Chapter 31
La Primer Milonga Codificada en Deseo
Part 1 – La Democracia Perdida en el Camino
For a moment, a gust of freedom filled the streets of Buenos Aires with false hope, as new elections were around the corner. The conservative restoration was inevitable, as the Radicals campaigned on Uriburu’s forceful entry to power.
José Félix Uriburu’s conservative upbringing made it ironic that he leaned toward fascism, as he did not favor a traditional restorative reorganization of the country, nor did he favor the old family-oriented regime. His controversial position deteriorated his influence with the army; the soldiers began to disagree with Uriburu’s narrow view of what the new Argentina would be.
“My lady bleeds its blue and white dress, and now it’s being fucked by an illegitimate president,” said a lower-ranking officer.
“This son of a bitch will ruin our country and lead us straight to hell,” said General Agustín Pedro Justo.
Agustín Pedro Justo had served under Marcelo T. de Alvear as his Minister of War, before the coup against the Radical Civic Union party leader Hipólito Yrigoyen.
Growing conspiracies led to a temporary truce between Justo and Uriburu. Against the backdrop of rising civil and military discontent, the Justista and Uriburista factions, sometime around the cold winter month of January 1930, began to plot what would be known as the coup of September 6 of the same year, thus ushering in the infamous decade.
This unholy alliance between conservatives and ultranationalists was bound to fail from the start. Justo and Uriburu were as different as oil and water.
Uriburu wanted a revolution without the elite or the rehearsed political figurines, while Justo wanted a traditional conservative restoration.
“We all agree that Uriburu and his clan have no real plans after this so-called revolution. He just wants to sit in power,” said one of the soldiers as he took a drag of his smoke.
“That bastard just wants to be a dictator. Oh no, sir, not under my watch!” answered back another soldier.
“Fascism in this country? Over my dead body! We need to restore our sacred republican democratic institutions!” Agustín Pedro Justo responded firmly.
Over my dead body—
September 6 might have been a walk in the park as we took our cadets from the Colegio Militar, burst into La Diagonal del Norte, took whoever we wished hostage, satiated our animal instincts by terminating whoever opposed our march, then walked “peacefully” in a machine-gun flurry all the way to Plaza del Congreso. After that, it was eight hours and fifteen miles of blissful ignorance until we reached Casa Rosada.
“Then… we became cynics,” said a soldier, laughing between his words as he took a sip of his wine glass.
A demoralized army, and its everlasting hierarchy—
We are just peons in Uriburu’s chess game!
He thinks he is playing chess, but he is playing checkers!
We will take the country back and restore it!
And so it began. The reorientation of a fractured Argentina, under the leadership of Marcelo T. de Alvear.
Alvear and Justo reorganized his Radical group, winning the trial elections in an unexpected turn. The Radicals were soon suppressed by the opposition; many were arrested and their leaders exiled, while others were barred from participating in the national elections.
This did not stop Justo from creating a coalition of conservatives, which included a faction of the Radicals and independent Socialists who wanted Uriburu out of the presidency, as he had usurped a place that did not belong to him.
“Fascist pig! Argentina will cease to bleed and usher its restorative traditionalism!”
Thus, the beginning of the Concordancia and the fight for the Lady Argentina started.
Part 2 – La Milonga y el Tango de Salón
The Casas de Tolerancia were as crowded as the brothels downtown, with women pouring left and right from all corners of Buenos Aires, including immigrant women who were poor. German, Polish, Russian, Ukrainian, Jewish, and Italian women were examined under the guise of prevention of airborne illnesses and unknown pathogens.
Gynecologists were assessing if these women were of “acceptable womanhood,” while the men were assessing if these women were the marrying kind or milk extractors that were disposable. After their humiliating revision, many of these women were sent off to the Villas of La Miseria housing projects or to the many brothels across the city.
These women literally had no choice but to either succumb to poverty, become ladies of the gallant night, or be sold into white slavery. The very few that were able to fight off the tragic fate worked in factories, as seamstresses, or any other lower-paying job.
The song of the ill-fated women with no future, the cries of the arrabal and incomplete women, as the state deems us unacceptable.
Womanhood became a commodity of the higher classes, a cosplay of ironic desire. While women were referred to as “milk extractors” or “niñas de casa” depending on their social status. The painful reality was dehumanizing.
We are not complete women—
Our futures are chosen by how we were born. The rich bitches have all the benefits, while the rest of us are seen as objects.
Aimee had decided to venture into the darkest corners of the Argentinian barrios, looking for her Storyville docks, as she felt nostalgic. Her heart was back home in New Orleans, but she knew she was needed in the fragmented lady that bleeds in its blue and white dress. Just like Mylène’s presence was a necessity to restore balance.
Stumbling upon Villa 31, Aimee felt a familiar feeling; the area oozed of poverty, sadness, and greed. It made her feel homesick.
