Gay Night Club in Munich (Germany: 1978-1980). He said: ‘Most famous World Ballet Celebrities Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn appeared in a Charity Gala at the London Coliseum on the 6th of October 1977. Freddie Mercury came to say ‘Hello’ to them and Rudolf gave him the newspaper ‘New York Times’ with a sensational article about his success in the movie ‘Valentino’ (published on the 6th of October 1977). Nobody understood them because their conversation was in Farsi-language. On the next day - on the 7th of October 1977 - Freddie Mercury performed his songs with the Royal Ballet dancers at the London Coliseum in St. Martin’s Lane. Rudolf Nureyev (at 39) visited him in privacy after and invited him and his four friends... to his Kew Gardens (London) and Li Galli Private Island in Italy. Freddie (at 31) said: ‘Rudy, be pleased and welcome me and my Four New York Daughters - Thor Arnold (at 26), Lee Nolan (at 28), and Joe Scardilli (at 29), and John Murphy (at 24)... bla-bla-bla’. All of them died with AIDS.’         
    

To GRIGORII ALEKSINSKII who said: ‘That time when Mr. Rudolf Nureyev chose to flee from the USSR, I was a chief of Border Protection Control at the Aeroport de Paris - Le Bourget... It was me and my subordinates whom he addressed for help to provide him with political asylum. During the stormy negotiations in my office, in the presence of completely mad and outraged representatives of the USSR embassy, I did not once address Mr. Rudolf Nureyev in Russian language.’ He met Mr. Rudolf Nureyev many times after 1961 in London, New York, Berlin, Barcelona, and Paris. He died at age 92 (1908-2000). They spoke fluent Russian together at all times.


   To the four Guardian Angels and Great Ballet Divas around him:


GALINA ULANOVA (1910-1998),
MARGOT FONTEYN (1919-1991),
LAUREL MARTYN (1916-2013),
and TAMARA KARSAVINA (1885-1978).

Íàøà âñòðå÷à ïðîèçîøëà â Ìîñêâå… 1995 -1997
OHa ðàññêàçàëa î ñâîåé ñóäüáå : 1917 - 1997…

      RYUNTYU, YURI MATTHEW - ÐÞÍÒÞ, Þðè Ìýòòüþ è
Ãàëèíà Óëàíîâà.

ïîðòðåò âñëóõ :  Ïðèâåòñòâóåò ïðè âñòðå÷å. Õîëîäíûå ðóêè. Ðîâíûé ãîëîñ: ”Äà, áðîñüòå âû ýòî âñå! ß íîðìàëüíûé ÷åëîâåê. Ãîâîðèòå î ñâîåì. ß îòâå÷ó”. Ñïîêîéíûé âçãëÿä, íè÷åãî íå æäóùèé è íè÷åãî íå èìåþùèé â âèäó. Ðåñíèö íåò. Íèêàêîé òðåáîâàòåëüíîñòè â æåñòå ðóê, ìèìèêå èëè ãîëîñå. Êîæà â ñòàð÷åñêèõ ïÿòíàõ. Ëèöî â ìîðùèíàõ, ÷òî ñîáðàíû â “îñòðîâêè”. Ñìåõ íå ãðîìêèé è ñ äåâè÷åñêèì îáàÿíèåì. Ëèöî áëåäíååò è âûäàåò íàïðÿæåíèå îò ïîèñêà âåðíîãî çâóêà è òî÷íîé ìûñëè. Èç âûñêàçàííûõ ñëîâ ìîæíî ïèñàòü ðàññêàçû. Íè îäíîãî ëèøíåãî ñëîâà. Èõ ìàòåìàòè÷åñêàÿ òî÷íîñòü ÷åêàíèòñÿ ýìîöèîíàëüíîé îêðàñêîé. Ôðàçû ñ ãîëîñà äèêòóþò ïðåäëîæåíèÿ. Êîãäà îíà íåðâíè÷àåò, òî  âûñòóïàþò ñêóëû. Ìàëåíüêèå ìèíäàëåâèäíûå ãëàçà áåç èãðû è òàéí. Ñëàâÿíñêàÿ êðàñîòà  áåçóïðå÷íà. Âñå ÷óâñòâà îáðàùåíû íà ñîáåñåäíèêà: ê åãî çðà÷êàì, ìèìèêå, ðóêàì è òåìáðó ãîëîñà. Îùóùåíèå ìåëîäè÷íîñòè â áåñåäå: âîïðîñ - îòâåò è, ñíîâà, îòâåò - âîïðîñ. “ß ïîìíþ îáèäû”, - ïîÿñíÿåò îíà ñâîè ìûñëè âñëóõ, ðàññ÷èòûâàÿ íà ïðîùåíèå. Íèêàêèõ ñëåäîâ óñòàëîñòè èëè ðàñêàÿíèÿ.  ëèöå íåò íàìåêîâ íà ñòðàñòíîñòü, ïðèñòðàñòèå, äðàìàòè÷íîñòü èëè îñîçíàííóþ íåóäîâëåòâîðåííîñòü. Äîáðîæåëàòåëüíîñòü, êðèñòàëüíàÿ ÿñíîñòü, ïðàâäèâîñòü è âíåøíÿÿ ïðîñòîòà - ïîäêóïàþò ñâîåé íåçàùèùåííîñòüþ. Ïðîæèòàÿ æèçíü âèäèòñÿ åþ, êàê íåèçáåæíîñòü, êîòîðàÿ îòñòðàíåíà èñ÷åçíóâøèìè ãîäàìè æèçíè. Íåóäà÷è â ñåìåéíîé æèçíè îãîâàðèâàþòñÿ ñëîâàìè ãîðå÷è. Îíà íå èùåò ïðè÷èí. Ñåãîäíÿøíÿÿ áåññìûñëåííîñòü îòâåòîâ î÷åâèäíà”. Âñå óøëî ñ ìîèìè áëèçêèìè ëþäüìè áåçâîçâðàòíî íàçàä,” - øåï÷åò åå ãîëîñ. Îäóõîòâîðåííîñòü, ñàìîäèñöèïëèíà è óÿçâèìîñòü - äîìèíèðóþò íàä âñåì â åå ëè÷íîñòè. “Çà êà÷åñòâî, êàê îòêðûòîñòü  ïðèõîäèëîñü ïëàòèòü íå ðàç”, - âçäûõàåò îíà, íå æàëåÿ. Ëþáèò ñèäåòü “íîãà ïîä íîãó” èëè “êàëà÷èêîì” ñ íîãîé ïîä ñåáÿ. Ýêîíîìè÷íà â äâèæåíèÿõ. “Íè îäíîãî ëèøíåãî äâèæåíèÿ â ìèìèêå, âïóñòóþ... ïîâîðîòà ãîëîâû èëè òîðñà”, - ÷èòàþòñÿ åå ìûñëè. Òàê ãîëîâà ñòîðîæèò òåëî. Îò÷óæäåííî è ñóõî ðàçãîâàðèâàåò ñ íåçíàêîìûìè ïî òåëåôîíó. Ñ áëèçêèìè ëþäüìè - äðóãîå. Çäåñü ñåðäöå “íà- ðàñïàøêó”, íî íå äóøà. Îùóùåíèÿ ñ÷àñòüÿ íåò. Ìàòåðèíñòâî ïîæåðòâîâàíî êàðüåðå, ñëàâå è ïîïóëÿðíîñòè. Îäèíî÷åñòâî èçíóðÿåò. Ýòî çäåñü, ìåæäó íàìè. Ìíå õî÷åòñÿ ïëàêàòü. ß åëå ñäåðæèâàþ ñåáÿ. Ìîè ãëàçà âûäàþò åå ÷óâñòâà. ß çíàþ èç ñâîåãî îïûòà, ÷òî áîëåå äâóõ ÷àñîâ îíà ðàçãîâàðèâàòü íå ïîçâîëÿåò.  åå ãîëîñå ïîÿâëÿåòñÿ íåðâíàÿ õðèïîòöà. Âîò, îíà è ñåé÷àñ çäåñü. Íà âîïðîñ: Êàê ñåãîäíÿ? Îòâå÷àåò: ”Ðåïåòèöèè â òåàòðå. Ïîòîì, ïðèõîæó äîìîé è âèøó íà ëþñòðå”. Îùóùåíèå íåðâíîãî ñðûâà... Íî, ïóñòü, ýòî òîëüêî ïîêàæåòñÿ ìíå.  íåé âñå ïðèçåìëåíî, ÷åëîâå÷íî è îò ÷èñòîãî ñåðäöà. Ñâîé ãðóç æèçíè ÷åðåç óñïåõ è ïàäåíèÿ îíà “âåçåò”, íå îáðîíèâ êîëêîãî ñëîâà. “ß ðåäêî óëûá÷èâà ñ äåòñêèõ ëåò. ß õðèñòèàíêà”, - ïîÿñíÿåò ýõî ãîëîñà ñâîþ ñóäüáó.

Ïîðòðåò çàêîí÷åí. Ñåãîäíÿ 1997 ãîä.

Íàøà âñòðå÷à ïðîèçîøëà â Ìîñêâå… 1995 -1997
OH ðàññêàçàë î ñâîåé ñóäüáå â 1938 - 1997…

       RYUNTYU, YURI MATTHEW - ÐÞÍÒÞ, Þðè Ìýòòüþ è
Áóëàò Àþõàíîâ.

ïîðòðåò âñëóõ :  Ñòðåìèòåëüíûå äâèæåíèÿ. Òÿíåò ëàäîíè â çíàê ïðèâåòñòâèÿ. Òîðîïëèâûé âçãëÿä. Íàñòîðîæåí è îáðàùåí â ñëóõ. Ïîëóøîðîõ, ïîëóøîïîò è ïîëóçâóê - âîñïðèíèìàåò â ïîëíûé ãîëîñ. Íèêîãäà íå ïåðåáèâàåò è âûñëóøèâàåò òåðïåëèâî ñîáåñåäíèêà. Êðàñîòà òþðêñêèõ ãëàç çàâîðàæèâàåò. Åãî áàðèòîí ñàðêàñòè÷åí è íåíàçîéëèâ. Ñëîâà îáäóìàíû, âçâåøåíû è íà ìåñòå. ×óâñòâî âêóñà áëèçêî ê èçûñêàííîñòè. Îñòðîòà ñëîâ è íåëåïàÿ øóòêà íå îáèæàþò. Îíè íàéäåíû èì ê âåðíîìó ñëîâó è ìåñòó. Ðóêè îòäûõàþò íà ïåðåêðåñòêå êîëåí. Ñïîêîéíûå ïàëüöû  ëèøü â ìèíóòû çàäóì÷èâîñòè. “Ëþáîé ãîñòü ñòàíîâèòñÿ õîçÿèíîì ñèòóàöèè, åñëè ýòî îò äîáðà”, - ñëûøó èç åãî ðàçãîâîðà î ÷åì-òî. ×àñòî ãîâîðèò ñàì ñ ñîáîé âñëóõ. Òåìáð ãîëîñà ðîâåí è ñïîêîåí. Íåðâíè÷àåò î êàæäîé ìèíóòå ïðîæèòîé áåç ïðîêà äëÿ äåëà. Îäèíî÷åñòâî ñëîâîîõîòëèâî. Ìàëîîáùèòåëåí ñ íåçíàêîìûìè. “Äëÿ îáùåíèÿ òðåáóåòñÿ âðåìÿ. Ñðàçó äðóçåé íå áûâàåò”, - íàïîìèíàåò îí î ñâîåé ñóäüáå. Íè ñóòóëîñòè, íè ïå÷àòè îãîð÷åíèé èëè ðàçî÷àðîâàíèé. Âîñõèùàåòñÿ äåòüìè è âíóêîì.  ãëàçàõ áîëü. Ïðåêëîíåíèå ïåðåä ðîäèòåëÿìè äî íèçêîïîêëîíñòâà. Îñòðîÿçûê è íåçëîáëèâ. Ëþáèìàÿ ïîãîâîðêà: ”Áîã âñåõ âèäèò. Êàæäûé ìåíÿåò ñâîþ ñóäüáó ÷åðåç ãðåõè ñîâåñòè”. Îáîæàåò òèøèíó, óþò è ðàçìåðåííûé îáðàç æèçíè. Êàæäîäíåâíîå ðàñïèñàíèå îáÿçàòåëüíî. “Òîëüêî áåçäóøèå ðàçáèâàåò ìîå ñåðäöå. Ýòî ñàìîå áîëüøîå îñêîðáëåíèå”, - ïîâòîðÿåò îí ñíîâà è ñíîâà â àäðåñ ó÷åíèêîâ. Ó íåãî âñå íà ëèöå. Îí íå ñìîòðèò â ãëàçà ÷åëîâåêó, êîòîðûé âèíîâàò. Îí îòñòðàíåíî ñîñòðàäàåò. Îãðîìíûå ðåñíèöû ïðÿ÷óò çðà÷êè. Òî è äåëî âîëåâûå ñêëàäêè ìûøö ðàçðåçàþò ùåêè. “Êîìïðîìèññîâ ñ ñîâåñòüþ çäåñü íåò. Ëþáîâü çàëå÷èâàåò îáèäû  íåïðèÿçíè. Ó ìåíÿ ìíîãî ãðåõîâ. Ó ìåíÿ âñå íà ëèöå”, - êàåòñÿ îí ïåðåä ñîáîé. Äîìà åãî ïî÷òè íåò. Îí â áàëåòíîé ñòóäèè. “Õî÷ó æèòü î÷åíü äîëãî. Õî÷ó ìíîãî óñïåòü, êàê ìîè äóõîâíûå ñâåòî÷è. ß ñìåëî îãëÿäûâàþñü íà äðóçåé Ãàëèíó Óëàíîâó è Ìàõìóäà Ýñàìáàåâà. Îíè äëÿ ìåíÿ òåïëî è ïðàâèëî”. Âîêðóã ïîñòîÿííî çâîíèò òåëåôîí.  îòêðûòûå íàðàñïàøêó îêíà ãóäèò òðàíñïîðò è ùåáå÷óò ïòèöû. Òàê êðóãëûé ãîä. “ß áîþñü èñêóøåíèé”, - öåëóåò ðóêó íà ïðîùàíèå.

Ïîðòðåò çàêîí÷åí. Ñåãîäíÿ 1997 ãîä.

