Sidney by Rudolf Nureyev Without Make Up Australia
Rudolf Nureyev about Sidney by Yuri Matthew Ryuntyu, Australia. Þðè Ì Ðþíòþ
SIDNEY
I hear a shaky voice, as his vocal chords aren’t vibrating coolly.
It’s like mournful storks flying triangularly from Europe to warmer climates.
I hear how he says good-bye with me forever... At that moment the dream vanished.
I saw it after lunch when I finished a conversation with myself. Of course it’s all about him, my friend Sidney.
I forgot to say that he isn’t here anymore. It’s already four years since he died.
It all happened when I slept, I wrote what he dictated. Now my dream is in my hands.
He shivered from the thought of being caught under suspicion and immediately forced from his position. Stupid and careless glances on the street drove him to the limit of self-destruction. The disappearance of the secret that he’s gay since childhood enhanced his paranoia. It’s nearly insanity. You can’t run from yourself. He’s petrified of himself to madness. This is inescapable and inconsolable. How... it torments him endlessly.
It’s important to gain a life saving prescription. Nobody can change his fate. That’s why he hides from himself there. It’s the only place where you can lose yourself and self-ego. Did you know that the answer’s simple? His work is timeless and difficult. It’s spell binding and gives the illusion of drowsiness. In other words, it’s the end and a complete tragedy. Now Sidney is scheming up another fib about himself.
It all starts when he shaves clean his head and buys a plane ticket to a new town. He screams at himself; “I want anyone.” He forgets about being careful and runs to meet anybody. “I’ll dive in the pants of any gays. Without being picky, fault finding or careful,” his lips whisper. What? His reason is triumphant.
He suddenly freezes from disgrace to be delivered to the police. How many of them are there? How many of them are around? They all retell happenings, when the undercover limb of the law, races and hunts for those, like him... who is gay. No, not in …… the jungle. It’s under bright daylight in every toilet of the city.
This thought simmers down his lust and shame transforms into unbearable physical pain. He collapses on the park bench. “Nobody will touch me here,” he suggested to himself. The prediction of being caught “red handed” took a strangle hold onto his heart. If it happens, then everything would be so simple. Sidney made an irreversible decision to commit suicide immediately in a jail cell or already straightaway the police car. His hands grope mistrustfully for his sewn in razor blade in his tie. Yes, everything is in its place and this amazing “toy” is waiting for his self-sacrifice.
I understand his confession and pity this poor bloke, but know that I can’t help. I’m not capable to change the life around him. That isn’t the worst of all.
You see God honored him with a British fleet. Nothing is worth being sick of an illusion or from over anxiousness. Please, God save him from suspicions if somebody knows his little blue secret. It would unfold an inevitable catastrophe for sure.
He is certain to leave the naval headquarters and bury himself alive in inebriation. I can feel it and see how Sidney worries from these premonitions. I pray to God that it never happens. I want him to know happiness and not just in a home for unsuccessful alcoholics, which is always seen on TV. Is it really better what I could wish him?
We never talked about the future fate of his punishment for his sins. I know that it will happen one day, from my fantasies. I have already predicted everything for him as a rare clear day in London. You see God; I perhaps have even fallen in love with him. Thank God that he didn’t guess it. He’s such a gawk, that marine... Sidney. He never even thought about it. He can’t even think to allow having a lover in his own town, nor on the corner of his villa. I know that he’s right and his decision is irreversible. He hasn’t my flippancy. Sidney never took me seriously as a male neighbor.
He’s not searching for a permanent lover. No, no. Never. He promised himself to make the right decision before he started his Navy career. I’m glad that he chose for himself long ago, which means that he never broke his word. “He never mixed feelings for business and passions etc.”
