Soul of the Tango

One heeled shoe dug into the earth for balance, the other, broken at the heel, hovered uncertainly in the space between life and death as the monsters rage bellowed like a wall of exploding flames. Crimson droplets of blood splattered the frosted grass as two balled fists vigorously pounded her face. Filtering through the screaming, the haunting song of a violin drifted on the wind, offering a flickering hope that someone would come to help, but that too, faded away. She tugged at the thick hand now squeezing her throat, the other smothering her screams. Pushed to the ground, her glittering eyelids fluttered as she drifted into unconsciousness. Appeased by the blood, the monster quietened, falling heavily to its knees beside her. A voice, barely human moaned and pleaded as cold fingers tentatively cradled her face. At the contact she dreamed of another, his cheek pressed against hers as they danced and the whispered promise of freedom. For that brief moment of bliss, the monsters wrath was made bearable. As the numbness crept closer the sound of a violin filled her mind, weeping for her. Smiling, she embraced the darkness unravelling the world around her.


Pablo Vazquez never stayed in one place long enough to settle down, feeling like a trespasser on land that had not formed his flesh and bones. Wandering the world he fashioned poetry, strummed his guitar, working hard to etch out a sustainable living from teaching tango. Fifteen years ago he had left his voice in Argentina favouring solitude after his heart had broken. His poetry, immortalised by the spoken word, lingered on the warm winds that whispered throughout his homeland, a legacy, a burning connection that now called him home to Buenos Ares.

Inside the Town Hall Pablo stood alone, observing. Feeling humbled and emotional he stood in the shadows, gathering his thoughts. People had come, not just for the Annual Winter Tango Ball but to wish him well on his journey home. The Tango Society had transformed the normally mundane rehearsal room into a warm intimate dance space, fragranced with the sweet scent of hundreds of tiny vanilla candles. Women sat at tables covered with white lace tablecloths, sprinkled with rose petals and sweets. Hushed conversations fell away as he stepped onto the dance floor. Drawing himself up to his full height, he walked down the line of suited men, shaking each of their hands before speaking.

Before me stand men of courage and I am proud that you have taken this journey with me over the last few years. Tango is not just a dance; it is about the connection between people, embracing elements of innocent intimacy, as two become one on the dance floor. Sometimes, if the connection is right, you can touch the very soul of tango.'

Pausing before Michael, the man nominated as his replacement, Pablo met his cold stare. Leaning in, he adjusted his tie. 'This dance teaches respect and honour and I am confident that when I leave, you will continue to uphold that way of being as you teach the classes.' Conscious of the crowd, Michael forced a smile until Pablo moved away. Glaring after him, he swore under his breath, tugging the tie back the way he liked it.

Pablo was not happy that Michael had been appointed to carry on his teaching legacy, but in that, he had no choice. Michael was an impatient, angry man. Dismissing the essentials of the tango he devoted his time teaching complex sequences to more advanced dancers. The beginner's class had already diminished and Pablo suspected that over the coming year, the fragile community of dancers, starved of new people, would dissolve. Still Pablo had to leave the man something to cling to.

Partner up - not with the woman you came with, turn around and meet the eyes of another. I want to see plenty of non verbal communication on the floor!' Lights dimmed. With nothing more than a glance or a nod couples came together, lured onto the worn wooden floor lightly dusted with talc, as music filled the air.


Exhausted from the last three tandas, Michael collapsed into a large red plush armchair, wiping his damp face with a towel. Casually he scanned the room and frowned. Almost everyone had arrived, except his wife. Massaging his neck he watched Pablo dance, secretly gloating as the woman in his arms stumbled causing him to break contact in order to catch her. Michael hated the man. A few more hours and he wouldn't have to endure him anymore. Those who felt they knew the private man well suspected he was returning to Argentina because of a love interest but Pablo kept the reason to himself. Michael suspected he was gay. When the Society announced that Michael was to be his replacement, Pablo took the time to guide him in the fundamentals of teaching tango, insisting he cover the last three months of classes before his departure. For Michael, after one long year of hand outs from the social welfare, accepting the offer was more about the money than the experience.

