Flight of the Swan (26 page)

I knew that the Caribbean was besieged by American warships. The American president had recently sent the marines to occupy Haiti. In Nicaragua and Honduras, United Fruit was king, and the marines were there to make sure it stayed that way. Mexico had been invaded by U.S. troops fifty years earlier, but the wound of that brazen act was still fresh in people’s minds. And now along came Danny, winging his way in like a dove of peace and claiming he wasn’t interested in politics, only in the “adventure of flying” and in bringing the modern world to Latin America. Masha, the peasant girl from Minsk, knew better than that. Dearborn’s trip was just another example of big white brother setting the example for little brown brother in the South to follow. Or else.

Danny was in very good shape as he approached the island. St. Thomas was only a short hop away, and the flight from Charlotte Amalie to Puerto Rico was a piece of cake. He followed the coast from Fajardo all the way up to San Juan, often swooping down as low as he could and sticking his head out the window to identify the landmarks. San Juan’s streets and rooftops were crammed with people waving American flags and scanning the empty horizon when suddenly, out of the blue, a silver sliver began to dance merrily in the sky.

The
Silver Hawk
appeared in all its glory and, under the blazing hot sun, a display of fireworks burst forth. One long, uninterrupted cheer went up and down the length of Ponce de León Avenue, and radio commentators began to yell out the news. Donkey-paced, sleepy Puerto Rico,
el Jíbarito
’s territory for more than three centuries of backward Spanish rule, had finally winged into the modern age. Dearborn had joined it to the future of mankind.

Madame and I negotiated our way around the street vendors who were selling all sorts of Dearborn souvenirs. There were models of the
Silver Hawk
crocheted in silver thread by little old ladies; there were Dearborn busts cast in bronze or in silver-plated alloys, done in plaster, or carved in bone and soap; there were Dearborn ashtrays, toothpick holders, and beer mugs; stickpins of his monoplane were sold at every corner (in New York, J. P. Morgan had one with the
Silver Hawk
cut from a single diamond); a company in Massachusetts produced the Lucky Dearborn shoe for women, which featured the silhouette of the
Silver Hawk
sewn in patent leather, with a propeller on the toe and a photograph of Danny inserted in a leather horseshoe sewn on the side, and some had made their way to the island (Juan, who liked fine shoes, was furious when he saw them; he considered them an example of the horrendous taste Americans would impose on Puerto Rico). And for each product Dearborn endorsed, he was paid a generous sum. Madame bought a Dearborn tie and put it in her handbag to give to Dandré as a present.

A few minutes later, Dearborn circled the capitol’s dome several times, waving to the cheering crowds below; then he did three Immelmann turns and soared almost straight up and over until he was flying upside down. Finally, he landed at the city’s
canódromo
, the dog-racing course, where Governor Yager was waiting for him in his classic white linen suit and immaculate white suede shoes. The official caravan whisked Dearborn away in a black Packard limousine and brought him straight to La Fortaleza, where Danny would spend the night in the bedroom next to Madame’s.

The following day, over breakfast, the governor congratulated Dearborn: “Your trip is a monumental step in the development of mankind; we need more peacemaking missions like yours,” he said. Then he confided that the island was going through a dangerous period of unrest, and that there were rabble-rousers everywhere. He told Dearborn all about Los Tiznados, and how, after kidnapping the famous Russian ballet star who was staying next door to him—she had turned up in San Juan drugged and with a scarf tied over her eyes a few days earlier—they still remained out of reach in their redoubt in the mountains. “We need your help, Colonel. Your motto, ‘Airplanes give the eyes of birds to the minds of men,’ could be of great value to us. Would you take a turn or two around the island in the
Silver Hawk
in order to see if you can discern any sign of them? I hear that, from an airplane, one can discover places that are very difficult to reach by land. The truth is, we have no idea of Los Tiznados’ whereabouts.”

