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El Maestro

He is el maestro del tango. The tango master. What does this mean? That all depends on the context. In some circles to call oneself a master of the world's most complex social dance would mean a great deal. It would imply several decades devoted to the study of the dance with a list of past performances and previous mentors that would leave the most astute of espańolofonos breathless for a minute and a half after reading through the entire list. Elsewhere it might merely mean that when he took the floor, be it in a smoky bar or in some posh milonga, the observer who followed his feet would be rewarded with the feeling of having seen something above and beyond the ordinary; something that without meaning to draw attention, suddenly made all the other dancers seem small and colorless. The tango master does not thrive on admiration though. He does not flaunt his talent or squander his steps. If there is a grand flourish in his vicinity, it is not him, but rather his partner. He dances for himself, but he makes his partner shine. If ever you see a beauty, a true grace on the dance floor, one of those women who seems flawless in her every movement, a divine angel without fault, think not only of her talent. Remember also that she is bound, liberated, and directed by the one who leads her. She may be the finest tanguerita in the community, but it is only in concert with an able lead that she will ever burn with her hottest flame.

Our man is not really a maestro. Still, we will at least call him M. M is merely one who entertains dreams. M has many dreams. He dreams of writing novels, of mixing Marquez's magical realism with Palahniuk's cynical graphicism. M dreams that one day he will open a restaurant and cook delightful dishes to fill the soul and comfort the stomach. He dreams of painting the perfect piece, the one that satisfies that needle-sharp pricking of his ever discontented aesthetic drive. He dreams of playing the piano and of fencing. He dreams of making movies and acting on the stage. And M dreams of dancing the Tango Argentino like a true master.

M is not just an idle dreamer though. He pursues his dreams… when he has the time. He is kept busy much of the time by training for his chosen profession. But what is that profession? Given his diverse array of dreams, one might look for him pounding away at a keyboard, printing off sheaves of pages to be reviewed by some overly critical English professor or finely mincing parsley stems in the back kitchen of a forgotten culinary institute. One might even look over one's shoulder when emerging from a dark alleyway to see if M happens to be the mural painter balancing nimbly on the scaffolding, a brush in one hand, and a marionette-like tangle of buckets in the other. Ah, but no… we started with a discussion of the tango master, so perhaps M is to be found sweeping the floors of a dance studio every morning and scrubbing the studio's toilet in return for a few minutes' instruction, the smallest crumbs of milongero wisdom, from the true maestro.

If he was meant to be writer or dancer or painter or chef, M has long since missed his path. Or at least, he is taking a convoluted route. M is a student of medicine. He spends his days in a lecture hall, in the company of dozens of others like him, trying to pack his brain full of random, but presumably pertinent facts about drug metabolism and kidney function. M often falls asleep in class, so he sits in the back where he will not be as conspicuous in his slumber. M has several friends who sit with him at times, and sometimes they pass notes back and forth. This helps him stay awake. From the back of the room M has a good view of all of his classmates. He can see who else is falling asleep and he congratulates himself when others fall asleep before him. From the back of the room M also gets to watch her. He watches for her arrival at the beginning of the day. Sometimes she sits with friends a few rows in front of him. Lately she's been sitting closer to the back; closer to M. We will call her K.

M used to play the piano. He started taking lessons when he was six years old, and he continued for about ten years. He stopped studying piano at about the same time that he started college. M still wants to think of himself as a musician, but he knows that he never really attained that status. His remaining tie to musicianship is his part-time job at the symphony orchestra concert hall. M works there one or two nights per week as an usher. He only gets to sit in for half of a concert every fifth night or so, but M still relishes the opportunity to surround himself with the flare and excitement of great music and those who are able to perform it.

He has recently discovered another source of musical enrichment. He attends the quarterly concerts of a community orchestra. That same community orchestra in which, it just so happens, K plays second violin. Whether M would attend the concerts with the same interest if K were not one of the performers is uncertain, but in any case, he enjoys the music, he enjoys watching her play, and he enjoys the fact that she seems to appreciate his presence at the concerts.

Almost a week has passed since K's birthday party. The party at which M, half as a joke, and half in earnest, gave K a gift certificate for free tango lessons at his very own Estudio Micaias. He wasn't sure, of course, whether she would ever take him up on the offer. She had shown some interest in tango a few times, here and there, and he had taught her some basics of the dance at various parties over the past year. Still, very few of his friends had caught the fire of his passion and he generally contented himself with enjoying it in relative solitude: shared only with the anonymous, partners met randomly at an evening milonga.

