Of the people who continued to see us now, those with no connection to the dissident or emigration movements had a special courage. They were not crusading to change anything in Russia and didn't dream of leaving it. They simply refused to abandon friends, no matter how many times they were interrogated and intimidated.
It came as no surprise that the one dancer who felt for us was from Moscow. This was my old Bolshoi friend Vladimir Vasiliev, now dancing more spectacularly than ever. When I bumped into him, he had won every prize going and was a Deputy to the Supreme Soviet. He suggested a walk.
"In your position, aren't you scared to be seen with me?" I asked.
"You're damm right I'm scared, who isn't?"
But he went on to say what he thought of our treatment. On trips abroad, while others were calling me "an unknown, third-rate hack, an invention of the Western press," his remarks to Western journalists required real bravery.
To Dance by Valery Panov. 1978. Page 360.
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