Dearborn didn’t think he could be of help, but he asked for a map of the island to humor the governor. He would gladly fly over the hilly forests a few times—the island was very small, after all—only thirty-five miles wide by one hundred miles long and shaped like a crumpled lozenge—to see if he could discover some clue to the desperadoes’ whereabouts. While he was at it, however, he wondered if the governor wouldn’t mind telling him if there were any Indian ruins around, because he was an amateur archeologist and there was nothing in the world he loved to do more than discover archeological sites from the air. He had done it in Mexico, where he had taken the first air photographs of Chichén Itzá, the famous Mayan metropolis, and he had then proceeded to discover half a dozen Mayan cities in Quintana Roo.

Governor Yager agreed to his request, gave him a map, and pointed out the general area of the ancient Taino baseball park of Otoao, which had never been reconnoitered from the air. The following day, Dearborn flew southwest toward the jagged peaks that rose like a spine the length of the island. After twenty minutes of scanning and swinging in and out of the clouds, he saw a large, rectangular clearing with rows of huge stones standing on edge. He swooped down to get a better look and suddenly found himself being fired at by what looked like a band of scraggly, bearded men with straw hats on their heads. Their camp was practically an arsenal, and there were rifles and ammo boxes everywhere. No doubt they were Los Tiznados.

Dearborn turned his plane around and twenty minutes later he was back in San Juan, landing at the dog-racing course. In less than an hour he had traveled to and from Otoao, a distance which usually took a week to reach, scaling steep gorges and mountain paths, and a week to return. As soon as Governor Yager was informed of the location of the Indian site, a police detachment was sent to the spot and most of Los Tiznados were wiped out or captured. The news was published in all the papers. Bienvenido and Diamantino, who barely managed to escape, read about it at El Carite, a
cafetín
near Arecibo where they had taken refuge. They swore they would make Colonel Dearborn pay.

T
HAT AFTERNOON I WAS
ironing Madame’s clothes when I heard a knock at the door. It was Estrella Aljama and Diana Yager, who had come to visit Madame. They were dressed in muslin, one in pink and the other one in white. They came in laughing and embraced Madame affectionately. They were surprised to find Dandré in the room and immediately stopped chattering, but I introduced him and told them who he was and that he had just arrived from the States. Dandré bowed graciously and left the room after paying his compliments. The girls went on jabbering excitedly. They told Madame all about Dearborn’s arrival; he was as good-looking as it was rumored, six feet tall, lithe, with a golden cowlick on his forehead. To top it off he was a bachelor, the dream man of every single young woman on the island. Madame definitely had to meet him.

The girls wanted Madame to hear the plans for the Ponce de León Carnival, which was to be held the following night. Preparations for the celebrations were almost ready. The ball was to be named the Democracy Ball, and everyone was to attend masked. Ronda’s ladies-in-waiting would be Diana and Estrella, dressed respectively as Fraternity and Equality. In fact, a marvelous idea had occurred to them: since Ronda Batistini, the carnival queen, still hadn’t been able to find a king, if Dearborn could be persuaded to stay on the island one extra night and postpone his flight to Santo Domingo, he could take the king’s place and it would make the event an even greater social success. Ronda had suggested it to her father, who told Governor Yager. The governor thought the idea brilliant—he had just read Don Pedro’s letter, which he had finally stumbled on under a pile of backlogged correspondence—and immediately sent a message to the committee in charge of organizing the festivities. They wouldn’t have to pick a king for the Democracy Ball after all, he said. He promised to take Dearborn to them in person, and the famous aviator would escort the queen to her throne that evening.

The ball would be held at Teatro Tapia, and they were charging ten dollars per person; the money was going to the war-relief fund overseas. Many people would go just to see Dearborn and they could raise quite a bit of money that way. “We’d love it if you also took part in the celebrations, Madame,” they begged. “We thought you could dance
The Dying Swan
one last time before you left the island.” I looked away from Madame, not wanting to influence her one way or the other. I thought the whole thing was ridiculous, but Dandré, who had come back into the room, was very accommodating. “Of course she will, my dears,” he said, humoring them and plucking at his mustache. “It’ll be a good opportunity for Niura to get back to her dancing.” “All right, I’ll dance,” Madame agreed softly. “But not
The Dying Swan
.”

