Dani moved closer, determined to get in his line of vision. Carlos breathed down her neck, a silent promise that if she forced herself on this old soul again, he wouldn’t hesitate to drag her away, kicking and screaming.
The old man closed his eyes, lost in the song as his companion sung every word with passion. Although the wood panelling of the instrument bore gouges and scrapes, the notes floated beautifully through the air and wrapped around her like a cocoon.
‘Shit,’ she said under her breath.
‘What?’
‘There’s no fingernails down the blackboard.’ Carlos frowned and she waved her hand in a ‘not explaining now’ manner. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’
She sank to her knees, not caring about the stones digging into her skin. A few workers glanced at her but didn’t show any concern as their attention quickly returned to the musical pair. Strong hands cupped her armpits and lifted her then the same hands rested heavily on her shoulders. Carlos’s warm breath grazed her ear as he said, ‘What is it?’
‘I ... he ...’
The old man’s eyes met hers and he gave her a small nod.
‘Did you see that?’ She could barely contain her excitement. Resisting the urge to point, she whispered, ‘See? He’s telling me he’s Roberto.’
‘You cannot know this. Yes, he is very good but there are many excellent bandoneón players. My cousin, he—’
‘It’s him.’ She planted her heels in the dirt and clenched her fists by her side.
The singer and bandoneón player finished up the song to a round of applause. They started another and once again the men fell silent, entranced by the pair. The moment they finished the second song the singer winked at his comrades, pulled out his whistle, took a deep breath and blew it louder than necessary. The workers let out a collective groan and returned to their posts, quickly finding their rhythm. All except the old man who held the bandoneón with his thin arms.
‘You really are the granddaughter of Louisa Gilchrist?’ he asked in strongly accented English.
‘Yes,’ Dani replied as she placed her hand over her heart.
‘Then I am him. I am the Roberto Vega you are looking for.’
CHAPTER
29
Dani didn’t know whether to jump for joy or break down in tears.
‘You are?’
‘Yes,’ he said in Spanish. He took off his hat, revealing a large bald spot.
Carlos patted Dani’s back lightly and walked over to the car, giving her the space she needed.
Placing the bandoneón in its case, he said, ‘I am Roberto Vega, but people know me as Lucas Villa.’ His accent confused her—he sounded more Uruguayan than Argentine.
‘How did you find Louisa?’ Dani asked.
He gazed at the vast cashew fields then turned to her. ‘Your mother is Iris Kennedy, yes?’
Dani nodded.
‘I may not have much but I do own a television. I saw a TV special and she talked about a book with a character called Lunita.’
‘You saw that? Why didn’t you contact Iris?’
‘Because the presenter mentioned the name of Iris’s mother and I thought it best to find Louisa first, just to make sure I had the right woman.’
‘Well, you most definitely do, but how on earth did you track her down in Australia?’
‘I spent my life savings on a private detective.’ Shaking his head, he said, ‘It was easy because I was looking for Stella Kennedy not Louisa Gilchrist.’ He narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. ‘Do you know you look like your grandmother?’ He sighed then his lips sprang into a cheeky smile. ‘A grandmother. Ha! Are we that old?’
‘You don’t have family?’
‘No. I never married. Never wanted to. Not unless I could wed my Louisa. Tell me, did she marry?’
‘No.’
Shifting from foot to foot, he fixed his large eyes on hers. ‘Is Iris ...?’
‘I’m not sure. I haven’t asked Stella. Perhaps this is a question you should ask.’
‘Then you could be my granddaughter?’ He dipped his head and furrowed his brows. Looking up, he said, ‘This is hard to believe. Five minutes ago I had no one.’
‘I understand your surprise.’ She felt as overwhelmed as he appeared. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Many, many years, I am afraid. Unfortunately, it took me too long to arrive in Chapada do Russo. After I left Argentina I journeyed to Bolivia with the plan to travel across Brazil to here. But the floods were bad that year. So, so bad. I was delayed in crossing the border for months. When I finally arrived, there was no sign of Louisa. Please, what is your name?’ His politeness endeared him to her even more.
