“I didn’t agree with Los Tiznados’ cause and I certainly didn’t consider myself one of them. And yet, when I was ordered to accompany Madame to the capital and act as her guard dog, I did as I was told. Bienvenido trusted me even though we differed, and I decided to honor his trust. At the same time I’d do my best to protect Madame, who had won my admiration and sympathy. As soon as we were alone I approached her and whispered that she had nothing to fear. I’d take her to San Juan safely, and we’d work something out to get the money without violence.
“The next day, when Madame was about to leave for San Juan, we saw Molinari conferring with Los Tiznados. Madame was very nervous, and I began to suspect something was wrong. Was Molinari one of the guerillas? Or was he a member of the secret police, as his friendship with the commissioner had made me suspect? Was he going to San Juan in order to meet with the commissioner? He was like a moray eel, slithering here and there; it was impossible to tell where his den lay.
“Fortunately, when Madame saw me waiting for her under a mango tree to escort her to the coast, she immediately felt reassured. We rode down the mountain on horseback, and Madame, Molinari, and I boarded a sloop which set sail from Arecibo’s port. We knew better than to ask Molinari any questions, as he would only add his blistering foul language to our ordeal. We arrived at the capital’s wharf around four that same afternoon, with no mishaps and without anyone recognizing us. As soon as we got off the boat, Molinari disappeared.”
39
I REMEMBER THE DAY Juan brought Madame down from the mountains as if it were yesterday. He escorted her personally to the hotel and stayed only enough to give me a look I had no difficulty interpreting. But I couldn’t concern myself with Juan Anduce at that moment. It was a day of joy because I was finally reunited with Madame.
When I saw her walk into the lobby of the Malatrassi, at least ten pounds thinner and with deep circles under her eyes, I couldn’t keep the tears of happiness from running down my cheeks. I had come to check if there was a message from Dandré and saw her standing at the doorway, her slender figure cut against the blinding sunlight, looking as if she had come back from the dead. Everything was forgotten: Diamantino, the broken pledge, my own feelings of rejection. I took her in my arms and hugged her, then ordered the concierge to call Lyubovna, Smallens, Novikov, and the girls, to let them know Madame was back. They all ran down the stairs and there were hysterical embraces and kisses all around. We’d been deathly worried about her and at first we couldn’t speak, so strong were the emotions caught at our throats. Then, when we saw Madame was all right, we began to talk at the same time. Her disappearance had been kept out of the news because the government wanted to suppress any publicity, but there were rumors that she had been kidnapped by Los Tiznados and that they were holding her for a huge ransom.
“Several search parties were sent out by the governor,” I told her, “but they had no luck. In the meantime, there was nothing we could do.”
“We wanted to search for you ourselves, but the police wouldn’t tell us anything and we didn’t know where to begin,” Nadja complained.
“I managed to send Dandré a telegram,” I said, “urging him to come back right away. He should be here any day now.”
We sat around in the lobby and couldn’t believe our ears when Madame denied having been in any danger.
“Why so much worry?” she said, clucking at us like a hen at her chicks and shaking her head just like one. She hadn’t been kidnapped by Los Tiznados, she insisted. She had gone with Diamantino to the mountains of her own accord. “We must send a message to Governor Yager immediately,” she told Novikov, “and inform him that I’m safe and sound so that he’ll call off the search.”
None of us believed her, but we pretended to. Novikov immediately did her bidding. Then Lyubovna brought Poppy, who began to lick Madame’s face; Smallens and Custine brought her the cage with the nightingales, Madame began to whistle to them, and soon they began to sing. Best of all, Lyubovna brought the alligator case and showed her that her jewels were intact. A few minutes later the police arrived at the hotel, and they began to ask Madame questions. She repeated the same story to the commissioner.
The next day I invited Madame to have breakfast alone with me at La Bombonera, the cafeteria where the local artists met. I was certain she wouldn’t tell the commissioner what had really happened, and I wanted the truth directly from her lips; I knew her well enough to tell if she was lying. Lyubovna and the girls all went on different errands. Juan said he had to go back to his workshop and took leave of us. Madame and I walked under the shade of our umbrella to the restaurant, with a group of Swooning Swans trailing behind us like geese and clamoring for Madame’s autograph.
