Flight of the Swan (14 page)

“H
OW WONDERFUL TO MEET
you, Madame. But of course, now I recognize you! I saw your picture in the
Puerto Rico Ilustrado
just a week ago. That young reporter who’s a friend of Tino’s, Rogelio Tellez, interviewed you, and he was most improper, asking you your age! I think you were absolutely right not wanting to answer. These young scalawags just get too big for their britches sometimes, don’t you think?” Don Pedro winked at Diamantino. “Madame is a world-famous ballerina,
mija
,” he turned around and explained to Doña Basilisa. “In fact, she’s probably the most famous dancer in the world! We’re very fortunate to meet her.” The old man was acting as if nothing had happened between Diamantino and himself. He evidently wanted to patch things up.

Diamantino began to explain to Don Pedro what their plans were—they were going to stay in the Hotel Las Baleares, which was just in front of the plaza. It was a two-story building, with the rooms on the second floor and a balustered balcony around them. It had a restaurant, a soda fountain, and a bakery on the first floor, and a large American flag waving out front. Diamantino still had to go to the theater and speak to the manager, to arrange for a performance which they hoped would take place the following week—but Don Pedro interrupted. “What do you mean, the Hotel Las Baleares? Surely you’ll be staying with us.”

“Madame is not alone, Don Pedro, she brought a number of dancers with her, and they all want to stay together,” Diamantino explained.

“Don’t worry about anything, my dear,” Don Pedro said to Madame. “I’m a friend of Don Andrés Oliver, the owner of the theater. You’ll be able to dance there as much as you like. And the hotel will not charge you for the rooms because they’ll be my guests, also. If I had known Tino was with you, I wouldn’t have worried so much about his whereabouts these last few weeks!”

Don Pedro loved to have famous artists visit him, and he wasn’t going to let Madame get away from him. “You’ll have a wonderful time at our house, we’ll see to that,” he insisted. And he began to honk the horn, squeezing the black rubber bulb to make the people crowding the street scatter like geese to get out of his way. Madame sank back into her seat and tied her red chiffon scarf around her head. She was too tired to argue.

Doña Basilisa broke the silence: “I can’t believe this coincidence! Yesterday I asked Pedro to bring me to Arecibo because the Red Cross began its campaign here, and since we’re still official residents, I had to come join the volunteers in town. We had to pose before rolls of bandages and scissors and make believe we were going to cure wounded soldiers at the front. It was funny because, of course, there wasn’t a wounded soldier in sight. I felt like an actress, with the war so far away. But now that we’re American citizens, we must participate in all these official acts. My husband and I have been living in San Juan now for ten years, you know,” she explained to Madame, “but people always keep their hometown close to their hearts and it’s good to see one’s friends again.”

Doña Basilisa was now talking about her grandparents, who were Catalonian and French. They had a large business of importing cotton cloth, with which sheets, tablecloths, and all sorts of clothes were sewn by local seamstresses. Before their workshop was established in Ponce, these items were very expensive because everything had to be imported; the common people wore crudely made clothes, cut from the white cotton bags in which flour was brought to the island. This was why the Red Cross had contacted her family—they were asked to donate several hundred yards of cotton to make bandages to be shipped overseas.

Doña Basilisa had an affable disposition and was very plump: she had a double chin that hung from her face like a coconut flan. And like most women from the provincial bourgeoisie, she had been schooled only up to eighth grade with a private tutor. Since her daughter was away studying in the States—as she was now informing Madame—she had very little to do during the day. That was why when Diamantino came to live in Don Pedro’s house, she was so glad to have him there, she said. She loved him like her own son.

“So you’re from St. Petersburg?” Doña Basilisa asked Madame in wonder. “The city of the czar! Tell me about the imperial family! I saw their picture in the paper once. Are they as rich as they say? Do they give each other Fabergé eggs every Easter?”

“Eggs are a symbol of life, and they are also healing instruments,” Madame intervened. “That’s why the czar and the czarina exchanged eggs at Easter. They were such elegant people and now they’re all in prison like common criminals!” Madame was almost in tears, and Doña Basilisa seemed taken aback.

“Is there a war in Russia? How amazing!” Doña Basilisa said.

“Maite doesn’t read the papers, Madame,” Don Pedro said apologetically. “I read them for her and then tell her about it. I forgot to mention the Romanovs’ unfortunate fate.”