‘Dani.’
‘Short for Daniela?’ She nodded and he said, ‘Such a beautiful name.’
‘This is what I say,’ said Carlos as he took his place next to her. He raised an eyebrow and she rolled her eyes in reply.
‘You prefer Dani, yes?’ Roberto asked, casting a wary eye over Carlos.
‘Yes.’ Sensing Roberto was about to clam up, she said, ‘This is Carlos Escudero. He’s my ...’ What? What was he now? ‘Don’t worry, you can trust him.’
‘I am aware of Carlos Escudero. You have entertained me for many hours when I watched you on DVD and television. You are a great credit to tango.’
‘And I believe you are very talented,’ Carlos said, a slight tinge of red creeping up his neck. Dani couldn’t work out whether it was Carlos being humble or if he was struggling in the presence of the man who may have murdered one of tango’s greatest legends.
They fell silent as the chatter of workers and scattering nuts filled the air.
‘So what now?’ she asked.
‘I must finish my work for the day.’ Roberto cocked his head towards the shed. ‘Please, tell me where you are and I will meet you after eight o’clock.’
Dani scribbled her phone number on the pensión’s business card and handed it to Roberto. He saluted, turned, and shuffled into the sweltering heat of the shed.
‘What if he doesn’t come find us? What if he disappears?’ she asked, wishing logic would overpower her emotions instead of letting them churn into a blinding panic.
‘Why would he contact your grandma and tell you he is Roberto Vega then not show?’
‘He denied it when I first asked him, then he changed his mind. Who’s to say he won’t change it again?’
‘Why?’ said Carlos.
‘I don’t know! Maybe he sent the letter not thinking he’d get a reply and now I’ve shown up and he’s too overwhelmed.’
‘You think this is so?’
Dani shrugged.
‘We go and wait at the pensión, yes? There is nothing we can do here. We must respect his wishes.’
Reluctantly, Dani got in the car and Carlos climbed in next to her. He slammed the vehicle into reverse, spinning the wheels in the dirt as he pointed the car at the tree-lined driveway. Dani glanced at Roberto, who watched them leave while the other workers sorted nuts around him. His expression didn’t relay a single emotion. She turned to face Carlos. ‘I hope he shows.’
* * *
Pacing the pensión’s small veranda, Dani flung her arms about and muttered obscenities while Carlos sat in a padded chair, infuriating her with his calm demeanour. Darkness surrounded them, bringing a welcome relief from the sun’s heat but a heightened anxiousness at Roberto’s non-appearance.
‘It’s ten o’clock. He’s not coming,’ she said.
‘He is South American, yes? Clocks are an inconvenience for us. He will come when he is ready.’ Carlos took a long sip from his soft drink can.
Dani flopped onto a chair and kicked out her feet. ‘Maybe we should go and find him.’
‘Daniela, chasing a man will only end in your tears.’
‘But—’
‘Oh no.’ He held up a hand. ‘You scare me when you start sentences with this word.’
‘Why?’
‘Because it means
you have more questions than people can answer.’
‘I’m a journalist,’ she said, but it didn’t sit right, as she hadn’t finished a single article.
‘I am aware of your profession, Daniela.’
‘Yet you’re still talking to me.’ She smiled and nudged his foot with hers.
‘Maybe we should pass time working on your articles. You must have at least one finished, yes? May I read it?’
Dani bit her bottom lip.
‘You have done nothing?’
‘I’ve been working! See?’ She reached into the bag beside the chair and wielded her notebook. Flipping it open, she thrust the pages at him.
Whenever I hear tango music, I conjure up visions of dapper men in sharp suits, hats tilted to the side, wooing women in fishnet stockings and low-cut dresses that cling to sensuous curves. The couple sways to the music, a soulful bandoneón dictating their every move. Most onlookers focus on the dancers, barely giving the orchestra a second glance. But if you can take your eyes off the tango dancers and concentrate on the bandoneón player, you’ll notice the passion that pours from his soul into the instrument. There is an undying love and connection between the player and his bandoneón, not unlike tango dancers and their partners. Unfortunately, the bandoneón is under threat of extinction and without it, tango music as we know it will change forever.
