Chapter 248: Where Kindness Leads

 

"Miss, if you met Carlos Acosta on the street, would he recognise you?"

Ok so here's the deal. For the past six years as a Spanish teacher I've brought Carlos Acosta into my lessons as an example of a Spanish-speaking role model, and he never fails to hit the mark with my students. In the early days I was criticised for it. Talking about ballet in an inner city London state school was elitist and demonstrated my lack of ability to empathise with students from a different socioeconomic background to my own. Soon set the record straight on that score. How could a guy who came from a really tough background in rural Cuba ended up the first black Romeo on the grandest stages in Europe, be anything other than inspirational? That feedback led me from showing the trailer about his life "Yuli" to buying the film and showing the whole damn thing with every key stage four class I taught. And it really hit home. 

They also loved the fact that their teacher had met him once. Well, actually he had introduced himself to me, I tell them. At the time I was working as an interpreter for playwrights at the Royal Court back in my 20s, while doing post grad research into Cuban theatre at Kings College London. I'd had a ball all week, working in rehearsals as a bridge between playwrights and the directors and cast. There was loads of down time to hang out in the bar, and on the smoker's balcony, there was a salsa workshop led by a playwright friend of mine Cheddy, a reading of a play by April De Angelis too where Carlos played up the role of a young love interest for an older English tourist on holiday. It was very funny, they were brilliant. There was a screening of the film Suite Havana, a brilliant documentary directed by Fernando Pérez, following the life of 24 hours in the life of a variety of Cubans, including a young boy with down syndrome and a doctor who moonlights as a party clown to make money, as needs must. On the last day there was a seminar in the Jerwood Upstairs on the future of Cuban theatre, chaired by theatre critic Susannah Clapp. Anyone who was anyone with links to Cuba or Cuban arts in London was there, directors, actors, interpreters, translators, Carlos Acosta. And then, five minutes before curtain up, Elyse Dodgson, the artistic director of the International Department, came up to me. "Lucy, we need an interpreter, you're going up on stage too." My stomach dropped. That really was outside my comfort zone. Thank goodness it was such short notice and I didn't have a chance to overthink it. I was introduced to Susannah, I'd just read her brilliant piece for the Observer. Even then theatre was struggling in papers to get the coverage it deserved (let alone circus) and she'd woven the whole extensive feature into the travel section. Inspired! We chatted about my experience too, as a university student running off to Havana as a member of the Catalan Communist Party, how that led into theatre (a lot more fun!)... you should turn your PhD into a book, she said. I still have yet to do either, but that was kind of her, and buoyed me up.

And suddenly it was time. Keeping up with five passionate young playwrights, and their godfather, Gerardo Fulleda, an established Cuban playwright, was not an easy task, one of them in particular with a strong Matanzas accent that, had I not spent all week by their side already, would have done for me. It helped that by this point I knew them all really well, I kind of knew where they were going, what their views were. But there was no time for verbatim translation because that would risk interrupting the flow, so I often had to paraphrase, praying that my words were like an invisible sheet of glass giving a window into the life of Cuban artists and doing their eloquence justice. Afterwards, at the bar, Carlos came over and introduced himself (that's the part that buys me street cred with my students!). "Hi, I'm Carlos" (no introduction needed I thought, more than a little starstruck). "I thought you had a really tough job to do and there were parts where you didn't translate exactly but you conveyed the essence, you did really well." That kindness I have never forgotten. 