I know that today he is already 33 and “lives” for more than 20 years to wear his gay make-up. I saw more than once that walking on a razor's edge drains most of his strength. What amorousness is there when his internal tranquility is lost? He knows himself superbly, this Sidney campaigner. He needs unreserved self-control. If it’s missing, then everything is fatally worse. He hears how he refuses to voice over the microphone, when he criticizes gays as enemies of the country. He sees how his uncooperative fingers shake. Without … sincere inspiration … there can’t be anymore “acting” and …… without it Sidney can’t survive in this world. He is and remains a slave to his sexuality. Inside Sidney lives a “warrior” with gays for the sake of his own fight with himself. Here is his secret. Life for the sake of life is incomprehensible to him. For Sidney there are only games everywhere and in everything around.
The duplicity of self-destruction is a poisonous narcotic for sparkling personalities. I can’t save him from himself. He doesn’t recognize his own face in the world. He’s with people all the time and that’s why in make-up. It’s so annoying. Sidney even married so that there were no suspicions. It all turned out for the worst. Now he’s in torment and unknown torture. It’s the cruelest violation over oneself and it’s impossible to imagine.
Isn’t that right, Sidney?
He wasn’t granted with anything else. He’s right about it. He’s chased himself into a corner... forever.
Like me, he believes that there is no escape, knowing that suspicion and antagonism rules the world of people’s tempers.
If you want to be in the Navy or Army, then it’s an unconditional term. If not you’ll be kicked out. Headquarters will crush you, if you don’t submit to its will. Your colleagues will rip to shreds your career, if you for an instant let your mask slip. Sidney was forced to lie and without any shame before him and his Fleet Headquarters. Look everyone in the eye and with your officer's head held high.
You’re a remarkable man, Sidney. Your belonging to the fleet is the best make-up to camouflage your feminized sensuality. You’re a born hero.
Here is a savior from any cynical praise. Sidney must be like them that pack of castrated humans’ souls. None of them will ever forgive you and me, for their own sexual sins that they can’t ponder with their own chicken convolutions
The everyday fleet rituals must be stable like the thick layer of dust on the dilapidated ship’s lounges. Keep fooling everyone with your idiotic games for the glory of the fleet. If you are like everyone in everyday “dust” then your life is simple and happy. Officers for your sake love you.
To be like everyone means to be no one. It’s the recipe for those craving to be nothing special as the noticeable “dust”. The main thing is that it’s difficult to accumulate; its plight can’t fly away like a seagull.
How should Sidney be colorless and ordinary? Isn’t it equal to suicide? For officers, like him this invisibility is agonizing and poisons the soul. Remember, Sidney you’re too distinctive. London isn’t Paris you know. They notice everything here and you can’t escape from the stuff of dust blowers, eaters and collectors. You know the features of the headquarter environment.
This thought is very disturbing to me. The dream about him occupied me so much that I forgot about myself. I painfully search for an escape from such trap, where fate, life and career are mutually incompatible. How can an officer survive and save himself? I want him to know laughter and happiness. Oh, my dearest Sidney.
“Yes” he stresses. “It’s coming again and again into my head. It’s remarkable that it doesn’t give me any peace,” his echo rebounds deafly from the damp snow.
Yes, I’m right we’re thinking about one and the same thing. Here is concealed mourning for homosexuality, that is surely to be punishable. It must be smashed, burnt and shredded to death.
“What are you talking about? Where did it take place and at what precise time,” I ponder over such problem.
I’m lost for words. Life is already difficult enough and so unpredictable. I only want to see Sidney rejoicing there where he can find sanctuary from unnecessary grief. I agree with you, that his tragedy is the unfair... fleet regime and it’s the core of all his sufferings.
Look at us with you. We feel the same things. Is there something wrong with us? Why do we lie to each other?
“Even if there is a hundred years between us,” he cuts himself short and adds in delight as he tosses his fleet regulation manual over his head.
“What if we were born in different times, in different countries and from different religions? Aren’t we from different races?” he concludes.
“I see, that we are very... similar, although I’m no seaman. I agree and trust him to take my body without fear, my mulatto brother, Sidney, a brother in gay-hood,” I add and lower my eyes peacefully.