We are not complete women—Aimee heard this echoing from the mouths of the women on their walk home. She sensed their growing discontent; she then remembered how her sisters felt back home when compared to the Creole and lighter-skinned Black women.
Acceptable womanhood had been turned into a costume that only those who could afford its price wore.
And then it smelled rancid, as if something had just gone bad, while a cloud of green smoke followed it.
Bingo! Ethel, I wonder where that foul odor is coming from? Care to investigate for a few fish heads?
Ethel Bourbon meowed in disagreement.
Alright, no fish heads. How about a tasty salmon?
Ethel raised his head, meowing back; he placed his little cushiony paw on Aimee’s left breast.
Meow. Meow—
I heard you, so is that a yes?
Ethel jumped off her arms and off he left.
While Aimee inspected Villa 31, waiting for her cat to come back, she noticed how meticulously the women did their makeup, their bodies adorned with tight dresses in bold colors. Rosy cheeks with exaggerated rouge, lips pouty and red as if they had eaten an apple. Eyelashes miles long, and eyes lined as if they were cats.
Dramatic, as if they were about to sing an aria in an opera house.
Ethel came back with a flyer in his mouth.
“Abasto y Balvanera. Cuando todos duermen, Argentina vibra de noche. Ven a la intersección de Junín y Lavalle, donde encontrarás un menú exótico que promete calmar al paladar más exigente.”
Promoción por Z. M.
Promoción por Z. M.
“Abasto and Balvanera. When everyone is in bed, Argentina vibrates during the night. Come to the intersection of Junín y Lavalle, where you’ll find an exotic menu that promises to satiate the most demanding palate.” Promoted by Z.M.
Ahh! A brothel! That explains the stench of exploitation and greed. The disenfranchisement of women into slaves to satiate the male palate! said Aimee, raising her fist in anger.
Meanwhile, in the Port District, milongas were coded as the language of desire in a society that sought to cleanse everything!
While Aimee was venturing through the streets, finding possible ways to feed, as she was starving.
I haven’t had a meal since we left New Orleans, I am famished, Ethel, so let’s go get you that salmon!
Mylene was mingling with the crème of the crème, the uppity, stuck up damas of high society. The matriarchs of the state, the crafters of the acceptable womanhood, and the curated lists of topics to avoid confrontations, but class clashes were the cup of tea of every society.
Yet under the new regime of an illegitimate president, a misinterpretation of Nietzsche’s Übermensch, and a higher-class thirst to keep the reins of its kingdom, brewed the perfect cauldron for Mylène’s karmic retribution.
Between polished floors, curated conversation, restrained, unmilked men that were sexually frustrated, and judgmental women that saw everything through puritan eyes, Mylene quickly understood that the era of containment had begun.
Part 3 – La Ley Social y la Regla de la Milonga
The era of containment was a set of unspoken rules coded in moral absolutism. The unwritten constitution of desire dictated the norms of what was inappropriate, and what was accepted through the lenses of judgmental puritan women, as if they were in Queen Victoria’s court.
Their Victorian set of rules was a sterilized attempt to police everything and everyone, from how women wore their clothes, to the minimalist makeup that they were permitted to wear. These rules were meant as a key differentiator between them and those women of questionable morality. Those low-caste peasants that were filthy, the milk extractors that roamed the streets of Buenos Aires.
As Mylène walked the polished floors in the salon, she noticed an announcement framed in wood with gold details. Through the glass, she noticed the big, bold letters that read, “SOCIAL ETIQUETTE AND CONDUCT MANIFESTO.”
We, the members of the Jockey Club and the Ladies of the High Society Commission, proudly present you this social contract that ensures that our beautiful country flourishes into a society to be emulated by the great countries of Europe. Social order will be governed by a complex set of rules to help the most precious aspects of our society to remain intact and to safeguard the delicate balance of societal infrastructure.
- Public Decorum is expected of every lady that comes from a good family. She is expected to act with poise, walk with measured gait, and avoid looking back or staring at shop windows. She is never to be alone at night or after dark without the proper escort.
- Interactions: Women are forbidden to begin conversations with the opposite sex without formal instruction. During courtship, a chaperone is required at all times.
- Modesty: Respectable women will adhere to a minimal Victorian look—no rouge, no red lipstick, as that is designed only for the milk extractors. Hair must be worn up in public, no exuberant hairstyles, hair dos, or loose hair, or letting hair down, as that is only reserved for closed chambers. Modesty is to not be vulgar; no mention of undergarments or private parts in public. Ladies must maintain their reputation as their greatest asset.
- Courtship and visiting rules: Visitations should be during appropriate times, between 3:00 and 6:00 p.m. Anything after dark will be inappropriate; consequently, it has the chance of tarnishing the reputation of the woman that accepts late visits.
- Bodily Autonomy: Husbands have legal control over their wives. This includes deciding whether to sleep in separate beds, sexual relations, and medical decisions. Wives have no legal recourse for refusal.
- Divorce and Custody: Divorce is not permitted. Children are the legal property of the father; mothers have no legal rights to custody.
