Extinguished femininity

I never got that conversation with Ilya. I was taken home, still hoping we would talk eventually—I wanted it so much back then. In the rented Kharkiv apartment, I planned to get some good sleep, since I’d been awake for nearly twenty-four hours, but sleep wouldn’t come. I wasn’t even tired; I was in a state of euphoria, reliving everything and recording it in my diary, reconstructing the sequence of events date by date, starting from my arrival in Kharkiv.
The next shoots weren't long in coming, but the talk with Ilya still hadn't happened. It discouraged me, but I didn’t dare approach him myself. There was always a frantic bustle at the studio, an atmosphere that signaled: Something serious is happening here, something Grand is being created—and you, girl, with your whims, want to distract serious people with your ridiculous questions?
And so, Katya was hired as Dau’s housekeeper. As for me, they decided to make me Nora’s housekeeper. I was simply presented with a fait accompli, even though I hadn't met "Nora" (the character) or Radmila (the actress) yet. Nastya was hired as Alexey Trifonov’s secretary.
Nastya, Katya, and I were dressed, made up, and our hair was done. This time, I wasn't given the lilac dress (which was still hanging in the wardrobe, waiting for its hour); instead, I was put into some god-awful dark blue wool dress with a collar that choked my neck, along with some white attachments—a collar and an apron—to emphasize my status as a maid. Putting all this on, I no longer felt like a free person who had made her own choice and respected herself. I felt like a rag doll, a marionette in someone else's hands, fulfilling someone else's will.
To top it off, we were issued metal safety razors where the blades had to be inserted manually, along with a spare blade.
That evening, Katya and I arrived to live and work at the Institute. I eventually had to leave for a while, though I don’t remember why—it seems something was unfolding between Katya and Dau, so I was sent away. But before I left, Dau spoke with us, stating that he desperately wanted to abolish all hierarchy. He wanted everyone to feel free, to do as they pleased and support one another. He suggested we shouldn't walk around the house in uniforms, but rather "flutter about" in beautiful chemises, nearly naked. His "line" was pointedly opposed to the totalitarian atmosphere that permeated the Institute and the studio. He also mentioned that his friend (Trifonov) had allowed himself too much—that he was a liar and a trickster—but told us not to take it to heart, as he was a "very good person and a wonderful friend."
Then, he gave everyone the task to "shave." In my free life, I had always loved experimenting with such things; after all, I was an art-nude model. I would either shave everything bald or grow everything out—armpits and pubic hair—and then do a shoot. It was an aesthetic of naturalness. Since I was preparing to be in a film about the 1950s, I had long stopped shaving anything, including my legs and armpits.
Nora (Radmila) was already present on set by then; that’s where we first met. She didn't object to Dau’s views on the lack of hierarchy in the house, though in his absence, she let her commanding tone run wild. But that day, she exuded a certain warmth. It was a relief, because after the various rumors circulating among people on the project who weren't part of the director's inner circle, I had begun to feel terrified. There was something wretched about the whole thing.
For instance, rumors were circulating that cameras were everywhere. It was said that listening devices weren’t just sewn into the clothes of those scheduled to be filmed that day, but were hidden throughout the nooks and crannies of the sets. There was a rumor that the workmen had admired a naked Nora while she washed in the bathroom—because the mirror there was a one-way glass, acting as a transparent window into certain parts of the set. Behind these mirrors was the "playback" area. "You’ve seen that black door that doesn’t lead into any of the apartment rooms, the one that’s always locked? That’s where the playback is. I saw Ilya coming out of there," Katya would say.
Another rumor claimed that in order to provoke an excessively powerful, authentic emotion from one girl, Ilya had ordered a mannequin of her friend to be made, looking as if she had hanged herself. The girl had a breakdown and left the project. Because of these stories, when I saw a composed, living Nora for whom everything happening was "natural," I finally relaxed.
Everyone did what Dau had instructed, and I did too. You could improvise however you liked; no one explicitly told you that you must do this or must not do that, though certain tasks were given from time to time. At one point, I was told to leave the sets (whenever that happened, I’d hear the hurtful instruction over the phone: "Anya, please go to the Office"). I even went home, back to the modern world, to my apartment, and lay down to sleep. I had barely closed my eyes when Inna called: "Anya, you’re needed. A car will be there for you shortly."
Before I re-entered the sets, the directors told me to stop by the buffet and grab a string bag of groceries, then go to Dau and say: "I’ve come to bring you joy." Nothing came of it for me; there was no energy in any of it. I wasn't living; I was portraying God-knows-what. However, when I walked in with the string bag of oranges and whatever else, I walked into a bizarre scene: Katya, her hair completely disheveled, was weeping hysterically while Teodor tried to calm her down—all of it being filmed.
I asked: "Katya, why are you crying?" But she didn't answer. She just waved her hand and eventually left, having changed back into a housekeeper's uniform similar to mine. After that, I didn't see her for seven and a half years—not until the premiere of the DAU project in Paris. I didn't recognize the old Katya; she had become a haughty, self-assured, successful woman, an actress at the Electrotheatre in Moscow, demanding tickets to a Currentzis concert. But back then, she left in total distress, and I didn't see or hear from her for a long time.
Then Teodor got ready and headed "to the Office" as well. I improvised and helped him dress, acting like some sort of subservient little fool (it’s still repulsive to remember), keeping the instruction to "bring joy" in mind. I even hugged him, as if to comfort him. Ugh, I disgust myself. He didn't react at all; instead, he left D2 irritated. I stood in the doorway and watched him go. Nora politely nudged me aside because she also wanted to watch him leave, or perhaps say something—I don't remember.
Then Nora went up to the second floor to her bedroom. Inna called me (there were phones in the kitchen and in Dau’s bedroom upstairs) and said: "Anya, go to Nora’s room and comfort her." I don’t remember what came of it, but no real "life" happened. Everything felt wooden, doll-like, prop-like; I felt like a mannequin. Naturally, I failed the tasks to "bring joy to Dau" and "comfort Nora" because I was sleep-deprived, bewildered by what was happening (the fact that Katya was crying for real and couldn't stop), and my heart had frozen from all the rumors. If I had truly wanted to please Dau, I would have stripped off that dress—in which I looked more like a sack of potatoes than a woman—put on the airy chemise he had given me earlier, and just talked to him. But he, too, was tired and irritated by everything.
Later, Teodor and I met at the studio and talked for a bit. It was hard for me to communicate with him; I constantly had to ask him to repeat himself because of his heavy accent. You have to get used to it. He asked if I had ever been to one of his concerts, and I said no. I don’t remember anything else from that night-day.
It feels good to finally have written this, to have described it all at last. Perhaps now I can let it go and stop returning to those feelings—of being a 'sack of potatoes' with a faded, extinguished femininity.