Today there are only two bandoneón repair shops in the world, both in Buenos Aires. Originally made in Germany in the nineteenth century, the bandonion (as it was called in Germany) was used for religious music in German churches. In the 1850s, the German and Italian sailors and emigrants brought the instrument to the shores of Argentina. They incorporated the bandoneón into a new music and dance that started in Buenos Aires. We now know it as the tango.
Thousands of instruments were sent to Argentina from Germany, but production stopped when the manufacturer closed down during World War Two. These days, only a handful of the original instruments remain. There are no spare parts and their legacy relies heavily on the craftspeople continuing a century-old tradition.
Even though to the untrained eye the bandoneón may look like it’s related to the accordion, it comes from completely different families. The bandoneón is part of the concertina family and doesn’t have the piano-like keys found on an accordion. Instead, a bandoneón has buttons on both sides of the instrument and has two-voice notes—when a button is pressed, two notes play at the same time. There are over seventy buttons on the bandoneón, giving the instrument a wide range and adding a richness and depth to the music that is recognised worldwide as an integral part of tango.
With the resurgence of tango over the last decade, musicians and collectors bought up the remaining bandoneóns and pay up to US$7000 per piece. The Argentine government recently passed a law that prohibits anyone other than an Argentine musician on tour from taking an original bandoneón out of the country.
Argentina has produced new versions of bandoneóns, but according to tango aficionados, the sound is less authentic and doesn’t have the soul of the originals. One of the reasons they are lacking the original sound is because the wood of German-made bandoneóns was aged for ten to fifteen years before being made into an instrument.
With the originals dying out, the sound of tango will change. The love and care the instruments have received over the years are not enough to keep them alive forever. Even with the proper care, it is expected the originals may only last for another fifty years. Let’s hope someone can find an answer to this problem and prevent the loss of something that is as Argentine as the tango.
‘And I’ll add in a whole lot about Gualberto,’ she said, feeling defensive as well as hypocritical since she couldn’t stand the instrument but had written as though she loved it.
‘All you are doing are notes, notes, notes, yes? When will you write the articles?’
With an indignant thrust of the hand she grabbed the book and shoved it back in her bag. Carlos had a nasty habit of hitting the wrong button at the right time.
‘Writer’s block. Heard of it?’ she asked.
‘This really happens?’ He laughed then stopped when he saw her scowl.
‘It’s not funny. My entire career depends on it and I can’t find a way to get started!’
‘You do not love the dance,’ Carlos said matter-of-factly.
‘Of course I don’t love it. Why would I? All it’s done is cause grief in my family. Look at what it did to Stella. To Louisa and Roberto. To my mother and father. To my mother and me ... How can I find inspiration in a dance that doesn’t love me?’
‘You are trying too hard.’
‘Too hard to hate it? That comes easy.’
If her words hurt, he didn’t show it. ‘Daniela, stand up.’
‘I’m not doing any more lessons.’
‘Stand up.’
She shook her head and crossed her arms like a petulant child. ‘I’m the break in the link, okay? The tango gene has skipped me and I have no problems with that whatsoever.’
Carlos stared at her, his lips taut. ‘You are full of words, Daniela McKenna. Just words.’
‘I’m obviously not because I can’t write a flipping article!’
‘Up, please.’ He arched his eyebrows, indicating he would tolerate no further argument.
Realising this was a battle already lost, she stood and shifted the chair back a few inches. ‘I will do as you ask but I don’t have to like it.’
‘That is okay. I have no problems with that whatsoever.’ He did a cruddy job of mimicking her Australian accent.
Dani stifled a giggle and stood straight. ‘Dazzle me.’
‘You talk too much, this is your problem.’
