#mikołaj kurcewicz

[theophan-o]

Some charming little family photo from Rozłogi. And here they are, standing together as they grew up. From left to right: Andrzej Kurcewicz, Simeon Kurcewicz, Jur Kurcewicz, Mikołaj Kurcewicz, Helena Kurcewiczówna and Jurko Bohun.

Jan Skrzetuski is approaching from the right:-)

Najprawdopodobniej po to, by poprosić Jurka o rękę:-)))

From my old collection of press cuttings/photographs from the Polish Press (1997–1999). It is a fan account, existing only for the Polish cinema' and Polish literature's glory. I don’t benefit from it. Copyright belongs to the Photographer.

[sparklingdali]

Ogniem i mieczem: PAS DE TROIS BALLET AU 

READ ON AO3

Due the popular demand I present a short prologue for the two people who showed interest @bachaboska and @meadowlarkx.

This is something me and @thecrystalmadness have been working on. I blame her for making me write this as I would never in my life consider writing modern day AU and ballet. Thanks for ruining my summer. 

It took a while till they arrived at the house of the Kurcewiczs because Wasyl was slowing them down, stopping to point out various crosses atop church rooftops with an excitement that went beyond understanding. His brothers were, however, completely accustomed to it by now.

“He always does this,” said Symeon a little defensively but neither him or Mikołaj complained, they just looked deadly bored. Bohun didn’t understand half of what Wasyl was talking about because his appreciation of churches began and ended with a hazy memory of one with round domes coated in gold that he must have seen in Kiev as a child. When looking at them now he mostly only felt relief he was no longer forced to go to masses like in the children’s home.

“We will just have to wait for him,” continued Symeon with a side look that spoke volumes. Bohun felt almost offended, as he was never rude towards Wasyl and actually helped Mikołaj beat a few guys at school for making fun of him. But Symeon was fourteen, two years older than them, tasked with the thankless job of trying to pull his brother through basic education. Being in the same class with him and having to listen to snarky remarks  on his brother’s intelligence only increased his protectiveness. Bohun knew Wasyl should have been going to high school by now, though he couldn’t really determine his age.

Wasyl finally stopped blabbering about the difference between the rib vault and the fan vault so they resumed walking. After a long time they finally reached the Rozłogi Street, which gave the whole neighborhood a name. Bohun could see this was a much better looking place than the one he was living in with his foster parents. They passed small villas with neatly mowed lawns, surrounded by tall white gates and expensive looking cars, that gleamed in the afternoon sun, although none of them could rival Burłaj’s proudly displayed old broken polonez in the backyard. Bohun never realized that the Kurcewiczs were kind of rich and suddenly felt out of place in his hand-me-down clothes and shoes, of which he was already the third owner.

“Byahvyou to our royal estate,” said Mikołaj in bad imitation of French when they reached a cube-like modern house with a huge steel gate that one could almost admire for its unapologetic ugliness. “Jean, don’t just stand there, open the door for our most esteemed guest.”

Bohun laughed while Symeon rolled his eyes and pressed a chip on his key-chain to a blinking box on the wall. The gate suddenly opened. Despite Mikołaj’s jokes the camera at the top of the gate still made him feel like he was infiltrating the place. He wondered why they had such big security here. Bohun followed them along the stepping-stone path with a wide grin, admiring the trees lining it, branches bent under the weight of the cherries.

They played with a ball for a while in the playground behind the house, enjoying the warm weather. Wasyl was clearly dominating the game, being the fastest and biggest of them. Despite Bohun’s many attempts to catch up to him and retake the ball for his team, he didn’t succeed even once.

He barely remembered the last time he felt so carefree and normal. He liked Burłaj but there were too many children in his house. The older kids rarely did anything else in their free time beside trying to sneak out for a smoke and a few drinks, which Bohun found quite boring. The only one with whom he formed a fragile bond was Horpyna and she was a huge weirdo.

He recalled the first time he met her, being bored out of his mind and lying atop Burłaj’s car. A scraping sound woke him from brooding. He cracked one eye open and saw a shadow of a gangly girl with messy hair.

There was something unsettling about her and the dark glint in her eyes only added to the menacing impression. Years spent in the children’s home honed his fight or flight reflex (being no coward he mostly went with fight) and his senses were telling him this older girl was not to be messed with.

