famous for it. He is known as
una lagarta
– in English, El Lizard.’
‘How do you know the president is coming?’
‘Ines told me.’
‘You know Ines?’ It seemed that everyone knew everyone in this city.
Ricardo grinned. ‘Of course.’
There was a growing sense of expectancy. More people crowded in, the curtain was drawn back to reveal the further width of the stage, extra tables were set out. El Lizard gave his guitar to
another man and went off with a uniformed man who wore white gloves. William recognised some of the girls he had seen in the dressing-room. They were taller than most women and wore long shimmering
dresses with slits up the sides. They moved through the dancers with regal disdain, concerning themselves with preparations on stage or with each other or with the white-gloved supervisor. William
could see neither Ines nor Theresa.
The music and dancing stopped abruptly, conversation with it. Everyone stood as the presidential party entered in silence. Carlos Calvaros was more colourfully uniformed than in the market and
wore more decorations. He looked slimly and smilingly perfect but for the threatened indiscipline of his mouth. There was about half a dozen with him, all officers, among them Manuel Herrera and
two portly men whose uniforms were more sober. It was a few moments before William recognised the Russian insignia; he had never seen Russians before.
El Lizard led the party to their tables, his expression unchanged and his head projected nearly a foot before his body. When the band struck up the national anthem the presidential party stood
to attention and saluted in the Russian, or Nazi, style. The anthem-lasted six minutes and there was palpable relief when it finished.
The president waved his non-saluting arm. ‘Please – continue.’
Everyone sat, the band struck up again, conversation resumed, but no one danced. William faced the presidential party across the empty floor. Without wanting to, he caught Manuel’s eye.
Manuel inclined his head and said something to the president, who looked across with raised eyebrows and smiled. The two plump Russians stared.
‘Now you can dance with Maria,’ Ricardo whispered.
William shook his head. ‘Not on an empty floor in front of them.’ He turned back to Ricardo. ‘Perhaps you should dance? You do it so well.’
‘I know. It would give them great pleasure to see me dance. But it is not me they have come to see. They want samba.’
‘Can’t you samba?’
‘Not in this way. Wait.’
There was a roll of drums and the lights were dimmed, except those on stage. The drums stopped, paused, and began again with a fast samba rhythm. It was throbbing insistent music, like a fast
stream that swirled, tumbled, convoluted and turned back on itself while rushing onward, ever onward. It was the kind of music William usually resisted but now he could feel his stomach
tighten.
The back-stage curtains parted and first one girl, then another, then another entered dancing. Soon there was a dozen of them spread across the stage and off it, flowing down the steps on either
side on to the dance floor. They were the girls William had seen earlier, all now in their long tight dresses with slits up the sides and frilly tops. Their samba, little more than a shuffle of the
feet and a motion of the hips, was mesmeric. Holding their arms high, they shimmered over stage and floor. Led by Carlos, people started clapping rhythmically. Gradually the girls sorted themselves
into two vibrating lines which led down the sides of the floor and focused on the stage. William could see neither Theresa nor Ines. He sat at the edge of the floor, his head very close to the
pullulating hips of the nearest dancer. Ricardo was still talking.
There was a drum crescendo and then silence. One of the Russians shouted something. Carlos smiled politely at him and turned back to the stage. Manuel sat unsmiling but the other officers all
acknowledged the Russian.
una lagarta
– in English, El Lizard.’
‘How do you know the president is coming?’
‘Ines told me.’
‘You know Ines?’ It seemed that everyone knew everyone in this city.
Ricardo grinned. ‘Of course.’
There was a growing sense of expectancy. More people crowded in, the curtain was drawn back to reveal the further width of the stage, extra tables were set out. El Lizard gave his guitar to
another man and went off with a uniformed man who wore white gloves. William recognised some of the girls he had seen in the dressing-room. They were taller than most women and wore long shimmering
dresses with slits up the sides. They moved through the dancers with regal disdain, concerning themselves with preparations on stage or with each other or with the white-gloved supervisor. William
could see neither Ines nor Theresa.
The music and dancing stopped abruptly, conversation with it. Everyone stood as the presidential party entered in silence. Carlos Calvaros was more colourfully uniformed than in the market and
wore more decorations. He looked slimly and smilingly perfect but for the threatened indiscipline of his mouth. There was about half a dozen with him, all officers, among them Manuel Herrera and
two portly men whose uniforms were more sober. It was a few moments before William recognised the Russian insignia; he had never seen Russians before.
El Lizard led the party to their tables, his expression unchanged and his head projected nearly a foot before his body. When the band struck up the national anthem the presidential party stood
to attention and saluted in the Russian, or Nazi, style. The anthem-lasted six minutes and there was palpable relief when it finished.
The president waved his non-saluting arm. ‘Please – continue.’
Everyone sat, the band struck up again, conversation resumed, but no one danced. William faced the presidential party across the empty floor. Without wanting to, he caught Manuel’s eye.
Manuel inclined his head and said something to the president, who looked across with raised eyebrows and smiled. The two plump Russians stared.
‘Now you can dance with Maria,’ Ricardo whispered.
William shook his head. ‘Not on an empty floor in front of them.’ He turned back to Ricardo. ‘Perhaps you should dance? You do it so well.’
‘I know. It would give them great pleasure to see me dance. But it is not me they have come to see. They want samba.’
‘Can’t you samba?’
‘Not in this way. Wait.’
There was a roll of drums and the lights were dimmed, except those on stage. The drums stopped, paused, and began again with a fast samba rhythm. It was throbbing insistent music, like a fast
stream that swirled, tumbled, convoluted and turned back on itself while rushing onward, ever onward. It was the kind of music William usually resisted but now he could feel his stomach
tighten.
The back-stage curtains parted and first one girl, then another, then another entered dancing. Soon there was a dozen of them spread across the stage and off it, flowing down the steps on either
side on to the dance floor. They were the girls William had seen earlier, all now in their long tight dresses with slits up the sides and frilly tops. Their samba, little more than a shuffle of the
feet and a motion of the hips, was mesmeric. Holding their arms high, they shimmered over stage and floor. Led by Carlos, people started clapping rhythmically. Gradually the girls sorted themselves
into two vibrating lines which led down the sides of the floor and focused on the stage. William could see neither Theresa nor Ines. He sat at the edge of the floor, his head very close to the
pullulating hips of the nearest dancer. Ricardo was still talking.
There was a drum crescendo and then silence. One of the Russians shouted something. Carlos smiled politely at him and turned back to the stage. Manuel sat unsmiling but the other officers all
acknowledged the Russian.
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