The Ebony Swan

by Phyllis A. Whitney

  “I can still remember the rap of her stick on my ankles when a step was wrong!” Alex twisted her mouth expressively.

  Magda had told Alex’s parents that their child had been created for dancing. Her slender body and small, strong ankles were formed for power. She possessed arms and hands that never made an awkward movement. Her small, graceful head, with its long neck, possessed a natural balance, even before Madame began to train her.

  Alex spoke affectionately of the young girl she had been, as though of someone distant from herself. Susan warmed to the picture her grandmother was creating. She would like to have known that young girl.

  “Of course it was only during the summer that I could take lessons, but I worked fervently the rest of the year—making mistakes and falling into bad habits that had to be painfully corrected when I was with Madame again.

  “When I was fifteen and proficient on my toes, and perhaps even a little better than she had expected in my technique, Madame came down to the coast to visit my parents’ old Spanish house in Lima. She brought a guest with her because she wanted him to see me dance. She told me I had the passion, the spark, to make a great dancer, but I needed to believe in myself. When it came to a public performance, I was still frightened and unready.

  “His name was Rudolf Folkes, and he must have been impressed by something he saw in me, even though I needed intensive training. He told me that he wasn’t sure whether I would be willing to work hard enough to please him, but I convinced him that I would work. I would do anything for this chance. Of course I worshiped him. He gave me the name Drina, and when he touched me I knew I could do anything. He was my first love.”

  Susan glanced at her grandmother, seeing her with new eyes. Alex might wear the guise of an old woman, but all these wonderful experiences lay beneath the surface, keeping the younger woman in her alive.

  “My parents were doubtful in the beginning, but they would never have opposed something that I wanted so passionately. I danced in Rudy’s corps de ballet for a year, becoming accustomed to the life, and to dancing on a stage.

  “For a little while—such a little while!—my life was filled with work and magic. And love. He made me a prima ballerina. Have you any idea, Susan, what such a life could be like? The adulation, the applause that sent waves of love and approval to a dancer, the tremendous baskets of flowers that could fill a dressing room! What pampering! And the grueling effort that never stopped, even when my toes bled. Even when I danced on a broken ankle.

  “Of course my dancing had an aura of unreality about it. When a spotlight followed me, I felt only the passion of the dance, never the physical pain. It was worth anything to be so loved by all those people out there in the darkness of a theater. When Rudy died, I went home to Lima. I knew that my dancing was over, but I thought my life was over as well. The young are like that, never dreaming that what lies ahead may be more remarkable than anything yet experienced. And sometimes far worse, in terms of pain.”

  Alex was silent for so long that Susan dared to ask a question. “How did Rudy die?”

  “In a senseless accident. He was swimming off an island in Greece and got caught in an undertow that carried him away.”

  Why didn’t you go on dancing anyway? You must have been famous by that time, and wanted everywhere.”

  “What I lacked was not the talent and passion to be a dancer, but the confidence. Without that, one is nothing. Rudy could touch me, and I knew I could achieve anything, no matter how difficult. His belief in me was absolute but it nevertheless challenged me. He created four ballets for me. Ballets that no one else has danced as well. When he died, the magic died with him, and I could do nothing.”

  This seemed unbearably sad. “How is that possible? I knew the moment I met you how strong you are, how enormously confident. I felt in awe of you—I still do—and I expect you know very well that you have that effect on people.”

  Alex smiled slightly, pleased perhaps. “If only we could understand our potential while we’re still young—then anything would be possible. But I suppose the young would be even more impossible if that were the case. What you think you see in me now is partly façade and partly a lot of hard-won effort.”

  Slowly the world around them became real again, and Susan looked up at the great edifice of the church, overpowering in its bulk beyond the low brick wall. Alex’s red volcano in the Andes seemed lifetimes away from this sheltered spot, yet somehow Susan felt closer to the past that existed in her grandmother’s memory than she felt toward her own uncertain present.

  “I’m not as young as you were then,” Susan said, “but I still have more doubts than I can deal with. Perhaps that’s why I’ve come—to find some sort of balance by discovering the past.”

  “I’m not sure you’ll find balance here,” Alex said, and made a movement to rise.

  “Wait!” Susan put a hand on her arm. “What happened next? I want to hear the rest of the story.”

  “I met Juan Gabriel Montoro, who apparently found me fascinating, not only as a dancer, but as a woman after he met me through my parents. He was already a distinguished writer, and he rescued me from my fears and my grief. My desire to dance was gone—it would never return—but that didn’t matter to him. Now, when I look at the old photographs I showed you yesterday, it’s as if they were pictures of someone I knew long ago. The only time anything touches me from those years is when I hear some phrase of music I once danced to. The music from Swan Lake can carry me back in an instant.”

  “You must have been truly wonderful for Rudy Folkes to believe in you as he did.”

  “It wasn’t all mystical and magical. There was a lot of hard work and physical pain. But I had the long legs, the stamina, and I had the necessary concentration. In Swan Lake there are all those little swans fluttering around, and one must never allow oneself to become distracted. It’s a very technical ballet. Rudy did his own version, and he wanted more buoyancy than the Russians gave it. He knew I could float in the air when he wanted me to. The white swan almost flew at the end. Her part was easy for me to dance, and I loved the very feeling of being Odette.”