“Looks like old Burłaj went looking for stray cats again, huh? Aren’t you adorable,” she cooed.

“Who the fuck are you?” Annoying right from the start, Bohun thought.

“Haven’t learned how to say hello?”

“Hello, bitch.”

She laughed. “My, my, such refined manners. Pray tell, were your parents junkies or filthy pedos?”, she asked as if this was a perfectly normal thing to talk about. Bohun, thought he had seen a lot in his life, couldn’t find any response to that.

“Have you met Big Foot already?”

“Yeah… I did. I don’t like him.”

“Perfect. You have a nose for sniffing out the bastards. Wanna put spiders in his bed?”

Bohun looked up with interest, but cautiously stopped himself and asked.

“Why do you need me for this? Afraid of spiders?”

“Excuse you, I love them”, she said mock offended. “But I can’t actually put them there, he would immediately know it was me.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“Don’t tell me you’re scared.”

“No. I will do it. But I want something in return.”

“And that would be?”

“Never call me adorable again.”

Horpyna cackled.

“Deal.”

Big Foot’s shrieking was to this present day still a fond memory.

“Let’s go inside and change. Dinner is in about an hour and Mother will be displeased if we’re not prepared,” Mikołaj said dramatically.

They lead him inside the house. Bohun didn’t have much time to look around, as they quickly dragged him upstairs in front of the bathroom.

“You go shower first, Stinklord, we have to settle something.”

Mikołaj ignored Bohun’s indignant huff and laughed. Just before he shut the door, Bohun caught a glimpse of him clenching his fist into a ball hovering above a flat palm.

“And don’t you dare to cheat again, Wasyl,” was the last thing he heard until he stopped paying attention.

Bohun showered quickly since he didn’t want to get yelled at for wasting water. He dried himself with his dirty clothes, unsure of which towel to use, and put on the shorts and the t-shirt in which he went to Hopak after school. He passed Symeon on his way out who had obviously won their little game.

“You can watch TV in the kitchen if you want. Mikołaj and Wasyl were blathering on about some stupid reality show,” Symeon said with disgust and closed the door behind him.

Having no idea where the kitchen was in this big maze of a house, Bohun only knew he had to take the stairs to get where they came from, but the moment he ended up on the ground floor he saw that all doors looked the same. A single door was open so he decided that one was his best bet, although Bohun wouldn’t peg the soothing music coming out of it as typical for ‘stupid reality shows’.

His suspicions turned right when Bohun found himself in a mirror-clad room with a high ceiling. In the middle was a girl that couldn’t have been much younger than him holding her leg up straight.

She didn’t stay there for long. As if on command, she spun around and made an elaborate jump. Bohun immediately noticed that despite leaping so high her landing was smooth and her legs didn’t buckle at all. She started spinning again and then made several deliberate steps on her toes towards the handrail where she went on to do some routine that looked complicated at first but the more he watched her the more he saw the individual moves flowing after each other in perfect synchronization. It was captivating and while he didn’t think about it in those words, the elegance and beauty of what he saw completely enchanted him. It reminded him, out of all things, of his mother, walking on an upturned bench and swinging her leg, jumping and landing and he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

When the music faded softly away, he shouted: “That was really good!”

The girl turned her head towards him abruptly, dark eyes wide. He was already walking towards her however, seeing fear on her face replaced by caution. What was she afraid of, Bohun thought with amusement.

“How did you do it? Like this?” He executed the standing split with a grunt, showing off a little. Most people couldn’t do what he did, even if he got a lot worse at it since he had stopped training with mom. Stretching while brushing his teeth in the morning or doing headstands and flips to freak out his roommates really didn’t cut it. As he watched himself in the mirror, he was far from the easy elegance in which the girl did what he was trying to do.

He finally let his leg down and turned back to her. “I haven’t even told you my name! I’m Jurko. You’re the cousin, right? “

She did look nothing like the Kurcewicz brothers who all had dirty blond hair and were pretty fair skinned in comparison to her.

“I’m Helena,” she said a little defensively, as if she was disappointed that he didn’t know her name. She turned away and resumed practicing.

