Chapter 35

Gardel y el Fantasma Social

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Part 1

Gardel y La Dama del Vestido Azul Celeste

Buenos Aires –1935

“La prueba de la infamia, la cargo en mi conciencia.”

During the day, the city wept through alarmist headlines and radio lectures about the dangers of losing morality, and how important it was to evoke the Belle Epoque, while at night the lullabies of Gardel painted a history of resistance, national honor, and betrayal.

“Acaríciame en sueños, el suave murmullo de tu suspirar, cómo ríe la vida, si tus ojos negros me quieren mirar.”

As the cafes in the alleys along the Port of Buenos Aires prepared their modest dance floors, men and women coupled in the spur of the moment, driven by the declarations of love in Gardel’s lyrics. Soon he would become the language of love for the men unable to seduce or too shy to swoon.

“La noche que me quieres, desde el azul del cielo, las estrellas celosas nos mirarán pasar.” While couples looked deeply into each other’s eyes, feeling as if the world was spinning in a cloud of glitter, others succumbed to their passions right on the dance floor.

Unaware of the many eyes that could be judging them, in that instance only they mattered. The small crowd ignored the messages coming from the speakers with a reminder of rules of ordinance and decorum, which were imposed by the ladies of society and enforced by the state.

“Remember, a woman’s reputation is all she has. Visitations should end at their accorded schedules to avoid misunderstanding.”

This message killed the moment of passion for many of the women present.

They treat us as if we are things without a voice —

Who do they think they are? Policing everything we do? Next time they will do is tell us when to take a shit! —

“Y todo a media luz, crepúsculo interior…” Gardel’s melodious voice was competing with the speakers that were on the light posts. It lightened the mood, easing the tension that was building up.

Back in Recoleta and its adjacent neighborhoods, in their fancy ballrooms and saloons, Gardel’s music told a different tale. A national treasure that was exported to Europe as culture. A mixture of waltz and ballet, an insult to all the purists that saw the birth of tango on the docks.

Cinemas across the country depicted Gardel as a gentleman yet full of masculine bravado, men wanted to be him, women wanted to be with him. Movies as early as his Luces de Buenos Aires, filmed in 1931, introduced innovative film techniques never seen in the industry.

The Golden Age of Argentine Cinema started a few years back, someday around the 1930s, but that depends on who you ask. Americans and their Hollywood movies were of great influence, bringing technological advances such as industrialization and standardization of films to be able to mass-produce.

The State saw a golden opportunity to export national pride and to shift the narrative that the state was starving its constituents, even though the Roca-Runciman Treaty was hurting the agriculture and bovine sector. Justo and his cronies hated Gardel as most of his music was a direct critique of the regime.

He was marked as an insurgent with possible ties to “caudillos” and groups attempting to overthrow the government. Carlos Gardel did not want any problems with the government as he was a foreigner on their land, even though he had naturalized citizenship, which he obtained in 1923.

His mistress, Isabella Moreno del Valle, was involved with several caudillo groups. Isabella was the head planner in the upcoming coup that promised to take down Justo. This created a conflict of interest for Gardel, but the infatuation was not strong enough for him to side with Isabella.

Isabella then tried to pressure him by withholding affection and limiting their intimate encounters, her tactics backfired, and Carlos was soon seen with a busty American blonde. Carlos started to write letters to Isabella to sever ties with her, his strong desire to get rid of her only made her angrier.

To add salt to the injury, he began to refer to her as a nuisance, worse than a pebble in his shoe, labeling her psychotic, a crazy woman that was drunk on passion. A milk extractor. And that he was ready now to settle down with a lady that wore pearls and did not dress like a man.

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Part 2

El Tango y la Religión del Estado

Buenos Aires, El Pabellón de las Rosas en la Recoleta.

“Cuando la política y la religión se mezclan, la democracia fallece.”

A warm summer day, with an eventful evening full of colorful gowns, lace gloves, and women waiting to be chosen by eligible bachelors, as a curated bandoneón played in the background. The women smiled, in a coy manner to seduce with their innocence, signaling purity and eagerness to be picked.

La Crème de la Crème and their mating rituals were bureaucratic dances of virtue, money, and genetics. The chaperones were given the power to act as representatives of the parents in their absence. They could decide if the match was viable and a smart business decision.

Unions were not just decided by familial ties, but mutual benefits, merely transactional as if they were buying a cow through trade. While the rest of the ladies in the crowd were seated with their respective chaperones, Angelica was unaccompanied, sitting at her parents’ table. Her parents were on the dance floor, having their romantic moment.

And of course, the snake pit was rattled..

