Silence. A stage. An auditorium. Empty. Tables. Chairs. Empty. Silence.
The stage. An accordion on a chair. In a corner. A red scarf. Lying on the floor. A white rose in the middle of the stage.
The auditorium. The chairs on the tables. All of them. Except two. On the floor. At a table. Two full glasses in the middle of the table. Separated.
Silence. No. Two chords in the background. More chords. A melody.
The accordion comes to life. A tango sounds. Tango. A powerful word. A word that means so much. A word with power and expressiveness. A symbol of passion and power. The latent feelings in the Latin American heart.
The temptation. Two bodies nestling together. The shirt is wet with sweat. Human flesh.
The soul. The pure soul of dance, or perhaps a soul that purifies itself through dance? Or perhaps the animal that rebels? The animal that emerges and reveals itself, motivated by the passionate and wild tango?
No one. Just a man and a woman. No one but the two protagonists. Them and the music. No one else. No one. Just two bodies in an inner struggle. Why not surrender to the passion of tango?
The grandeur. Tango. Dance of heights, of rage, of liberation. But also of royalty. In it, one sees the blood of a lion, a tiger, a black puma – like the dance: mysterious, fascinating, powerful, dangerous. Soft as the fur of a puma. Tender, but dangerous. Marked.
The tenacity. We give free rein to our most intimate desires. We no longer hide them. The tango has cast its spell on us. We let ourselves be carried away. We surrender to it. We are puppets in its hands. We have no willpower. Its persistence. It manipulates us at will. It will not let us go until it wants to. It shows us who is stronger. These bodies belong to you, tango.
The tango knows it’s in charge. It conducts the music, its deadly weapon. The entwined body feels the weapon more and more in its back. Its dominion is complete. There is no possibility of rebellion. We are trapped. Defenseless. The tango won’t let us go. We fight each other. There is no other way out. No one dominates. Arms and legs intertwine. The satisfaction? A hand. A leg. A slit in the dress.
Tango bends down to her. He lets her know that she has the power now. The battle is decided. He kneels in front of her. He is the loser.
The music fades. Four chords. Three chords. Silence. The accordion falls silent.
Silence. A stage. Empty. An auditorium. Empty. Tables. Chairs. Empty. Silence.
The stage. An accordion next to a chair. In a corner. No red scarf. An empty floor. No white rose in the middle of the stage.
The hall. The chairs on the tables. All of them. Except for two. On the floor next to a table. Two empty glasses on the table. Side by side. A white rose between them. A red scarf on a chair.
Silence. No. Noises in the background. Commotion. The place opens.
“Come in, ladies and gentlemen. Come in and enjoy the romance. Come in to melancholy. The first drink is free. Open all night. Listen to Spaventa. Let yourself be enchanted by Gardel’s charm. – Be quiet! – Tango, enchant us. Enjoy the best service. Cigar for the gentleman, white rose for the lady…“