‘I do not! What about the way you—’
Carlos’s frown stopped her.
‘You do not listen to what is within. All this blah, blah, blah, you do, it is not good for anything. For success you need to be quiet here and here.’ He pointed to his head then mouth. ‘If you allow peace in those places you will listen to this.’ Carlos put his hand over his heart. ‘This beating, loving device will guide you in the direction you need. What does yours say?’
Carlos lifted her hand and placed it over her heart. It beat a million miles an hour under his touch so she closed her eyes, willing the frantic pace to slow. Breathing slowly, she tried to still her busy mind. The same mind that kept yelling, ‘Jump him!’ Concentrating on her heart, she listened but got nothing. She went to move her hand but Carlos held it firmly in place.
‘Do not give up so easily.’
Furrowing her brows, Dani tried again. This time, warmth spread deep within her chest. Tango music filled her ears and her mind played images of her mother dancing, her grandma as a young woman in Buenos Aires, and a pair of violet tango shoes—the pair she’d tried on in the shop.
Dani gasped and ripped her hand away. Opening her eyes, she took a step back.
‘What’s wrong? You are shaking.’
‘I—’
‘Good evening.’
Carlos and Dani turned to find Roberto limping up the stairs of the veranda. He gripped the balustrade with one hand and carried a bandoneón case in the other. Roberto paused with each step, allowing his lungs to fill with air, his wheezing worse than earlier in the day.
‘Please, do not let me interrupt.’ He made it to the veranda and Dani rushed forwards, ushering him to a chair. Roberto sat down, placed his case beside him, and smiled his thanks. ‘You two make a lovely couple.’
‘We are not together. We are just friends,’ Carlos said quickly.
Hurt, Dani stared into the darkness. Was she so blind and stupid that she’d misinterpreted Carlos’s feelings? She swore the recent electricity and bantering they’d shared had meant so much more, even though they’d had a hiccup in Mendoza.
‘I am surprised you are not a couple. There is energy between you two. Interesting—’ Roberto coughed into a speckled handkerchief.
‘I’ll get you some wate
r,’ said Dani, keen to find a moment of solitude. Entering the pensión, she grabbed a glass and filled it with water from the tap. She hung her head and breathed deeply a few times, trying to steady her nerves.
‘You are all right, Dani?’
She turned to find Roberto hunched in the doorway. Rushing forwards, she placed her hand under his elbow. ‘Please, you need to sit.’
‘I have spent too much time sitting in my life. It is very hard to play the bandoneón standing up, yes?’ When he laughed his eyes sparkled with youthful cheekiness, briefly covering the dullness of an elderly man.
‘So you’ve been playing all these years?’
‘I stopped just after I left Argentina but when I established my new persona as a Uruguayan—’
‘That’s why you have that accent! I couldn’t work it out, now I understand.’
‘I’ve always been good at mimicking. It comes with being a good listener, which makes me a good musician. I am very good at what I do.’ He slid her a wink, not giving the slightest hint of arrogance.
‘I heard you were the best.’
He shrugged. ‘Maybe but that life disappeared the day I lost Louisa. It took me a long time before I could play again but when I did, I realised it was the only way I could feel close to her. And the moon,’ he sighed, ‘the moon always brought her back into my heart.’
‘Lunita,’ Dani said.
‘Yes. My little moon.’ He gazed into the distance, his mind no doubt conjuring up memories smoothed by time and life experience. He shook his head and blinked. ‘But that is the past. Tell me, what scared you just then? The fear in your eyes was deep.’
‘It wasn’t fear, it was more ...’ What was it? The music and images were so real. She felt every movement as her mother danced. She felt as if she were her grandmother, walking through the streets of 1950s Buenos Aires. She felt the soft violet shoes on her feet. Sighing, she said, ‘I don’t know what it was.’
‘Perhaps I can help.’
‘How?’
He took her hand and led her back to the veranda. Carlos sat in the chair, rubbing his leg. The moment he saw her, he removed his hand.
Luna Tango Page 27