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

thanking people for their presents and good wishes, until, after a long hug from my father, the two of us found ourselves alone in the street. El Rojo, dressed for the wedding in his best summer suit, and I in thematching blue skirt and blouse that I had sewn for myself especially for today.
    This was the first time I had been alone with Berstein, really alone, without Papá, without my girlfriends, without anyone else, and I didn’t know what to do. He offered me his arm, and so, walking slowly and in silence, we walked toward Necochea, crossing paths with people who were heading for La Boca to have a good time, while my own eyes kept searching in every direction for a hint of his figure, though I knew he would be far away by now, drinking in some dive or playing cards or doing whatever it is that men do when they leave.
    We reached home and it struck me as odd that Berstein should be the one taking out the key and opening the door, but now this was his house too, for he had given up the room that he had been renting to use now and then, whenever he was on dry land.
    Our bedroom was now going to be the one that had belonged to Papá, who would move into my old room. My girlfriends had insisted on setting it up for my wedding night and refused to let me in to see it before we left for church, so, even though I was in my own house, everything looked odd and different, even the hall, which was the same as ever, dark and a bit sad despite being freshly cleaned.
    â€œA drink?” Rojo proposed, entering the sitting room as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Yesterday I left a bottle of sweet wine and some pastries here, in case we were hungry.”
    He poured two glasses without waiting for me to answer, and held out one for me with a nervous smile.
    â€œTo our love,” he toasted. We clinked glasses and I wondered what made him think that I loved him. As if he had read my thoughts, after draining his glass and waiting for me to take a sip from mine, he went on, “I know that I’ve never told you, in so many words, that I love you, Natalia, but, I mean, you must know that I do, and, well, now that we’re married, I suppose that, you know, you must love me too, just a little bit at least, don’t you?”
    I think I blushed then, and to relieve my confusion I took another sip of my wine.
    â€œWhat I said in the church is what I feel, Natalia. I’m going to love and protect you my whole life long. I’m going to be a good husband, I swear it.”
    He must have taken my confusion for sheer timidity, because without waiting for me to speak he took the wine glass from my hand, set it on the dinner table, and hugged me tight, pressing his head against my neck. He smelled of manly sweat and tobacco smoke. I remember thinking that I’d have to get used to that smell, because from that moment forth it would be with me for the rest of my life.
    â€œCome,” he said, picking me up in his arms and carrying me down the hall as if I weighed no more than a pillow.
    The girls had decorated the bed with an ivory-colored lace bedspread we had brought from Spain, which they had sprinkledwith flower petals. Rojo was going to set me down, but I realized that if I lay on the bed then I would crush the flowers and stain the bedspread and my clothes, so I turned in his arms and explained my fear to him, and he let me down on the floor.
    We removed the bedspread together. He stood there in his shirtsleeves, looking at me from the other side of the bed as if he didn’t know what to do. The sweat stains under his arms nearly reached his waistband. Suddenly he was breathing hard, as if he had been exercising.
    â€œI’m going to the bathroom,” I said, because I had to get out of there and be alone for a moment, but he smiled as if that were exactly what he had been waiting to hear.
    I went out to the courtyard in the last blue light of day, took a deep breath, and looked