Íàøà âñòðå÷à ïðîèçîøëà â Ìîñêâå… 1995 -1997
OH ðàññêàçàë î ñâîåé ñóäüáå â 1930 - 1997…

ÈÇ ÊÍÈÃÈ - ÐÞÍÒÞ, Þðè Ìýòòüþ (1997) - ÌÀÕÌÓÄ ÝÑÀÌÁÀÅÂ 1926 - 1997 Ryuntyu AU:


         RYUNTYU, YURI MATTHEW - ÐÞÍÒÞ, Þðè Ìýòòüþ è
Ìàõìóä Ýñàìáàåâ.

ïîðòðåò âñëóõ :   Ñóõî ïðèâåòñòâóåò. Ïðîíèöàòåëüíûå çåëåíûå  ãëàçà ñ ëåãêîé ïîâîëîêîé. Îòêðûòûé ëîá. Ìÿãêèå è óçêèå ãóáû óëûáàþòñÿ. Âîëåâîé ïîäáîðîäîê áåç ñëåäîâ âëàñòíîñòè. Ñàìîäèñöèïëèíà  ãàñèò îãîíü èðàíî-ïåðñèäñêîé êðîâè. Ëîìàíûé, îïóùåííûé âíèç íîñ. Áîëüøèå óøè ñ ïóõëûìè ìî÷êàìè. Äûøèò ðîâíî è ãëóáîêî. Ñèäèò ïðÿìî. Äëèííûå ëàäîíè. Îñòðûå íîãòè íà áîëüøèõ ïàëüöàõ. Ïðåäóïðåäèòåëüíûé âçãëÿä. Äîáðîæåëàòåëüíûé ãîëîñ. Ñëîâ íå îáäóìûâàåò. Îíè íà ÿçûêå îò ñåðäöà, êîòîðîå òðåïåòíî áüåòñÿ. Òåìáðà íåò. Ðå÷ü ñêëàäûâàåòñÿ èç ÷óâñòâ. Ñêëàäêè ïîä âåêàìè. Ñåäûå ðåñíèöû. Ùóðèò ÷àñòî ïðàâûé ãëàç, à ïîýòîìó ïîä íèì áîëüøå ìîðùèí. Áðîâè â ðàçëåò è ñëåãêà ñåðåáðÿòñÿ. Ãîðäûé è íåçàâèñèìûé âçãëÿä. Âî âñåì îñîáàÿ ìóæñêàÿ êðàñîòà. Íèêàêîé óñòàëîñòè. Íèêàêèõ ñëåäîâ íàñòîðîæåííîñòè.  ïîõîäêå ïëàâíîñòü è  ëåãêîñòü. Òåëî ïî÷òè íåâåñîìî. Íèêàêèõ íàìåêîâ íà ñóòóëîñòü. Øàãîâ íå ñëûøíî. Èõ êàê áû è íåò. Ëþáèò æåñòèêóëèðîâàòü ðóêàìè. Íàïðÿæåííîå âíèìàíèå ê òîìó ñ êåì ãîâîðèò. Ïîëíàÿ êîíöåíòðàöèÿ íà ñîáåñåäíèêå.  ýòè ìèíóòû çàáûâàåò îáî âñåì. Ñ÷èòûâàåò ìûñëè ÷åðåç äâèæåíèÿ ãëàç, ìèìèêó, èçãèáû ðóê è âèáðàöèþ ãîëîñà. Çäåñü íà âîïðîñû íå îòâå÷àåò. Îí èõ íå ñëûøèò.  íåì èäåò ïðîöåññ “ìîäåëèðîâàíèÿ” ñîáåñåäíèêà ÷åðåç ñîáñòâåííûå “ñòàíäàðòû” äâèæåíèé. Òàíöîâùèê íå ìîæåò ñåáÿ “ïåðåñèëèòü” íàä ëþáîïûòñòâîì ê ñîáåñåäíèêó. Ñëîâî äëÿ íåãî âòîðè÷íî. Àáðèñ äâèæåíèÿ äîìèíèðóåò â ñîçíàíèè íàä “ñëóõîâûì” ôîíîì. Îáèäû âûçûâàþò ãîðå÷ü.  îòâåò èùåò ñëîâà, êîòîðûå çàãëóøàþò âíóòðåííþþ áîëü. Ãîâîðèò: ”ß íå ñóäüÿ ìîèì íåóäà÷àì ñ ëþäüìè. Áîã ñêàæåò ñâîå ñëîâî. Íà ýòî ïðèäåò ñâîé ÷àñ”. Íèêàêîé òðåáîâàòåëüíîñòè â ãîëîñå. Ìÿãêîå ðóêîïîæàòèå íà ïðîùàíèå. Êàê áû “çàïÿñòüå - ê - çàïÿñòüþ”. Êîæà ïàëüöåâ ñóõàÿ ñ ïîëóçàìåòíûìè ïðîæèëêàìè è ùåðáèíêàìè. Òåïëûå ðóêè. Êîãäà íàäåâàåò ãîðäåëèâî òåìíóþ ïàïàõó, òî âûòÿãèâàåò ëèöî. Èç êðóãëîãîëîâîãî ñòàíîâèòñÿ óçêîëèöûì. Íîñ ïðèïîäíèìàåòñÿ. Ñêëàäêè âîêðóã ðòà ðàçãëàæèâàþòñÿ. Ëèöî áëåäíååò. Âûñòóïàåò îðëèíûé íîñ. “Íåò. Îí íå ñïèò â ïàïàõå”. Ìóæ÷èíà çíàåò ñâîå ìåñòî. ×åñòü è ÷åëîâå÷åñêîå äîñòîèíñòâî íàëèöî. Îñòàåòñÿ îùóùåíèå - ñ÷àñòëèâîãî ñåìåéíîãî ÷åëîâåêà. Âîêðóã óëûáêè è ñìåõ. “Áåç ãîñòåé íè îäíîãî äíÿ”, - ãîâîðèò â äâåðÿõ æåíà. “ß áåðåãó ïðèâåòëèâûõ ëþäåé â äîìå ïîëâåêà”.

Ïîðòðåò çàêîí÷åí. Ñåãîäíÿ 1997 ãîä.

Íàøà âñòðå÷à ïðîèçîøëà â Ìîñêâå… 1995 -1997
OH ðàññêàçàë î ñâîåé ñóäüáå â 1926 - 1997…



2022 : Iouri Runtu, Uri : Àâòîð î ÅÄÈÍÑÒÂÅÍÍÎÌ ÄÐÓÃÅ - íà ÂÑÞ ÆÈÇÍÜ - è ýòî î Ðóäîëüôå Íóðååâå - / http://proza.ru/2022/04/24/76 / : ÊÍÈÃÀ - ' Ñìåðòü â Ïàðèæå : Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ : 10 000 äðóçåé è 400 èíòåðâüþ : Rudolf Noureev : Rudi Nureyev' / Ïåðâîå èçäàíèå / - Î ïîñëåäíåì ãîäå æèçíè äåíü çà äíåì - çà 400 äíåé - Âåëèêîãî ãåíèÿ Ðîññèè - Ðóäîëüôà Íóðååâà âî Ôðàíöèè : ñòðàíèö: 1-685 RUDOLF NUREYEV NOUREEV RUDOLF: 400 Interviews 10 000 Friends : ' THE DEATH IN PARIS: RUDOLF NUREYEV : IOURI RUNTU : Sa Mort 'a Paris: Rudolf Noureev ' / http://proza.ru/2022/02/25/130 / Celebrities RU / ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia 2016 - 2019 / Yuri Ryuntyu / Australia / Ðîññèÿ - Àâñòðàëèÿ / Media TV Radio Russia / http://proza.ru/2021/06/23/339 / Canberra ACT Australia / Uri Runtu : Telegram : 2022.


2022 : Telegram : Runtu, Uri TikTok : " Why do we need these? " - Rudolf Nureyev asked. "Because we need life experience from these people and only on the basis of life experience can we make predictions for the future without states self-destruction and international wars..." - he underlined. "I wish good luck for Russia, but I would like to know the true colour of the future for such a great civilization with over one thousand year’s historical record. Please remember..." - he said. "We have in Russia two hundred year old theaters, two hundred and fifty years of ballet and music as well as a great and the most fascinating literature and poetry to be found in the world which is over five hundred years old. Think about and be proud to keep this tradition well and fruitful from the beginning to the end of such a fascinating cultural project. I wish you good luck and God be with you." This Rudolf Nureyev said to me in Armidale ( NSW : Australia ) on November 23, 1991 " / http://www.proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2017-02-23 / Iouri Runtu: French / Þðè Ðþíòþ : Russian / Uri Runtu: English Yuri Ryuntyu / Celebrities RU : Telegram : 2022.


Ìîè êíèãè - èç Àâñòðàëèè / 2017 Ïèñàòåëü Þðè Ìýòüþ Ðþíòþ:
ÐÓÑÑÊÎE ÇÀÐÓÁÅÆÜE: ÀÂÑÒÐÀËÈß / 2017



 2022 -  Êíèãà Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ 10 000 äðóçåé è 400 èíòåðâüþ : page iii ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia /  http://proza.ru/2016/05/05/1200 / 2016-2022:

© 2016 This First Australian Paperback edition published in 2016 by the ‘World Patrick White Intellectual Heritage: Australia’ BN 22446722 Australia: 2012-2016   

© 2016 ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia

© 2016 Copyright by Yuri Ryuntyu, Australia

© 2016 Copyright for Interviews (1986-1993) with Rudolf Nureyev by Yuri Ryuntyu, Australia

© 2016 Copyright for Interviews (2001-2016) with Charles Grahame Smith (an artist name Graham Smith) by Yuri Ryuntyu, Australia

© 2016 Copyright for Interviews (1996-2000) with Laurel Gill (an artist name Laurel Martyn) by Yuri Ryuntyu Australia

   All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission in writing from the Charitable Organization ‘The World Patrick White Intellectual Heritage’ - Address: 11/28c, Grove street, Cairns QLD Australia 4870 or from Mr. Graham Smith: 35/28c, Grove street, Cairns QLD Australia 4870.

© 2016 Cover: Photo: Rudolf Nureyev in St.-Petersburg, Russia: 1992. Private Art Collection in Australia by Yuri Ryuntyu

© 2016 Photo: Graham Smith in Paris, France: 1957. This photo in Private Art Collection in Australia by Yuri Ryuntyu

© 2016 Photos 1-4: Graham Smith in Cairns, QLD Australia: 2013. Private Art Collection in Australia by Yuri Ryuntyu

© 2016 Photo: Yuri Ryuntyu in Cairns, QLD Australia: 1991. Private Art Collection in Australia by Yuri Ryuntyu

© 2016 Photos 1-5: Ballet Celebrities in Russia: 1911-2016. Private Art Collection in Australia by Yuri Ryuntyu

© 2016 Frontispiece by Yuri Ryuntyu: Australia

© 2016 Copyright by the ‘World Yuri Matthew Ryuntyu Intellectual Heritage: Australia - XX century’. BN 22430532 Australia: 2012-2016

   Set in 9 Bookman Old Style printed and bound in Australia 2016

   The ‘World Patrick White Intellectual Heritage: Australia - XX century’’ supports this book, as part of the 40-volume Collection Program about many Intellectuals from Europe, the USA, Russia and Australia


   

   page v ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia 2022 -  Êíèãà Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ 10 000 äðóçåé è 400 èíòåðâüþ : page iii ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia /  http://proza.ru/2016/05/05/1200 / 2016-2022:

   DEDICATION TO FREDDIE MERCURY


   To Freddie Mercury who was born as VIRGO with FIRE DOG’S heart on September 5, 1946 and died at 45 years of age as SAGITTARIUS with GOAT’S heart on November 24, 1991.

   To Rudolf Nureyev who was born in DOUBLE PISCES with the heart of EARTH TIGER on March 17, 1938 and died at 54 years of age as CAPRICORN with the heart of MONKEY on January 6, 1993.

   Nureyev stopped his heart by himself.
   The superman was able to do that as well.

   Rudolf died of LOVE.

   409 days are between TWO deaths
   of the one
   and the other.

   Nureyev was waiting for the ASTRAL SIGN that would link MONKEY with GOAT.

   He was afraid to die in the year of the ROOSTER that started on January 23, 1993.

   He knew, that in such a case they would never reincarnate in the same year.

   MERCURY’S Astral Year and NUREYEV’S Astral Year Merged.

   SAGITTARIUS and CAPRICORN combined the qualities of Mercury’s ‘the most indefatigable’ and Nureyev’s ‘the sturdiest’.

The stars confirm this:

   Mercury and Nureyev entered ONE ASTRAL DOOR together.
   The souls of the lovers merged again.
   Their new births are inevitable.

   This book about the recipe for persons who need to know: ‘How to survive if you’re partner and beloved ones are dying from AIDS? You need strength - ‘don’t die together’, but expand yourself in enormous love and stay breathing for the sake of life for life. These are written by a survivor for celebrating ‘The Life’ and - not ‘The Death’.


page vi ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia 2022 -  Êíèãà Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ 10 000 äðóçåé è 400 èíòåðâüþ : page iii ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia /  http://proza.ru/2016/05/05/1200 / 2016-2022:

   DEDICATION TO GRAHAM SMITH AND LAUREL MARTYN


   Australian born - GRAHAM SMITH (1931) is a brilliant professional dancer, outstanding graphic designer, poet and the ballet-partner (at age 17) of the Great Celebrity and Ballet Superstar Laurel Martyn in her ‘Giselle’ (1948).



© 2013 - Graham Smith (at age 82). Photo was taken by Yuri Ryuntyu at his home in Cairns, QLD Australia.

   He was a first soloist at age 18 of ‘The Edouard Borovansky Ballet’ in Australia (1949). Dance training with Eunice Weston, Kira Abricosova-Bousloff, Ted Shawn, Anton Dolin and Xenia Borovansky.

   He and Helene France were featured artists of official entertainment at Melbourne Olympic Games in 1956.

   Graham said: ‘I was very proud. I was a dancer in Peter Darrell Productions ‘Orpheus 60’ for BBC TV: 1958, and in Beatles ballet ‘Mods and Rockers’ for ITV, London: 1959.’