Madame, as usual, graciously signed all their diaries and their newspaper clippings with her photograph before we finally ran into the restaurant to escape the mob. We found a booth at the back and sat down, relieved to get out of the crush. It must have been almost a hundred degrees outside; the street was like a skillet under your feet. I kept silent for a few minutes, letting our spirits simmer down. Once the waiter had brought us tall lemonades with ice, I took both her hands in mine. “What was the trip like? Is it true you weren’t kidnapped? Why didn’t you send a message that you were safe?” I asked softly.
“To tell the truth, Masha, I was getting tired of sleeping on wire cots and having Spartan meals of codfish boiled with green plantain in small-town fondas,” she answered, as if excusing herself for her eccentric behavior. “It’s wonderful to sleep in a bed again and eat in a real restaurant, with linen tablecloth and napkin.” I could tell Madame was changing, reverting to her former self, that Diamantino’s power over her was already waning. But I didn’t want her to realize I was aware of it. I wanted her to talk and I listened attentively to what she had to say. That morning she had put in three hours of strenuous exercise at Teatro Tapia, and that was a good sign. She had begun to dance again; the rest would soon become chaff, falling away from her.
“At first it was all supposed to be a joke: galloping through the woods and dancing in the small towns—a heavy-handed joke, you must admit, like dropping an anvil on your foot!” Madame explained. “Diamantino sent his godfather a message the night we left Arecibo, telling him not to worry, that he wanted to give me a private tour of the island and that I would be treated like a queen before I was returned to Dos Ríos safe and sound. But Don Pedro never received the message. As you know, the old man was furious. He organized a police chase, and Diamantino had his hands full keeping his friends in the Home Guard, who accompanied us on the trip, from getting caught. But they were unarmed.”
“And where is Diamantino now? What happened to him?” I finally managed to bring out the cursed name.
“He’s all right. He’s staying with some friends at a coffee plantation in the mountains for a few days. He’ll be back in San Juan later on,” Madame said.
I looked at her askance. “Are you sure you’re telling me the truth? Would you swear by the Virgin of Vladimir that you weren’t kidnapped?” But she wouldn’t answer.
At that moment Lyubovna entered La Bombonera and we made space for her in the booth so she could join us. So many things had happened since Madame had left! Lyubovna told Niura about Novikov’s new boyfriend, a young man who worked in the local circus as a trapeze artist. Nadja had discovered a trove of old musical scores in a bookstore in Calle San Justo, and when she noticed that they were by Felix Lafortune, the Creole composer from New Orleans who had toured the island many years earlier (so Don Pedro’s story was true, I thought!), she was exuberant. She loved American music and these were unpublished scores; she could make a fortune from them when she returned to New York.
Lyubovna said she had discovered a convent in Old San Juan where the nuns did all sorts of embroidery, and they were wonderful company. She had moved out of the governor’s palace and spent most of her time with them now, sitting on the convent’s balcony overlooking the entrance to the
bay, stitching away on sheets and tablecloths as she gossiped with the nuns. I, on the other hand, had kept to solitary confinement in my tiny room at the Malatrassi, waiting for Madame’s return.
The azure sky, the clouds white as newborn lambs, the people—the friendliest we had met in our travels—the beauty of the city, gleaming like a gem on its medieval ramparts and yet with all the advantages of the modern age thanks to the Americans, with well-paved streets, houses with running water, sewer service, plentiful food—it all made our troupe want to remain on the island. It was as if a spell was woven around us, and we now looked upon Dandré’s impending return as a threat. All except me, that is. I couldn’t wait until he got back, so he would take Madame in hand.