He began to imitate her slowly and while Helena was watching him with squinted eyes, as if she couldn't decide if he was mocking her or seriously attempting to follow her dancing. Soon a small smile appeared on her face and only grew wider when she saw his reflection in the mirror as he tried to do a pirouette and ended up feeling dizzy.

Helena looked like she wanted to say something a few times and now she finally gathered the courage.

“Alright then. First position, put your feet apart like this.” Her voice quivered at first, but as she continued talking, obviously knowing a lot about ballet, it changed and Helena recited the positions in a decisive, loud voice, actually reminding him of one of his despotic teacher’s at school.  It would probably annoy him if she weren’t like ten, making the whole affair amusing instead, especially since she liked to use weird french words.

“Now second position, third position. Put your arm a little higher, yes, you’re doing great,” she said enthusiastically. “Fourth position aaand...fifth position!”

He thought that he more or less managed to do everything she told him to. They went through the basic positions for a while but it started to bore him a little. So he asked her if she would show him how to do the pirouette again.

“Also what about this?” He furrowed his eyebrows and attempted to stand on his toes. His ankles gave out immediately at first, not used to balancing his center like that, and he fell down rather spectacularly. Helena snickered. Grinning, he immediately stood up to try again. This time he persisted for all of three seconds. Helena’s snickers turned into a full-belly laughter. Bohun was positively radiating with glee, her giggling only making him want to try harder.

“We should try the pirouettes. You need special shoes for pointe, they have hard soles to help you stand on your toes. Also it’s mostly for girls.”

“How come you don’t have shoes like that then?”

“You aren’t allowed to start too early because it damages your feet,” Helena explained seriously. “But I will be getting them in a year and half!” She turned on place, excited.  “Now the pirouette!” The tone of her voice changed again into a command. She ran towards him, showing him what to do with his feet.

“You put you foot here,” her fingertip went into the notch at the top of her knee. “And stand really straight. Like somebody just jabbed you into ribs.”

“Please don’t do that,” Bohun was standing upright on one of his legs, perfectly balanced but obviously concentrating very hard to be so.

“Like when I showed you how to do plies, you need to keep balance there,” she said while putting hands on her hips. “And then you turn into the fourth position.”

Helena watched him with wide eyes as he imitated her. She then continued to show him how to position his arms and demonstrated the pirouette several times while he watched.

“Also remember you are not trying to go around but up,” she said but Bohun was no longer listening, spinning at the spot at first in disjointed fashion and stopping a few times, but gradually imitating pirouette.

It was harder than it looked like. He stopped the attempts after a while, feeling sick.

“Oh, I forgot!” Helena covered her mouth. “You need to keep your eyes on the spot otherwise you will get sick.”

Bohun had hands over his face, thinking for a second he might really be, but then he only ran his fingers through his overgrown hair. “I think I will do it with closed eyes for a bit.”

When he lifted his leg and started spinning, Bohun finally felt like he got it. Somehow, it seemed easier with closed eyes.

“You are really good,” the awe in her voice prominent. “I can’t believe you are picking this up so fast. Did you ever do ballet before? Maybe when you were little? I started at four!”

Bohun, terribly proud that he managed to learn the pirouette, made a few more attempts. This was exactly just as much fun as it looked, he thought. When he finally stood with both legs on the ground, tired, there was a small smile on his face.

“No. But I will show you what I did.”

Bohun went still and sized the amount of space in front of him. He jumped on his hands, did a handspring, then immediately pushed himself off with his legs again in the air, stopping at a head stand. There he turned his eyes toward Helena who was clapping her hands excitedly and smiling.

“You are a gymnast!”

Bohun put his feet back to the ground, wiping his hands. “Not anymore, but I used to be. I just do hopak now with-”

He suddenly stopped. In the door stood an older woman with a stern face and long blonde hair tied into a tight ponytail. Seeing him freeze, Helena turned to face the woman, who in return gave Helena a reproaching look. Bohun decided this must be her aunt.

“Is this what you call practice, young lady?” she scolded her. Then turned her icy gaze towards Bohun.

“I’m sorry, madame,” Helena said without looking up, sounding dejected.