  Alex’s eyes closed, and Susan knew that some part of her was experiencing the movements of the dance. “What about the black swan?” she asked.

  “That was more difficult. Rudy wanted Odile to be especially evil. My arms had to entice and the movement required a great deal of flexibility. I had trouble with my arms. But when I danced on a stage, it all came together and I only thought of being Odile—the black swan, who would take away the white swan’s innocent prince. Now, when I hear a snatch of Tchaikovsky something in me breaks into bits, like a shattering crystal.”

  Tears came into Susan’s eyes. “You gave it up too soon!”

  “Perhaps. But at least I stopped while I was one of the best. Do you know that even today I can dance every one of Rudy’s ballets in my mind, though I could hardly manage a step physically. But never mind all that—it was so many lifetimes ago. I’ve no regrets about not dancing. There’s been too much else in my life that I never expected. It’s difficult for a ballet dancer to have any sort of life outside of her dancing, so I’ve been lucky. Enough about me. I want to know more about you, Susan.”

  “There isn’t much to tell.”

  “I’m sure that’s not true. What are the first experiences that come to mind when you think back?”

  Susan sensed a longing in her grandmother, and an alertness—something she couldn’t satisfy.

  “I can’t think back. What comes to my mind is recent and not very happy.”

  “Then go back further. What scenes do you remember?”

  Susan closed her eyes. “There were mountains for me too. Always the Sangre de Cristo behind Santa Fe. Adobe colors that I love—earth colors. The desert, of course. It’s beautiful when it’s dry, and of course riotous with color when it blooms. Everything is different
from all this lush greenery.”

  “Who were your friends?”

  “My best friend for a long while was a Mexican-American girl, so I speak a little Mexican Spanish. My first work as a nurse was on the Navajo reservation in Arizona. I drove a Jeep and went where they needed me. Is this what you want to hear?”

  “Yes—it tells me a little about who you are and what you care about. Go further back. Who was the first boy you fell in love with?”

  Laughter bubbled from her throat, though she wasn’t far from tears. “There was a boy in high school I was crazy about, though he didn’t notice me at all.” Suddenly, without warning, she knew why she’d been crazy about that particular schoolmate. He had reminded her of a young boy she remembered only as “Petey.” That was both funny and sad. Especially since she’d never recognized this before.

  Alex must have heard the full stop that Susan had placed on her memories. She reached for her cane, but before Susan could help her up, she sank back again.

  “There goes Gilbert—over to the Reception Center. Now is your chance, Susan!”

  “For what?”

  “I brought you here to see if the church might have something to give you. I don’t mean something connected with any special religion. No—don’t refuse. Let the place decide what you might feel when you are inside those walls and totally alone. Look up into that vaulted light. Wait and be quiet. Close your eyes and let whatever needs to happen, happen. Go now.”

  Earlier, Susan might have held back. But she felt closer to Alex Montoro, who was her grandmother, but who was also a remarkable woman who had won her way to a certain wisdom. Perhaps that was what she could use now—Alex’s wisdom.

  “All right—I’ll try. But don’t count on anything.”

  Alex smiled again—her wonderfully warming smile which still held a hint of mystery about it. This old woman could charm anyone, Susan thought as she hurried off toward the door of the church. She was still a little on guard and wanted to get this over with as quickly as possible.

  “You can’t rush it,” Alex called after her.

  Again, when she stepped through the door, Susan felt how cool it was in contrast to the heat outdoors. But the quality of the air seemed different somehow, now that she stood here alone. She touched nothing, but walked up the main aisle to the point where it met the transept aisle. The light that filtered in from high windows in the tunneled eaves had a tranquilizing effect. In spite of herself, she felt her tension flow away, tight muscles seemed to untie. Even the tension she held in her jaw lessened. The skeptical part of her mind whispered, “So what?”

  She didn’t listen. Some ancient power existed in this place—something she didn’t understand—didn’t want to accept. Superstitious nonsense! She closed her eyes and waited for the twinkling light that danced under her lids to subside so that she could look into velvety blackness. She swayed a little, and steadied herself by putting one hand on a tall pew.

  The darkness she looked into was an empty screen, upon which images began to appear. Without any conscious devising of her own, pictures appeared in full color. Pictures that were strange and far from reassuring. All around her were tombstones—old graves set aboveground, with dates from years past. Yet this was not a cemetery. On each side of the spaces of crowded tombstones were houses where people lived. She could see a swing in a yard where children played, with more graves visible beyond.

  For a moment she felt afraid—as if of some horrifying portent. But the children seemed happy. One of them pushed another in a swing, and she could hear laughter. A sense filled her of life and death moving together, and she knew the vision was not to be entirely feared, even though she could not tell its meaning. There seemed a promise here—but of what?

  The pictures vanished, and when she opened her eyes she felt strangely reassured, though she understood nothing of what had happened, or why she should have received so strange a vision. Anger that had been a constant companion for a long time seemed to have lessened, and she felt that perhaps now she could let it go.