“The word ‘carnival’ comes from the Latin
carne vale
, which literally means ‘good-bye to the flesh.’ Before doing penance for the death of Christ one can kick up one’s heels for the last time,” Juan explained, pinching my ass and trying to grab one of my breasts. I skipped away, laughing, just in time. Although I had promised to marry him, I didn’t see any use in hurrying.
Matrimonio y mortaja del cielo baja
—wedding and winding sheet both fall from heaven, as the popular Spanish saying goes. I still didn’t know if Madame would let Juan travel with us abroad, as a member of the troupe, as I hoped.

Meanwhile, all we could do was wait. I knew Dandré had everything ready for our departure, our new passports checked by the police commissioner and our expenses at the Hotel Malatrassi taken care of with money he had taken out of the company’s account in New York. But there were no ships sailing for Panama in the next few weeks, and we would have to wait in San Juan for the arrival of one large enough to accommodate us all. I didn’t mind the waiting, I was well entertained. After Madame went to bed, I discreetly went out of La Fortaleza through a secret door in the wall that faced the sea and sat with Juan at the water’s edge, kissing and caressing till all hours of the night.

Since Spanish times, the carnival had been the most important social event of the year on the island. People saw it as a way to forget their painful day-to-day existence. Poverty, hunger, and sickness were all too common on the island then, Juan said. Epidemics were frequent: typhus, tuberculosis, even the bubonic plague ravaged Puerto Rico from time to time because of ship’s rats. Thousands died—poor and rich alike. The carnival was a way to exorcise all that. It took place just before Lent, but it was very much a pagan celebration, during which people burned the candle at both ends.

“All of society attends it,” Juan went on. “There’s dancing in the casino, at the wharves before the customhouse, and in the narrow cobblestone streets, as several orchestras play simultaneously in different locations. Horse races are also an important part of the celebrations, as men and women here are very good riders, and they gallop wildly across the city in every direction, competing in speed and dexterity into the wee hours. Lit up at every corner, with bonfires of perfumed cedar and sandalwood blazing well into the night, our city resembles a magical coral reef, spilling fireworks from every rooftop and church belfry. It’s a marvelous spectacle, Masha! I swear, I’ll make it worth your while!”

Juan’s eyes shone like embers and his breath made my skin tingle with excitement.

Governor Yager was well-intentioned, but, being an American and a Presbyterian, he didn’t have the faintest idea of what the Juan Ponce de León Carnival was all about. In the era of Spanish rule the king was paid homage during the celebrations, and then El Rey Momo took the king’s place. Momo was dressed like a grotesque
monigote
—a giant puppet in flowing, brightly colored satin robes. He was the king of partying, the monarch of drink and good food. He was also the butt of all the dirty jokes and pranks the population could devise. When the carnival began, El Rey Momo was taken for a ride around the city and everyone would pelt him with garbage, jeer at him good-naturedly, or throw cow bladders full of water at his head. It was a harmless way to exorcise frustrations.

On his way to the carnival ball, however, Momo paraded down the streets on a white stallion decorated with golden ribbons and bows, throwing silver coins to the crowd while everyone cried “
Qué viva el rey
!” “Long live the king!” Once at the Tapia, Momo would stand next to the queen as she was crowned. Thanks to Momo, political authority—be it Spanish or American—could be safely ridiculed, and no one had to worry about having his head chopped off.

Governor Yager was completely unaware of this custom when he agreed to take Dearborn to the Tapia Theater and have him occupy the king’s place as Ronda Batistini was crowned queen. It never occurred to him to ask the young man if he liked the idea. Dearborn was twenty-five, and all young chaps his age loved balls and pretty girls.

By nine o’clock the following evening, Madame and I were putting on our costumes and our black silk masks. Madame had decided to dance the
Bacchanale
; I suppose she chose it for sentimental reasons—it was the piece she had danced with Diamantino in Arecibo. She had had enough of frothy tutus and swan feathers, she said. Glazunov’s
Bacchanale
was about the liberation of the body. It was the only ballet she wanted to dance that night at the carnival.

Madame would perform the role of Ariadne, Novikov would perform that of Dionysus, and the girls and I would dance the maenads, as usual. We were getting ready to go out when we heard two men arguing loudly in English. Surprised, we stopped in our tracks to listen: it was Governor Yager and Dearborn in the room next to Madame’s.