The only downside was the time spent away from his wife, time that would be better served correcting her failings. For him, their relationship had further soured after their first tango lesson. Any hope that she would become his teaching partner died that night. Michael snorted a laugh - after the first lesson his normally placid, accommodating wife announced that she wasn't going anymore. It had taken some persuasion, as her husband, to convince her otherwise but admittedly she had no talent for dance and after a month he had left her in beginners, where she remained. Private lessons with Pablo showed little improvement and he wouldn't be surprised if she left without a dance tonight. Although it was the instructor's final night, Michael believed it was time to outshine Pablo and establish his reputation as a dancer. Unclenching his fists, he fixed his most charming smile, and extended a hand to the young woman beside him, inviting her to dance.


Tango music spilled onto the street from the Town Hall, swirling around the huddling smokers blowing plumes of smoke into the bitter night air. Lucy's watched them scurry inside from the cold as she locked the car door. With trembling fingers she replaced the keys under the wheel and rooted in her handbag for her compact. Despite layers of thick makeup, the bruises under her eyes were still visible. Snapping the compact shut, she let out a long slow breath before climbing the steps to the Town Hall.

Pushing through the dusty red velvet curtains draped over the main door, Lucy stepped into the soft light bathing the room from hundreds of flickering lights. 'I can do this...' she muttered but her hands would not stop shaking. At the bar she ordered a double gin and tonic, and looked around for her husband. Everything was so - festive. Michael was on the dance floor. No surprise there as he was always in demand as a partner. The woman in his arms was a performer, her vivid silk dress swishing and rustling as she moved. Excited brown eyes sparkled up at him as the floor cleared allowing him to demonstrate complex patterns and lifts to an eager audience. Michael's face cracked open with a big warm smile at the attention, something she rarely saw. Lucy looked away and slid onto the bar stool keeping her bare back to the dance floor, avoiding eye contact.

After an hour it became painfully obvious that the men, including the ones in her class, opted to dance with the prettier or more advanced girls. Lucy lowered her head, picking at the scattered rose petals sprinkled with glitter and tears. She had made an effort tonight. Long and sleek, the red backless dress clung to her but she looked nothing like the women that swirled around the candlelit room, casting silhouettes of moving art on the surrounding walls.

The rejection burned, gnawing away at her confidence. Michael hated this dress; it showed too much flesh. She had too much makeup on - there was still time to go home - she didn't have to do this - there was still time to change her mind. Michael hadn't seen her yet. A flash from a camera caught her attention and as Lucy glanced around her eyes collided with Pablo. She loved to watch him dance. Every movement was beautiful, almost hypnotic and when the couple paused in stillness, Pablo smiled over at her. Lucy blushed. The moment was broken as the monster she was married to for the last three years danced into view, guiltily she turned away. So engrossed was Michael in the illusion of intimacy and romance, that he hadn't even noticed her.

Love had never been a part of her life until she met Michael who charmed her innocent heart into a life of terror that claimed her every waking moment. According to him everything was wrong with her, she embarrassed him with how she looked, how she kept his house - down to the friends she had. Everything she wore had to be approved. The violence began with a slap when he lost his job, escalating to beatings as her attempts to please him frustrated him more. He was, however, always careful to avoid her face. Appearance was important to him.

During the first tango lesson Michael fell quickly into foul humour, his eyes dark with impatience, finally flaring into anger at her inexperience as she stumbled through every move. His large black shoes crushed her exposed toes unnecessarily as he stomped forward, eventually drawing blood. Michael joked to the other students that it was a lesson well learned. Everyone, except Pablo, laughed.