  She left the church and returned to Alex. Her grandmother knew at once that something had happened. “Tell me,” she said.

  Susan sat down on the grass and leaned against the trunk of the oak tree. “It was very strange. I saw a place where houses and graves seemed to exist closely together. Yet it was a happy place, with children playing and no sense of death or dying. I had the strong feeling that it was a dream about life.”

  As she spoke, Susan had closed her eyes again. When her grandmother uttered a choked sound, she opened them to see something like terror in Alex’s face.

  “No!” the old woman whispered. “You can’t have seen that!” she struggled to rise, shocked and denying, and Susan got up to help her to her feet. But before she could ask what was wrong, Hallie came out of the Reception Center and rushed toward them, her arms flung out awkwardly from her body as she ran.

  Alex sighed and sank back against the tree, but at least this distraction had helped her to recover herself. “Hallie never restrains her slightest impulse. Something has happened that she thinks can’t wait.”

  “Why did what I said upset you so badly?”

  “Later, Susan. Not now.”

  “You looked frightened.”

  “I am frightened.”

  Even before she reached them, Hallie began to exclaim shrilly. “Thank goodness I found you! I’ve just had a phone call—with such strange news. Gilbert thought you might still be on the grounds, so I came looking right away.”

  She flopped down on the grass beside Alex, out of breath.

  Susan and Alex both waited.

  “It’s about Marilyn Macklin’s manuscript!” Hallie said, when she’d caught her breath. “Her biography of Juan Gabriel Montoro. Susan, did you know that it disappeared after Marilyn’s death? But today somebody left it at the library in Kilmarnock, and Sheriff O’Donnell took it to Dr. Mac.”

  “Eric has already told us about this,” Alex said calmly.

  “Yes—I know that. But you haven’t heard it all. I stopped in to see Dr. Mac this morning because my arthritis has flared up. He came to his office especially for me. So I was there when Bill O’Donnell came to talk to him. Dr. Mac looked through the pages and found that the last chapters were missing. He hadn’t read the manuscript originally—Marilyn wouldn’t let him—so he didn’t know what might be in those pages. Obviously the book was unfinished.”

  Disturbed by this outburst, Susan watched her grandmother, but Alex’s expression told her only that she was being careful about what she said.

  “As far as I know,” Alex said, “Marilyn never completed her work.”

  Hallie was already shaking her head. “I saw what Bill O’Donnell showed Dr. Mac. There was a notation in Marilyn’s own writing at the end of the typed script. It said, ‘Notes for last chapters follow.’ But there weren’t any notes. So what happened to them?”

  “I really don’t think it matters,” Alex said. “Please help me up, Susan. My legs are getting stiff.”

  Susan helped her up and when Alex had limbered up a little, she gestured toward her car. “Let’s go home.”

  Hallie came with them, still persistent. “You must have seen those notes, Alex. So what was in them?”

  Alex managed to answer patiently. “Marilyn was undecided about how to handle the final year of Juan Gabriel’s life. There was something left out earlier because I didn’t want her to use it, and she still thought it should go in, if only at the end. Why does all this matter to you, Hallie?”

  “Why wouldn’t it? We’ve always been close to your family, Alex. Of course I’m interested.”

  Alex got into the driver’s seat without further discussion, and when Susan joined her, she nodded to Hallie.

  “Thanks for coming to tell me, but it really doesn’t matter anymore. So relax.”

  As
they drove away, Susan looked back to see Hallie staring after them—a tall, thin figure that reminded Susan a little of a scarecrow.

  “What a strange woman,” she said.

  “Strange, yes. And much too meddlesome,” Alex said shortly.

  They hardly spoke on the drive home, and Susan knew better than to push on questions concerning the vision she’d experienced in the church. She wanted very much to know why what she had seen had seemed to shock her grandmother, but there was no use in asking her now.

  Not until they were nearly back to the house did Alex seem to relax. “I’ve arranged an outing for you this afternoon, Susan. Peter Macklin is coming to take you to lunch. You need to get out with someone your own age.”

  Susan found that she felt ambivalent about such a high-handed arrangement, made without consulting her. Yet, the small child she had once been leaped with eagerness at the idea of being with Peter. Her grownup self was immediately on guard against falling into something she was totally unready for. Peter was deep in his own troubles and the sorrow over the loss of his wife. He didn’t need to have her thrust upon him right now.

  Alex went on calmly, as though certain of Susan’s agreement. “We have an hour before you need to be ready, and there’s something else I want to show you.”

  When they reached the house there was once more the ritual of George coming out to help Alex from the car, which he then took around to the garage.

  “We’ll go upstairs,” Alex said. “I’ve decided to satisfy your curiosity about the locked room in the tower. We’ll look into it together. It’s time.”

  Her strength seemed to have returned, and whatever had upset her earlier, had been neatly hidden away.

  When they reached the third floor, Alex walked into the tower bedroom and stood for a moment regarding the photograph of Machu Picchu that Theresa had hung over the bed.