40
DOÑA BASILISA AND HER daughter, Ronda, were waiting for us at the Malatrassi when Madame and I got back. They had come to San Juan because Ronda had been chosen to be the next queen of the Ponce de León Carnival, which would be held in San Juan in two weeks’ time. Ronda was reluctant to accept, but being queen of the carnival gave the family a lot of prestige. “You know how I hate parties and balls, Father. And Diamantino is still missing, we haven’t the faintest idea where he is! How can you think about the carnival now?” she said. Ronda was more worried about Bienvenido than about Diamantino, but she didn’t admit it to her parents. She hadn’t asked her father a single question about Bienvenido’s mysterious disappearance, although she’d made plenty of inquiries in town, all of them fruitless. She knew Don Pedro didn’t look happily on her friendship with the overseer’s son, but she surmised that it was because Bienvenido’s father, Arnaldo Pérez, was mulatto.
Don Pedro insisted that she accept the nomination to be queen of the carnival. “Diamantino has disappeared before,” he said. “God knows what he’s up to now—he’s probably out hunting with his friends in the hills. One day he wants to be an artist, the next he’ll want to be a mountain climber. We can’t live our lives according to his whims. And anyway I’m sure Saint Anthony, the savior of lost souls, will keep him safe.” And when Doña Basilisa herself came to Don Pedro grieving about Diamantino’s disappearance and complaining that it wasn’t a time for parties or celebrations, Don Pedro said, “A mal tiempo buena cara—one must keep one’s chin up in adversity, my dear. Having Ronda preside over the carnival will be good for business. The governor will be there, and so will most of his cabinet members and many senators and representatives. Since we’re the queen’s parents, you and I will sit at the main table and be able to converse with all of them.”
When Ronda still refused, claiming she’d look ridiculous in a ball gown—she’d never worn one and had dressed in pants at the farm ever since she was twelve—Don Pedro said he’d give her a special present if she accepted. “What, Papito?” Ronda asked, her curiosity piqued. “A paso fino horse you can ride in the carnival’s races once the coronation is over,” he answered, beaming. “It’ll be first class; a son of last year’s champion at the Hippodrome. I already picked it out for you.” Ronda was ecstatic, and she accepted her father’s offer.
Doña Basilisa was full of bubbly conversation, as usual, and soon Doña Victoria and Rogelio Tellez joined us in the lobby of the Malatrassi. We all sat around in a circle, talking animatedly. Rogelio told us how he had been ordered by the police not to publish the article he had written about Madame’s disappearance in Arecibo. “You’d think this was a conspiracy of state!” he protested. “They said my story of Madame’s kidnapping would make the shit hit the fan and that Puerto Rico would lose its tourism.” Fortunately, he had heeded the official order and hadn’t published the article, since Madame had turned up safe and sound after all.
Ronda took Madame’s hand and led her to a quiet nook behind a potted palm in the hall of the hotel. She was solemn and looked worried. “I’ve heard rumors in Arecibo that Bienvenido and Diamantino are together in the hills, and I’m worried to death about them. Is it true? Did you see Bienvenido while you were there? I haven’t heard from him since the night of the performance.” Her lips were trembling and I was amazed at her sincerity. To admit to Madame that she was worried about Bienvenido Pérez, the overseer’s son, was a daring thing to do.
Madame kept silent; she knew Diamantino’s life hung in the balance. “I was with Diamantino on a tour of the island, and when I returned to the city he stayed behind at a coffee hacienda in the mountains. I haven’t seen hide or hair of Bienvenido Pérez since the night of the performance at Teatro Oliver,” she said. “I’m sorry, Ronda,” she added, embracing her. “I know how you must feel, but I can’t help you.” Ronda nervously lit a cigarette; I could tell she didn’t believe a word.
Ronda was to appear as Miss Liberty, and her gold-lamé dress—a draped copy of the Statue of Liberty’s—was being made to order at that very moment by a fashion designer who had traveled to Bedloe’s Island to sketch it. At this, Doña Victoria, whom I would have sworn hadn’t heard a word of the conversation, sat up on the lobby’s sofa and began to laugh. She had read Ronda’s lips and understood every word. “The Statue of Liberty, Queen?” she tittered. “That’s just perfect! A colony should always have Liberty as sovereign!”
Doña Victoria promised Ronda she’d be present at the coronation and bring all her friends with her in a comparsa of jíbaros that would accompany her to the throne.
