My Senior Friends: Adrien and Natalia Reconsider Tango

Adrien meets me at the door. He is all smiles, and for a moment I think that I had imagined yesterday’s phone conversation.

“Come and see us.” he had said. “We have found out about Natalia’s illness. It’s MS. Right now she is a little better. Her MS is in remission, but we don’t know how long that will last.”

I think back to the last time I was here. It wasn’t a good visit. Natalia was weak and uncoordinated. She was unable to speak well, and Adrien was tense and uncomfortable.

As I left then, I thought back to the way I had always known them—at a milonga, taking the floor with their dramatic opening pose, breaking out slowly in a caminada and carrying us all into a trance as they danced the tango.  This would take some getting used to, I thought grimly.

Today, Natalia is more like herself. She greets me happily, and disappears down the hallway to make tea. Adrien and I exchange looks as she walks away.

“How is she?” I ask.

“She’s okay,” he answers, with a slight shrug.

“She’s walking fine,” I say,”Seems strong, and certainly looks great.”

“Natalia always looks great,” he smiles, “But she doesn’t tell me everything. Most of the time I’m guessing how she feels.”

“What! She has to talk about it! Does she talk to anyone else?”

“Shhh,” he puts a forefinger to his lips, “She wouldn’t want us discussing this.”

We hear the tinkle of cups, muted by the strategic placement of a doily on the tray. When Natalia comes back into the room, Adrien and I are comparing our experiences of tango.

“We still dance, you know,” he says. “Whenever Natalia is in remission and has the energy, we make an appearance at a milonga, and dance our hearts out.”

“Just remembering that community,” I say, “They would always be so glad to see you there. You two were the backbone of the group.”

“And you loved it too, I remember,” Natalia says, “You, and Marlene and Nancy, three lovely ladies, always so eager to dance, to learn.”

“I have never felt so challenged,” I say, with a laugh, “Before or since. I can see how it can become an obsession. So thrilling, just being on the floor, trying to keep up to the music, the steps, your partner…for me it has always been about keeping up to my partner—when I could find one.”

Adrien chuckles.

“As you know, Diane, male partners have always been in short supply.”

“Yes, I remember the frustration when I first joined,” I laugh, “The competition among us, all of the neophyte women, determined to learn.”

“It was such a catch 22. They wouldn’t dance with you until you were good. And you couldn’t become good until you knew the dance!”

“Such a cruel sport, tango.” he continues,” Of course, in Argentina, children grew up dancing, with their parents, with their friends and siblings. There never was a question of finding partners. They were always there.”

“Yes,” Natalia breaks in, happy to be talking about Argentina. “I first danced with my father. And then Marcos, my older brother. He was my partner all through my teens.” I sense the loss in her voice—she hasn’t been back to Argentina for years.

“But when Adrien turned up at a milonga in Buenos Aires one summer, it was ‘game over’, as they say here. I never wanted to dance with anyone else.”

We talk more about tango. They have been dancing together ever since they met, they tell me—thirty years! Natalia says, with a twinkle, of course she must share Adrien with many other tango learners and single women.”But I don’t mind,” she laughs, “We all love him!”

Adrien ducks his head.

“But in reality,” he says, “Natalia doesn’t like to give me up to the other women all that much. They just snatch me away so they can see her Latin temper flare up. Then, what a show!”

Natalia picks up the tea-tray and excuses herself. She has an appointment in town, she says, and we are left alone to continue our visit.

When Adrien walks out to see her off, I drift around the room, looking at the artifacts, the awards in teaching and tango that they have won over the years. I am drawn down the hall, to the posters which line the walls. There is one of Adrien and Natalia in a classic tango pose, she flicking her high heels around his ankles, he supporting her in the powerful male pose. They are standing on a platform built high on the beach at Cadboro Bay. I read the inscription, “Tango by the Sea, 2001” Adrien hears my little gasp as he comes back into the room.

“I was there!” I exclaim, “I remember it, the dancing, the food, the music—it was at the yacht club, I think. You and Natalia were magnificent!”

“Yes we were,” he chuckles, “That was a great time. We had a few good years after that. But we toned it down. Even before the MS. Tango does great things for your health, your muscles, your heart, your lungs.  But there is a limit—joints wear out, and you eventually lose some control over your balance. So it’s a long time since we competed.”

I want to know more.  How will they manage, I worry. What can they possibly find to replace this—a lifetime of passion and accomplishment. I’m downcast as I make my way through their garden to my car. Nancy and Marlene knew I was coming here today. What will I tell them?  Put them off somehow until I can talk about this without choking up, I decide.  I think back to the years we three spent learning tango in Adrien’s studio. And later, gaining youth and vigour as we braved the scrutiny of the younger dancers in the Club.  Middle-aged madness, they must have thought as they saw us labouring through the 8 basic figures—the caminar, the cruce, the ochos. And now, I sigh, we are mostly dancing in our dreams, and can no longer count on Adrien and Natalia to keep those dreams alive.