Kindness is the easiest, another legend of a circus performer remarked the other day, as we laughed about a night in Worthing when, looking for a takeaway alone, I walked straight into the cast of Kin (click here) mid celebratory meal, having just watched their show. I tried to sneak back out, but too late, Charlie had spotted me and invited me to join them, so I did and had a blast.  I think it just speaks volumes about generous souls and there is something about putting yourself out there regularly that helps you recognise those who are feeling vulnerable. I find that time and again in the messages of support I get for writing this blog too. And I'm still laughing now having being reassured that in the case of mistaken identity the couple of performers I'd confused (see A Step Ahead - click here), Julia and Layan, are actually twin sisters :)

That summer I was invited back to translate a play for one of the playwrights on a Royal Court residency and with the proceeds, instead of paying off living expenses I spent it on a metallic blue Bang and Olufsen banana phone, maybe sewing the seeds for a future clowning around in circus. The following year I went out to Cuba for the National Theatre Festival in Camaguey. Oh the stories I have from there, another whole book. While out there all anyone wanted to talk about to me, UK-related, was The Mousetrap. Probably because Fulleda's theatre company were staging an interpretative response, with mouse masks. Well, London is more than The Mousetrap, I wanted to say when asked about the London scene, but the truth was that I didn't really know what exactly, and part of this blog journey has been in part my response. To say to friends working in the performing arts abroad, you want to know what the cultural zeitgeist is here? It's circus! And a real highlight over a decade later when Cheddy came over was going with him to see a piece of contemporary circus underneath Waterloo, part of the Vaults Festival, and he loved it as much as I did. 

Other wonderful memories too, so much laughter. Like the time, less mobile with young children, my husband had scooped up Fulleda and Cheddy from the Royal Court, and another young playwright, Yunior, and brought them home for supper. We were up all night talking and the kids were delighted to find the following morning our visitors, still there, fast asleep in the loft. I'm sure the feeling was mutual... Poignant too. Omar, who had Fulleda and I round for supper, died a few years later from AIDS, quietly gay in a traditionally macho culture. A fact very much in my mind at the moment as Sadiq Ali's company up at the Edinburgh Fringe has the show "Tell Me" (click here) which uses a blend of aerial arts and narrative to follow a woman navigating her way through HIV diagnosis, in a world shaped by prejudice, silence and misunderstanding. And I learned recently on a trip to Valencia that Fulleda had died earlier this year, around the same time as my mother. I always thought he'd be there, as and when I got back to Cuba.

Anyway, back to the original question from the students. Would Carlos Acosta remember me? "Honestly? No, he wouldn't have a clue..." I looked out at the sea of disappointed faces, ah Miss!, so I added "...but I reckon it would take me less than a minute to remind him!" They were happy with that. I love sharing where learning languages can take you. The adventures, and the inspiring people you meet. 

And I had my chance to find out yesterday, waiting backstage after the final performance of Acosta's "Myths and Modern Masters" at the Royal Ballet. Post to follow. There was quite some crowd there to see him and I had hung back, embarrassed again, and fooling myself that I was just happy to soak up the vibe. But as the crowd thinned and I heard an escort flag to Carlos "three minutes" I thought, here we go, a snapshot this time round of a kindness remembered, something for the kids too. So yes, while I didn't mention my role or that moment as such, I did mention the Royal Court and those days, and there was that flash of recognition and light with "ah, sí!". I knew it had been a special time for him, a homesick ballet dancer living in a foreign country. "All Carlos wants is to hang out and go back to Cuba, all we want is to leave!" And now his home is here, with his wife and three beautiful daughters, one of whom, Aila Acosta Holland, I had just been delighting at watching grace the stage, as she was dancing the role of Clara in a captivating excerpt of The Nutcracker in Havana, and my heart gave a jump for the whole family too.

Carlos Acosta has the creative hub of Acosta Danza now based in a building by Woolwich Works, a theatre that hosts a whole teaching programme for young people, as well as classes for all ages and abilities. Woolwich Works is where a summer of circus is happening thanks to new Artistic Director Adrian Berry, Artistic Director of Jacksons Lane and responsible for introducing me to a whole new world of circus, on stage and behind the scenes. I'm heading over to Woolwich Works for the first time this week (see programme of circus and dance - click here) and it feels right that these worlds keep circling back to each other. Some friends in Cuba, others outside, most around. Omar and Fulleda aren't, anymore. Carlos is, ever kind, with vision, and his legacy is just down the road. It's all part of life's rich dance.