He met an Intellectual Elite of Australia as the Great writer Patrick Victor Martindale White (1912-1990) in 1961 (at age 30) and became

   page vii ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia

   his friend since 1963 (at age 32).

   He was a friend of Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993) whom they met in Sydney (April) & Melbourne (May): 1964. Rudolf introduced Graham to Erik Bruhn (1928-1986) in 1965.

   Margot Fonteyn and Laurel Martyn were trained and educated at the same school in London by Grand Dame of Imperial Russian Ballet - Tamara Karsavina (a partner of Vaslav Nijinsky: 1917-1918).



© 2013 - Graham Smith (at age 82). Photo was taken by Yuri Ryuntyu at his home in Cairns, QLD Australia. Charles Grahame Smith was born on 22nd of October - 1931 in Colac, Victoria Australia. An artist name - Graham Smith (at age 15) - since he started to dance with Laurel Martyn in 1946.

   Graham never stopped loving and talking about his mutual friends with Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993), Margot Fonteyn (1919-1991) and Patrick White (1912-1990), as well as: about Robert Helpmann (1909-1986), Nora Kaye (1920-1987), Herbert Ross (1927-2001), Janet Karin (1938), Frederik Ashton (1904-1988), Laurence Olivier (1907-1989), Vali Myers (1930-2003), Jean Babillee-Gutmann (1923-2014), Pina Bausch (1940-2009) and Josephine Baker (1906-1975) and Tamara Karsavina (1885-1978) and Laurel Martyn (1916-2013)...


   page viii ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia 2022 -  Êíèãà Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ 10 000 äðóçåé è 400 èíòåðâüþ : page iii ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia /  http://proza.ru/2016/05/05/1200 / 2016-2022:

   His best friend for 50 years is a ballerina Helene Ffrance (ex-wife and ballet partner of Poul-Rudolf Gnatt: 1923-1995). As a married couple of dancers they had appeared in the Ballets des Champs-Elysees in Paris (directed by Roland Petit) in 1940-1941. As well as Helen & Poul-Rudolf they danced in the London - based Metropolitan Ballet (in Harry Haythorny Productions) in 1942-1950.



© 2013 - Graham Smith (at age 82). Photo was taken by Yuri Ryuntyu at his home in Cairns, QLD Australia.

   In 1951 Helen Ffrance-Gnatt joined an Australian company the Borovansky Ballet and became a ballet partner of Graham Smith and Eve King.

   Poul-Rudolf Gnatt (at age 28) visited his homeland Denmark and started to dance in Erik Bruhn Productions: Germany, Spain, UK, Sweden, Denmark and Finland. He was a lover of Erik Bruhn (at the age of 28½ - 30½): 1951-1953.

   P.-R. Gnatt (at age 30) left Europe and established the New Zealand Ballet in 1953. The Marriage of Mr. P.-R. Gnatt and Mrs. Helen Ffrance-Gnatt ended in 1957 (1940-1957). He married the dancer Helen at age 17 and divorced her 17 years later (at age 34).


   page ix ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia 2022 -  Êíèãà Ðóäîëüô Íóðååâ 10 000 äðóçåé è 400 èíòåðâüþ : page iii ISBN 978-1-925278-11-8 Australia /  http://proza.ru/2016/05/05/1200 / 2016-2022:



© 2013 - Graham Smith (at age 82). Photo was taken by Yuri Ryuntyu at his home in Cairns, QLD Australia.

   Erik Bruhn (at age 26) left Poul-Rudolf Gnatt (at age 31) for the great love of his life, Rudolf Nureyev (at age 25) in 1963. His love for Rudolf ended after 20 years with his death in 1986 (at age 58).

   Rudolf Nureyev at age 54 -
       died in 1993
   (on the 6th of January).

   It was a most catastrophic double-funeral time for Rudolf Nureyev
   in such the heartbreaking year of 1991...

   He lost - ‘a perfect-lover’ - He lost Freddie Mercury (at age 45)
   on the 23rd of November 1991.

   He lost - ‘a perfect-ballet partner and spiritual friend’ -
He lost Margot Fonteyn on the 21st of February in 1991.

   AFTER - his Personal Strength -
To live alone after such a loss in his life...

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   Soliloquies will have a word that is GONE... in 1991.

   Helene Ffrance, Graham Smith and I have been friends for over 30-years since Patrick White introduced us at his home in Sydney, NSW (1986).

   Graham introduced me to Laurel Martyn (at age 80) in 1996.

   We lost ‘Lora forever at age 97’ (Laurel Martyn: 1916-2013).


   Australian Bibliography about National Ballet Celebrities and
   National Graphic Design Masters:

   2010 Book ‘Australia Dances: 1945-1965’ by A. Brissenden and K. Glennon. The Wakefield Press, Adelaide South Australia. Pages: 1-269. Photos: 1-360. ISBN 9781862548022

   2005 Book ‘Plastered: 1950-2005.The Poster Art of Australian Popular Music’ by M. Walding and N. Vukovic. The Miegunyah Press, Carlton Victoria, Australia. Pages: 1-303. Photos: 1-512. ISBN 0522851681
   


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   INDEX


   i DEDICATION TO FRIENDS               
   ii TO FREDDIE MERCURY
   iii TO GRAHAM SMITH AND LAUREL MARTYN               
   1 AUTHOR’SWILL
   2 YURI, PATRICK AND RUDOLF               
   3 THE BEGINNING
   4 CRUCIAL DAY
   5 SURPRISE               
   6 MORNINGS AFTER
   7 WHAT NEXT
   8 SOMETHING ELS
   9 REMINISCENCES               
   10 AFTER ALL
   11 GOOD EDDIE
   12 START AGAIN
   13 PROPHECY
   14 NAKED PUZZLE            
   15 GAY FATES
   16 COMPATIBILITIES   
   17 RUDOLF’S MONKEY
   18 FREDDIE’S ROOSTER
   19 INNERMOST
   20 TWO HOROSCOPES               
   21 BAD PHILIP
   22 HYSTERICS   
   23 FAX 1989-1990            
   24 CONFESSIONS   
   25 EXTREME               
   26 WEIRDNESS            
   27 INNUENDO      
   28 ANDREI, SERGEY AND RUDOLF               
   29 LAST CHRISTMAS
   30 FAX 1991
   31 BACK TO RUSSIA   
   32 HIS CELEBRITIES               
   33 MOZART’S LATIN               
   34 GRAND CAPRICE
   35 FATALITY 1992
   36 FEBRUARY
   37 MARCH
   38 APRIL
   39 MAY
   40 JUNE
   41 JULY
   42 AUGUST
   43 SEPTEMBER
   44 OCTOBER
   45 NOVEMBER               
   46 DECEMBER         
   47 FAREWELL DAYS
   48 LAST DAY 1993      
   49 MR. FROG AND BALERINA               
   50 ANTI-ALLS
   51 ANTI-REQUIEMS
   52 ANTI-SONNETS
   53 PAPARAZZI DOGS
   54 MORTAL TRUTHS
               
   BOOK’S AUTHOR:1 - 700 pages.         


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   1. Chapter: AUTHOR’S WILL


   Tatar-man Mr. Rudolf Nureyev was born in 1938. He lived half of his life in Russia and the same period - in the West. The new nationality changed his surname. He was newly born and became - Rudolf Nureyev. This had changed his Russian’s spelling surname - ‘Íóðååâ'. He said: ‘I may be named as ‘Nureev’, as well’. The book is written for the posthumous Jubilee of the World Ballet Superstar. He would be at age 80 in 2018. He died at age 54 of the XX Century Plague - The AIDS.

   The book gives freedom to those who are very strong.

   If you are dying of AIDS, then this is for you.

   No need for a doctor to hide the truth from the doomed.
   Your fate is here, depicted for the year to come.

   If your child is dying, then it is also for you.

   Your feelings, pain and stages of disease are here.
   No need to tear the heart apart and interrogate the dying.

   This is about his heart, feelings and ailments.
   Help him with your muteness.

   If you are a doctor and still healthy then this is also for you.

   The history of disease and man’s suffering are depicted from inside here.

   No secrets any more.
   There are fifty million people dying of AIDS today.

   This book is for the two hundred fifty million people, their dads and moms, their wives and husbands, their children, loved ones and their friends… who are grieving over the incurable in their hearts from day to day.

   This is about the last year of life on the Earth of a soul-mate, day by day.

   The number of my commemorations exceeds hundreds.

   I have been losing my friends and friends’ friends.
   This is the circle of despair.

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   The mourning devastates the heart.

   The memories preserve the eyes of the doomed for death.

   All of them are young.
   I have overpowered the pain to write this book.
   There are no lies in here.

   As Rudolf Nureyev and Freddie Mercury were most intimate friends of mine, my present derives from their lives together, their co-life.

   November 24, 2016 would be 25 years after the death of Freddie Mercury. He would be at age 70 in 2016.

                The time flies fast and…

                If I were fated to die then
                I would spend the last year of my life with my book.

   I am ready to die of the AIDS.
   Here is the will for myself.


   My book for GAYS who need to know: ‘How to survive if you’re partner and beloved ones are dying from AIDS? You need strength - ‘don’t die together’, but expand yourself in enormous love and stay breathing for the sake of life for life. These are written by a survivor for celebrating ‘The Life’ and - not ‘The Death’.



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   2. Chapter: YURI, PATRICK AND RUDOLF


   I am at age 67 now (2016). I met Patrick White when he was at age 69 (1912) on the 27th of June - 1981 - clambering onto the 396 to go to the bank.

   I noticed on the bus a very cranky old man, with a pessimistic expression on his face. He sat in front of me, very close to the driver and he asked me: ‘How do you do?’ After my greeting, I responded with a smile and introduced my daughter Polina Ryuntyu to him.

   My daughter immediately invited him to our house in Randwick for a cup of English tea as he noted with questioning: ‘I didn’t realize there were so many Russians around.’

Later, when the bus arrived at the Bondi Junction, we left the bus together and accidentally arrived in the same place simultaneously. It was the Grace Brothers Shopping Centre where we stood queuing to buy fresh trout, the best in the city. So, it was the second coincidence to bring our paths to cross. Patrick White asked me: ‘Do you like fresh water fish or ocean?’

In another coincidence, our third, we bought the same fresh water Rainbow trout in Grace Brothers for what Patrick comments: ‘Boy, I have a feeling you are reading my mind’.

After that, we came together to the closest bookshop on his persuasive invitation.

   Immediately as we entered the shop, many people recognized the Nobel Prize novelist and began greeting him warmly, requesting that he sign copies of his novels.

   I immediately understood that this was supposed to be the greatest day of my life in Australia. Without any comment, Patrick turned his back to the people, gave me his own book, and signed it with a promising smile. ‘So, my boy, you know who I am? It is difficult to hide such a huge and global secret.’

It was written with signatures: ‘He believed and practiced astrology all his life. 27.06.81.’

When I came home, I noticed his home number on the back page of the book also.

   A fortnight later, I rang Mr. Patrick White. In answer he welcomed me,

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   with an invitation to meet him privately in the park. It was so easy to meet him resting on a bench by the lake, just across from 20 - Martin Road. It was his spacious domestic habits with many paintings, books and ballerinas’ sculptures since May 1964. I remembered him with happy talk and smile in a good mood between dogs and cats around.

               So, in other words, everything happened fortunately
                on the 27 June 1981.

   It was:
          a bus;
              a fish;
              a happy day;
                Patrick Victor Martindale White and…
                my birthday.

                Everything happened on the same day.

   Since then, I can say that I have met the greatest Australian writer, the only Aussie-land winner of the Nobel Prize in literature. He reputedly told me... ‘Unbelievable beauty of Alex Pushkin’ masterpieces of poetry and prose from Russia! He is the most wonderful writer and poet I recently discovered in my non-passionate age...’

In 1984-1989, I met many fascinating people in White’s company on 20 Martin Rd.; those were Margaret Fink, Graham Smith, Pat Dixon, Barry Humphries, Sir Sidney Nolan, Lady Maie Casey and many Australian ballet and USA theatre stars... They were affably chattering about Sir Cecil Beaton’s photography and choreography (Patrick knew Cecil since 1965 via Viscount Mamblas ‘Pepe’ and Roy de Maistre), about Freddie Mercury’s music and Freddie’s ballet love for Rudolf Nureyev and Margot Fonteyn as well as the Great Russian writers Boris Pasternak, Leo Tolstoy, Alex Pushkin and as Alex Solzhenitsyn. They also discussed Nureyev’s ballet solo visit from Paris to St.-Petersburg (Russia, 1989). Rudolf Nureyev was in Ufa-home-city (November 16) and Moscow (November 14) in 1987. Mingling with these top intellectuals in Sydney was a fascinating time for me.

   Patrick reminded us however that there was not much intellectual freedom in Australia for writers or artists and broadly underlined:

‘In all directions stretched the Great Australian Emptiness, in which the mind is the least of professions, in which the rich man is the important man, in which the schoolmaster and the journalist rule what intellectual roost there is, in which beautiful youths and girls stare at life through blind blue eyes, in which human teeth fall like autumn leaves, the buttocks of cars grow hourly glassier, food means steak and cake,

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   muscles prevail, and the march of material ugliness does not raise a quiver from the average nerves. It was the exaltation of the ‘average’ that made me panic most, and in this frame of mind, in spite of myself, I began to conceive another novel...’

So, that was his White-instinct for cultural living in Australia in 1981-1990.

   The bench became a meeting place for us where he asked me many things about the world and my background. He talked to me about his beloved and adorable partner, Mr. Manoly Lascaris (M.L.), his lovely dogs, Nellie and Eureka and we found in common, mutual sympathy for the Russian writers: Boris Pasternak, Alexander Pushkin and Leo Tolstoy. Unconsciously he started to teach me how to write. It was nothing to do with scientific research or with my work at UNSW. It was like a discovery of new horizons which became a new destiny for me. Later he gave me weekly lessons where we discussed writing in different styles and for different purposes. And so my literary pregnancy began.