Pablo could barely contain his anger as Lucy continuously peddled backwards away from her husband, watching as she curled into herself until it became unbearable. From the first lesson he noticed her, the quiet one that carried a sorrow etched on her face that drew out unexpected feelings of compassion towards her. Lucy froze when he touched her back, pushing her from the slouched position into the correct posture. With a polite nod to Michael he took her hand, tilted her head up and pulled her into his embrace. The first time he held her she cringed away from him, masking her unease with nervous laughter and a ritualistic self-assassination of her ability to dance. Her cheeks flamed as she scrambled away from his scrutiny. Pablo rocked her, explaining the shift in body weight until she softened in his arms. Only then did he release her back into the impatient grasp of her husband. Pablo felt Michael's reluctance to hold Lucy in a close intimate embrace was a sad reflection of their marriage.

Unusually, it was her husband who excelled as a dancer, a technically precise brute of a man who continually pushed her before she was ready. Frustrated, he insisted she take private lessons to become somewhat competent. Abandoning her in beginners, Michael enlisted for the more advanced lessons and the opportunity to meet better dancers.


At the Tango BBQ Pablo invited her to dance with him socially for the first time. She shied away from his hand mumbling about being a beginner and not wanting to ruin his reputation. He stared at her for a long moment before squatting down beside her.

There is no need to be afraid. Everyone was a beginner once. Let me ask you three questions...can you walk?'
Lucy smiled.
Do you like to be hugged?'
Again she smiled.
This question is more about my curiosity than anything else - what will you feel like in my arms?'

Pablo offered his hand again and waited. He wanted to take her on a journey where she would feel safe enough to surrender to him, to do that he needed her trust. When she accepted, it was the beginning of a ten-minute love affair that spiralled into the most beautiful of romances.

Brushing out her hair that night Lucy smiled at her reflection in the mirror. She felt happy. Dancing with Pablo tonight had awoken feelings she hadn't experienced for a long time but her smile faded as Michael yanked her from the chair, demanding she dance for him. Michael led with his fists.

Reigning down blows, he followed her into the bathroom, his screaming voice echoing around her ears 'God knows I try to love you, but you make it so hard. Tonight you embarrassed me, prancing around the floor with him and you can't even do a basic with me. You're not to dance with him in public again - do you understand?' Breathless, Michael briefly stepped away from her. Huddled in the small space between the toilet and the shower, wide-eyed she watched him stretch out his fingers. Catching her eye he slowly made a knuckle fist and stepped toward her. The blows began again, this time he punctuated each word with his fist. 'YOU...WILL...NEVER...EMBARRASS...ME...AGAIN.'


With a courteous nod to the women surrounding him Pablo made his way to the stunning woman in red at the bar. A very different person than the one he had met months ago. It had been difficult to correct her posture, a hunched over woman broken by so much suffering but Pablo prided himself on having never failed to teach anyone to dance. Eventually, Lucy straightened her spine, seduced from the fear by his belief in her. Starved of genuine affection she thrived in his arms, allowing him a glimpse of who she was. Gone were clothes she hid under, replaced with dresses that clung to her luscious curves. Her hair, no longer scrapped back, fell in soft scented waves around her face that fanned across the pillow on the delicious nights he spent with her, as Michael taught his classes. Pablo unexpectedly felt the warmth in his heart expand to her. Finding the courage he stepped away from his lonely existence, reaching towards something fragile and rare - something beautiful.

Michael also noticed the change in her, voicing his opinion with his fists. Pablo was furious when he discovered the poorly disguised bruises, threatening to confront Michael. Only her tears had stopped him then but when a new set of bruises appeared Pablo begged her to come away with him after the tango ball and she agreed. From then on, she was on her best behaviour around her husband as Pablo desperately tried to keep him busy with extra classes. Sometimes even that wasn't good enough as he would always find an excuse to be the man, as he put it.