Doña Basilisa looked sheepishly at Madame and giggled. There was definitely something wrong with her, I told myself. She wasn’t all there in the head.

“You remember Rogelio, the young man who did the interview about you? He’s a friend of Tino’s,” Doña Basilisa said. “He’s staying in town for a few days and wants to do an in-depth article about you; that’s why he’s following you around. Tino would like to be a writer, like he is, but Rogelio’s father has a lot of money, and he can afford to pay for his son’s magazine, which of course is very bad business.”

“Yes, I remember the reporter very well. He was wearing sunglasses inside the hotel, and my room was quite dark. I couldn’t understand how he could take notes. I suspected he was
très gâté
.”

“He was what, excuse me, Madame?” Don Pedro asked. Until then they had spoken English, but he didn’t understand French.

“Very spoiled,” Madame explained.

Don Pedro laughed. “We have a different term for that here,
alfeñique
, a young man made of almond nougat. You know what that means, right, Tino?” Don Pedro asked, winking at my mistress on the sly. Diamantino didn’t answer, but scowled at the road ahead.

“So, when will we be seeing more of our reporter friend?” Madame asked.

“He’ll be arriving tomorrow; he’s staying with Doña Victoria, the piano teacher. She gives free piano classes to all those in town who have a musical aptitude. She lives in the house right next to the church.”

“Doña Victoria Tellez is a piano teacher? But she’s totally deaf!” Madame couldn’t contain her amazement.

“Have you met her?” Doña Basilisa asked. “Her father used to be the mayor and they lived in the biggest house in town, which is the Alcaldia today. But when General Williams arrived, he asked the mayor to move out. The soldiers took over their house, and it became his official residence. Doña Victoria can’t forgive him.”

I knew then what Doña Victoria’s banging on the piano was all about, and I smiled smugly. The rich were the same all over, in Russia or in Puerto Rico. Rogelio with his sunglasses, vest, and silk butterfly tie; Doña Victoria in her balconied house playing Beethoven to drown out the Americans; Madame keeping her eye on her jewelry case while she danced “for the people.” I despised them all! None of them were Bolsheviks, no matter how much they posed. A Bolshevik was a turd, a bastard, a barbarian. A Bolshevik didn’t have a cent, scratched himself in public, smelled bad, and farted all the way to Asia. Like me.

Madame was telling Doña Basilisa how Doña Victoria was so kind as to offer them something cool to drink when they had just gotten off the train. “We’ll have to ask her over to our house for dinner, then, to return the kindness,” Doña Basilisa said, and patted Madame’s hand.

“Why did you come to our little town, Madame?” Don Pedro asked, straining his neck to look around at the dancer. “I can see why you traveled to San Juan, which is a rich city. But Arecibo! There’s absolutely nothing here, except a few families who own run-down sugar mills like our own, and a lot of hungry peasants.”

“Dancing is my vocation, monsieur,” Madame said. “The purpose of my dancing is to give joy to the people, and help create a better world.”

“Really?” said Don Pedro, looking askance at Doña Basilisa. “Well, we’ll be more than happy to help you. Make likes to do things for the common people, too, right, Maite? How much money did you raise for the Red Cross during the parade?” he asked his wife.

“We raised sixty dollars already. We feel so proud that Puerto Rico is soon to be involved in the European conflict! We’re a part of the modern world now, and will give our blood in defense of the holy principles of democracy and liberty.”

“Well, at least some of us will,” Don Pedro said, not particularly to anyone.

“Puerto Ricans are not going to be fighting next to the Americans anytime soon,” Diamantino answered, staring at Don Pedro over the top of his sunglasses. “They don’t trust us.”

Don Pedro laughed again, this time a little forcibly. “What do you mean they don’t trust us? We’re American citizens, aren’t we?”

“We’re citizens, all right, but not like they are. We’re second class, and they know we know they know. That’s why, when they need to have their backs covered, they’ll get a hillbilly from Kansas to help them out, not a
jíbaro
from Cayey. And as to the food they’re making us grow, we should give it to our starving population instead.”

“The boy is crazy! Youth is wonderful, isn’t that so, Madame?” Don Pedro turned toward Madame, laughing condescendingly. “You think you can get away with anything.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t believe in war,” Madame answered solemnly. “I believe in beauty as a healing force, and I’m opposed to all kinds of violence. So, if anyone refuses to join the army to fight a war, I would have done the same.”