It’s inappropriate for a young lady to not have a chaperone—

And even worse to wear the same color that those milk extractors put on their lips!—

If it wasn’t for her father’s fortune, I would dare to say she is one of them—

Maybe she is—only milk extractors dress like that—

Don’t forget to add the body of a Jezebel—

And the artifacts of sin. She should be ashamed to display them!!—

At least she should wear a modest dress that covers those things!—

As Angelica observed the rest of the patrons’ kinky game of bureaucracy, eugenics, and mating, she noticed a few things. There were women that clearly did not belong to the uptight pearl-clutching snakes; they were dressed differently, they even looked friendly.

Angelica stood up from her chair, grabbed her gold shawl, and began to walk towards these women. The rest of the snake pit gasped in horror.

I told you she was one of them—

But how! Those milk extractors do not have wealth—

I thought this was an exclusive cabaret!—and we wouldn’t be exposed to filth that can contaminate us–.

The live orchestra kept playing as she made her way to the women, who were curious as to why this young girl was approaching them; the milk extractors knew when someone came from money, they smelled it in their clothes as well as the glow of their skin.

Why is she coming to us–?

Maybe she’s lost–.

Hi ladies, I thought I will sit with you, you seem like you won’t cut my head off—

The group was dumbfounded. She wants to sit with us? Why would she reject her own?

Miss, we cannot deny you a seat.

A change in the music made the entire room turn their heads, the men now seemed more interested in the group where Angelica was and the beautiful ladies that were surrounding her. The pearl-clutching snake pit rattled again, this time with the women panicking as their men couldn’t be controlled.

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Part 3

La Muerte del Rey del Tango

Medellín Colombia — June 24, 1935.

“Ni muerto dejaré de serenarte, mi dama querida, mi bella Argentina.”

A veil of sorrow and blackness ran from the Río de la Plata to the Land of Gold, tragedy had struck the love-ridden tales of a man who was known to steal hearts and sighs from the women in adjacent regions, including the hottest places in Latin America. From the land of fire, pineapple, and coffee to the coldness of New York City.

Every corner of the world dressed in black to say farewell to the man behind the myth. Carlos Gardel along with his buddy Alfredo Le Pera and a few other associates were the victims of an unfortunate joke of destiny.

Carlos Gardel was getting ready to depart from Olaya Herrera Airfield Airport when a second plane took off at the same time, resulting in a dance of fire and smoke. The accident took the life of most passengers, except for José María Aguilar Porras, who was severely injured.

The news hit Latin America right in the heart, as if it had been ripped apart from its chest. From the Land of Gold to the Land of Fire. Back in Buenos Aires radio stations stopped their programming to inform the city of the death of their beloved National Treasure.

Even the men shed tears as their respective icon was no more, the women drew white handkerchiefs which they anointed with perfume as a last goodbye ritual, while the milk extractors in the poor docks and villas de la miseria did the same handkerchief ritual, except for one thing: a bold kiss in red lipstick to signify the passion that Carlos had evoked in them.

The last rite for the king of Tango.

“Even if I die, I will never stop serenading you, my beautiful Argentina.”

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Part 4

El Fantasma Social

Buenos Aires, Calle Corrientes y Maipú Cabaret Marabú.

“Bailaré, hasta que sangren mis pies, al compás de la milonga y el deseo arrabalero.”

While the rest of the city mourned for weeks the departure of their national treasure, Victoria Ocampo had managed to become the place for intellectuals to hide from the shackles of the state. She was also very influential in convincing Don Enrique to permit Angelica to attend her “tardes de café y vino,” which she assured him would nurture her already superior intelligence.

Angelica was a young woman with a bright future, and to Victoria she was the daughter she never had. Victoria was serious about educating Angelica in geopolitics, science, literature, and all the topics women were forbidden from learning.

Victoria also took Angelica to forgotten corners of Buenos Aires, the docks along the ports in neighborhoods such as La Boca, passing through Villa 31. During a visit to San Telmo, Angelica noticed a couple in a very close embrace, moving together in perfect unison.

What is that?—

That’s the real tango, my darling— not what you see in the social clubs of the stuck-up snakes, replied Victoria with a smile on her face.

I would love to dance like that… but it’s not appropriate… but then again, when have I listened to those ladies.

The music is so sad, as if it’s mourning something or someone, as the bandoneón weeps in solemn harmony, accompanied by the piano and violin. Angelica felt a jolt in her body, as if her veins were on fire. Something woke up inside of her.

It is the spirit of Gardel that is greeting you with its emotive touch, let it take you to where you need to go—.

While traveling through the immigrant enclaves, Angelica journaled every scent, every shred of empirical evidence she could use to formulate her hypothesis and theorize why Gardel became a myth under a repressive regime. The omen of tragedy marketed to the masses through sex and fiction.

A blow to the love affair between the lady in the blue and white dress and the man that made her live. An ideal of masculinity that men followed religiously was now gone, leaving many in the limbo between a boy and a man.

“Even if I am gone, I am still with you, my beloved Argentina.”

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