Alicia Alonso, the longtime director of the National Ballet of Cuba, no longer dances with her feet, which, on a recent afternoon at a hotel near Lincoln Center in New York, were daintily crossed at the ankle in a pair of ladylike high heels. She is also virtually blind.

But when she talks about ballet, her hands, coppery and weathered, flutter near her face as slender fingers spin and leap through delicate choreographic feats.

“I dance with the hands,” she agreed, quietly smiling. “I do. I dance with my heart actually more. So it comes through my body. I can’t help it.”

On June 3, Ms. Alonso celebrated her 90th birthday in a special program performed by American Ballet Theater, for which she was an instrumental dancer in its early days. (Her actual birthday is not until December 21.)

Ms. Alonso is at once reviled and adored. Some see her as a political tool of Fidel Castro as well as someone who has remained too long in her job and who prevents certain dancers from working abroad.

But Ms. Alonso is also adored by balletomanes who cherish memories of her Giselle and her longevity onstage. She gave her final performance in 1995 when she danced “The Butterfly,” a piece she choreographed. She was 75.

“A young lady,” she said before surrendering to girlish giggles. “That’s fantastic, no? Two years before, I danced ‘Giselle.’ ”

Ms. Alonso is either a sly fox of the highest degree or an endearing old lady. In all likelihood she’s both; her demeanor can change suddenly. She firmly refused to answer any questions related to politics.

“I came here because they are giving me a wonderful reception, a wonderful feeling of coming back,” Ms. Alonso said. “I will talk to you about memories and things like that, and I think we should keep it like that. Don’t you think so?”

Ms. Alonso’s return to Ballet Theater evokes emotions that she said were difficult to put into words. “It reminds me of all the years of my working here, my friends, the times we toured during the war and of performing. It’s a whole life. We were creating the future of the ballet in the United States. It was such a dream.”

Ms. Alonso joined Ballet Theater in 1940, but an eye operation sent her back to Cuba, and she rejoined the company in 1943. She was in the original casts of Antony Tudor’s “Undertow” (1945), Agnes de Mille’s “Fall River Legend” (1948) and George Balanchine’s “Theme and Variations” (1947).

For that devilishly difficult ballet, in which Igor Youskevitch was her partner, Balanchine took advantage of Ms. Alonso’s technical prowess, challenging her every move. “I remember Mr. B., he looked at me,” she began, before imitating his famous sniff, “and said, ‘Can you do this step?’ I say, ‘I try, Mr. Balanchine.’ Boom.”

Then he asked her to try an entrechat six, a leap straight in the air with rapid leg crossings. “ ‘Are you scared?’ ‘’ Ms. Alonso sniffed again. “ ‘No, no. I try, Mr. Balanchine.’ ‘’

Throughout the years, as her eyesight worsened, Ms. Alonso continued to dance. While others ran offstage quickly, Ms. Alonso, so as not to crash into the scenery, opted for a slower exit.

“They put very strong lights so I could see where is center,” she said. She recalled her partner Anton Dolin telling her: ‘‘My baby, it’s O.K. It looks very well. You just go and float away.’’

It took three attempts to find out whether she was grooming a successor for her company. She finally blurted: “They are very capable people, I’m sure. I hope.’’

As for her own legacy, she said: “I don’t want to be remembered. I just don’t want to be forgotten.”


By GIA KOURLAS