“And you believe, that I trust you in everything? Even those sea-war secrets, that I want to erase from my memory?” Sidney asked.
I come closer and stretched out my hands in greeting. That’s all I can do in response.
“It’s for you as a sign of my love. That’s all. It’s so simple, so simple. What else do I have for you?”
“Strange... that I lied to myself, that you can’t read my mind,” he whispered, but hardly audible.
No, it’s not true. That’s not how it is. They are not thoughts. They’re our feelings and they’re working right now accidentally before our eyes.
Didn’t we only just learn to understand something about each other? Maybe it’s just what we need to unite you and my fates? We never guessed about it before. It disclosed itself. Is it true that we are beginning to live together, taking care of each other? My hasty words … race openly in … a whisper … half whisper … and absolutely soundless. Now I want to look into his eyes in silence. I said everything that I could. I seem to see that his eyes respond somehow.
Sidney finally glows with joy and love towards me.
“You’re the first one that I wanted to spill my feelings to,” he confessed, slowly and carefully selecting his words.
I remain silent. I already have the answer. I know the right words, but don’t want to rush him. I feel that he’s extremely lucky. The possibility of our meeting is now obvious. We aren’t talking about stopping for a smoke on the steps of the King’s theater. I was tired and as usual left the theater between acts. He stood intuitively timid from my presence. He gazed at me as if he was catching a falling star. It’s the same one from the pictures and not from the sky.
I like everything about him immediately. Which is a contradiction to his movements. He does undeceive in which direction his moods want to go. It’s uncertain at whom he’s looking from his slanting eyes. The fatality of our meeting hinders us to transform our thoughts... into phrases, which demands artificial etiquette.
I notice that his lips start to quiver. His tongue licked them to expose his teeth slightly. I look as if dumbfounded from the usual win at bingo. I don’t doubt that I’m similar to fool. My sincerity frightens me; it’s the same feeling when I first discovered him for myself. The nakedness of my soul is self-destructive.
Those cruel mistrusting slaps in the face petrify me to death. Once … I lacked the sense of danger … but now I’m afraid to be odd and … out of place. What about it anyway? Isn’t it frightening to be one of “them”? Wasn't it always thought of as intrusive? Maybe it’s just the feeling of forgotten love?
Yes, that’s right? Have you ever, my dear overseer experienced such in your life? Were you ever an idiot, just for an instant? Tell me seriously, when you … have been … like a rotter …… for the last time? What did I hear? Did you say… “Yesterday”? If that’s true than I’m jealous of you. You’re one day happier than me. I’ve lost... that yesterday’s day forever. Nobody can return it to me.
I became struck dumb again... immediately. Now … it … seems possible … and it’ll last ...until ... the rest … of my life. If such thing has never happened to you than I pity you. You were perfect, cleaver, calculative and gentle... and always reasonable. God, isn’t that a cruel punishment to be so perfect.
Have you ever known, how life is created? Have you ever lived or were you born long ago, dead?
I can’t distinguish where are his and where are my, words. They are very identical, these words. It all fused together in a dual monologue. We talked about everything, butting in on each other, like two mating tropical birds singing the same chorus of love vows.
Yes, the sailor is “waking” me to life. I open my mouth to utter one more single word, “love”. My eyes are shut as I feel my face flaring in shame. Everything we had been together, except for my one single word and this tiny four-letter word... tore us apart.
“Me,” he squealed in fright and his hands that were stuck under his buckle flapped in fear. Suddenly he straightens his fleet’s uniform and smoothes the creases in his pants.
“Yes, you,” I say dryly and firmly and threw an un - extinguished cigarette under his soles.
Sidney was stuck dumb as he stomped out the butt with his heel, to hiss like a snake. He wasn’t able to look me in the eye. He refused my insatiable love, so ran back to the theater balcony to his seat.
