Janina Fialkowska - A Note In Time

When Dana was in love, she gave herself totally over to the man she was with – subjugating her mind, her wishes and her desires to his. After a while she’d snap out of it, but in the early stages it could be a rather disconcerting process to watch, especially considering some of the men! Gérard felt that where she was living (a respectable boarding house with respectable bathrooms) was inconveniently far from him. He moved her to a garret near his apartment, with no running water and no toilet. As she was so caught up with her studies at the Conservatoire and with Gérard, and I of course was practising and living a little outside of Paris, we rarely saw each other. But when she did come (for a visit at Christmas or on a few other occasions), her first wish would be to take a long shower and wash her hair in my bathroom – always laughing and making fun of her predicament – always courageous.

She stayed in Paris for three years – I left after one. I believe that she tired of Gérard, who became quite obsessive, once even threatening her with a knife. I know he later turned up in New York looking for her, but eventually he disappeared.

I next saw Dana in New York in the Juilliard School cafeteria two years later, holding court with a strange looking assortment of friends. She had managed to get into the Gorodnitzki class where I had been a pupil since leaving France. Bit by bit, Dana had realised that she could never be a concert pianist, her health being far too fragile and, I think, also realising deep down that she didn’t have long to live. Her natural talent carried her through Juilliard with the absolute minimum work. Mr. Gorodnitzki, one of the great disciplinarians of the school and a stickler for hard work, was transformed into an indulgent grandfatherly type every time she would walk into his studio. In fact, she would rarely even head for the piano, but would sit down on the visitor’s couch while he sat in his big leather armchair, and they would have delightfully amusing conversations for an hour. This gave Mr. Gorodnitzki a pleasant and much needed break from the tensions of teaching ambitious and demanding students, and Dana found herself yet another possible father figure whom she adored. He was extremely kind to her, and gentle, but a week or so before the final exams of the year they both would wake up to the fact that she hadn’t learned a single new piece all year long. In a panic they would throw together some old pieces, usually a lot of Bach, because he was her favourite composer and she played him well, and she would typically pass her exam with flying colours, albeit by the skin of her teeth!

Boyfriends came and went until she finally got involved with a particularly unsavoury fellow who ended up leaving her homeless, broken-hearted and with nowhere to go. This was just when I got my first apartment in New York all on my own, so I invited her to stay. She assured me that she only needed to come for the weekend and would find a place of her own within a few days. She stayed for five years.

We were certainly an odd couple, but I loved having her around and she was devoted to me. Every summer thereafter she would also come up to my parents’ home in Canada on the Lake of Two Mountains; it was heaven for her. Dana would love to sit on the porch while I practised, sometimes playing scrabble with another visitor, or discussing world events with George, patting the dogs or helping my mother pick vegetables and flowers. She was my staunchest supporter and I remember clearly when, at the dinner table, someone mentioned that André Laplante would be playing the Rachmaninov 3rd piano concerto in Montreal – Dana, without hesitation, said: “Oh, Janina plays it far better than André!” Whereupon my father, understandably curious, asked her where she had heard André play the piece, to which, without batting an eyelid, Dana replied: “Oh, I never heard him play it, I just know Janina would play it better!” The remark was hilarious and totally untrue, but it demonstrates her utter devotion to me.

Her friendliness to the world in general continued undiminished, despite her unhappy love life. She simply seemed fearless when it came to people, always expecting the best from them. And she had an interesting collection of characters in her circle of friends – from an elderly Puerto Rican handyman to a Korean girl who spoke no English, a Chinese biochemist, a photographer who specialised in quasi-pornographic subjects, a nymphomaniac former Seventh Day Adventist, the innocent son of a Belgian millionaire, a kleptomaniac from Rhodesia and Arthur Ashe, the famous tennis star. I remember once waiting for her to arrive at Montreal airport. Among the early passengers to come through the gate before her was the actor/big-time wrestler, André the Giant – someone easy to recognise. I instantly thought to myself that somehow Dana would emerge with a story to tell about him. Sure enough, André had spotted her on the plane and had come to sit next to her, starting up a friendly conversation and inviting her out when they got to Montreal. She said he was very nice and that she would most likely have gone out with him – all ninety pounds of her to his over three hundred pounds – had she not already been invited to our place.

One day, walking along the corridors of Juilliard, Dana heard a young boy speaking in a strange tongue over the payphone. She discovered that he was speaking to his mother in Turkish and had just arrived in Juilliard alone and bewildered. Dana took him under her wing and this early act of kindness was to have a far-reaching effect on her life. His name was Danyal (Danny for short), and he is a very talented pianist with a heart of gold.

She also soon made friends with my colleague and good friend Jeffrey Swann, although this relationship was always a bit strained as both considered themselves to be my best friend and I wasn’t about to play favourites. One day, Dana and I were walking over to Jeff’s, as we often would in the evenings, to cook dinner together. Dana suddenly and urgently had to go to the bathroom, and it was a mad dash to get to Jeff’s apartment on time while I helpfully whistled Ravel’s “Jeux d’Eau” along the way. We made it only to find that a friend of Jeff’s, who we had never met before, was taking a bath. Unfazed, Dana marched right in, introduced herself and used the facilities. Then she stayed on for half an hour chatting away with her new friend, who was still in the bathtub.

And it wasn’t only with people that Dana bonded so easily. Twice I returned home from concerts to find a stray cat ensconced in our apartment. I had no real objection, as I love animals, but it did become a bit of a trial as I am quite allergic to cats. These animals were constant companions to Dana and went with her whenever she flew to Buffalo or to France. There was also Morris the hamster, whom she would put in her pocket at the airport because she didn’t really have the money to pay for the fares of three animals. On one memorable flight during the winter, she got on the plane, took off her coat and her winter boots, transferred Morris from her coat-pocket into one of her boots, and settled back to read one of her favourite books, usually one of three which she endlessly re-read: À la recherche du temps perdu by Proust, Le grand Meaulnes by Jean Fournier, and Thomas Mann’s Joseph und seine Brüder. She was quietly reading when suddenly her neighbour, a nice elderly lady, started to emit little screaming sounds. Dana looked at her full of concern and the lady seemed to be on the point of fainting, her complexion as white as chalk. Gasping, she pointed to Dana’s boot in horror. Morris, bored with hanging around in a dark hole, had climbed up to get some fresh air and was peering over the rim. Dana reassured the lady and calmed her down, subsequently collapsing with laughter as she recounted the story over the phone.