The young man looked through the window of the Boeing 707 as it climbed up in the dark of night over the bright lights of the city below. Beginning his journey to an unknown destiny, he said good bye to the homeland and never looked back. Decades later the tango entered the depths of his middle age heart. With tango he found love and with love he found joy. For reasons that can’t be explained, there were times when intense happiness brought tears to his eyes, tightening his chest, as he embraced the back of the woman he loved. Somewhere deep inside his soul there is a part of him that never forgot the joyful student times as the year headed into the holidays.He sometimes imagined Villa Crespo, the melting pot of the working class and the scoundrels, living in overcrowded conditions in the extreme poverty of the slums and the tenements. In 1904, as the walls of the Teatro Colon began to rise, Villa Crespo saw the first celebrations of the International Worker’s Day, followed by several popular attempts to overthrow a fraudulent government. A year later, Angel Villoldo unveiled his tango El choclo. On the day of its debut, December 2, 1905, Aurelia Terragno, wife of Adolfo Pugliese gave birth to their son Osvaldo.
More than a century later, on this second day of December, the man was listening as Pugliese played Chique on the stereo. Suddenly he found himself walking near the Spanish town of Andalucia. It was a hot Autumn night and the sun had set down west looking for a far away romance. The sound of lazy bandoneons and vibrant violins caught his attention. The flickering of a thousand starts illuminated the face of an angelical figure in a trance, eyes gazing at the distant Occident, arms locked into an invisible embrace, her legs lingering as in a frozen tango figure. He walked behind so as not to disturb her deep concentration. Realizing that she could not see him he stood in front of her, mesmerized by the intensity of her eyes competing with the brightness of the stars high above the Spanish sky.
Gently he brushed his lips against the moist strawberry of her mouth and the night lit up in thousands shades of white. Casually they made eye contact and his spine jolted as he was swept into the vortex of her mind. Spinning in a funnel wet with tears he could hear a melody of heartbroken farewells. A tango dancer was drawing sensual arabesques with his feet, his eyes moist like a gray, rainy afternoon spoke of loneliness and unfulfilled promises.
The music kept pounding in a cacophony of strings and bellows, her heart keeping up the beat. Her arms were aching to embrace him, her chest was palpitating and longing to press against his body. Her legs trembled anticipating the moment they could wrap around his legs hoping they would even dance a tango or two.
Her eyes opened and he became a warm salty teardrop trickling down her peachy face. He got up and walked away. He turned around to have one last look and waved his hand to the girl who loved dancing to Pugliese.