Excerpt from Los Tangueros, a story by Pattie Wells

Excerpt of "Los Tangueros," published in ZYZZYVA literary magazine. 

(It is a chapter in my upcoming collected stories novel CAFÉ OF THE MIRRORS) 

La leccion

The practica tradicional allowed men to practice their leads without embarrassment. The dancers made mistakes, corrected errors, and executed the necessary repetitions without fear of humiliation in front of women. This was not the only motivation. Like Carlos, some men simply preferred men. Others, like Ricardo Reyes Basoalta, simply did not want to be seen dancing with women.

Carlos considered Ricardo the best tanguero at the practica, the best possible teacher for Zanetto. He enlisted Ricardo as Zanetto’s instructor.

“We begin.” said Ricardo in fluent English, “with the salida. It is like walking, but the toes stay close to the floor, catlike, and the upper body tilts toward the partner.” 

He reached his hands out to show Zanetto the abrazo.

“Don’t worry my friend, we start with the open abrazo. Lift your arms and bring your feet together until they touch.” 

Zanetto perceived Ricardo as middle aged, a businessman or banker, who towered over the other men and had a broad torso and thick neck.

Ricardo’s enormous hands held Zanetto’s forearms, firmly guiding his movements. He back-led Zanetto, heels and toes close to the floor, upper bodies leaning in. Ricardo’s cologne smelled of jasmine.

“Argentine tango uses lead-and-follow as non-verbal dialogue. The improvisational nature of the dance can only be realized by the complete absence of anticipation.” Ricardo commenced a series of caminadas, counter-clockwise around the hardwood floor.

Zanetto stopped abruptly: “Ah ha, like poetry, which moves across and down the page.”

“An interesting perspective, amigo.” Ricardo grinned. “The stops are periods; hesitations, commas…”

Ricardo surveyed the room, “Carlos, come here and practice caminadas with Zanetto.”

Carlos dashed over. He moved in close to Zanetto. Ricardo walked beside them: “Now we will spend some time on embellishments. We call them adornos, and tango is nothing without adornos.”

He traced the floor with smooth figure eights. “These are ochos. You can do them forward or back.” He whipped his leg in a circle from the knee, finishing in two beats, a boleo. He hooked the back of his knee around Carlos’s thigh and squeezed. “And this, amigos, is my favorite, the gancho or, as you say, the hook.”

“Now I will show you the close embrace.”

Ricardo moved Carlos toward Zanetto so their chests touched. Zanetto cradled Carlos with his right arm behind his back. Carlos placed his forehead on Zanetto’s cheek. His left wrist rested on the back of Zanetto’s neck. The skin of his wrist felt soft as the belly of a baby. His breath tickled. A strand of hair stuck to Zanetto’s lips. It tasted like aloe and clover. Carlos tightened his abrazo, and Zanetto leapt back. 

“Ah,” Ricardo bellowed. “La parada – the stop.” He laughed. He slapped Zanetto on the back. “Bueno, break time. Let’s get a drink.”

All three walked toward the bar, Zanetto in the middle. Ricardo winked at Carlos and said, “La Mordida.” They both laughed. “A sandwich,” Ricardo translated, “a step where the leader places his two feet on each side of his partner’s foot.

Ricardo pulled a white handkerchief from his shirt pocket and wiped his brow, “Don’t worry, relax, we’re done with the lesson.”

“I begin to understand the passion of tango and its difficulty,” Zanetto acknowledged.  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a yellowed piece of napkin with writing on it.

“What have you written? Are you a journalist, amigo?”

“No,” Zanetto answered. “It is a poem, a tango poem, more or less.”

Ricardo grabbed the piece of paper and began reading. He giggled then laughed loudly, “It’s too sissy, amigo, make it more macho, more earthy. It’s too sentimental, too many flowers and rainbows.”

Zanetto straightened up in his chair, “O.K., that’s enough, what do YOU know about poetry, anyway. I have been writing for almost a year now. My friends and family love my poetry. Give it back.”

“Don’t be so sensitive, amigo, I meant no offense.”

Zanetto snatched his poem out of Ricardo’s hands and pushed away from the bar. He raised his right hand to his eyebrow; saluted Ricardo and Carlos, and strode away. Shaking his head, he muttered under his breath, “Tomorrow at the Café Tortoni, I will meet Pablo Neruda and get a true poet’s advise about my poem.”

Intermezzo  

On his way home, Zanetto stopped at the Church of San Pedro Telmo. He entered a pew and knelt. Pressing his palms together, he dropped his head and prayed—to St. Mary of Edessa, asking forgiveness for the pleasure he’d derived from dancing with Carlos and Ricardo. He also prayed to the patron saint of poets, St. David, for inspiration. And for perseverance in the face of doubt and uncertainty. He ended by asking the Virgin Mary to forgive his vanity and arrogance. He asked for a sign from Christ that his passion for poetry sprung from a divine source and was not the devil tempting his ego.

          That night, he slept restlessly, tossing and tormented by nightmares. As a ray of morning sun pierced threadbare curtains and played on cinnamon walls, he wrapped himself in the coarse Indian blanket and sat at the table. He wrestled with disturbing thoughts about Carlos and Ricardo. He remembered their hard bodies, the coarse hair on their arms, the muskiness of sweat mixed with cologne, brandy and tobacco.

He wrote a love letter to Cici. Then he revised his poem, removing the cicadas and lilies, adding a rifle and a black panther.

Pattie's website: http://www.dancetime.com/

About the Author

Pattie Wells hails from San Diego, California where she writes article and video blogs for her world dance resource website at DanceTime.com. Also, Pattie is working on several writing projects including her new website at PattieWells.com, a novel in linked stories and a poetry manuscript titled Fire In Rain.  In addition, she continues to teach a limited number of private dance lessons in San Diego including dance lessons for weddings.