Read Online Heart of Tango by Elia Barceló - Free Book Online

door I looked back for the last time. I ran my thumb over my jacket pocket, from which the tip of her handkerchief peered out. I put all my love into that final glance, so that she would know it. I don’t think I succeeded.
    I had to hold tight to the table’s edge to keep from screaming. I bit my lips and suddenly I was sobbing like a fool, crying over some stranger with whom I would have gone to the ends of the earth if he had asked, despite my father, despite my new husband, despite all the women who were smiling at my tears, nodding and whispering among themselves.
    â€œDarling, what’s wrong?” Papá asked, holding my hand tenderly. “Are you also thinking of your mother?”
    Feeling I was mean, cowardly, base, I nodded, lowering my gaze to keep from meeting his damp eyes.
    Doña Melina saved me. She was suddenly behind my seat, squeezing my shoulders and getting me to stand up and accompany her to the ladies’ room.
    â€œI’m borrowing her for a moment, Don Joaquín, with your permission. This girl needs a bit of air and some fresh water on her face.”
    With our arms around each other we entered the house and went into a large bathroom that was so cold compared with thecourtyard that a chill passed over me. My girlfriend’s mother took off my garland and the carnation that Diego had given me, picked up a towel, wet it in the basin, and without a word began wiping it across my temples, my forehead, and the back of my neck, until I felt better.
    â€œBe careful, Natalia,” she whispered quietly into my ear. “That man’s dangerous.”
    â€œWhat man?” I asked, feigning innocence because, much as it hurt, I wanted to speak only of him.
    Doña Melina stood in front of me, held my chin, and forced me to look at her.
    â€œFrom now on there cannot be any other man in your life but your husband, do you understand? There’s no other way. Your husband, your home, your children when you have them. Be happy with that. Other women have less.”
    â€œAnd him?” I asked in a very low voice, dying of shame.
    â€œHe has his own life. Far from you. This is nothing but a passing infatuation, Natalia, what they call a crush. He’s a handsome boy and a good dancer. You’re an innocent young thing, just hatched from your shell, like María Esther. Give it time and it will heal. Tomorrow everything will be different, you’ll see.”
    â€œTomorrow I turn twenty.”
    I was about to ask her for some advice for the night that would soon begin, when two of the three Italian girls came rushing in to find the bride, and that was the end of the conversation. We left thebathroom together and Doña Melina only had time to whisper, “Come and see me tomorrow if you want to talk.”
    In the courtyard some married couples were beginning to bid farewell even though it was still light out, and I was there for quite a stretch, shaking hands, kissing sweaty cheeks, being congratulated, feeling the constant presence of Rojo behind my back or at my side, the heat emanating from his enormous body, his hungry eyes craving me as if I were a cake in a bakery window.
    â€œChildren,” Papá said, coming up behind us and taking us both by the arms, “you can leave whenever you’d like. I’ll stay here so long as anyone wants the party to continue, but you two must be tired, and tomorrow is a work day, so if you want to go . . .”
    A look of complicity passed between them and Berstein turned to me.
    â€œShall we go, Natalia?”
    I could have said no, but as Rojo didn’t dance and we would have to go sooner or later, I agreed without a word and went to find Gina, who had brought a bag with my street clothes so that I wouldn’t have to walk through the streets at this hour in my wedding dress.
    We started saying goodbye to the guests, going from group to group, laughing at jokes that I didn’t understand,