- Wardrobe: Wealthy women might change clothes to adjust to social activities. Outfits must be used in accordance with what the activity is—ball gowns for balls, appropriate attire for social dinners, walks, etc. Milk extractors are to wear their color-coded dresses accordingly during the day, and at night they are to change into their bright-colored tight garments. Respectable women and high society women are barred from wearing bright colors.
Mylène tightened her lips as her eyes narrowed in disapproval.
Another form of control and dehumanization of women—
Buenos Aires had turned into a ballet suite, meticulously curated, ruled by lines and choreographed, controlled movement—each pirouette, pas de deux, and leap disguised as etiquette. Power was offered through invitation only.
While on the ports of Buenos Aires, a passionate cry for justice was taking the form of protest. Each cabeceo an invitation to sin, to hide in the beauty of the music that seduced the senses in its forceful movement. A jolt of deniability.
The contrast between the Belle Époque, that considered tango too risqué and in bad taste, and the carefully selected Social Etiquette and Conduct Manifesto, and the working classes that birthed tango in the brothels and ports of Buenos Aires as a rejection of their strict fascist rules.
Tango did make its way to high society; however, it was stripped of its passion and street strength. It soon became a dance of lines similar to the Foxtrot and the Waltz. Instead of forceful castigadas, choclos, figure eights, and embraces, it now added cortinas—small pieces of music to suggest that the dance is over. Private ballrooms and academias throughout Buenos Aires soon turned into courtrooms without judges.
The dance floor was the new judge of femininity.
Part 4 – La Mujer vestida en Seda Verde
Somewhere in the many ballrooms of the Jockey Club –April 1931
It was another warm day in April ,as the spring made it’s announcement with the first flowers in bloom, the trees were no longer witnesses to the sad winters, and their foliage started to wear its beautiful green leaves.
Outside of the main ballroom ,where the club had set a few chairs for patrons to have their morning coffee, pastries and whatever their appetitite called for at those early hours. The large windows let the light inside , the whole scene resemble a Monet painting with ladies in yellow parasols, gleefully playing hide in seek, a clear immortalization of the Woman in the Garden.
Inside next to the Social Ettiquette and Conduct Manifesto which was plastered in every room in the club was a curious woman wearing a silk green shawl, her hair half held by a single flower pin that resemble a Chinese Lotus, white lace gloves ,lips are red as a cherry with a gloss finish, skin between olive and yellow, nails painted in unacceptable crimson, and her dress was tight in all the right places.
Mylène observed this girl with curiosity, while the rest of the women were quickly judging her based on her attire and looks.
Who let this one in? — said one of the girls, raising her chin in disapproval while grabbing her fan.
This is supposed to be an exclusive club, but apparently they let in the help! — responded another.
I will speak to mother about it, and how we must ensure that undesirable milk extractors do not pollute us! — hissed a third girl angrily.
The girl could hear this gossip coming from the corner of the room, but she decided to ignore it. Making her way towards the group, defiant, holding her head up high, she introduced herself to the group of plain Janes.
My name is Angelica Monserrat Cordova, I just got here from another world — she said jokingly.
The group stared at her, scanning her up and down, as their eyes dilated, growing big with either anger or envy as they noticed her ample bosom, as well as the large jade stone dangling from her choker.
How does a peasant afford such jewelry — hissed the leader of the group?
Excuse me? Peasant? No, darling, you must have me confused with your parents… My family owns lands, and we have servants. Or had servants before the revolution. Yet I guarantee you that I can buy you and your family if I please — Angelica barked back.
The group smiled uncomfortably.
Well, who is your father? I have never heard of you…
Don’t worry about it. But next time, be nice; you do not know who might be able to purchase you.
The dance instructor, who had seen the interaction, decided that it was now time to interfere to ease the tension.
Ladies, please, we have a social contract that we must adhere to. We are not animals, so let’s act like the ladies that we are.
Angelica turned around to face the instructor.
Where are my manners? I apologize, but I will not permit others to insult me without knowing me first!
Understood, but this is a society with strict norms that we all must follow.
Ladies, act accordingly. Remember that gaining entry to this club requires pedigree, the right last name, and a strong network. So let’s refrain from the name-calling.
Class begins now—
The gentlemen on the other side of the room gently tilted their heads while directing their eyes towards the lady that they wanted to dance with. The women, in return, responded with a light cabeceo. Some looked away, as others maintained eye contact. Coyly, of course, as sexually penetrating looks were unacceptable.
Each gentleman walked towards the lady that had chosen them, except for Angelica, as the gentlemen were intimidated by her exotic look, her olive, yellowish skin that made her resemble a mango with olives.
I guess, I am fragmented between worlds… thought Angelica to herself.
🕯️ Felt the pull? Let her haunt someone new.
If this chapter moved you, pass it on.
One soul. One shadow. One whisper.
Mylène remembers the ones who speak her name.
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