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She gave out these details in spurts, in no particular order, as if there were gaps in her memory. For instance, she didn’t say a word about her parents, or about many other things. I sensed it was pointless to ask. She wouldn’t answer. The past seemed so distant to her that all she had left was fr…

At first, I had a hard time keeping up with her, but eventually I got used to her pace. And little by little the feeling of emptiness, of profound stagnation that took hold of me at certain times of day, melted away. It was if she was pulling me along and helping me rise to the surface.

Then he got up, leaving me alone with them, and went to join two men sitting in the armchairs near the bar. I have only a disjointed memory of that evening, as if it had unfolded on a staccato rhythm, faster and faster. Who was the man at the table with the ballerina that evening? It could not have…

That was the most uncertain period of my life. I was nothing. Day after day, it felt like I was drifting in the streets and that there was no difference between me and those sidewalks, those lights, to the point of becoming invisible. And yet I had the example of someone who practiced a difficult a…

[...] Dance, Kniaseff used to say, is a discipline that enables you to survive. One evening, he was sitting with her at the bar in Studio Wacker, in the muted light. They were alone, class having ended long before. He told her that this discipline gives real meaning to life and keeps you from drift…