   Two years later he gave me a Cecil Beaton’s psycho-photograph of him with a face’s expression like ‘a stuffed royal sea-lion from Australian Antarctic’. This photo it’s very much perceptible for me a great writer who saw himself as part woman and part man, both of them sharing feminine virtues as one

   I learnt from him in 1981-1986: ‘... Australia seems to be suffering from a sickness called SEMINAR... and (never been) forgetting all about being a writer, live to perfect his/her art... true writers emerge of their own impetus; to encourage those who haven’t got much to contribute, you are prolonging false hopes and helping destroy the forests of the world. This must appear a churlish reply to your kind letter (from M.L.) with its offer of an honour and literary conviviality! But it’s what I believe, and much as I enjoy conviviality, I suspect that more literature plops from the solitary bottle, than out of the convivial flagon’ (P. White to Mary Lord, ASAL, 1979).

   Patrick often added: ‘I think it is impossible to explain faith. It is like trying to explain air, which one cannot do by dividing it into its components parts and labelling them scientifically. It must be breathed to be understood. But breathing is something that has been going on all the time, and is almost imperceptible. I don’t know when I began to have faith, but it is only a short time since I admitted it’.

These casual fresh-air meetings ended on the 17th of May 1986.

   When I came on the same day to our meeting place, I found Patrick

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   crying and in a state of mental crisis. He answered my obsessive questions: ‘To day, a big bastard, Mr. David Marr convinced me to give him the right to collect my private letters from across the globe and I am a dirty old, filthy man… I gave him such right today with a smile. But I would like to hide from him forty-nine letters; this is my own gift for you. Take it away with you and don’t show them to anyone before I die’.
So it happened, I kneel and kiss his hands in gratitude.
   I was deeply shaken by this trust from such a great man

   He drank heavily and his temper was always bad when he was involved in writing his next book.

   It was no secret between his friends that Patrick can drag his lover’s suitcases and telling Lascaris to pack and be off with ‘Go-go-go! Go now’ at 3-4 am. But at 11 am he begged Lascaris don’t go and stay at home together!

   Mr. M. Lascaris understood him perfectly: ‘He is a genius. If he needs to rage, I am there, and he knows I will forgive him. It is very painful, but I do forgive him’.

Patrick was affable but tense almost. Whether this is ‘OK’ or ‘BAD’... I can not tell. Sex is not what dogma and drama were here. Not the hazards of existing passion which are yet in his book’s characters so much.

   A most faithful and mysterious personality I met there was a 19 year old Californian prostitute ‘Mr. Kennon’ in Sydney: 1989 (with Patrick) and Paris: 1995-1996 (with Rudolf, Gianni Versace and Lee Miglin). Mr. Andrew Phillip Cunanan later became a Gay-Millionaire Serial Killer. He shot Mr. G. Versace, Mr. J. Trail, Mr. D. Madson, Mr. W. Reese and Mr. L. Miglin in USA. Mr. Kennon (at age 27) shot himself on July 23, 1997.

   Mr. David Marr (D.M.) completed his manuscript
‘The White’s Biography’ on July 17, 1990.

   The enlightening and accurate secrets about a mad-love between Paddy and Mr. George Orwell (author of ‘1984’), as two intelligence service officers of Her Majesty’s Military Force during WWII has been lost and laid still undercover of the noiseless conspiracy between Patrick and me. Mr. Paddy tried to save his beloved Mr. Manoly from ‘unbeatable jealousies’.

He concealed the grand passions which existed between him and Mr. George, and their fantasy to become a Military Gay Family. He never

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   spoke of his ‘Air Intelligence’ frustrations at his isolation from Mr. George’s - ‘Intelligence Corps H.Q.’ (1941-1942)...

   Whether this is good or bad I can’t tell at all.

   Mr. Paddy wrote: ‘I met Manoly in July 1941 and everything was over for Mr. G. Orwell.’ (Excerpt from the White’s 49 letters by my family’s collections in Australia).

   Patrick about Centennial Park and Randwick says: ‘C.P. was an oasis in this ugly world... At dawn it was strung with skeins of mist and, as light faded in the evening, the lakes turned to silver and the pines into acres of dark until all that was visible from Martin Road was the ‘cut-out of convents’ along the Randwick skyline’ (cited from D.M.: ‘P.W: A life’).

Mr. Patrick White died on September 30, 1990.

   I learned of this a day later after calling Mr. Manoly Lascaris. When in greeting I asked him, ‘How are you?’ he answered: ‘I am crying. My Paddy passed away at 5:00 a.m. and before sunrise yesterday. In astrology it is very bad for a Gemini, to die in darkness. Paddy was also very upset about such darkness… lack of sunshine around, which he loved endlessly throughout his love for life’. I smashed my telephone on the wall and collapsed on the bed. I spoke with no one for a week.

   Later I sent my short story to the literary magazine ‘WRITING’: ‘’The Requiem for Patrick White’.

It was my first Australian’s prose publication, made in April - 1991:

‘So now I can bloody write whatever I want!’ I shout after him as I kneel. He suddenly stopped and came back slowly. He uttered no words. He kissed and crossed my forehead in a farewell blessing. I stood with the pack of precious letters, roughly wrapped in an old embroidered handkerchief. He left to prepare to go and lie in the hospital tomorrow or the day after. He was never sorry for himself, now so tired of life.

             EVERYTHING WAS TRIED,
                EVERYTHING WAS WRITTEN,
                HE ACHIEVED ALL HIS DREAMS,
                I SILENTLY PRAYED FOR HIM, MR. WHITE.

   I wanted his return, but his guardian angel took him to God, and gave him the gift of eternity in Heaven.


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‘What else can I remember?’ He stands over me as I’m on my knees. I opened my eyes and looked up at him up and down, then shut them instantly.

   Between us, on his chest was an image of an oval shaped cross. The Spaniards knew who to present the spiritual wooden talisman. He was no more a sinner after that. Those special nuns absorbed his sins. They started to confess for his sake in Holy Caves in Spain.

   The nuns didn’t know that his hidden DEATH slept close by.
   Immediately, IT awoke to fill Him with Immortality...’

One of my visits to see Mr. Patrick White at home was a most successful in 1986, because of Patrick told me about Mr. Nureyev’s aspiration to meet me and talk about my personal participation in his own projects about ‘The Russian Cultural Heritage Preservation’.

So, it was and it has happened in N.Y., where Rudolf introduced me to Mr. Andy Warhol (1986).

   We contacted via telephone and I visited twice Rudolf in Paris (1987) and twice in London (1988).

   I remember that Andy Warhol (1928-1987) enthusiastically and good-willingly donated $250,000 and Patrick White (1912-1990) altruistically added extra $120,000 for the sake of realization of the Rudolf’s dream project for glorifying the Russian Cultural Achievements for the Western World.

   They were endlessly talking about needs for the creation of specific library of books and oral history radio-tapes about artists, playwrights, poets, writers, painters, movie stars and celebrities in Russia.

   It was perceptible for such spiritual and an aristocratic art person predicts ‘The Grate Crash of Red Culture in the USSR’.

So, Patrick ($120,000), Andy ($250,000), Elisabeth Taylor ($70,000) and Freddie Mercury (added $270,000) helped Rudolf to collect an amount of money for his grand-fantasy... I never yet suspected any kind of my possible personal involvement in the process of realization at the presence of such preparations. I was an unfamiliar totalled for any category of thinking in such direction from my personal background and life experience at the moment...

   Mr. Simon Robinson wrote: ‘Christmas 1990 - Rudolf’s former lover came to stay with him at St. Barts, but Rudolf was...

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   in Paris with an Old Admirer.’

It was true. I was invited to stay in Paris at Christmas 1990 with Mr. Rudolf Nureyev too.

   I was convinced to take care of the International Global Projects by Rudolf Nureyev (1938-1993).

   I welcome him to my place in Australia and he promised will come as soon as possible for business consideration between us.

   On October 3, 1991 - Mr. Simon Robinson left Mr. Rudolf Nureyev in Paris and came back home to Australia and settled into his happy family life on Bondi in Sydney.

   On November 23, 1991 - Rudolf visited me in Armidale (NSW) in Australia and I become granted by his aspiration for my going to St.-Petersburg (Russia) for uncertain number of years. It was only and only one and a most important purpose for us is a practical realization of... the Rudolf Nureyev dreams about ‘The Russian Cultural Heritage Preservation’.

He promised to set financial support for my life and my work from the beginning to the end of our collaborations: 1991-2001.

   On November 24, 1991 - his lover Freddie Mercury (1946) died and Rudolf Nureyev left Australia for London.

   On December 1, 1991 - I left Australia and started ‘The World Rudolf Nureyev Intellectual Heritage: Russia - XX Century’ and arrived in St.-Petersburg, Russia.

   In 1992 - Rudolf Nureyev met me in Kazan (May) and twice in St.-Petersburg (March and May), organized everything around, and said

‘Good-bye forever’ and left me for ‘my-own-way-doing’ our cultural project about Russia’s celebrities. Elisabeth Taylor via her incognito voyage from USA (1932-2011) met us in St.-Petersburg and donated extra money (added $270,000) for ‘The Russian Cultural Heritage Preservation’.

On June 23, 1992 last photos of Rudolf Nureyev taken by me.

   On January 6, 1993 - Rudolf (1938) died in Paris. I have started to write 35 books for his ‘The World Rudolf Nureyev Intellectual Heritage: Russia - XX Century’ since 1991. It took many years. I have ended ‘His


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   Heritage’ on CDs in 2003, and on DVD in 2005. Since 2006 - ‘the Nureyev’s Intellectual Treasure’ - available at the National Library of Australia: NLA ID 45233287 and NLA ID 40959455.

   I repeat myself from my book: ‘Thanks God, I completed for my Rudolf what I promised to complete once upon a time. For all of us the happy ending story at once’. Book: ‘Rudolf Nureyev: With-out Make-up’: NLA ID 44868487.

   Well, I can say again from another book:

‘He believed and practiced astrology all his life. 27.06.81’. Book: ‘Rock-Idol and Superstar: Freddie Mercury & Rudolf Nureyev’: NLA ID 44322536.

   He was not confident in my possible participation for international projects until he found co-accidental truth about that my son Matthew Ryuntyu was born on March 17 in Australia. He accepts such fact as the cosmic destiny for go-ahead link between us.

‘It seems for me like the same spiritual story sound between me and Patrick White (1912-1990) destiny ones! St Patrick’s Day is my birthday on March 17 between four of us. I’m talking and meaning ... Yuri, Matthew, Patrick and myself...’ - notified Rudolf at last.

                I spent many years for realization of my friends’ dreams.

   To celebrate my success in Russia - my books about Rudolf Nureyev Life (1938-1993) published in Russian language:

   (1) 1995: ‘Rudolf Nureyev: With-OUT Make-UP’: ISBN 5-7020-0981-9: NLA ID 4728820.

   (2) 2001: ‘Rock-Idol and Superstar: Freddie Mercury & Rudolf Nureyev’: ISBN 9-9650-1816-2.   

   Referees: Media UK: Daily Express, June 21, 1995 about Australian writer Yuri Ryuntyu and his book ‘Rudy Nureyev: Without Make-up’ (St.-Petersburg, Russia) News: London/Daily Express Wednesday June 21, 1995 (10,200 000 copies) article ‘Mercury was Gay Lover of Nureyev’, page 7. An exclusive report by Mr. Will Stewart (London, UK) and Mr. Igor Monichev (Moscow, Russia).

   Text: PEOPLE Daily: ‘… The book ‘Rudy Nureyev: Without Make-up’ will go on sale in St.-Petersburg today. In ‘Rudy Nureyev: Without Make-up’, Yuri Ryuntyu (Australia), the author writes that the two met whenever they could spend hours on the telephone talking…’

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   While the pair appeared publicly together, for example at an open-air
   music festival in Barcelona in 1988, they successfully drew a veil over their relationship…’

These are two of the most secretive books in the world, until now only published in Russian and Australia (1995-2015).

‘Rudolf Nureyev: With-OUT Make-UP’. Sold: 760,000 copies in Russia: 1995-2005. NLA ID 44868487 (in English) and NLA ID 4728820 (in Russian). ISBN 978-0-9806446-1-6 and ISBN 5-7020-0981-9.

‘Rock-Idol and Superstar: Freddie Mercury & Rudolf Nureyev’. Sold: 410,000 copies in Russia: 2001-2015. NLA ID 4612411 (in English). ISBN 978-0-9806446-0-9 (in English) and ISBN 9-9650-1816-2 (in Russian).


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   3. Chapter: THE BEGINNING   


   RUDOLF never hid anything from me. We knew each other for many years. His words are coming to my mind today. He liked to repeat them when we saw each other.

   I often recollect them:

‘Know the truth.
   The memory of the past is stronger than reality.
   New love is not a betrayal.
   It is a new life!

‘You just need to remember: what do you want?

‘Meet the one who was born for you!
   Weren’t you born for him?
   Solve God’s mystery for the general destiny.

‘I found this out before my death… from Freddie MERCURY.

‘We were born for each other.
   We were happy in our love.
   There is no mystery any more.
   Our fate is here.

   I do not put these words within ‘quotation marks’.

For me Rudolf is not associated with quotes, direct speech or abstracting. It is impossible for his feelings and his own words. In front of my eyes is a rash, fast speaking and witty person. His eyes are openly suggesting that Astral Tiger is sitting inside. His glance is provoking and daring. He is straight-out in his love and passion.

   Yes, this is Rudolf Nureyev or ‘Nuriyev’.

The duality of soul and many facets are his personal traits. He is hiding behind many masks and many colors. Both man and woman get along together very well here, in bisexuality. Nureyev never conflicts his world of effervescent feelings and affections.

   The ardent passion for the stage did not limit his heart.

‘The unrestrained passion for the delights among men enriches my emotions… It excites the mind of ballet-master and musician…’ he remarks of himself to his friends.

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‘I am not a Philistine to terrorize myself for being within the homosexual culture of mankind,’ he explains to everybody.

   To me, his friend, this is not something new. I know that the whole of Hollywood is homosexual. How many of them, in percentage? I am not a mathematician. Let us say, ninety-five percent. Does the answer… suit you? For me, the truth is about the shadowed gay culture of the human race. Such people suit me. Human nature is many-sided.

   I know that there are two million ‘queers’ both in Los Angeles and in San Francisco.

   There are many districts with hotels, beaches, theatres, churches, libraries, courts and police stations where gays live and work.

   Such is the world of the 21st century.

   No one amongst these millions of people hides their human nature.
   They adore their world.