“And who will be your king, dear?” Doña Victoria asked.
“It’s too early. She hasn’t got one yet,” Doña Basilisa said.
“Why should I have one at all? I can Very well reign by myself,” Ronda answered smartly.
“Well, Miss Liberty, let me kiss your hand!” Rogelio teased, reaching for it.
Ronda frowned and pulled her hand away. She wanted to get away from Doña Victoria and her nephew as soon as possible; she couldn’t stand either of them. “The carnival committee is dragging behind in a lot of things,” Doña Basilisa explained, “but we’re working on it.” But Doña Victoria was scandalized. How was Ronda going to ride down the streets of Old San Juan in her carnival float alone? She had to find a young man from one of the best families right away or she’d have to settle for a nobody as king, she fussed.
“Don’t worry about it. We’ll get someone who’s worth her while,” Doña Basilisa said airily. She didn’t like it when Doña Victoria implied her daughter was being spurned.
Doña Basilisa picked up her handbag, said they were under a lot of pressure, and got up from the sofa. They had been away at the farm for a month, she said, and she had just found out her daughter had been selected queen of the festivities. She had to see to thousands of details during the two weeks ahead—Ronda’s gold-lamé dress, her mantle, a headpiece which would reproduce the Statue of Liberty’s magnificent golden crown. They soon rose and left the hotel.
The next day Ronda invited me to go see Rayo at Don Cayetano Ramirez’s horse farm, which stood just behind the Hippodrome. In San Juan Ronda didn’t see me as Madame’s maid anymore. After Madame’s disappearance at Dos Ríos, Ronda had come to depend more and more on me. I accompanied her everywhere and we struck up a friendship which fortunately didn’t fade when we met again in the city.
She picked me up at La Fortaleza in her father’s Pierce-Arrow, driven by a uniformed chauffeur. We went first to Mira-mar, to the Batistinis’ mansion. It was just as magnificent as Juan had described it, with stained-glass decorations on all the windows and a wide balcony from which you could see the Atlantic glinting in the distance. Ronda took my hand and we explored the house together. We stepped into the living room, where Don Eduardo had passed away and the solemn silence of the Sacrament of Extreme Unction—administered in spite of Don Eduardo’s protests—seemed to emanate from the wood-paneled walls. We visited Adalberto Batistini’s room, where I thought I saw his ghost gazing out the window at the landscape he wanted to paint and of course we visited Diamantino’s cell in the basement, to which Don Pedro had removed him when Don Eduardo had died. This was where El Delfín, who had created such havo
c in our company, had lived for several years. In the two months we had spent on the island, these people had become more real to me than those of my beloved St. Petersburg.
We chatted and talked over tea, which Adelina brought out on the terrace—it was nice to be served rather than to serve, for a change—and then we rode out to the Hippodrome in the Pierce-Arrow. I could tell Ronda was still depressed; the fact that Bienvenido hadn’t written her a single line since his disappearance was a bitter reminder that she had no assurance whatever of his love. Unless, of course, he were dead; and Ronda was certain he wasn’t.
On our way to the Hippodrome, we stopped at La Casa de las Medias y los Botones, Madame’s favorite store, to pick up an extra strand of rhinestones that had to be sewn by hand to Ronda’s costume. We had to elbow our way in, there were so many people there. At carnival time La Casa de las Medias became even more popular than it usually was: people flocked to it like flies to ajar of honey. Its jeweled buttons, luxurious brocades, feathers, fans, and masks, the elements that would create the fanciful evening clothes Sanjuaneros loved, were all on display.
Ronda finally made her purchase and we fought our way out of the store. Then we drove out to Don Cayetano’s horse farm. When we saw Rayo, with his curved neck, silky mane, and delicate hooves plucking the ground, I was sure he would help Ronda forget her impossible love. But I was wrong. “Isn’t he beautiful?” she asked the minute she saw him. “I’ll ride him with Bienvenido during the carnival’s race. He’s sure to be back from the hills by then.”
Flight of the Swan Page 19
