In Strangers' Arms

Among all the choices I decided to head to Café Homero Manzi. It is said that poet Manzi gave birth to the lyrics of tango “Sur” right here. Fact? Myth?

The morning is drizzingly tanguera. At the corner of San Juan y Boedo on the black stage across Boedo Avenue thirty musicians including12 strings and three bandoneones of the “Orquesta de la Ciudad de Buenos Aires” open the outdoor show. They give us Piazzolla’s “Libertango,” “Buenos Aires es tu fiesta” and “Viva el tango.” What a beginning!

We are ready for Rinaldi’s entrance but the rain has delayed her. Five hundred impatient tango lovers and Rinaldi lovers stand on the wet street. Our impatience turns into elation when Rinaldi appears one hour late. I quickly position myself just two yards in front of her.

She opens the show with the tango “Sur.” We know its letras by heart and sing it in unison when she turns the microphone towards us. “Old San Juan and Boedo …”

We shout. “Vamos tana.”

She seems emotional and yet contained. As if in trance one hand holds her forehead while her right arm is extended with an accusatory finger. Her body expression is preparing us for drama and anger.  She delivers ”Uno” by Discepolo.

Si yo tuviera el corazon,

el corazon que di…
If I had the heart,
the heart I gave away…

Shouts from the cement: “Te quiero Susana, te quiero.”

We calm down when we hear the first chords of “El último cafe.” Rinaldi closes her eyes, collects her body inwardly. No arm movements to this song, only facial and bodily expressions. Her voice follows the nostalgic mood of the poetry.

Lo nuestro terminó,
dijiste en un adiós
de azúcar y de hiel…

From he cement: “Te quiero Susana, te quiero,”

She begins to sing “Maria” a capella. In time the music joins her voice. Rinaldi sings Cátulo’s poetry with her entire body, excruciating facial expressions, hands placed on her core.  Singing, music and emotions in perfect harmony.

For dessert she gives us two more songs by Catulo Castillo: “Desencuentro” and “Y a mi que.” This will be her last song, she announces.

We protest: “No Tana. No, no te vayas (Don’t leave Tana. No. No).”

Rinaldi says she is too old to keep on singing; she invites us to sing to “Y a mi qué” (“Who cares?”). We join in her.

The show is over. The crowd disbands. Slowly. I run to the back of the stage to see her. People want autographs. I just want to touch her; I extend my hand and she holds it briefly. I feel her small, warm and a bit tremulous …

I head towards the next café…

Tags: Music, Poetry, Song