   Nureyev was proud of being among Rafael, Leonardo da Vinci, Botticelli, Celina, Rimbaud, Shakespeare, Federico Garcia Lorca, Gorge Sand, Frederik Ashton, Marlene Dietrich, Erik Bruhn, Jose Limon, Robert Helpmann, Pyotr Tchaikovsky, Sergei Diaghilev, Igor Stravinsky, Vaslav Nijinsky, Vladimir Horowitz, Sergei Eisenstein, Paul E'luard, Jean Cocteau, Mikhail Fokine, Andrei Tarkovsky and Sergey Paradzhanov…

This list consists of thousands and thousands of names.

   This is the stratum of the World Gay Culture and the pride of humanity from Elton John to Freddie Mercury.

   The homosexual culture is fruitful and splendid.

   Nureyev did not consider himself miserable and declining, offended or deprived by God. He enjoyed his body and was happy in his life.



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   4. Chapter: CRUCIAL DAY


   TODAY is November 23, 1991.

   THIS DAY is unforgettable. It is Saturday in Europe, and not Sunday yet in Australia. Rudolf keeps calling me every half an hour. No, he is not around. I am on a yacht with friends. We are at the Great Barrier Reef (Cairns), a hundred sea miles offshore. I am not ready for his grief. His voice is hoarse. He is crying into the receiver:

‘I truly loved only a few... Among them are NIGEL GOSLING (I call him in Russian ‘Íèãåë Ãîñëèíã’) and his wife MAUDE GOSLING-LLOYD (I call her in Russian ‘Ìîäè Ëîéä’), my lover ERIK BRUHN (I call him in Russian ‘Ýðèê Áðóí’) and the great ballerina MARGOT FONTEYN (Margaret Hookham or de Arias).

‘I have a secret, too. More and more often, I recall my first youthful delight of mutuality that felt like being in love. This is my mate from the Ballet Academy in the St.-Petersburg’s Northern Palmyra. Today, he is an equivalent of Marius Petipa in his motherland - the Asian country of Kazakhstan. His name is BULAT AYUKHANOV (I call him in Russian ‘Áóëàò Àþõàí’).  He is my age and astral TIGER.

‘Only MAUDE is near now of all the intimate friends. As a ballerina, she died for the stage long ago… pity. As for Bulat, he is far behind the Iron Curtain.

‘I know that I am a superstar of the 20th century.
   In addition, I have almost no friends.

‘I am looking forward to the moment when I crash down from heaven. However, while you are alive, you need to live life fully without rejecting ANYTHING.

   I adore FREDDIE MERCURY.
   He is my last love.

‘I know that he has been dying since 1986 and that he is feeling very bad.

‘I will not be able to live without him. I will die of LOVE.
   I will stop my heart… MYSELF.’

I am thinking about him. I am not interrupting his speech. I am hearing what he used to say many times. I do not understand why

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   he has started his confession from the distant past.

   Nigel, Erik, Margot, and Bulat or… Freddie? I know almost everything about these people. What else can he tell me about them? He has told me that repeatedly. He knows what he is talking about! I am thinking, tears welling in my eyes. I feel everything not being the right way today.

   Did the misfortune fall upon him?

   Nevertheless, when… today… is November 23? No. I am not saying that aloud. I am listening to Rudolf. My words would mean almost nothing.

   I hear him speaking to himself, without me:

‘I can’t do anything to help myself. I feel telepathically that Freddie is at the threshold of death. This is about to happen. My hands are shivering. ‘Invisible ropes’ are pulling my legs and neck. I cannot concentrate. This is for the fright of death. I can hear it breathing behind my shoulders. It looks at the nape of my neck. I am glued to the window.

‘Now I come to, now I go from all the mirrors at my palace on the Seine. I am smoothing out the pane surface with my little finger.  Freddie! I do not see you. There is no Freddie here. No. If I close my eyes and then open them, I do not see my face.

‘I cry out. There is no face of mine on the silver amalgam of my Venetian mirror - there is the face of my Freddie coming out of it. I see him, not my reflection.  He is in the mirror, not me. I am not there, no.

‘I am happy to live in the mirage of illusion. I am not obsessed. I do not use this word ‘obsession’. You, Freddie, are standing on the right. You are hand in hand with your new host. You do not have to introduce her. I know the name… is… ‘Death’. Your lips are whispering in unison: ‘Me… me… me… You are after us… soon.’ I am not afraid of anything.

‘I spread my arms toward them. I am rushing to touch you, Freddie. I manage that. My eyes are shut. No words around me. The dead do not hear words told to one's self. They can only read the pronounced ones.

‘Yes, I recognize the color of your hair. Your smell… I can feel your seeming body-lightness. My fingers feel pricks from your short haircut. I am weeping… I cannot do anything for you.

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‘The efforts over oneself are the ravings of a madman,’ I am gritting my teeth. Now you are smiling, Freddie. Sure, this is your smile. Your curved teeth would not let anyone mix you up with anybody else.

‘Your laughter makes me mad. This is a very deep feeling. This is you forever. I love you. You are sure of that forever. The passion makes us mutually red-hot. You’re a hot kisser. It brings one down to ashes. It burns. It excites the flesh. I want you in bed. I want you here on the sandalwood floor… Freddie, Freddie…’

I am taking the radio-phone receiver away from my ear. This talk is breaking my heart. I took Erik Bruhn’s portrait in my hands. I am looking at him. After Bulat Ayukhanov, he was his second love.

   I am looking at the radiophone indicator. The timer shows that the line has been engaged for already forty minutes. He is keeping on with his funeral prayer… for me. He is sobbing of his anguish for Mercury. I am not to take part in that.

   I am at the pool looking at the tropical butterflies. They are drinking water, slightly touching the surface with their carmine wings. The ocean is different so they are reaching for the fresh water. The butterflies have their own lives; they are unfamiliar with the human language, with our passions and troubles. They cannot catch the difference between Russian, French, English and Tatar words. Which are in my ears…?

I am not committing a sin not to memorize all the words from the prayer of my friend, who is mad with grief. My friend wants to speak his mind. I am not in such a love with Rudolf to have my heart broken one more time. Freddie is not my love but his. My friendship keeps them out of their madness. I am sensing his pain from the outside. There are 24,000 km between us. We are on different hemispheres of the Earth.

‘One corpse is in the coffin, the other corpse on the phone,’ I am sobbing.

   I look at the watch that I am swimming with…

‘This is it. This talk reminds me of yesterday with each word pronounced.’

Having waited for another fifteen minutes, I am putting in a word:

‘Rudolf, my darling, I am endlessly sorry for you. You know. I remember how it was between us. All this comes back to 1988.

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   It started in Barcelona… between you. All happened there at an open air music festival.’

I am mixing up several languages. I am agitated.

   I am not able to be logical, rational, and attentive.
   I am weeping. The tears are suffocating me.

   There are no Russian words in my head. There are none any more. They have disappeared. They have revived in English, in which my feelings are more acute. When I am feeling ill at ease, I start gabbling in English.

   So, I am going on: ‘You know, Rudolf! While the pair appeared publicly together, for example at an open air music festival in Barcelona in 1988, they successfully drew a veil over their relationship.’

Then I add: ‘This is all about you and Freddie when you finally stopped concealing your sexual relationship. You remember… all the newspapers had your photos at an open air.’

My speech is monotonous. I do not know why. Maybe, I am talking like that not to burst into tears of pain and despair.

   In response, Rudolf is swearing like a trooper. He suspected intrusion in his private life and burst out. His hatred for reporters is well known.

‘Today… they said… Freddie is… dying of AIDS. This was said on the radio. This fucking prick R.M. said that. He is his press-attaché… It is horrible. Today is November 23, Saturday. In addition, everybody is spoiling my mood. Why have they made it a secret in 1986? You remember, Yuri. You had just buried your mom in that fatal 1986. Sorry! I am jumping at everybody. I am wounding all around. Don’t cry. I see… I hear you weeping… for Freddie! Please stop, I am giving you a tender kiss over half the world… Sorry! I am in the night, and you are in the morning in your Australia!’

The phone conversation stopped. He hung up.

   Having woken up on the European noon, I immediately called Paris. However, I couldn’t get through to Nureyev by his French secretary.

‘He has hidden away,’ I guessed. It was like him, I knew such whims about him, and sometimes he would just retreat from everyone.


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   However, terrible and fatal events went on developing.

   The next day cast on me the mournful Australian Sunday.

   The world has found out in every detail from Doctor Gordon Atkinson what happened on the previous night: ‘Freddie Mercury has left this world.  This happened at 7 pm, in London time.’ I did not have time to realize the whole horror when Rudolf Nureyev’s number lit up on the phone display. It seemed he was calling from one of his islands...

‘I have talked to Elton John. It is terrible. Elizabeth Taylor’s forecasts came true. She was foretelling his funeral before the end of 1991. Now is the end of November 1991. I am going to die for my Freddie! I know from Elizabeth Taylor. Here is her photo for you.’

Colored photo of our ‘girlfriend’ came out of the fax.

   This was more than hysterics. This was a real prostration of a dying person. I knew that he was also… dying of AIDS. I was trying to calm him down. However, what could I do now? Lie? Any compliments?  Some convinces? Of what could I convince the dying man? Of what is immortality? To be just talking? I was not saying: ‘Rudolf, darling! You are not dying!’ No, I could not tell a lie and dodge the truth.

   That conversation of ours was not longer than one hour. I was glad that Rudolf could talk for so long… This meant he wanted to live! This meant he was strong enough… to discuss.

   Our conversation was a medicine for both of us. We were making plans ‘the burial service’ for our mutual friend. Freddie was close to us. Everything is understandable humanly, with no objections or complaints to fate.

   I was listening to Nureyev’s words about Brian May (born in 1947), John Deacon (1951), Roger Taylor or Roger Meadows-Taylor (1949), Roy Thomas Baker, ‘Bohemian Rhapsody’ (1975) and Mercury's duet ‘Under Pressure’ with David Bowie. He was praying to GOD for mercy to these faithful friends of Freddie’s. They used to be and stayed as GUARDIAN ANGELS OF THEIR LOVE. He knew that everyone of these people would be able to commit suicide for Freddie.

‘The terrible secret of the year 1986… has ceased. The time of calamities of their endless years of 1987, ‘88, ‘89, ‘90 and 1991 and self-torturing of Freddie and Rudolf… has come to its end…’ these phrases and sighs were breaking in my mind. I knew. I know. I am for sure. The next to be in the BLACK BOX is… Rudolf NUREYEV.

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   Finally, the phone switched off. It seemed to me that Rudolf had fainted. I did not want to believe that. I immediately called back. I appeared to be right.

‘I fainted. All around in my view went dark. I forgot the language that I spoke,’ was the reply in semi-whisper.

‘I have to tell you this about Freddie as well. I am describing the way he looked as he was dying. Listen. All this is for your book that you have started. Do you remember your promise to publish ‘Rudy Nureyev: without make-up’ in Moscow? Now listen to how I am telling you about… the last moments of my lover. Don’t think that I am cruel. The truth is the truth… Write all this down for the book…’

I switched on a tape-recorder to record what my friend was saying:

‘He looked shrunken. The exhaustion has won. Grey hollow cheeks were confirming his Arabic origin. His eyes were burning with pain. It was burning to ashes everything around him. Nobody could stand the look of the dying man. His moaning often turned into screaming. He breathed with difficulty. His lungs were gurgling of the excess of water and foam. All that was the AIDS had destroyed the veins in his throat. He did not recognize anybody in person. He did not react to the voices of friends. ‘These were the narcotics’ said Mary Austin to Barbara Valentin. They killed pain but ‘washed out’ his memory. He could not raise his hand or his leg. The death agony overpowered his human will. David Clark held now one hand, now the other for hours. Both of them did not notice anybody around. At 7 pm of November 24, he… passed out. Two hours before… PARADISE… he slept and stopped tossing in the bed. His face calmed down. All muscles relaxed and eye wrinkles smoothed. He looked fresher and younger. He did not say a word for the whole day. There was NOT A TEAR on the death mask.’

In addition, Nureyev says:

‘Pay attention to this. Freddie Mercury was born as a VIRGO with the heart of a FIRE DOG (September 5, 1946) and died as a SAGITTARIUS with the heart of a GOAT (November 24, 1991). Write it down for yourself. You will need this. I foresee it. I can feel it today.’

‘No, I did not pay attention to this then. I was all engaged with the thoughts of moaning London…’ My heart ached.

   In a few minutes, Rudolf commented his words that ‘went on record’:

‘I said that on purpose for you to understand. Any kind of

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   humanization the dark forces of evil needs to be not done for everyone around. This confirms to us that a man is not worthless. One man is enough to oppose and act against the evil.

   Practice the phrase ‘There is no secret that would not become evident’. It destroys any craftiness and hypocrisy. Remember, one person is enough to oppose a lie and cynicism.

‘A human being is great at his death too and this is not a human power. It is hard for the dying to be strong. Man is always man. Do not believe the crafty laws of history from lying prophets. Not his own judgment stands in arguments and ideas behind a fair man. The superhuman power of HEAVEN comes into the battle with the evil devils’ hypocrisy and lies.

   Suddenly Nureyev rustled with papers and recited the words from scientific research on what the most famous of the famous were saying before their deaths.

   He said: ‘They were common in their ATHEISM and indifference to GOD.’

Here are the lines that Rudolf read and re-read for me:

   WINSTON CHURCHILL – English Prime Minister during WWII – said: ‘What a crazy man I am!’

THOMAS HOBBES – English philosopher – said: ‘I am facing the terrible jump into darkness.’

TALLEYRAND - said: ‘I am suffering the tortures as if I am killed.’

JOHANN WOLFGANG von GOETHE was screaming in terror: ‘More light!’

The doctor treating Emperor NAPOLEON BONAPARTE was witnessing: ‘The Emperor died in solitude, left by everybody. His struggle with death was awful.’


VOLTAIRE – the great mocker – did not escape from the terror. His end was terrible.  His nurse was saying: ‘For all the money of Europe I would not wish to see such a terrible death that Voltaire had. The death of an atheist is fearful.’ Voltaire was pleading God for mercy during the whole night...

