Flight of the Swan by Rosario Ferré

streamed down his face. And he bowed deeply as Madame went by.

13
    W E TOOK MADAME TO a nearby hospital run by the Sisters of Charity. The nuns rushed about with sail-like bonnets on their heads and bandaged Madame’s arm. They insisted on dressing it with gauze, although her wound was no more than a scratch. Dandré went with Molinari and several bodyguards to La Fortaleza’s police station to report the accident. The next morning I rushed out of the hotel to buy the local newspaper, but to my surprise, there was no mention of the attempt on Madame’s life. No shot had been fired at the reception; no panicked guests had run out of the garden gates or hidden under the darkened shrubbery the night before. It was all kept quiet.
    I was astounded that something like this could happen, when I ran into Molinari on the street. He appeared suddenly from behind a building and loomed over me like a threatening shadow. “Could I have a word with you?” he said quickly, taking me by the arm as I was about to go back upstairs. He reminded me of the devil because of his black suit. He smelled of camphor and mothballs, like my stepfather, and I had a hard time breathing whenever he drew near me. We went into a coffee shop around the corner and he ordered ham-and-cheese bocadillos with café con leche for both of us. I was terrified, but I wasn’t going to let on.
    “I want to know what that stuck-up prig talked about with your mistress last night,” he said. “She shouldn’t be seen with him.” I felt relieved it wasn’t me Molinari was after. “They were talking about the weather,” I said defiantly. He looked at me and smiled. “I like you. You’ve got spunk. Let’s make a deal: you want to get rid of Diamantino Márquez and so do I. We should be allies from now on.” I gulped down my coffee and bocadillo , “Fine,” I said, pretending to agree with him. “As soon as I hear something interesting I’ll let you know.” “Trato hecho,” he replied, winking at me as he squeezed my hand.
    The attempt on Madame’s life made her so nervous that Dr. Malatrassi, the father of the hotel owner, had to be summoned to her room. He prescribed bromuro and valerian pills for her, and chamomile tea for the dancers. The whole company was on edge. Novikov refused to walk Madame’s dog and wouldn’t go out of the hotel at all; Custine began to give the dancers their daily exercises in his bedroom, after moving the bed out into the hallway. Smallens practiced his scores at the hotel’s piano bar. The Malatrassi was buzzing like a beehive.
    From my room, which was next to Madame’s, I could hear her arguing with Dandré about what should be done. The commissioner of police had come by earlier and left a message that he wanted to see Dandré. Did he know what had happened? Would he be able to help us? If it weren’t for the nick in Madame’s arm, she would be hard put to convince him there had been an attempt on her life. They couldn’t agree as to who was behind the shooting: the reactionary sugar barons, who pegged Madame as a Bolshevik, or the radicals who saw her as the czar’s ballerina, a relic of Imperial Russia. Madame believed it was the former; Dandré the latter.
    While they quarreled loudly in the bedroom, I went on with my duties. Dandré was always ordering me about, to keep me away from Madame, but I didn’t mind. Ubiquitous Masha had to be everywhere. I ran upstairs and began to draw Madame’s bath. I washed her underwear, polished her shoes, and ironed the dress she’d be wearing that morning. Then I had to go down to the kitchen to bring them their breakfast tray. I was anxious to finish my chores and go out as soon as possible. The atmosphere on the island seemed charged with danger, and I wanted to find out why.
    I already knew why the governor’s wife hadn’t been present at the reception the night before. One of the waiters at La Fortaleza had informed me of her mysterious illness: Mrs. Yager lived