I sat on a chair in my private make-up room. I accepted that my fate had already been previously decided. Now I know that my search for love makes me weak. Maybe it hasn’t room in my heart, which is crammed with falsity... and hypocrisy. It’s where feelings are accidental people on the stage that are entangled around the props and decorations.
My treacherous fate is useless to me? It stiffens around me to carve me into a wooden stage for people to stamp and dance me into sawdust. My love isn’t a stage; it’s a whole theater that’s built for a solo actor. I am the only actor who’s brave enough to perform here.
I strained to my feet and stand in front of the mirror. My place isn’t here. I don’t go when the bell rings and usually ushers me to the second act. I detest the thought of returning to the stage and watch Sidney’s performance in the role of the non-homosexual. My heart jolts in a spasm, its veins that were full of blood are now drained, they’re like dried up creeks in a scorching drought that plagues that sunburnt country down under.
The director of the theater comes rushing in with panic plastered over his face, screaming... “Don’t ruin me! What’s with you this time?”
I transferred my heavy breathing and pried my eyes from my reflection in the mirror. I’m the only unique star here and there’s no one to dance for me, so I finally agree to continue the show.
Suddenly I hear his loud voice as he says something behind my back. The music echoes from the orchestra and the applause roars. Everything is as usual. I’m overjoyed as Sidney pushes me onto the stage. He returned back to me.
My nerves cramp into a bundle. Could it be stage fright? My eyelids slam shut as I reject my pretense. I want to sparkle like a star in front of Sidney, who craves for me more and more. I want to dance only for him. It’s the only thing that’s on my mind. Such thought congeals my heart into glass. My glory became my desire. I accepted it as my second self. The next second I leap and seem to float in the air before his enraptured eyes.
Nureyev the solo performer dances, then suddenly the music stops and it’s over, then I’m again in my make-up suite. I’m surrounded by flowers from my fans of the performance.
Unexpectedly behind me I hear a gasping breath that increases its force like that of a hurricane. I freeze petrified as I feel his kiss. My neck swells as my hands cover the traces of his impetuousness. In a flash he vanished. I knew that it was he, my Sidney.
I don’t need to open my eyes, to prove it. It’s a long awaited first kiss that made me more and more ecstatic. My neck blisters as I try to soothe such a burning kiss. I’ve never felt such fire. Maybe it’s a cigar burn? I sniff the fragrant air, no there’s no smoke, and it’s the scent of his saliva.
I pour involuntarily with unrestrained laughter. I’m an utter fool. I sense lipstick from the fleeting kiss. My imagination plays tricks on me, which pisses me off. Why see him in these dreams. I need to touch him in reality to see his real color and hear his exhaustion of our lovemaking. Am I still sleeping? I know such things can never be. I wonder what color lipstick a sea wolf prefers. Could it be aqua-blue?
It wounds me deeply to think that it wasn’t him. “Who was it then, his woman?” I ask myself. Of course only a woman can kiss like that. I feel as if I’m sentenced to the guillotine and there’s no way out. I'm damned to go to hell.
“Who kissed me? Why is my heart still beating?” I scream at the ballet dancers, who stare at me coldly through the bouquet of flowers.
“Was it he, the one playing Madam Giselle. Could she be a lady without make-up? It’s absolutely absurd. It’s John, your long time admirer,” they all answer in chorus at my disbelief.
I can’t hold back anymore,
so “cleverly” turn from my stomach to my back,
to start dreaming about someone else...
I slowly dawdle along the Thames on my way home.
I escaped from my encounter with him, knowing that he’s coming nearer.
This time I don’t want to tease my fate.
I don’t need this starry night without him or to be alone.
I’d like to divide my feelings between us.
I want to cry out from my loneliness.
The only remedy for such fatal case is to let him catch me.
I don’t know what to do tonight, alone with myself.
I’m sure that someone will be waiting for me tomorrow.
It’s the first time that it’s happened in my life. Sidney comes to me as I sleep.