   From Rudolf: ‘I have also got the witnesses of the deaths of


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   communists, the generals of the USSR Political Police! I have ones also for the faithful brothers-in-arms of the USSR Communist Party: The leader ZINOVIEV Grigori Yvseyevich, brother-in-arms of atheist Lenin (who named him the conscience of the Communist Party of Bolsheviks of Russia), shot by the order of the new master of the Communist-PSU Stalin (he died in mysterious circumstances), tossed in his bed and… screamed: ‘Listen, Israel!  The Lord – our God, is the sole God’. These are the last words of one of the leaders of the atheist state of the USSR...’

And from Rudolf: ‘The leader and the butcher, who means he was the Chief of the USSR Secret Police, marshal Yagoda Henrik Grigorievich was repenting: ‘There must be a God’. He punishes me for my sins against him.’


Having finished the reading, Rudolf said good-bye and hang up the receiver. I did not agree to that.


‘What would YOU say before your death, Muslim-man Rudolf?’ I recalled him immediately on the number lit up on my phone display.


‘Thanks for asking. Look at the fax. You will have a surprise!’ was laughing Nureyev.


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   5. Chapter: SURPRISE


   I went out of the pool, turned round the rosary and entered my apartment at the coast. There was a text on the fax. I tore off a sheet of paper:

‘I Wished
            MY DANCE and MY LIFE
                Produced the Impression,
                as Paintings of a Great Painter!
                LET them ADMIRE me,
                LET them HATE me,
                but
                DO NOT LET them STAY
                INDIFFERENT to Me.

                Rudolf Nureyev.’


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   6. Chapter: MORNINGS AFTER


   DAYBREAK 24/11/91. My friends and I are already in Cairns.  The yacht has just pulled up to the coast. The tropical sun was already unmercifully burning at six in the morning.  The heart was uneasy.

   The radiophone woke up on the way from the pier to the Hilton. It could not be different though.

   It was not more than ten minutes walk along the beach. Having seen Nureyev’s number on the display, I decided to 'attack' him. I knew what it was going to be about…

‘Why… me? I do not want to write anything. I am tired,’ I was shouting at him.

‘Only you must and you will be able to. You will write this book about us,’ was Rudolf’s uncompromising answer.

‘You are EARTH BULL in Astrology. Moreover, you know that you are a master of EARTH TIGER. You are a servant for a DOG. The stars are on your side.  You will be a success.’

I know NUREYEV was born as an EARTH TIGER.
   I know MERCURY was born as a FIRE DOG.

‘You are right, Yuri Matthew. This is why it is easy for you to socialize with Michael Jackson and Elizabeth Taylor. I saw more than once that you had common language between you, common interests.’

Yes, this is true. Jackson just as Mercury is a DOG.
   Nureyev just as Taylor has tiger essence.

‘Yuri Matthew, do not forget their… peculiarities. Tigers are dreamers. They live in a dream like in reality. Their word and thought have a common incredible quality. It is a fact that they produce material influence on the people and processes around them. Remember tigers live for themselves. They remain aloof from the world within themselves. They are trying to go through to the essence of things, to grasp the depths of everything, and, mostly, they are trying to explore the depths of their own personalities. The Dogs are different, which is the case with Freddie! You, as a Bull, have a lot in common here. You have the aspiration for consistency, stability and clarity in everything. These people are the most stubborn, intractable and firm in their beliefs. This is you, and I know that.’


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‘Thanks for revealing the secret. I could not guess why it was so easy for me to hang around… with Mercury. We were quick on the uptake!’

‘Tell me about… the Bull in you,’ Rudolf was pushing me to the agreement. He wanted me to believe in my predestination as an author. He thought of himself and only of himself. I knew this unbelievable despot and egoist.

‘Here is my horoscope as an author…’ I confirmed. ‘I remember what I have under my skin! BULL is romantic beauty, strength and fightfullness based on logical thinking. High potential orthodoxy and cruelty well active in life. I am a master of Tiger and a servant of Dog. These are the qualities from birth. They can be realized very rarely. At least, without your help it is unlikely.’

‘Well, fate wants you to write about us. First, you have to disclose to the world everything about my crazy and last LOVE. Mercury never objected to this and does not object now. He is dead and everything is gone… I will tell you a secret: how to stop your heart beating when you want to DIE of LOVE, maybe you will need this sometime as well. So far, I am expecting your tale ‘Requiem for Freddie’… tomorrow! I believed that the Earth Tiger would not be crafty with the Earth Bull… and his astral master. The stars in heaven arranged everything for us. I knew that intuition did not put me down that day. It is not in vain that the most mysterious sign of CANCER rules my heart. I live by the hours of CANCER.’

Nureyev remembered my all birthdays for more than a decade.
   He never forgot to congratulate me and to give me a kiss.


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   7. Chapter: WHAT NEXT


   The RING woke me up at six in the morning like yesterday.

‘Get up, son of a bitch! Read the tale ‘Requiem for Freddie Mercury!’ was laughing his half-joking, half-ordering voice.

‘With pleasure, my lord,’ I clicked with my tongue and started reading the manuscript to Rudolf Nureyev.

   That was the history of his life that we have encoded under the name of ‘STEPHEN’.

Rudolf had known about this tale for more than a week. He just wanted me to read it aloud today. I knew he was at the verge of a nervous breakdown. After all, he had been without live Freddie for already 24 hours… and there was not much hope for their encounter. Nureyev had just started to accept the death of his lover as an inevitable misfortune.

   I sent a fax to Paris for him later: Tale 'STEVEN' 25/11/91

   It’s evening… and… D. Street… is plunged into darkness.

   It appears to be deserted, but, suddenly, behind my shoulder, I hear
   a careless and low greeting.

‘Good evening. How are things?’ I half turn and encounter a pair of
   dark, splendid eyes and a friendly smile.

‘I’m Steven,’ he tells me.

         We walk together, and in step we exchange banalities.
              We don’t look at each other.
                We try to give meaning to the sound of our voices.

   I feel we are attracted to each other.
   This is clear to me, as our words are useless.
   The pauses in our conversation speak for themselves.

              We don’t try to interrupt each other...
                neither do we imbue our conversation with meaning.

‘Yes, there is something, which unexpectedly springs up between
   two men when they are invariably lonely. The accidental encounter
   is mutually appreciated’.

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‘Is love born thus? No one knows’. To ponder this question could be
   silly and foolish, even if an answer could be found.

   My straining attention is unbearable. I almost stop sucking air, and
   stammer into silence. I become more conscious of his nearness. Between
   us floats a multitude of things unsaid.

‘And, if… he… should ask me? Oh, how I long for this... God knows how
   much I need it’.

I would fall into his bed at the drop of a hat, throwing away all discretion.

   These thoughts tumble recklessly through my head, affecting my beating
   heart and making me breathless. I am completely deafened by my anxiety.
   I’m literally blinded by the unexpectedness of it all.

   The question is not forthcoming. Steve is silent, and is nervously smoking...
   His fingers are trembling from tension. I mumble something pointless,
   lightly touching his back with my hand.

‘Is there anything he needs to say to me?’ I don’t know.

   He is lengthening… his stride, leaving me a few steps in the rear,
   and then he turns abruptly and faces me. I open my eyes wide in answer
   to his unexpected invitation for a cup of coffee. His eyes gaze at me
   in trepidation. I read in them an anxiousness not to lose me.

‘Yes, he does desire me…’ My lips bite my tongue. ‘Yes, I’m ready.’

I hasten my steps in lunacy. We drop our eyes. I have nothing to say.

‘Indeed, what else can I add to his meaningful look?’

His face breaks into an insane smile.

‘No, no there is no double meaning there.’ We understand each other very
   well.

   The anticipation of sexual gratification on the male body is not unknown
   to him. Everything is so simple... he kisses me passionlessly.

   Together we quicken our steps.

‘Where to…? How far? Where? Why?’

There is no answer, just as there is no answer.


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   There is no need between us for these empty, blind and useless words.

   Already, we are in the kitchen. A… few… words. A… few… spoonfuls of
   sugar in hot coffee. The mug burns my skin.

   I gasp from the shock of it.
   He turns his head. His lips caress my reddening fingers.

   I’m silent.

   His impulsiveness frightens me.

                I answer to his voice with my eyes but
                I hear nothing.

   The bed is warmed by our breathing. Our emotion is reciprocal and marvelous. We exchange kisses on the neck. I squeeze his shoulders.

   My body trembles strangely, my toes are cramped in languorous pain. I
   don’t know how all this happened. We finally love each other. I want him
   to call me Matt.

   In answer he says: ‘Call me Stevie. My mum calls me that.’

‘What is it, Stevie? Love? Is it just a blinding sexual need?’ There is
   no answer between us.

   We fall asleep, our breathing sibilant in unison.

‘Unexpected?’
‘No, after all it is about two in the morning.’
‘Yes, it was a splendid day,’ floats through my thoughts.
‘Yes, Yes,’ I hear him in reply. ‘Because of, you are with me.’
‘It is already some months that I’m on my own after my transfer from
   Sydney. You know how it is, in a new job…’

I close my eyes, and... open them again instantly.

             My anticipation is correct:
                He is gazing steadily at me.

   We kiss each other lightly.

‘The coming day is so wonderful,’ he repeats again and again.
   I believe him. My agreement needs no words.

‘He’s so right,’ passes through my head.

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‘No longer am I lonely.’
‘No longer is he alone...’
‘We’re together.’

Neither one however, gives voice to this.
   We think this separately.

‘God sees us united.’
‘Oh, how good it is.’
‘Yes, together we stand in the midst of strife.’

Graham Smith says in 2005: ‘I am stunned with our acquaintance with Freddie in 1985. This happened before his trip to Rio de Janeiro at this ill-fated rock festival. It was there that he couldn’t help going to the gay sauna where he spent the night. A few hundred people do sex here round-the-clock. It sounds like the rustle that only snakes and human bodies can produce. This sound is unforgettable if you’ve been there only once. It was there that he caught AIDS. This was in January of that fatal year…’

Graham Smith says in 2000: ‘In May 1985 he was in Australia. I remember. I saw Freddie Mercury in Sydney where I lived, and I went after him to attend his scandalous concerts in New Zealand. That was cold April…’

I became sentimental.

‘Rudolf and what was in January? Do you remember 1986?’

‘He received the AIDS test result from the hospital in Harley Street in London! It was catastrophic! The results were positive. It was the death sentence for a living person!’ Rudolf burst into tears.

‘I… remember. Everything… remember,’ I could not articulate and was just mumbling.

‘Do you remember when we approached him at the festival in Barcelona in 1988?’ I was keeping silent concealing what I knew about him since 1986!

‘You took me by the hand, Rudolf. You took me over to Freddie. I was so close to him for the first time in my life. And then something unforeseen happened... You embraced him… and said…’

‘You even remember what I said then, Yuri!’ he gave a gasp.

‘We have got the same. AIDS for both – is only a half of AIDS. Let us

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   live together! I can’t help without sex! The Lord made you in the same manner as me. We don’t have anything to lose. Give up your masturbation in rubber gloves with girly nurse boys. Take me into your bed, Freddie! I will teach you… what you have not yet seen!’ I quoted Nureyev’s words.

‘It is quite astonishing! You are not jealous. Why is your voice trembling, Yuri?’ he exclaimed. I knew he was making a laughing stock of both himself and me.

‘I lost you that day. And your friendship as well… seemingly! I already couldn’t get through to you and that hindered me. You, Rudolf, stopped talking to me about your letters and… about Patrick White. You seemed to me… to completely forget your request to write a book about you. And I was… happy for myself.’

‘It is all nonsense. You are a remarkable dude. You are younger than Freddie…’ he laughed with a voluptuous laughter.

   Graham Smith says in 1995: ‘This was coming from the fact that he did not differentiate between friends and lovers. He was constantly haunted with sexual hunger. Being ‘sentenced to death’ by his illness, he was jealous of healthy people for their ‘longevity’ and ‘durability’. You cannot judge the diseased as a healthy one, please understand this, my reader!’

‘Forget it, Rudolf. You forgot he is in… a coffin now in his Kensington mansion!’

‘Yes, forgive me. The mourning day is not over. I will call tomorrow… For now as a final I want to quote for you something from Freddie: ‘Happiness? I don’t think I have it!’



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   8. Chapter: SOMETHING ELSE


   THE NEXT DAY, something else happened. The next day does not exist… yet? The promised ‘tomorrow’ did not come. Several days passed. He called me at the Barrier Reef (Cairns) after the ‘double funeral’ of Freddie Mercury. This is literally how he was being buried at the crematorium in Harrow Road of West End in London.

   Which means everything was happening on November 29, 1991.

   This is what Nureyev told me:

‘You know… today is the fifth day after his death? Here is the news of the last hours of Freddie… Around, I think... Tom Clark, Jack Coates, Rock Hudson, Jim Hutton... his Lady Mary. Let me remind you that… He died at seven pm. And… so well, this is real fact!

‘I have told you already that he died without suffering in his sleep. No torturing reflected on his face.

‘Neither were tears on his face. There was enough room for every one at his palace in Kensington. Friends had enough space in his seven small bedrooms. As for the owner, as you know, he was on the third floor. There is the eighth bedroom over there, which occupies almost the whole floor.

‘Mercury’s body seemed shrunk and small. The bed where six people could simultaneously have sex together looked scary in this mourning atmosphere… Dave Clark did not abandon the dying, being there until the last moment. Lady Mary Austin, you remember she was his first love, was devotedly guarding him from all the reporters. You know K. E. and Elton John... they both were near all the time. Motley silk and white canopy made the tragedy less evident. His friends were united with the memory and the love of Freddie.

‘The forecast that Dr. G. A. gave on his inevitable death in 1991 proved to be true.  It had been exactly five years, since 1986. He explained to his friends that everything had happened in that gay sauna in Rio de Janeiro.

‘Freddie had several types of AIDS at once.

‘They are called: Haitian, San Francisco and New York viruses. This is why Freddie did not survive till seven years as happens in some cases with gays. You know, men with AIDS do not live for more than seven years. This is the incubation term of this deathly disease.

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   Nobody has avoided this fatal sentence yet.

‘One unusual thing also happened. After he made the last sigh… his Persian cats scattered all around the house. They hid under the furniture and flower vases. Everyone could now understand that Freddie was no longer there. Mary Austin… (He said in Russian: Ìýðè Îñòèí)… left after the cats.

‘Her heart began ‘breaking down’. Everybody could see that. She was pressing her hand against her breasts.

