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A Tale Of Exile
A loving tribute to Alicia Alonso
The dawn was just breaking in the sky when the
parade reached the Ballet Nacional de Cuba. The austerity of the place hit me
like a cold wind. It was majestic, clean and in perfect order, but on it was the
zeal of the revolution. I studied in that hall, with its lofty vaulted roof and
its panelled walls, when it was Havana's Gran Teatro, under choreographer and
prima ballerina Alicia Alonso. She was an impressive looking woman with pale
complexion, dark eyes, and fine strong features. Her black hair was short,
curly, with a few wispy bangs that hung down over her forehead. She knew her
music intimately and, when she danced, she became the metronome behind the
melody that stretched muscles and stripped thought, suspended in beautiful
contortions of frozen acrobatics. There were days of ecstasy, and fear, under
her direction.
"Why did you become a dancer?" she once asked me.
"I take pleasure from my audience, Maestra," I replied.
"We are not put on earth to take pleasure."
I received a stern look and had to hold an arabesque pose for what seemed like
several hours. My body sweated and burned. I closed my eyes as the stillness
took over and the smell of the ocean breeze, from the open window,
counterbalanced my own body odour. It was like being caught in a liberating
dream where I was rising higher and higher above the white-capped waves until
mind and body were calm and quite clear. I opened my eyes and smiled at her, she
smiled back, one breath heavier than the rest, in a carefree reception of
celebration.
It's funny how the soul keeps the heart, mind and spirit in suspension, even
when destiny pulls them apart. Over thirty years have passed since I defected,
while on tour in Paris. The Cuban national anthem plays, and I now stand on the
same spot where I had stood on the day of my arrival to the theatre, as a young
dancer. The scene becomes surreal, among a spray of Cuban emblems and flags.
Alicia surfaces. She can hardly move or see. The crowd cheers, crying out her
name with joy. And I, her once beloved student, find her even more beautiful
than ever before. It is true the years have passed and we can no longer dance in
our old age, but our bodies still shape and form the curving shoreline of Cuba's
golden beaches, embalming the moonlight with nostalgia, reminding us that we do
not drown, but rise, from our histories.
Ballerina Alicia Alonso in Arabesque Position
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Mili, Gjon
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