BABY GIGOLO.

The Devil's Dance.

The violins started their slow wailing intonations. It was the sound of pain and sadness, and the aching longing for a love that was real and had been lost or unrequited. Either way, its plaintiveness could not be ignored, and one felt instinctively the sense of having lost an unforgettable treasure
Realizing her intention, the man held the woman in the crook of his arm, and without noticing it, she rested her right hand on his lower hip. He had excellent posture, and a look of stupefying surprise lit up her eyes when she thought that he might have danced the tango before.

Their embrace was as close as that of lovers, or those seeking love and affection. He steered her around the small dancefloor, minding his settings and avoided bumping into tables, chairs and any other object in their way. The sounds of the piano and bandoneón crashed violently through the sounds of the quiet strings and ended their slow, stealthy and almost cat-like deeply introspective first round. The dramatic intrusion woke them from their intimate dialogue and almost dream-like romance, and their movements became a declaration of violent, indecent and illicit sexual entertainment as originally danced by prostitutes and their pimps in the brothels and dancehalls of Argentina's dockside slums.

The mocking smile had left the masked woman's face and she became the professional dancer she really was. Her steps were sexual and aggressive, her head snaps were dramatic and their intense pauses signified a passion for love and life that could only be expressed through dancing the tango. Despite its brutality, their embraces were, at times, graceful and compassionate in its sensuality. They did not talk, and when their bodies were wrapped in a seemingly inextricable tangle, they danced cheek-to-cheek and without making eye contact as prescribed by the unwritten rules of the dance. The longer they danced, the more emotional their intimacy became.

They were dancing the forbidden dance that was denounced as immoral by the church and frowned upon by polite society. They set the floor on fire, and the little bar, on the fringe of the city, was transformed into a brightly lit ballroom by the majestic passion of the two dancers. They were oblivious to each other and their surroundings. Although engaged in a tango, each one danced with the ghost of his/her past. It was hauntingly beautiful, and the few onlookers were equally enthralled and transfixed by the spectacle that was playing itself out on the dancefloor.

They stared open-mouthed at the raw sensuality, the passionate embraces and at times their steamy lovemaking. The dancer's souls vibrated to the sounds of the music and their steps and body language were in perfect harmony with each other.

The bar owner had, in the meantime, forgotten the time and place and was, unwillingly,  swept back into the past. He had to take a seat, because his legs had started to tremble and buckle under him. His heart was heavy with sorrow that it felt as if it was about to burst at any minute. He shook his head slowly from side to side as if he wanted to dispel unwanted images, or chase away the ghosts that crowded his memory. After all these years he thought he had forgotten or suppressed them, had thrown them in a deep dark dungeon, locked them up and thrown away the key. But they had lain in wait for an opportunity to come and haunt him.

He had heard this music many times before, but it never affected him quite like tonight. It was not only the music but the dance as well. It brought his late wife to life, and she was dancing in front of him. He recognized every movement and step. It was eerie. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks, and he allowed it to flow unresistingly. He had not cried for her in a long while, or for his unborn baby, or his family that had passed away, or his friends that were still walking the earth and with whom he had lost contact. And he cried for his beloved homeland which he has not seen in years. He leaned his head on the bar counter and sobbed like a baby. No one paid attention, because they were on their own trip down memory lane.

When the masked woman first led him to the dancefloor, she had thought him to be a rookie, and that she was going to have a little fun at his expense; to lighten the boredom of the evening. When his arm circled her waist and he expertly held her in the crook of his arm, she knew that she was dealing with someone who had lessons, or was a natural. She hasn't danced for a while, and at first she struggled to keep pace and her movements were not as graceful as she wanted it to be.