He sends her an email. He suggests that they go out for dessert together after her Saturday evening orchestra concert. She replies with tones of enthusiasm and further suggests that maybe she could redeem her certificate for some dance lessons over the coming week. It will be Spring break after all. What better opportunity to engage in a new adventure? In his next email, he proposes that sometime on Sunday might work well for a lesson. She agrees.

At the concert, during the intermission, M watches expectantly as K makes her way through the crowd, violin in hand, towards where he and her parents are standing up, stretching a little, conversing politely. M watches helplessly as she is intercepted. One of their classmates, stops K just when she's approached close enough that he can hear what they are saying. The classmate, a friend of K's, asks if K has plans after the concert, if she'd like to go get some dessert. M maintains his smile. He continues his polite conversation. He patiently waits for K and her friend to approach, knowing well that his idea of how the evening will proceed has just been demolished.

After the concert they have dessert together, the three of them. M, K, and the friend from school. Maybe they talk about school. Maybe they talk about plans (or lack thereof) for Spring break. Maybe they even talk about books and movies, both subjects that M enjoys. Maybe they even talk about philosophy, politics, and religion. In any case, later on, the next day, the next year, M won't remember what they talked about. No, he will just remember wondering what he would have been talking about if it had just been two of them there instead of three.

M has his car along, so he drops the friend off at her car, where she'd parked it down by the concert hall. He drops K off outside her apartment after arranging for her to come by mid-morning for a tango lesson. And then, either on a whim, or on a careful calculation, disguised as a whim, as she's just ready to close the car door, he suggests that she come over a little earlier in the morning and join him for breakfast.

Nine hours later, when she knocks on the door, M is dicing the last slice of mango to be stuffed into the crępes. K sees a perfectly cleaned apartment, with all of the furniture arranged so as to afford maximum floor space. She sees a beautiful breakfast waiting for her, accompanied by fresh coffee and orange juice. She sees everything just as M has hoped she would. Just as he has been working (for the past hour and a half this morning, and three hours last night) that she should.

Forty-seven minutes of shopping last night, followed by 18 minutes of preparing the crępe batter, 23 minutes of cleaning the kitchen, 17 minutes of cleaning the bathroom, 26 minutes of sorting, folding and putting away laundry that had been sitting out for the past three days, 14 minutes of cleaning his bedroom, and 35 minutes of cleaning and re-arranging the living room/dance studio. Following several hours of sleep he woke up, showered and shaved, dressed, changed his mind and dressed in something else, re-arranged the living room/dance studio again, started cooking crępes, selected tango music to play during breakfast, selected tango music for the lesson, changed his jeans, started slicing fruit, chose a different shirt, ground the coffee, put away all the clothes that he had previously donned and eliminated, re-arranged the living room/dance studio again, decided on twill cargo pants instead of jeans, and after changing accordingly, returned to the kitchen to finish work on breakfast.

They eat. They converse pleasantly about the breakfast. She compliments him on his cooking and they talk about favorite foods. They talk about memories of crępes past. She talks about eating crępes in Paris. He's never been to Paris. He talks about not having eaten at some special cręperie in Lausanne. She almost went to Lausanne once. They discuss the best fillings and toppings for crępes. For sweet crępes. For savory crępes. They talk between bites of crępe and sips of coffee. Then they are done eating. They are done talking and they stand up. M puts on his dance Capezio sneakers. The lesson may now begin.

He reviews what he had taught her previously about the posture and the embrace, the terms lead and follow as nouns describing the dancers. The weight should be forward, shoulders back, chest out. Imagine that you are pushing a huge concrete block in front of you… only you can't use your hands. You push it with your chest. That is how the tango posture should look. Yes, that's right. But now, relax your shoulders. Keep them back. Let them fall back. Right… as though there were a string tied fast through the center of your manubrium, pulling your sternum straight up towards the ceiling. Good. And then your shoulders will just naturally roll back into the right position. Okay. Now walk. Just walk forward. Keep it smooth. Even steps. Don't think about it, just walk. Okay, wait a minute. When you walk, keep your chest forward. And you want to keep your head on an even plane… as though you were balancing a stack of books… hold still… I'll get some books. There, A Tale of Two Cities and The Name of the Rose. Wait… just balance them on top of your head standing still first. Okay… now walk. No, you can keep your hands at your sides. I'll catch the books if they fall. Just walk now. Chest forward. Shoulders relaxed? Good. Okay. Don't worry about the books. Okay… enough of that, but you get the idea. Always keep that in mind. That feeling of smoothness that you need to balance books. Another way to think about it is like ice. Imagine you're walking across a frozen lake. You don't know how thick the ice is. So you have to transfer your weight with care. Eliminate any excess impact when your foot falls. Think like a cat. Every step cat-like. Not a sound. No shock. Perfect muscle control. Being graceful and smooth isn't a talent; it's balance, muscle strength, and coordination; it's learned. No impact. No bounce. Yeah, bouncing is outlawed in the tango. Maybe in milonga there's a hint of bounce, but even that's not really bounce… it's just more… uh… syncopation. Oh. What's milonga? Well there are three types of dances within the tango realm: the tango, the tango waltz, and the milonga. The milonga is the oldest. It's typically faster and has more syncopation. You use smaller steps, and sometimes you can use some impact; stomp a little; break the ice.

