I found this article some time ago, leafing through the March edition of El Tangauta, where it was published in the section Renegando con René (a humourist fiction page, basically); I still remember that, reading it back in Buenos Aires, in the whirlwind of the milongas, I didn´t find it remotely funny, but deeply disturbing (not the article as such, which is a bit on the ridiculous side, but the addiction itself, which is pretty well described there, and its potential to mess up people´s lives). The notion of tango addiction had acquired a whole new dimension, and it no longer seemed the harmless (and rather cool, admit it) quirk it mostly is outside of Bs As.
At that time I read it with a shudder and put it away. Now, with some detachment, I think it´s quite interesting, though I still believe it will not seem all that funny to those really addicted to tango, or close to someone who is (unless they are in denial, of course).
The English translation provided by El Tangauta was not up to the high literary standards of this blog; I have therefore taken the liberty of translating it myself:
Grupo Carriego
(´...curdelas de caña y locas de pris...´)
First of all I would like to thank the doctors here for all they have done for me... I would like to bear witness, because the doctor asked me to, and I cannot fail him... well, I hope this can be of some use to somebody... what I want to say is that I am not doing this to torment myself, but in case someone should identify with another´s person´s misfortune, right, doctor?... I´ll go on; should I say anything wrong, stop me... I wanted to tell you that I also used to be a ruin, like you... I had ruined my life, altogether. First I lost my job, then my friends, lifelong friends they were... then my girlfriend left me, and she was a great girl and a beauty... never again in my life will I get a girl like that again... The thing is, I didn´t realize what was happening to me, it seemed normal to me and I thought it was the others that had a problem. I didn´t realize that I was ill, that I needed help... In the beginning of my troubles, those close to me wanted to help me. Because, to be fair, I must say that more than one person came to talk to me... People who would come to me and tell me I seemed odd, untidy, unkempt. And I would tell them that was what was fashionable at the time, that there were many people who wore white shoes, and that those shiny shirts were worn by all the cool guys... They were trying to help me, right, doctor?... Now I can see it all clearly, but at the time I wouldn´t listen to anyone. I changed the way I dressed, I changed friends, I stopped doing the things I used to do: I stopped going to the football matches, for example, because I just couldn´t get up on Sundays. In short, I was a real addict, a guy with a serious problem... Thinking of the dancing, all day long, imagining steps, thinking I had invented stuff; I couldn´t stop... The thing is, at the beginning one thinks one can cope, but then one realizes that he cannot. I even see foreigners who come here, again and again, and they will sell their own mother if needs be but will come every year – they can´t stop, just like I couldn´t... Until, one day, they found me with a compass, a ruler and a notebook full of notes, examining a turnstile in the subway. I tried to explain, but they wouldn´t listen; they gave me a shot and then brought me here to this farm. I have been here for three months, and I truly cannot complain – they take care of us, they teach us crafts, organize activities for us... Just the other day we played a football game with those from the Grupo Andrés. And the doctors are fantastic, they have helped me a lot to deal with my problem... And no tango, none of it – they keep us in shorts and flip-flops, and send us to bed at ten o´clock. And if someone gets a fit, the only thing they will let them dance is the minuet... It´s tough, but you´ve got to endure it... Now, in a couple of weeks I´ll be getting leave permissions, but just for the day and will always have to be back in the evening, to avoid the temptation... Because, once you´ve tried it, you remain hooked for life... right, doctor?
5 comments:
Not even a teeny weeny cruzada? :-(
But yup, that about sums it up.
Minuet can be not any less addictive. Ask any Jane Austen's heroine:-)
Johanna, Tanguerita - you think it´s funny? well, you are apparently in denial... :)))
Oh, Tanguerita, I never noticed Jane Austen´s heroines got high on the minuet; if they do, though, well - I have been looking for a PhD. topic, in English literature - imagine ´Dance and passion in Victorian novels´, with a gender aspect to it, of course - much better then ´Kennings and other poetic devices of Old English verse´ - a splendid suggestion, thanks! :)
Good post.
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