----

Kurcewiczóvna was a witness to a scene which she didn’t prepare herself for. Helena had terrible tendency to just dance whatever she wanted to when left alone which she could at least forgive but there were times when she found her still stretching over some book half an hour after she should be already dancing. And now apparently forsaking ballet altogether over playing gymnastics with some friend her boys brought from school.

“And who are you?” she turned towards the boy who was staring at her with almost open mouth. But he quickly recovered:

“It’s Bo-hun. Hello, madame,” he for some reason bowed and gave her a cheeky grin. “I came with Mikołaj.”

After a long pause Kurcewiczóvna said slowly in an absolutely unimpressed voice: “Hello.”  She was wondering where her sons picked up this insolent brat. “Would you excuse us for a moment? Why don’t you go play with Mikołaj?” she asked with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Helena, who was until now biting her lip to not laugh at her, became very somber, suddenly trying to act like the perfect image of an obedient and respectful pupil.

“But we were practicing ballet before. I was teaching him basic positions and how to do a pirouette. Here, please show her!” she turned with pleading eyes to Bohun. “He’s really good.” she whispered.

Bohun got into first position with an inner grace not possessed by many in his age, eyeing her expectantly, almost challenging. Kurcewiczóvna saw the determination on his face and while she was this close to telling the boy to get lost, something in that look made her change her mind.

“Very well. If you want to show me something, lets put on some music first,” she said with a smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth. Helena was already scrambling towards the CD player.

“Put on the little swans we did yesterday.” Kurcewiczóvna had to halt Helena’s another attempt at having her listen to Giselle. That girl sure was obsessed, even though she should be preparing for the upcoming performance and not wheedling out of her a new costume for ballet she at this point had no chance of dancing in.

Bohun was just standing there awkwardly in the meanwhile, scratching his ankle with the other leg. Kurcewiczóvna thought she will at least get some low entertainment out of this if nothing else.

She was proven wrong. He didn’t even wait for instructions when the music started playing and just went straight to the basic ballet positions. Bohun’s moves were unpolished for sure, but what he lacked in precision he made up for with enthusiasm. It was quite a joy to watch him because even when he made a mistake his relaxed expression didn’t change. This was a complete opposite of Helena who after any misstep bit her lip painfully no matter how many times she reprimanded her for it.

Even more striking was the way his movements connected with music. Musicality was a huge part of being a ballet dancer and while technique could be learned, hearing well and reacting appropriately to what your ears processed was the core. Helena was good at this too but she thought too much during dancing and could be easily distracted from concentration.

When the boy started doing pirouettes, it was obvious he only just began to learn them so she stopped him after a while.

Overall she was impressed. He even danced with a certain dramatic flair, Kurcewiczóvna thought with a hidden smile and asked Bohun, who was trying to catch his breath at the moment:

“You said you were Bohun. And your last name?”

“That’s my last name. I’m Jurko Bohun.” He sounded almost defensive.

“Which school are you going to?”

“Copernicus Middle School.”

Kurcewiczóvna rolled her eyes. “What dancing school do you belong to? Who is teaching you ballet?”

“I’m not doing ballet. I only do traditional.”

“And you never did it before?”

“No.”

She stayed silent for a while and then, as if she suddenly remembered something, ordered sharply: “Let’s go eat dinner. Practice is over.”

---

Later that night while on her way to the bathroom, Helena heard her aunt talking on the phone with someone. She stopped abruptly and listened, thinking she heard something about a great talent. A small hope rose in her heart. Maybe aunt was talking about her?

“I understand you’re skeptical, but wait until you see him. He has a certain... je ne sais quoi. No experience at all, my sons brought him home from Hopak.”

Silence. Saddened, Helena realized they must be talking about Jurko.

“Alright, but I can guarantee you’ll regret this. I wouldn’t be surprised if Chmielnicki got his claws in him eventually. You know how he likes to take an interest in street rats.”

The silence went for a little longer now.

“Okay, I will send him to you next week.” Helena couldn’t see her face but she knew her aunt was smiling. She remembered that victorious smile from the many pictures of her holding golden medals and flower bouquets. Just as Helena was quietly scuttling away, she heard:

“You too. And please do try to be nice to him, would you, Jarema?”

_____

Not a kid fic. For the rest of the story they are adults though they don’t always act like it. It’s also Jan/Helena/Bohun, with Jan just conveniently absent before the first chapter.