Club Paraiso, Buenos Aires
It was well after midnight, yet throngs of people were still arriving and crowding into the famed Club Paraiso. On the dance floor, couples flowed in a sweeping circular current of women with elegant dresses, men in tailored suits. Argueta ordered a pair of drinks at the bar. Scanning the club, he had the very good fortune to notice two men preparing to leave for the exit. He rushed to claim a small table in a dark corner that had a good view of both the band and the dance floor. There was no better seat in the house.
The small band on the stage consisted of two small accordions, two violins, a double bass, and a piano. Dr. Argueta took on the role of tango tour guide and explained to Edward that the accordion, or bandoneon as he called it, was the soul of tango music.
Sipping his drink, Argueta pointed out to Edward how every couple was interpreting the music, improvising their movements as an expression of the emotion and rhythms that the music stirred. Edward studied the dancers, and sure enough, every couple was dancing different steps, and beautifully.
“During the milonga,” Argueta continued, “dancers typically change partners. This allows for social interaction and the opportunity to meet and dance with different people. ‘Cambio de pareja’—changing partners—allows the dancers to expand and improve their improvisation skills, and the result is that every dance is unique and will never be the same as any other. It is very remarkable.
“A milonga like this, Edward, you will never find a better one. This milonga, right now, the one we are experiencing, is a metaphor for the beauty and the complexity of life itself.”
He took another taste from his glass, handling it as if he were a connoisseur enjoying the sweetest, richest flavors and aroma, the essence of pleasure.
“Think about all the connections! The man with the woman, the woman with the man, the musician with the instrument, the instrument with the music, the music with the dancers, the dancers back to the musicians. All the messages wordlessly sent and received in a timeless instant. The closest thing to an organism, or a human brain. A miracle.”
“Did I hear you say the closest thing to an organism, or was it something else?”
“Well, maybe that too!” Argueta got the allusion.
“Here’s to the beautiful dance, to the beautiful dancers, and to multiple organisms!” The two laughed heartily as they clinked the edges of their glasses.
The music, the dancers, and yes, the alcohol all conspired to create one of those moments that can reset everything. That is exactly what happened when Edward’s eye caught a glimpse of an elegant young woman in a black dress striding across the far side of the dance floor.
Ekaterina’s cascade of blonde hair shimmered as she passed the dim lights on the colonnades. Her stride was confident but at the same time languorous as she approached the center of the dance floor. It was 1:30 a.m. Edward sat hunched in a dark corner, enjoying the alcohol haze that heightened the moment’s pleasure. He swirled what little was left of his third drink. He gazed at the woman and the exquisite way she moved. He gulped the last bit of bourbon, but his aim was slightly off. He sat staring at the woman, completely unaware of the trickle running down his chin, dripping down his neck, and wandering onto his rumpled tie and unbuttoned collar. His Argentine colleague, Doctor Maxmiliano Argueta, noticed Edward’s inattention to his drink and rapt attention to the woman. Argueta smiled to himself.
“I see you have an eye for that woman, the blonde, Doctor Freedman?”
Edward was deaf to his friend’s comment. He sat mutely, focused on the woman, straining to hear every click of her heel echo on the hardwood floor. Argueta realized Freedman did not hear what he said. A woman like Ekaterina, he thought, has the power to turn men’s heads just by walking across the room. Just wait until my friend sees her dance, he chuckled to himself.
Ekaterina glided to a stop in the center of the dance floor. She extended her hand gracefully to a handsome, silver-haired gentleman, a partner she had chosen. Now in the center of the floor and out of the shadows, Edward could see that she was very much younger than he expected. Mid-twenties, he guessed. Her partner had to be at least twice her age, perhaps fifty. Yes, about fifty years old, he noted. It happened to be his own age.
He gazed at her dress, black, in stark contrast to her pale white shoulders. It was as elegant as the way she moved— stunningly, confidently. It was perfectly fitted, with a provocative, plunging neckline. Edward stared at the woman, lost in the moment.
Argueta tapped on Freedman’s arm to get his attention. He intended to brag that he knew the woman and, in fact, had danced with her. Edward was not to be distracted. He watched the couple entwine slowly and intimately, leaning into each other until forehead touched forehead. The rustling of bodies and the clinking of glasses of onlookers faded to silence.
The band conductor raised his baton.
Dr. Freedman's gaze was fixed on the two of them, Vincenzo Petruzzi and Ekaterina, noticing every move, every detail. As the bandoneon whispered a dreamy rumor in a minor key, the two swayed several beats and then stepped into la ronda, the circular current of dancers that flowed around the floor, pulsing with the music.
Edward’s life took a turn the night in Buenos Aires when he first saw Ekaterina Ivanova and Vincenzo Petruzzi dance together.
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