“Oh, you mustn’t talk like that, either of you, you really mustn’t!” Doña Basilisa whispered as she fanned herself with her wide-brimmed straw hat. “It’s very dangerous to say things like that in public around here. The police have ears everywhere, and you could both be put in jail. Thank God we’re in the car, and what you’ve both said will stay in the family!”

A silence followed during which I wondered about the different ways the term “good for the people” was interpreted. To Madame it meant art as spiritual inspiration—her head in the clouds, as usual; to Doña Basilisa and Don Pedro it meant becoming prosperous American citizens and helping the army and the Red Cross; and to Diamantino it meant political independence for the island. But none of them belonged to the “people” except me! I was the only one who knew what the people really needed, and that was decent salaries. I was about to open my mouth to say so when we arrived at the house and I was made to get out of the car.

Two beautiful Airedales, yellow and light gray, came to say hello, barking and proudly swinging their tails like banners. “These are Oro and Plata. They were a gift to us from Governor Yager a year ago, when he stayed at Dos Ríos for a few days,” Don Pedro said jovially. And he led the way to show Madame a very pleasant room opening onto a verandah, with a comfortable “rainbow hammock” of woven maguey fiber hanging just outside the door. Inside, the bed was a four-poster, and it had something like a wire colander hanging above it, covered by a mosquito net tied into a large knot. “I’ll sleep in the hammock if you wish, Madame,” I blurted out, picking up my wicker basket and placing it next to the hammock. Madame gave a sigh, went into the bedroom, and resignedly locked the door. I was exhausted, but I wasn’t going to give up. I wearily took up my lookout post outside her door.

The next morning Don Pedro, Diamantino, and I went into town in the car. We were going to pick up the rest of Madame’s luggage and check on the troupe at the Hotel Las Baleares. “I don’t suppose you’re considering this little escapade seriously?” Don Pedro asked his godson in Spanish, thinking I couldn’t understand him, and arching his eyebrows as he put the key in the ignition. “She’s not only old enough to be your mother, she’s a
vedette
, a stage
bataclana
. It’s all right to have her as a ‘friend,’ but you don’t have to proclaim it to the world.”

“I thought you admired her, Padrino,” Diamantino said. His voice dripped with irony.

“Of course I do. And Maite likes her too. But it’s one thing to like sweetsop and another to get the mess all over you.”

“I’m twenty years old, and I don’t have to ask you who I can spend my time with, Padrino.”

A heavy silence followed during which Don Pedro rolled down the car window. The heat was sweltering, and his shirt was soaked with perspiration. “Well, we were worried to death about you all these weeks. It was most inconsiderate to leave without any explanation. Maite, especially, has gone through a lot. Where were you hiding? Someone said they’d seen you in the mountains a while back.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hurt Maite’s feelings. But I can’t say where I was staying. I was with friends.”

“Be careful what you’re getting into, Tino. The war is at our doorstep and Americans don’t fool around. Political agitators, like terrorists and draft evaders, are sentenced to life at federal prisons on the mainland.” But Tino kept stubbornly silent, and Don Pedro looked away.

“So, did you find a job in San Juan? I mean, a real job. Not playing the violin in a vaudeville company like you’ve been doing these past few days.”

“Yes, I found a job,” Diamantino said quietly. But he refused to volunteer any more information.

“M
Y GODFATHER IS OBNOXIOUS
, but you’ll be more comfortable staying here, because the Las Baleares is definitely not the Ritz,” Diamantino told Madame solicitously when we got back from town with the luggage. I was sitting out in the hammock, but I could hear their voices clearly through the louvered windows. “It’ll only be for a few days, and we can simply ignore him and enjoy the amenities.” That evening, after dinner, they left the house and took a narrow path between the sugarcane stalks which ended at the seashore, a mile and a half ahead. I followed them, ducking behind the shrubs of beach grapes as subtly as I could. It was a cool night, and the sea was tossing restlessly, rolling long arms of foam up and down the beach as if trying to dispel insomnia. “I’ve booked the theater for three nights in a row. You’ll start performing on Friday next week,” Diamantino was saying. “And as soon as we’ve collected the money we’ll take off on our own. I can’t bear to be separated from you any longer.” His words were like a thread of fire winding itself around her heart. She let him kiss her, and shamelessly agreed to the plan.