CLAIR DE LUNE'S
Part 1's

A long time ago— one hundred and fifty years ago—ada a girl named Clair-de-Lune, who could not speak.

He lived with his grandmother in the roof basement of a tall, narrow, old building, six stories high with twelve rows of steep steps between each floor. They are very poor. But they are also very noble, meaning grandmother

Clair-de-Lune was very concerned about the etiquette of eating and polite behavior of a woman, and was more willing to die of starvation than was considered ignorant of manners.

In winter, their dwellings were cold, and the wind blew through the cracks around the window sills, and snow floated down through the ceiling. But, in the spring and heat, the sparrows, kites, pigeons, and virgins flocked in through the windows, and, and Clair-de-Lune usually wakes up in the morning hearing the melodious sound of wingspans

the birds.

Clair-de-Lune's grandmother used to be a ballerina, and so did her mother. So, it is not surprising that every morning, from Monday to Saturday, Clair-de-Lune is in a room that is wide and long, three floors below where he lives. Together twenty girls and another boy they practice ballet on a stern trainer named Monsieur Dupoint. During the day he studied Earth Sciences, History, French, and Italian, or went to the market, shopping for his grandmother, and then went to the market, she is very fragile (even though her body is slender and upright like a young woman), and rarely comes out of her home. On Sunday, Clair-de-Lune went to church, where she opened her mouth according to the songs she sang, but did not

sing.

Why can't Clair-de-Lune talk? Uh! No one knows. His mother died when he was a baby, and it is said that the incident has something to do with the situation.

Mother Clair-de-Lune—, known as La Lune, means Moon— is an unforgettable ballerina because of a famous pas seul dance movement at the end of a tragic and beautiful ballet dance about

the geese, who, it is said, were mute until the last moment of their lives, and it was at that moment that they sang the most beautiful songs.

Years before the first staging of the Swan Lake dance, and years before Anna Pavlova took control of the dance world with The Dying Swan, La Lune played the role of a goose wounded by the arrow of a hunter, wearing a white tutu made of layers of tulle and goose feathers. And even though La Lune didn't make a sound, because that's what ballerinas used to do, one night the audience swore they heard it

singing the strangest song; it was as if the dance was so beautiful that it could be heard. That night, as she plopped down on stage at the end of her dance, folding herself like a bird, she piled her head between the tulle and the feather of a bird in her skirt, and did not rise again.

“Brava! Brava!” there was the screams of the spectators. Their applause and cheers rumbled like lightning. At first, no one realized what was happening. A few moments passed before the spectators felt confused and

then it fell silent; before the screen closed quickly and a doctor was brought in; before the audience began to whisper, then muttered to each other. Then there was an announcement from the show leader, interspersed with sobs:

“Guests, La Lune is dead! Her heart doctor said weak—too weak to dance—if only we knew..!” Attendees

sobbing, and flowers came from all over the country for weeks.

Some backstage at the eve of La Lune's death said not the song they heard, but the sentence; that La Lune, the mute goose, the ballerina, was the, he died trying to say something.

Regarding Clair-de-Lune—, La Lune fans do not even know of its existence. But he was backstage that night, and

Does Clair-de-Lune not want to talk? Aw,

reader! It seemed, Clair-de-Lune, with the passing of days, her chest grew heavier bearing unspoken words.

# # #

Every morning, hot or rainy—even in the winter when it snows to earth—Clair-de-Lune kneels in her chair by the window, opens the window, puts her elbow on the window ledge, gazes out, trying talk.

Sometimes, when the sun is shining, or even

it rained, he was happy sitting in his chair. It feels peaceful when staring out the window, comfortable to be alone and not distracted. Suddenly he was alone staring at the sight, and the sight seemed to stare back at him, liked him, and did not care if he was mute.

But, more often he felt sad, because he wanted to be able to

speakin. However, no matter how he tried, no sound came out of his mouth. He stared at the roofs of houses that were red tanned—because that was all that could be seen from his window—roof houses of brownish red stone with uneven slope, waterways, towers in the distance; a black cat was climbing on the opposite roof; the chimney; the virgins;

sparrows; kites; pigeons and a blue square— on a sunny day—which is the sky. While he stared, longing arose, until tears emerged from his eyes, welled up, and roofs

the red looks blurry too.

Then his grandmother would call and tell him

he quickly changed his clothes, because he had to go to class at nine; and he would pull back his head and obey his grandmother's orders.

To attend class every morning, Clair-de-Lune

wearing pink stockings, exercise shoes, a white dress made from a slim-waisted muslin material, and matching pants, which are three inches long under a calf-long skirt. The dress is modeled decolettee— means it opens on the neck and shoulders—and like other girls, she styled her hair with the middle hemisphere and then a small bun on the nape of her neck. A net of black hair keeps her hair always tidy. The whole outfit is a compromise between simplicity and practicality,

so that as many body parts as possible can be seen when dancing. But what is more important is simplicity. At that time Clair-de-Lune was learning to dance en pointe—dancing over the tip of his toe—so he brought his pointe shoes to his class in a strappy bag, along with a clean handkerchief. As was the custom of the dancers of the time, he reinforced his pointe shoes with additional stitching and a layer of muslin fabric that was stowed on his toes.

Seriate…