Flight of the Swan by Rosario Ferré Page B

Dionysus is devoured by the wild bacchantes when he comes to take Ariadne away from the isle of Naxos. On stage, of course, this didn’t actually happen; we merely pantomimed the drinking and the carousing. Many people found the story line shocking, but the ballet was very successful in Paris and New York, where audiences are more sophisticated and enjoy this sort of spectacle, not unlike what happens in their harlot megalopolises. Molinari joined us and his caustic commentaries were immediately forthcoming. He pointed out that cannibalism, after all, was relatively common in Western religious practices, and that Christ was devoured in the white communion wafer at the end of each Mass, be it Orthodox, Catholic, or Episcopalian. We all burst out laughing but were secretly terrified.
    Clad in semi-transparent silk, Madame let her billowing veil drop, threw rose garlands at Novikov/Dionysus, ducked and twisted with almost animal vigor, and even went into kissing clinches with him. Novikov lunged at her like a satyr, following in leaps and bounds. Then a buzz rose from the back of the theater and rippled forward until it reached the front row. The satyr’s costume was, unfortunately, very revealing; it clung to Novikov’s masculine form like skin. The girls and I were the dancing maenads, and when we attacked Dionysus, cries of “Disgusting!” were heard from the crowd. People began to get up angrily and leave the theater. At that precise moment, however, Novikov fell through a trapdoor on the floor and disappeared. The audience clapped vigorously as the character’s integrity was restored, and the god was chastised for his sinful behavior. Diana Yager and Estrella Aljama both looked relieved.
    The second part of the program was more sedate. Madame’s Dragonfly had nothing more risqué than a strapless chiffon costume which billowed around her like a cloud and a pair of narrow diamante wings which trembled at her waist. The night was crowned with another perfect rendition of The Dying Swan . Halfway through it, however, the lyrical atmosphere was shattered by several gunshots. I ran to the back door of the stage to find out what was going on and opened it a crack only to see the empty, cobblestoned streets and the silent piers. Since the dry law had been passed, many bars in town had closed, while others had turned into shooting galleries.
    Our troupe danced three evenings in a row, to dwindling audiences. Madame couldn’t figure out what was wrong. There were no more protests about indecent exposure; we judiciously altered Dionysus’s costume and now he danced with a short tunic over his leotard that concealed his conspicuous physique. Madame speculated that the revenue from the rum sales was an important part of the Sanjuaneros ’ income, and now they couldn’t afford to throw away money on entertainment. In any case, by 6:00 p.m. the streets were empty and most restaurants and bars in San Juan were closed. Prohibition, which had been hanging like a shroud over the capital for months, finally smothered it.
    During the day people were seen running to empty their rum casks on the wharves and at the beach to get away from the police. A cloud of sweetish, rum-soaked vapor hung over the city. Others were going around drunk from the fumes and mourning for the thousands of dollars they had literally poured down the drain. On the fourth night no one came to see us dance. Teatro Tapia remained ominously empty.
    Huddled in front of the stage’s back door, we argued for over an hour about what should be done. Molinari had collected seven hundred dollars in cash, the profits from the first night’s performance, but part of that money belonged to the theater, and we needed the rest to survive until Dandré came back. The agent was mad as a hornet, and kept threatening us that Bracale would wreak vengeance when he heard his profits were wiped out.
    Madame tried to appease him. “Dandré never dreamed we could be left out in the