They take breaks for water. They dance together a little bit. They might dance through half of a tango and then stop and he teaches her something. He explains where her feet should be in relation to his. If you find yourself stepping on my feet, or if I'm stepping on yours, lean forward more. The connection is through the chest, so if your whole body leans forward, it will put your feet out of the way. He emphasizes the importance of their connection, of having a solid frame. An embrace that is relaxed, yet solid enough that any step he takes, any transfer of weight, she'll feel it. It's hard to learn at first. Over time though it will become second nature. You won't even think about feeling where the lead is moving; you'll just find yourself moving with him. There is open embrace and close embrace. Open embrace is more difficult. It's good for show tango; for performances. It means maintaining the frame, the connection, with arm and shoulder strength. Close embrace is much simpler. We're like an A-frame house. Leaning forward into eachother. Good. Now, if I step back, you will fall forward. So instead of falling, take a step. Okay now, look where our feet are. And where's your balance? Right… if you step too far forward, then there's no room to lean on me any more and we lose the connection. Only step as far as I do. Maintain the same pressure at all times. Good. We must contribute equally to the structure. Preserve a balance of forces at all times.

Two hours. Three. Another break for water. Have you seen any tango movies? There are several good ones. Have you seen anyone else dance tango? Ever? No? Hmmm… I think you should watch one of these movies. Do you feel like watching it now? Okay… we'll start with The Tango Lesson. It was the first tango movie that I saw. The story is a bit cheesy here and there, but it's a good movie. And Pablo Veron is one of the best.

M no longer has a couch. He gave it to a classmate a month ago, when his laminate flooring was installed. It occupied far too much floor space. He also disassembled his large dining/work table at that time, and moved one of the bookcases into his bedroom. What's the good of having a dance floor if you clutter it up with furniture? Unfortunately, this leaves him with no good furniture for watching movies with company. He has a big, round, wicker papasan chair. The kind where there's a sort of dish-shaped spider web of wicker that balances on a pedestal. Single occupancy only. He positions the papasan chair in front of the television for K, then pulls up a hard wooden stool for himself. She hesitates a moment, then pushes herself to one side of the papasan and suggests that they are both skinny enough to fit into the chair together. The wicker dish teeters a bit precariously as he sits down, but they shift positions, balance their weights, maintain structure.

Sitting there, watching the movie, after three hours of dancing chest to chest with K, just now, for the first time, M feels awkward being so close to her. Side by side, shoulders and thighs just touching as they attempt not to squash eachother, there in that single-occupancy chair where one is comfortable and two is a crowd.

They finish the movie. It's early afternoon and K stands and starts to gather her things. She looks at her watch and feigns surprise at the lateness of the hour. She invents something about needing to go home and get some work done. It's spring break. She says it's high time she went home and ate some lunch. He suggests they go find some lunch together… maybe up on the Ave. But where? What type food do you want? Thai? Mexican? Have you had Pho? The Vietnamese soup? It's good. Well, let's dance a little more while we're deciding.

M hits play on the Romulo Larrea Tango Ensemble CD. He pushes the papasan chair aside and they re-assume their structure. Leaning into one another, his right arm supports her back while his left hand clasps her right. He waits a few seconds, allowing her to relax into position. They begin to move. Deliberate steps on the deliberate beats of the music; a song called Gallo Ciego. Good. Now relax. If you're tense you can't feel my lead. Close your eyes. Reduce the distraction from unnecessary senses. You don't need to see to dance. Gallo Ciego. Blind rooster. You feel tense. It's a difficult balance… keeping all your muscles alive and engaged, but never tense. Tension is rigidity and rigidity is inability to absorb shock and impact. When you can't absorb shock and impact you bounce. You can't glide any more. You can't move gracefully. You break the ice. That's right. Your steps are very good. You're reaching out behind you as you should. You're maintaining the pressure. Now. Relax. Okay. Enough of this. They stop dancing. He drops her right hand and pulls her closer with both arms. A new structure. A different embrace. Lesson is over.