‘Do you remember her flat near Freddie’s house? This is a three-million pounds present to her from Freddie. He did it a year and a half ago, knowing he had to hurry up.’

‘Listen, Rudolf…’ I tried to put in some words but this time he did not even pretend he was listening.

‘Also… I am not listening to the Mozart’s Requiem. This thing was published in 1791. Don’t you see that today we have two mourning jubilees? Surprising science is this numerology. I will sing for you AGNUS DEI... This is for my Freddie.’

He started singing Larghetto: AGNUS DEI…

AGNUS DEI QUI, TOLLIS PECCATA MUNDI
   DONA EIS REQUIEM.

   AGNUS DEI QUI, TOLLIS PECCATA MUNDI
   DONA EIS REQUIEM.

   AGNUS DEI QUI, TOLLIS PECCATA MUNDI
   DONA EIS REQUIEM.

   AGNUS DEI QUI, TOLLIS PECCATA MUNDI
   DONA EIS REQUIEM.

   AGNUS DEI QUI, TOLLIS PECCATA MUNDI
   DONA EIS REQUIEM SEMPITERNAM.

   I could not suppress my tears of delight.

   Laurel Martyn says in 1996: ‘Nureyev was a great musician. His talent as a conductor was well-known both in Europe and America. It was really over two hundred years since the publication of this masterpiece.’


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   9. Chapter: REMINISCENCES


   We did not stop for the day. He re-called me later.

                He could not stop talking.
                Rudolf sank into memorials:

‘Freddie has ‘imprisoned’ himself from everybody and everything since 1986.  You were at his last jubilee party and should remember the celebration of his fortieth anniversary. Everyone knew about him that day. Everyone knew his secret about funerals. That year he buried two of his closest boyfriends. During the last days, all the rumors that have been circulating about him since 1988 proved true. You were there also when he lost his voice for the first time...’

‘This happened in Barcelona right on the stage in front of hundreds of thousands of spectators. He was not able to finish by himself his famous rock hit ‘BARCELONA’ with great Montserrat Caballe!’

‘This was October, if my memory serves me right?’

‘The greatest catastrophe of catastrophes took place over there!’

‘It became clear that Freddie Mercury could not be allowed on stage without previously recording a cassette with his magnificent voice. This was heartbreaking...’

‘AIDS won,’ his enemies and competitors were whispering to one another. The last year of the dying was, however, ‘quite fruitful’.

Freddie was in a state of euphoria from the million-strong editions of his discs. Freddie was proud that in February 1990 he was ‘marked’ for his outstanding contributions in the development of world music.

   He did not manage to go out to receive this prize immediately! He had to regain his strength until September 1990. Nevertheless, even being in best shape he looked exhausted and skeletal when receiving the prize.

‘The pictures revealed the chaos inside my body,’ Freddie was joking among rock-men. ‘Funny word, isn’t it? I am… a ‘rock’ + a ‘man’!?’

He said: ‘When I'm performing I'm extrovert, yet inside I'm a completely different man...’

He survived for the title ‘The Best Group 1990’.

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   He has just died, in November… 1991. All these world titles are handed before Christmas… in December.

   He tasted the fame of a superstar. He wanted to be and he became the rocker of ‘The Best Group of the Year in US and Europe’!’

‘Excuse me, Rudolf... Were his parents there when he was dying?’ I interrupted.

‘His parents found him already dead.  His mother and father did not have enough time to embrace Freddie. They had been quite a long time getting to Kensington from their Bulsara's house in a suburb of London.’

‘Jerry’ and ‘Bomy’ were too late. Everything happened abruptly - just in one day.’

‘Rudolf, have you heard on the BBC from London? Let me retell you the story which is on air on Australian TV.’

I translated it from English to Russian right into the phone:

‘The world has found out about the tragedy in London. Freddie’s masterpieces like ‘Divine Rhapsody’ have been given for eternal use to the ‘AIDS Fighting Charity Foundation’. Now it is the full-right property of the foundation director Terrence Higgins. All the copyrights have become the property of the new owner in London. All the members of ‘QUEEN’ group agreed to the last will of Mercury…’

‘It is very scary. Yuri, pay attention! He mounted the world Olympus of rock music when he was at age 44. He passed away when he was at age 45. It is tragedy for a young man! You know. We were together ‘inseparable’ during these days. We called each other every day until Freddie started losing ‘shape’ and ‘memory’ for the phone numbers. He was in a good spirit until his last days. His physical strength left him in a day before… the end. We have been together since… 1988… sleeping together… and loving each other… like crazy! But this is a secret for all!’

I heard some unusual flatness in Nureyev’s voice. He was croaking.  There was a gurgle in his throat. Rolling cough burst out in the receiver. I waited till he was better. I was waiting and waiting for… twenty minutes.

   The phone did not disconnect. He left somewhere and then came back. I was glad his memory was still keeping the conversation in his mind.


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   He was not able to do one thing - to redial multi-digital numbers.
   He did not have enough patience.

   The truth, however, was something else...

‘The deathly and exhausting AIDS was living inside his flesh for many years, which prevented him from focusing on… numbers. ’

‘Do you remember how many days we were together!’ his sudden scream burst out. I started making note of a beginning… hysterical attack.

‘No.  I do not count the days of life without friends.’

‘I do!  Every day with Freddie is… the sunny cocktail of sensuality. I live with hedonism. The pleasure is my element… is my rhythm! They are my ACROPOLIS! I do adore the man’s body as a piece of art! This is my ALTAR! I am praying to the man’s beauty in ‘Sleeping Beauty’! My hearth is thumping of Greek and Roman sculptures. I get intoxicated when I see the beautiful muscled teens and youths! I watch with delight at my collections of antiques. I pray to the beauty! Everything I have created in my DANCE is coming from my feelings, from my worshipping THE MAN. I live with it. This is the real life. The sources of fantasy and spirituality are in here. I have never been any different. You… know that. No, I can’t talk about DEATH anymore. It is a monstrous destroyer!  It is my ENEMY. I met Freddie when my ‘boy’ was at age 42. I was at age 50 in 1988. I knew he was my DESTINY and MY LAST LOVE on the EARTH. He died when he was at age 45. Today, in 1991 and I am almost at age 53. This is the end. I am not going to over-live him for long… I do not need anyone except for my baby Freddie! I do not want to live any more…’

‘Rudolf, listen to me.  Let me read a story for you. I pray to God for your long life. Do you believe me? Please answer, my dear and my beloved man! You know! I worship you. Do not cry. Let my story divert you… from your grief. Just do not cry…?’

I did not want to oppose anything against the shock of death. I could not return his lover from the COUNTRY of the DEAD.

   However, I understood soon that he was not alone. He was talking to me from Paris while watching the channels from London. I could guess it from his words.

‘I watch the program where they say that there was a ‘double’ burial of the ROCK IDOL of XX century today. I will translate for you from French.

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   Listen, please, what these miserable yellow newspaper’s writers talk about:

‘Today, the 29th of November, has been already four days since his death. Superstar Mercury… was cremated today. The traditional Anglican Church burial service took place. Afterwards, in a very limited circle of relatives, the rituals of Zoroaster were committed. His whole families are members of the World-renowned Fire-worshippers Sect. The fires of the sect have been burning non stop for more than 2,000 years in Iran. The prophet and the founder of the sect is the guru from the tenth century B.C. His personal family has been practicing these traditions for about 700-800 years. The flame from these Holy Fires has been brought to London from Iran and burnt to ashes the corpse of the sect member Freddie just the way it was with hundreds of the bodies of his close relatives from century to century. Persian and Iranian mix blood man Mercury was born in Zanzibar. This is where his parents fled escaping from the terror and religious fanatics against Zoroaster in Iran. His lover Rudolf Nureyev was not in London. There is a supposition that he is also diseased with AIDS and has been agonizing in his luxurious apartment not far from the Louvre Museum in Paris…’

He hangs up without saying good-bye.

   I understood that he did not have enough strength to fight ‘The Media-Idiots’.


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   10. Chapter: AFTER ALL


   AFTER THE TALK ‘without saying good bye’, I got frustrated.

   I was like a cat on hot bricks, as I could not find the words to help.
   The face was reddening of shame for these daring journalists.

‘No, I was not able to discuss their behavior with Mr. Rudolf Nureyev. I am not capable of breaking someone’s heart.’

Mr. Freddie Mercury and Mr. Rudolf Nureyev had one thing in common: they ‘Hated Yellow Presses’. Not just once, this very media had been taking them apart in bleeding pieces. It was ‘preparing’ their organs of the senses and ‘hanging out’ their sexuality in the books and newspapers.

   I knew them from a close distance.
   They were not some sexual giants.

   These were strong but very vulnerable, quiet and often very self-reserved people.

   The world of peepers was looking at them through ‘Yellow Presses’ where gull and hatred were ruling.

   This is the scary face of the XX century.

   The reason for all this comes back to the results of the Two World Wars that have left the after-war generations of people without hearts.

   The civil and religious wars became the day-to-day life in the XX century.

   Spilling blood is a daily fact.

   Terrorism emerges here and there.

   Terrorism is armed and is still trained to kill through local wars and political coups. Dozens of countries live this way.

   The cruelty and hatred towards neighbours take their starts from the war craziness at the battlefields.

   The wars were and are breeding terrorist commandos - who are fighting in the streets of peaceful cities.


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   I could not help suffering thinking about the last days.

   My heart was constantly thumping.
   I felt the pain of my dead and daily dying friends.

   I was sighing to myself… Nureyev’s AGNUS DEI:

   AGNUS DEI QUI, TOLLIS PECCATA MUNDI
   DONA EIS REQUIEM.

   AGNUS DEI QUI, TOLLIS PECCATA MUNDI
   DONA EIS REQUIEM.

   AGNES DEI QUI, TOLLIS PECCATA MUNDI
   DONA EIS REQUIEM SEMPITERNAM.

   I could not understand why I have a mental block for the ‘sheep’ - AGNUS.

   I have not yet solved the riddle of death as The Reincarnation of Mercury into AGNUS.

   I was memorizing the day of his death on November 24, without any special astral sense for dying Nureyev.

   My eyes opened later.
   This is a secret for me… for the time being.


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   11. Chapter: GOOD EDDIE


   TODAY is November 30, 1991.  It is a sunny tropical day in Cairns.

‘Let me read for you something that you used ‘to praise’ sometime ago.  You even demanded not to change the names.’

Everyone here is under his own name!
   Even these were ‘FREDDIE’ & ‘RUDOLF’.

‘OK?’ I received agreement in reply.

   I started reading the story on the phone.
   I knew Mr. NUREYEV to enjoy my baritone.
   I started reading as slowly as possible in a singsong voice:

   Tale 'EDDIE' or 'FREDDIE MERCURY' 30/11/91

   The Mercury’s phone keeps ringing, since this morning.

‘Call on the phone Mr. Nureyev,’ a frantic voice demands.

‘He’s not here. Can I take a message?’ Mrs. Silvia asks and glances at the clock.

   There’s still ten minutes before work at the office officially begins.

‘Yes, please. Write word for word… Called… Will call again… in ten minutes, your lover!’

I returned to the theatre after lunch and as usual park the car under an old oak to protect it from the blazing sun.

   I enter the office to find my secretary all flustered and sweaty; she flew at me as I came through the door.

   What’s with her? I’ve never seen her in such a state before. She must have seen me through the window.

‘Thank God you’re here. I’ve had the most maddening morning. Every ten minutes there’s a call from America, here this is for you,’ she hands me a sheet of paper scrawled with one and the same message.

‘Ha, ha… It’s F.M.! Why is he in such a rush?’ I didn’t have time to sit down at my table when the phone rang.

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‘At last! These unbearable twelve hours between the two continents kill me, Rudolf.’

‘What happened?’ I cut in on his sobbing.

‘Nothing. It’s just that I can’t stand it any more without you. The usual thing… I can’t eat or drink,’ his voice crackles through the satellites.

‘I’m on my way to you. My ‘Boeing’ is crossing Mexico at the moment. I’m sending a kiss down the line to you.’ Then there was silence. I feel upset, so hang up.

   I grab a handful of pencils and begin to break the graphite, and then sharpen them again.

‘Why do I have to wait so long? Tomorrow will be a scorching day! Yes, even sizzling.’ I sigh. I am thinking about my wild African lover.

‘Eddie isn’t really an African man. Did you know that my ma’s a lady and pa’s a gentleman, but from both I inherited none of their traits. All of my genes were overtaken by Asia, where I spent most of my childhood,’ I say with a deep feminine voice and wiggle my arse.

‘Where does such trouble come from? He’s not even in England yet, and his images are already starting to take effect in the sky,’ I instinctively notice and straighten my silk shawl that’s draped across my torso.
   So, I won’t work today.
   I must get some sleep.

   I ring everyone and postpone all business meetings in America and cancel rehearsals in Europe until next week. After that I write a note to the director, about an unforeseen week break.

   When it comes to homosexual love lies are inevitable. Blaming it in such absence due to family matters. These are often explained as ‘mum’s sick’ or ‘the AIDS... friend in hospital’... have become despairing. What can you do? Social peace and society’s prosperity require tiny everyday lies, especially when it comes to talk about homosexuality. Anyway, if they are overheard, nobody believes my lies. That means I don’t offend them.
      
‘Everyone knows from the papers that he’s coming,’ Silvia nags at me with hate and disgust. I feel how in her heart jealously loves me, consistently year after year. This frantic call destroyed all her fantasies about our mutual plans to have Christmas in Russia.

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‘No, we’re not going anywhere together, are we?’ she wipes away the tears and repeats this phrase endlessly like a cracked gramophone.

‘I don’t honestly believe that she takes me serious. Be careful of God’s wrath. It’s already her fourth marriage and she still searches from side to side,’ I think, but with Eddie’s voice inside my head.

   At 5 am a loud ‘caramba’ echoes through the house. He arrives like a hurricane. His clothes were strewn all over my house. His boots left in the entrance and undies lay on my pillow. Now… his stuff is on the palms and TV.

   I sit on Persian cushions and admire his tan,
   as I drink Brazilian coffee.
   I’ve been waiting for his taxi since 4.30 am.

‘How are you, pirate?’ I flutter my eyelids and lick my lips.

