India, though, was sympathetic to the simpler mode of dress, even though she was well into her forties. I once asked her why, even in Buenos Aires, one sees so few women who take the trouble to dress for tango the way she did. She nodded and sighed.
"It's the economic situation in my country. It's always bad. The government. Corruption. So women there don't have the money to dress up like a two-bit tart." She smiled and lay a hand on my shoulder. "The way I do," she said.
India was five inches taller than Federico in her stocking feet. So, with heels she was seven or sometimes eight inches taller than he. She did not slouch when she danced with him. They looked like a pine tree dancing with a shrub. She appeared to love Federico as though there were no other lover in the world.
One evening I was cadging some cheese from the kitchen of a milonga in New York, sneaking around in the refrigerator. I'd found a little bread, some gouda, and a knife, and I was happy.
As I turned to return to the milonga, I saw India leaning in the kitchen doorway crying. She resembled - this evening - Ida Lupino in sunglasses
"India," I said. "¿Qué pasó?"
She looked up at me and I could see tears running down her face, melting pearls covering her cheeks with silvery light.
"Oh, it's just that ..."
She looked away. I found a roll of industrial paper tissue on the sink.
Tearing off a square of it, I approached her.
"It's just that Honey Bun doesn't love me any more," India said, taking the tissue from me.
"Who?"
"Federico."
I would not have equated Federico with the notion of being a honey bun. Glancing out to the dance floor, I saw that Federico was dancing with a portly blonde woman. Ada Falcón's voice floated through the kitchen. Tu cariño me enloquece. Driven mad by affection. The middle finger of the blonde's left hand was caressing the back of Federico's neck.
India sat down on a wooden chair and leaned forward, her elbows on her knees, her lower legs splayed out to the sides. She placed a hand on the back of her neck and grimaced. I felt she was on the verge of explaining some sort of secret to me, an internal solitude of some kind that would explain how she could give herself over so completely to such sadness.
Article comments
1 - Evie Abat
Really lovely stories that capture the feeling of tango.
2 - Christopher Rose
Terence, this is absolutely one of the best things I've read on Blogcritics, so thanks very much for that.
It's one of my secret desires to learn to dance the Tango, having started listening to Tango music some twenty or thirty years ago when I first heard Astor Piazzolla, but I doubt I have enough control of my body to learn the movements.
3 - Silver Surfer
Yeah, great stuff. Thanks for putting pen to paper (virtually, anyhow).
4 - Ashtoreth
This was a beautiful piece. I was actually listening to Tango music as I read it. (Pure coincidence.) Not only is it a portrait of Tango, it shows how this world is infused with the Madonna/Whore/Suffering Woman archetypes that are so much a part of both Catholicism and Latin/Mediterranean culture.
In the third cameo, one also sees the archetypal wall of death that a woman, especially a woman celebrated for her beauty and appeal to men perceives as she approaches the age of 40. It represents an existential extinguishing point. Not everyone gets through it intact.
I think that this element of 'running out of time', combined with the fact that Canaro, in selfishly and narcissistically insisting on hobbling the psyches of two women to act out his own Madonna/Whore complex, refused to vindicate her 'whoredom' to the pure state of 'wifedom'.
This effectively drove Ada to disassociative, mind splitting, self-annihilating madness, and a kind of death/punishment/female castration/transcendence cascade.
Given the context of her culture and religion, this entailed self-immolation and consignment to a nunnery, effectively sacrificing all that she was, loved and had achieved - all for a malignant narcissist, who probably took it as a badge of honor that he had driven a woman mad and to the convent for her pathological addiction with him, him, him. He sounds like quite the game player.
With such men, it's all about them.
Canaro sounds like so much Canard. Same can be said for the manipulative shrub and the pathological psychic BDSM he subjected his partner too.
The story of the first woman was a gem. They all were lovely cameos that haunt you. In each vignette, I felt I was there. Bravo.
5 - Terence Clarke
Hello Ashtoreth:
Thank you for your thoughts on my piece. There's a film about Ada Falcón that I think you'd find interesting. It's a feature-length documentary entitled "Yo no sé qué me han hecho tus ojos" ("I don't know what your eyes have done to me") by an Argentine film-maker named Sergio Wolf. He was fascinated by Ada's story, which is famous in Argentina. He interviewed many tango people in Buenos Aires who either had known Canaro and Ada personally, or who have a deep understanding of the tango scene in that country. And, best of all, he actually found Ada herself in the convent and was able to interview her before she died. The interview is extremely interesting, not least because she is extremely charming, humorous and quite willing to talk about Canaro and her music. Given the sadness of her story, I was surprised to find so much life still there. You may be able to find the film at NetFlix. I'm not sure. But I recommend it highly.
Best,
Terry Clarke
6 - Ashtoreth
Thank you for the information on the film, Terry. It sounds fascinating.
From your description of Ada at the end, maneuvering through the rigid constructs of her life and culture, she found what was her means of absolution (for all her 'sins') sacrifice, death, transformation and transcendence. She cast herself as a kind of Magdalene figure.
Life is a series of little deaths and transformations, some more violent or literal than others. She was a product of a very literalist, dogmatic culture.
You didn't see 'Canard' sending himself off to such a fate.
Still, as you touched upon, there is a bizarre reverence for the archetype of the suffering or defeated woman as somehow 'womanhood' in Latin culture. It is a male invention and women dutifully leap through the hoops, unfortunately to their demise. It is a part of their social conditioning and the archetypes of the culture.
It's sad. Even if Ada had left dancing, left Argentina, she did not have to lose herself the way she did. She could have gone to Europe or America, found another man, a man who truly saw her and loved her. Instead, she tangoed with a narcissist. When you do that, you always lose.
The pathological relationship has been described as a dance, or an addiction. To celebrate this in a macho culture necessarily ends up in the destruction of women.
I was listening to the wonderful sound track to the film, 'Tango'. It is a mediocre movie that makes one chuckle at the banal narcissism of the Latin men in it.
Also the way they underscore the old and hideous men 'the shrubs' of the world scoring fabulous women, supposedly endlessly dominant and virile and magnetic - even in their dotage is done to hilarious effect. It is overdone and forced down your throat to the point of camp.
Their wives are all presumably fossils at this point, and their mistresses in convents. ;)
The dance performances are extraordinary though, especially a woman I referred to as 'The Panther'. She has two main performances, one which opens the film.
In that dance scene the man ends the dance by stabbing his partner to death viscerally penetrating her abdomen like it is both weapon and penis, interchangeable as weapons to defeat the woman. (It is an act, but very convincing and disturbing, with knife and all.)
The male character soon after seeks to force himself sexually on the her to the point of rape. Not cool. This is all portrayed as jolly 'normal' for the Latin male.
Gee, the convent might look like a relaxing place in comparison, come to think of it. ;)
The idea of pathologically narcissistic men bent on controlling, murdering women (literally or figuratively) out of desire for sexual control and dominance plays itself out at the end of the story, but peters out for a ridiculous finale that is just maudlin.
The best things about the film are the dance choreography and the soundtrack. I highly recommend the soundtrack.
Which reminds me. The music has stopped... I need to start it again and get back to my painting. :)