Catching her eye Pablo inclined his head slightly - an invitation to dance. Flushing brightly, Lucy twisted away as Michaels routine ended with a burst of applause. Undeterred Pablo approached her. 'You are not getting away that easily,' he said extending his hand, waiting for her to accept his invitation not just to dance but also to escape the monster. 'Have you ever felt the soul of the tango?' he whispered close to her ear. Every reason to refuse flooded through her but she needed to feel him close to her, wishing for that warmth within their embrace.

Please let me show you,' he said. Lucy hesitated. She looked at his hand, a gentle hand that loved with a caress not a fist. To begin again, all she had to do was accept the invitation. Pablo promised to keep her safe knowing that if she left with Michael tonight she would not survive his rage. Her bag was in Pablo's car; just a few things tossed together after Michael had left for the ball. The divorce papers were on the bed with no note explaining why. Everything was in place except her trust. Lucy dared a look at the man she had unexpectedly fallen in love with. Eyes the colour of iced blue water stared back at her, full of confidence that she would make the right decision - and she did.

As her hand slipped into his, he smiled, leading her out onto the empty dance floor. Lucy stood with her back to Michael. She felt afraid and vulnerable as Pablo moved towards her. Curving one arm around her back, he clasped her hand with the other. Then they walked, a relatively simple step but one that made her feel safe, until she faced Michael. Lucy froze, stiffening in Pablo's arms, clenching his hand until her knuckles went white. Tightening his hold on her, Pablo gently shook her hand until she relaxed and returned her attention to him.


Michael's frown deepened watching Lucy dance. Private lessons had been a good idea; even he could see the improvement. Tonight he would ask her to dance, a gift to her. She had been so well behaved over the last few months he struggled to find things to punish her for but tonight she would get a good beating for wearing that dress and dancing with him. Silence descended in the hall as everyone turned to watch the couple, but despite the innocence of the dance, unease flooded him. Pablo was stealing his moment away and Michael, unable to make sense of his feelings began to get angry.

Lucy's squeezed her eyes shut as the monster came into view again, mouthing for her to get off the floor. Terrified she attempted to pull away from Pablo but he refused to let her go. 'He is not going to hurt you anymore Lucy - don't be afraid.' Waiting until she relaxed her grip on his hand, he moved in to close the embrace, locking out the world around them. Curling in their extended arms he placed her hand over his heart. Her breath calmed to the slow rise and fall of his chest as he whispered to her in a language she didn't understand but one she could feel, his love, his encouragement, his dream for their future. When he rested his cheek tenderly against hers, it seemed the most natural thing, an intimate thing and she melted into his arms. In that perfect moment there was only them, effortless and soft and Lucy's heart soared with joy as she glimpsed the possibility of a future with this man. When the music ended they slowly pulled apart into the silence of the room, eyes locked. Their connection broke when the crowd stood and applauded. Pablo touched her face with his hand, kissing the cheek which only moments ago he had rested against.

Lucy staggered as she was torn from his gentleness, her heel snapping as angry hands pushed her aside. Watching helplessly as Michael's fist connected with Pablo's head, knocking him unconscious. Michaels face twisted into a mask of rage as he dragged her screaming from the room, into the car park. Lucy closed her eyes at the first punch when she refused to get into the car. The fifth one blinded her - she lost count after that. In the space between the worlds Lucy now found herself digging one heeled shoe into the earth for balance, as she clawed at her husband. His merciless hand gripped her throat; the other sliding over her mouth muffling her screams...that faded to whimpers as she was pushed to the ground.

Without a sound Lucy surrendered, finding the touch of the frosted grass a comfort against the punishing pain. Cold hands cradled her face as she dreamed of a cheek pressed against hers - a touch that had cherished her and that alone made the monsters wrath bearable.

Voices surrounded her, angry and demanding, women were screaming as the cold hands were wrenched away. Michael bellowed her name and she cringed away from the sound. A hand touched her cheek, a familiar warm hand with a kind voice, pleading for her to come back, but the sound of a violin was filling her mind, its sad beauty making her smile as it seduced her away.