   In response a bottle of Camus cognac flies into my hand. I immediately opened it and thirstily gulp down its fire. My stomach burst into flames. The tip of my tongue tickles roughly the roof of his mouth. I reach across him for a piece of Camembert from the sideboard.

‘Pour yourself a cuppa tea from the thermos.’

‘I don’t want anything, you old shit!’ he swears and tosses his forgotten tie onto the chandelier.

   Eddie races to the kitchen. He’s really very loud switching on immediately electrical devices: the coffee grinder churns, the omelet maker whizzes and the juice extractor buzzes. The noise rings through every room.

‘Oh, how I love his landings at my place in Kew Gardens. Life has started,’ I scream in raging surprise and hop on one leg, naked like an exhibitionist showing off in public.

   He drops everything and runs to me. He holds my hair and covers my tummy with craving kisses. His face flares and my feet leap from impatience as we dance the samba lustfully. I can’t exist without his smiles and passions.

‘Oh, how I love you, you unforgettable Russian devil,’ he thrusts me onto the bed.

   I lay on my back without any struggle.

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   I adore his slobbery tongue.

   His lips smell of coconut oil and lime honey. The scent of his body is unique to me. They’re some kind of unbelievable oils and creams sent from Heaven.

‘Your kiss is breathtaking,’ I whisper and massage the small of his back, then holds his cheeks to the pillow, which allows me to stretch apart his legs.

‘I faint in fear at the sight of your masculine legs when you squeeze my body and force me to sit between them. It is deadly insanity,’ he gasps from an internal inferno.

‘Shut up! It’s all a load of shit. I don’t believe that I could drive you insane, remember I’m a dry, frozen Tatar-man.’

‘No, stop lying about my dear lover… So many lies! I’m not here to listen about whom you talk about. Your Siberian bloods churns and make my head spin,’ his harrowing cries as my finger helps to tickle his arsehole.

‘Yes, we’re lucky now that I’m inside you,’ I kiss his ringed nipple in response.
   Our orgasms flow easily and in unison.
   We manage to do it so professionally.

   It’s not for nothing that we learnt for so long a time at school, how to do it with such pet shop boys.

‘We match each other remarkably, like a key sliding and turning into a lock,’ I said.

‘To a faithful key and a faithful lock!’ Eddie ironically whispers and starts to lick clean my chest. ‘I love your hairy skin. It smells so delicious. What is it?’

‘It’s ballet salt,’ I tease him.

‘No, leave your filthy biochemistry for your ballerinas. I simply love you to death,’ he cut me off in mid sentence.

‘And those with my ballerinas standing on their tip toes also.’

‘Yes, and their and your legs also!’ with diligence he licks the soles of my feet.

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‘What do you like most of all?’ I urge insistently.

‘I like what’s just lower than your navel! Aren’t you sure of that yet?’

‘Doesn’t twenty thousand miles speak for themselves? Notice it’s not me, but you came into my bed! Don’t I live on the other end of the world from you? You’re my star Eddie. And so and so… my beloved and true gay-devil and my sex-masochist, my Eddie!’

‘Sorry, but tomorrow I must fly home. You know, Rudolf that I only came for the weekend. We still have Thanksgiving day ahead. What a pity that I sat for so long in that plane. Saturday has already hit outside. Can you see the sunrise, Rudolf?’

‘No, it’s unbelievable. I won’t let you go! I’m going with you, OK!’

‘Oh, that’ll be splendid! Are you sure that you can come?’

‘Of… course! Why do we need it all, when you’re with me?’

‘But aren’t I like summer snow falling on your head Rudolf? Sorry, mate.’

‘Yes, it happens exactly like that. The usual thing… no calls or any letters for six months at all. Forget about the crap, you and I work too frightfully much.’

‘No, your lying is unjustified. I was lying about that a week ago,’ he kissed the tip of my nose. ‘Remember, Rudolf?’

‘No, that was half a year ago! I know that it’s so and I’m not just faking,’ I turn to the other side in disgust.

‘Oh, no... That trick doesn’t work this time. No, don’t expect any scandals from me, because there won’t be any. We’ve already been through it all before, agree? Just forget about it! Come on let’s go to the kitchen and bring everything from the fridge,’ he drummed his fingers across my spine and hummed out his own latest super hit.

   A second hadn’t passed, when I was forcefully thrown from the bed and my blankets thrown into the air. Pillow after pillow are tossed to the side, then I finally find myself sitting on the carpet. Eddie stood proudly over me, wearing a fake Hollywood smile. It’s a typical cheeky smile of a Muslim-gay and pleasant-rapist.

‘Come on and hurry up!’ he calls to me and… stretches out his hand to slap my arse cheek.

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   A leather snake whip was wrapped around his wrist.

   I stopped posing to be a fussy proud man and we strolled to the kitchen in an embrace. I sat at the glass table, which is piled with delicatessen. He poured strawberry milk in cups and added some black currents. We drank in silence and thought about nothing much. He places on his naked chest a plum and adds to it ginger ice cream, and then he forces me to lick these sweets clean. I didn’t object to his desires.

‘Now get out your lamb chop,’ Eddie ordered.

‘Oh, you can do that yourself!’ I answered giggling. He looks so funny with big ears, which jut out, from his new wig.

‘OK, I’ll put it into the microwave.’

‘That means we’ve fifteen minutes for oral-staff,’ I smiled savory as I licked his chest.

‘I’m so glad that I came!’ he places under my tongue the biggest black currant that he found.

‘I to do too,’ and return back the berry, opening his lips with my tongue and shove into his sweet mouth. His body shuddered from being horny again.

   We head for the shower and start to cuddle under the jets of water.

   Our skins are aroused from steam and cream.

   We scrubbed each other’s backs like sea lions in sunlit California or gay-penguins in the Arctic beaches of Russia.

   We both talked about everything except work.

   We knew one another for more than half a year,
   recklessly meeting every month,
   without caring about the jealousy of our lovers.

   Money doesn't hinder us.
   We never had any and now can’t make any more.

‘Some borrow from the bank to build house after house in America and in England. I live a life from concert to concert,’ he hints about my wealth and villas in the Caribbean and Italian islands and 5 penthouses in London and New York.

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‘Some people take money in loans to buy new cars, which are more expensive than military jets.’ I repeated to him in reply. ‘Who pays for your multi-hour phone conversations from the other side of the ocean?’

Who can blame us?

   We’re spending our fortunes without investing into pension funds, medical insurance and the rest of what other people always must do.

   We both foresaw our inevitable future.
   We couldn’t celebrate our year-fifth sex anniversary.

   God didn’t want it.

   The priests waited for us in vain to confess about our homosexual sins.

   Eddie wanted to die alone in his house in London, which was alien to him.

   It rained and I was crying in the hall of the Great Freddie Mercury.

   He died quietly without much pain.

   I knew it was about two years or less until I would meet his soul, there!

   I’m still in love with him until ETERNITY.

   Rudolf said: ‘I accept Yuri, that I gave you praise for this. It went heartedly and well. Except that, tears are now suffocating me. I choke on the thought of my rightness.  I was so right not to pray to ALLAH for an easy life. I did and do pray to ALLAH for an easy DEATH! Doesn’t it sound like the wisdom of predecessors?’

He was trying to avoid the words ‘good-bye’ and ‘see you later’ after Mercury’s funeral. I never broke this TABOO. I tried to be first at conversation to say ‘Hi! How are you?’ and eluded the phrase ‘good bye’.


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   12. Chapter: START AGAIN


‘COME ON! Let’s do some recollections of… my Freddie! Talk to me please,’ started Rudolf.

‘Is that not going to be the repetition of what we have been talking about all these days? Won’t you swear? Something would definitely go wrong, wouldn't it?’

‘No. Let’s talk all over and over again! I am getting calmed when talking about him. Just tell me, where are you now?’

‘I am on board of a yacht, don’t you know? Something like a hundred miles from Cairns. The Barrier Reef is wonderful! I am with two friends. They are a sea captain David and my boyfriend Garry Roebuck. You know them very well! They were with me at the … fortieth celebration of Mercury’s. And the radiophone connects us via Australian sputniks.’

     ‘I can hear you very well! As for me, I am with my favorite dog. This is my setter DUNDY. We are now on my Mediterranean island Li Galli. I am kissing him on his nose, can you hear, my ‘big smack’? He can’t stand solitude. This is why it is lucky that he lives here with my villa-keeper Giovanni. He is going to be at 29 years of age soon… my Rottweiler named Solaria. I wish we could celebrate his jubilee before my funeral!’

‘My dog-male Solaria is blowing a kiss to your male-dog Dundee! He is here now, on the deck. I will bring him to your island to see you! When the time comes… Now listen to what I have got in my computer. Possibly, these are the notes for my book about you and him…’

‘Oh, no doubt they are!’ Nureyev yelled sarcastically.   

   I started reading my text without paying attention at the obvious ‘attacks’ directed at me.

‘Freddie gave to his friends twenty million dollars for their personal needs. Md. MARY AUSTIN is presented with three million pounds and all his cats who moved ‘across the street’ from his first house in Kensington.  Not far from the palace of the deceased. The paintings by Katsushika Hokusai and age-old impressionists were given out to the friends of his youth and childhood…’

‘He was and is a wonderful child!’ started Mr. Nureyev... ‘Can you imagine our Farrokh Bulsara or Freddie Mercury as we know him, in

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   Zanzibar? Is his faraway childhood a dream? Indian Ocean! A fairy tale from antique Persia! Certainly, this fairy tale of fairy tales… ‘1,000 and One Night’! So much there about the feeling of love, of women, magicians and gods! I just can see him ‘over there’ as a blindingly handsome teen.

‘Do you know why his father, a clerk in an English trade firm, took him over to Bombay when he was about five? His father gained a position as a lawyer the day before! This became an occasion to leave Zanzibar… FOREVER. There was a need to arrange a classical English education for Frederick, Freddie! This is how it happened. The boy became utterly absorbed in the world of tennis, boxing and piano. Of course, you’re aware of that. They became his favorite hobbies. As a 14 year old he already lived in the London suburb of FELTHAM. His parents are still living in that house.

‘The son’s education did not alter their way of life, feelings and religion. When he was at the age of 20, in 1966, Freddie started going to the School of Arts in Kensington… that is right opposite from the famous London Park. It is very near to the residence of the Queen and the Prince Philip. Just across the park, everything is nearby. All these palaces are in a stone’s throw.

‘Everyone still remembers his motley shirts and velvet trousers. He used to tell me about the boredom of ‘making out’ projects for the fashionable designs of detergents packaging.’

In the end of the line, the music won and changed his fate.

‘The Persian and Iranian became British and enriched the CULTURE OF THE BRITISH CROWN. Moreover! Be attentive to my following words! It is critically important. Listen!  He was born on September of 5th, 1946. He was a VIRGO when he was alive. He left for the other world in the body of a SAGITTARIUS. A sheep ‘AGNUS DEI’ made its home in his heart. Listen, Yuri! You must compile and read his ‘HOROSCOPE BEFORE BIRTH’ and ‘HOROSCOPE AFTER DEATH’!’

‘I will fax you the answer. Don’t object, Rudolf…’

‘I am going to switch on the CD with ‘I AM GOING SLIGHTLY MAD’ for you.

‘Don’t forget me as an egoist! This is a requiem for me,’ He was laughing Freddie Mercury at himself. I remember some words of his. I want to cry.’ I heard the first notes of this masterpiece and the radiophone went off. I could feel Rudolf wanting to stay on his own.


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   13. Chapter: PROPHECY


   THE SAME DAY, I faxed NUREYEV what he wanted.

‘That 1946 was the year of the FIRE DOG in the astral worlds:

   These people possess special human traits. They are faithful and honest. They can keep secrets and therefore regarded as credible by friends and enemies. They are often egotistic. They are incredibly stubborn and eccentric. They have strife for richness. They are always with money. At the same time, these people are emotional, cold and unsociable. Their view of many things is critical. They are known for their sharp tongue. They are fond of standing for fairness. They know for sure and clearly for what they need to fight. They would start and are determined to finish successfully. The victory is theirs without exception. Good leaders are coming of them...’

‘They are ideal friends or partners for Horses, Tigers and Rabbits. They fit more or less Rats, Snakes, Monkeys, Dogs and Bulls...’

‘They definitely don’t fit and are counter-indicative to Dragons and Goats, as they may bring misfortune to these signs...’


‘Rudolf read the text! This is the horoscope of Freddie’s before his death. I am calling it ‘Horoscope Before’. See! He is a DOG. You were ideally ‘fitting’ your beloved. Sorry for the word ‘were’. I did not mean to hurt you. You were and will stay the TIGER forever...’



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   14. Chapter: NAKED PUZZLE


   THE NEXT DAY, I sent NUREYEV an additional fax.

   I knew he was looking forward to ‘seeing’ me at the island in Mediterranean. However, the phone was silent. I was mistaken this time. After some persistent questioning, I got an idea that he had left for Paris after midnight.

‘1991: THE YEAR OF GOAT OR SHEEP IN ASTRAL WORLD. They are gifted with talent in fine arts. At first sight, they seem to be luckier than the others are… They are often shy and inclined for pessimism. They are helpless in front of life. They do not know the path they should keep too... They are usually religious and emotional. They rarely become leaders. Not notable for eloquence, they always defend their beliefs and love their work. As a rule, they do not have enough money but love comfort. They are allotted with fine taste. They are soft, reasonable, and kind...’

‘They ideally fit as friends or partners Rabbits, Boars, Pigs or Horses...’

‘They fit more or less well Tigers, Dragons, Snakes, Sheep – Goats or Monkeys...’

‘They definitely don’t fit and are counter-indicative to Ox - Bull and Dog, as they may bring misfortune to these signs...’

Having finished faxing I have recorded for the answering machine in Paris:

‘You see, Rudolf! After his death, Freddie moved to Astral World as an ‘AGNUS DEI’. You started to lose him. You stayed in the ‘background’. The thing is that he is almost ‘counter-indicative’ for ASTRAL TIGER. Having become the ‘AGNUS’, he preserved, however, all his gifts for the fine arts… You remember that Goat and Sheep are the same in here...’

‘Please note! You should not die this year. If you die today, you would bring misfortune for Freddie, as you are a Tiger, a special one – EARTH TIGER. Today is December 3, 1991...’ / / http://proza.ru/diary/yuri2008/2022-07-16 /  1- 670 pages...