My dream skips to the front step of my blue house.
I recognize him as the Navy officer who sits in his enormous limousine.
My legs collapse from weakness and I fall onto the lawn.
I haven’t the strength to cross the street or to struggle from one lamppost to another.
“What if Sidney came to say, “sorry”, rushes through my head.
I’m sure that my world fame means something to him.
That’s not the same with me.
The theater doesn’t mean more to me than my life. What can I do?
I’m a ballet superstar, but feel like someone else.
Who’s the buffoons fortified in their own hermit’s shell.
I’m a poor billionaire trapped in my palace cell...
Here my dream breaks apart and
I go towards the door, where my neighbor,
the Navy staff officer, Sidney K., is standing.
He’s out of salt and asks something salty for his favorite mutt... Jerry.
Referees about Yuri Matthew Ryuntyu, Australia
Þðè Ì Ðþíòþ
1995. Ryuntyu, Yuri Matthew, «Rudy Nureyev: Without Make-up»
Published by «Novoste», Moscow, Russia: 1-352 (in Russian)
ISBN 5-7020-0981-9
Sold 260 000 copies in Russia: 1995-2005
2009: ÑÅÐÈß ÈÇ 10 ÊÍÈÃ Þðè Ìýòòüþ Ðþíòþ
Publication Announcement-2009 Australia RU
Charitable Organization “The World Patrick White Intellectual Heritage: Australia” starting publication of the 10-Books of Australian Writer Yuri Ryuntyu in this year of his the 60-th jubilee: 1949-2009 in English, Russian and French:
Book 1
2009 ROCK IDOL & SUPERSTAR: Freddie Mercury and Rudolf Nureyev
ISBN 978-0-9806446-0-9 ART DOCUMENTARY: 1938-1993
Book 2
2009 RUDY NUREYEV: WITHOUT MAKE-UP
ISBN 978-0-9806446-1-6 SHORT STORY
Book 3
2009 ROUDI NOUREEV: Sans Maquillage
ISBN 978-0-9806446-2-3 SHORT STORY
Book 4
ISBN 978-0-9806446-3-0 BALLET DOCUMENTARY: 1910-1997
2009 ÎÄÍÎÒÎÌÍÈÊ ÂÅËÈÊÈÅ ÍÅÌÛÅ: ÍÓÐÅÅÂ ÓËÀÍÎÂÀ ÄÓÄÈÍÑÊÀß ÝÑÀÌÁÀÅÂ ÏËÈÑÅÖÊÀß ÀÞÕÀÍÎÂ
Book 5
2009 ÑÓÏÅÐÇÂÅÇÄÀ & ÐÎÊ-ÈÄÎË : ÍÓÐÅÅÂ È ÌÅÐÊÞÐÈ
ISBN 978-0-9806446-4-7 ART DOCUMENTARY: 1938-1993
Book 6
ISBN 978-0-9806446-5-4 THEATRE DOCUMENTARY: 1917-1997
2009 ÎÄÍÎÒÎÌÍÈÊ ÐÅÊÂÈÅÌ ÄËß ÔÀÐÈÑÅß: ÞÐÈÉ ËÞÁÈÌÎÂ
Book 7
ISBN 978-0-9806446-6-1 SCIENCE FICTION
2009 ÎÄÍÎÒÎÌÍÈÊ ÏÀÐÀËËÅËÜÍÛÅ ÌÈÐÛ: ÀÍÄÐÅÉ ÒÀÐÊÎÂÑÊÈÉ
Book 8
ISBN 978-0-9806446-7-8 SHORT STORY
2009 ÎÄÍÎÒÎÌÍÈÊ ÑÊÀÇÊÈ ÑÒÀÐÎÃÎ ×ÅËÎÂÅÊÀ
Book 9
ISBN 978-0-9806446-8-5 THEATRE DOCUMENTARY: 1936-1996
2009 ÎÄÍÎÒÎÌÍÈÊ ÐÅÖÅÏÒ ÄËß ÃÅÍÈß: ÐÎÌÀÍ ÂÈÊÒÞÊ
Book 10
2009 ÐÓÄÈ ÍÓÐÅÅÂ: ÁÅÇ ÌÀÊÈßÆÀ
ISBN 978-0-9806446-9-2 SHORT STORY
