She has steel in her belly and fire in her soul.

A formidable woman, small in size but large in influence, Alicia Alonso is one of ballet's great icons.

I was terrified to meet her. Last year, when she came to Hamilton to oversee her Cuban Ballet Company's production of The Nutcracker, I stewed for days about how to approach her. Dealing with a diva can be difficult.

Approaching someone you admire and respect has inherent dangers. You can be disappointed by the reality.

The illusion in your mind doesn't always match a person up close and personal.

I walked along the Sheraton Hamilton Hotel corridor toward the lady's suite. My hands shook. I've met stars before. Nureyev, Makarova, even Judy Garland. To a degree they disappointed. Products of their personas, they just didn't seem real.

"If she doesn't like you, you're out of there in two minutes," the weary publicist said, knocking on the door. That didn't make me feel good.

After all, I had already disappointed the lady by not accepting her invitation to Havana. She wanted me to see her ballet school. My mother was dying in a nursing home. I had to stay here.

I clutched my pad and pen and walked toward a tiny creature. She was like a queen holding court. Her knights, guards or whatever you want to call them, sat in a corner, breathing heavily.

Then a smile crossed Alonso's face. She held out a strong, wrinkled hand.

Wearing dark glasses, a silk scarf wrapped round her head, she nodded her head toward a chair.

Almost blind, 88 years old, this woman was the greatest Giselle of her generation. I had watched her dance this signature role when she was just about 60. She could still create an aura of youth. I was in awe of her talent.

Now she was sitting in front of me, a woman who had carved a ballet company out of nothing in revolutionary Cuba.

"You didn't come to Havana," she said, fixing me with a long stare that reached over the top of her glasses.

"No," I said quietly. "My mother was dying."

Her face softened. She reached for my hand. "I'm sorry," she said.

"She's at peace now," I answered.

We talked of ballet and Castro and of Cuba's cultural revolution. We talked, too, of the American embargo and how it's hurt her land.

She spoke of Cuba, shackled in chains.

"I call it cruel," she said. "As long as people in America are silent and accepting, the embargo will go on.

"We need a great noise. We need people to cry, 'Enough is Enough.'"

We talked of ballet and passion, two things that drove her on and on, past the time when others would give up.

We sat silent, hand in hand, communicating on some emotional, perhaps spiritual level.

Before I left I gave her a rather large rhinestone pin that belonged to my mom.

She fondled it with a gnarled hand, brushing it against her rouged cheek.

"I will treasure it forever," she said.

When I left, I expected her to throw it in a drawer.

A couple of days later at the opening night of The Nutcracker, Alonso made her grand entrance in a pale grey gown. Jewels glittered at her throat and on her wrists. Below the Empire drape of her dress was a large pin. It caught the light, burning like fire. Can it be? No, surely not.

At intermission I'm summoned to the great lady's dressing room. She's surrounded by dignitaries. She leaves them for me.

"Do you see what I am wearing?" she asked, her face flashing an impish grin.

"Yes. My mother's pin," I said.

She clutched my hand. "I will treasure it always." A tear ran down my cheek. Then she called me closer.

"It's just a little thing," she added, handing me a slim courier bag.

Inside is a hard-to-find disc of Alonso dancing her great Giselle.

"I knew you wanted it. I had it specially flown in from Cuba."

She's called the Iron Lady, a tough, no-nonsense woman. She wields power without a second thought.

Well, to me she'll always be someone I'll never forget.

Isn't that what all legends ought to be?

Eternal.

Gary Smith has written on theatre and dance for The Hamilton Spectator for more than 25 years.

Showtime

What: Giselle

Who: National Ballet of Cuba

When: Oct. 4 at 7:30 p.m. Oct. 5 at 2 p.m.

Where: Hamilton Place

Tickets: 905-527-7666