ÑÅÐÈß ÈÇ 35 ÊÍÈÃ Þðè Ìýòòüþ Ðþíòþ: Youri Mathieu Runtu: Yuri Matthew RYUNTYU - ÏÐÎÔÈÍÀÍÑÈÐÎÂÀÍA ÑÓÏÅÐÇÂÅÇÄÀÌÈ ÌÈÐÎÂÎÉ ÈÍÒÅËËÅÊÒÓÀËÜÍÎÉ ÝËÈÒÛ È ÌÓËÜÒÈÌÈËËÈÎÍÅÐÀÌÈ ÍÓÐÅÅÂÛÌ http://rudolfnureyev.com.au/ È ÔÐÝÄÄÈ ÌÅÐÊÜÞÐÈ http://mercuryfreddie.com.au/, ÓÎÐÕÎËÎÌ http://warholandy.com.au/ È ÓÀÉÒÎÌ http://patrickwhite.com.au/ ÄËß ÁÅÇÂÎÇÌÅÇÄÍÎÃÎ ÐÀÑÏÐÎÑÒÐÀÍÅÍÈß Â 200 ÑÒÐÀÍÀÕ ÑÎÄÐÓÆÅÑÒÂÀ ÎÎÍ c 1998-2008.
Ïèñàòåëü Þðè Ìýòüþ Ðþíòþ:
ÐÓÑÑÊÎE ÇÀÐÓÁÅÆÜE: ÀÂÑÒÐÀËÈß
Àâñòðàëèàía Ëèòåðàòóðà Póññêîãî 3àðóáåæüÿ
Yuri Matthew Ryuntyu was born in KIZHI, ONEGA LAKE, Russia. Following his studies at the Academy of Science, Yuri Matthew RYUNTYU moved to Sydney (Australia) and worked, most notably, as a medico-biology scientist. A prizewinning scholar and academician, he has published a 45 books of literary and cultural criticism, including <The Recipe for the Genius>, <The Requiem for the Foresee>, <The Grate Surrenders>, <Abreast and Profile of The Imperial Russian Ballet> and <The Apostolic Silver Age of Russian Culture>. He has also written for such publication as the World of News, the Book Review, the Theatre Life, the Pravda, the Moscow Evening, the Moscow Pravda, the Megapolis Express and the Evening Club about Poetry, Literature, Movies, Religion, History, Music, Opera, Ballet, Politics and Australian Arts, where he is a contributing editor. His literary works and articles are available in English, French, Russian, German, Japanese and Kazakh for readers. Ryuntyu was able to dedicate himself entirely to literature following the success of <Rudolf Nureyev: without Make-up> in Russia, a gloomy satire on sexuality published in 1995. Ryuntyu’s ironic and often disillusioned perception of the state of affairs in Russia during and after the Communist occupation produced a body of work that is still at the forefront of twentieth-century Russian and Australian literature. A most famous: <The Temptation: Boris Yeltsin>, <On the Way of the Cross: Alexander Solzhenitsyn>, <Idol Russian Gay Culture: Sergey Paradzhanov> and <The Meditation: Bella Akhmadulina and Joseph Brodsky> http://ryuntyu.com/8o/ Yuri Ryuntyu live in Cairns, Great Barrier Reef, Australia + Ðþíòþ o Êóëüòóðe Ðîññèÿí â ÑØÀ The Ronald Reagan Presidential Library and Museum USA http://www.reaganlibrary.com/
+ http://ryuntyu.com/BIBLIOGRAPHY.htm + http://ryuntyu.com/DIPLOMA.htm
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