Chapter 37
Milonga de las Castigadas
Part 1
La Corte Social y sus Leyes Invisibles
Buenos Aires, December 1935
“A woman’s reputation is all she has, when that is gone, she has nothing left.”
As the Ladies of the High Society Commission were adamant in controlling womanhood through policed social etiquette and a conduct manifesto of acceptable behaviors, the state saw an ample opportunity to protect the “virtue” of the daughters of Argentina, to avoid pollution and corruption.
However, this social code did not apply to the milk extractors, as they were seen as disposable and replaceable. Respectable young ladies were never left alone with their suitors without the proper chaperones; each gathering was heavily policed with strict guidelines on appropriate behavior.
Although some chaperones were willingly bribed in exchange for jewels or sexual favors, many chaperones were eager to partake in transactional liaisons with their masters under the guise of taking care of their young daughters.
The Social Etiquette and Conduct Manifesto was not just hung on a wood frame and written in gold letters on the largest wall of the Jockey Club, but it was also printed and placed in other clubs throughout the city as a reminder that a woman’s reputation was her only currency, and it must be protected at all times.
Milongas became the new social events held in different cafés, clubs, and cabarets. This departure from traditional ballroom tango scared the rigid system that the ladies of the high society had carefully curated.
It introduced desire; it made the virtuous break in lust, long for passionate embraces, waking up the senses in ways that they could not understand. They deemed it the devil’s dance, as if Paganini himself had possessed the hands of Juan d’Arienzo, making him play the violin like a madman.
Women began to feel through music; their bodies became one with it. And for this, the Red State and the Ladies of the High Society began to silently enforce social alienation. The women that disobeyed the Social Etiquette and Conduct Manifesto were deemed “milk extractors” regardless of their economic status.
Wealth did not matter any longer; the new social stratification had shifted the hierarchy into moral absolutism. Either they comply or they were isolated.
During the milongas, the cabeceos were responded to with deep gazes and a light tilt of the head to accept or reject a dance partner. A simple gaze saved many from the embarrassment of rejection or a misinterpreted signal. For the women, this was a form of validation.
Desire was categorized into sexual market value, followed by a silent enforcement when their sexuality was too much to handle. Those that were candid enough to hide the fire erupting from their skirts learned that tolerance was better than oblivion.
The worst punishment of them all was to be forgotten like an old relic.
Part 2
El Castigo
Paraná y Calles Corrientes, Cabaret Chantecler, January 1936
“La virtud es frágil y fácil de corromper.”
“A woman’s reputation is her biggest asset, but also her worst nightmare. The punishment for disobedience is to be erased as if you never existed. Put away like a dusty piece of old furniture.”
The month of January brought a cold front to the constant reminders of what appropriate womanhood was and its acceptable behaviors. The warmth that the milongas offered through sinful embraces, longing gazes that culminated in passionate eruptions, was no longer permitted.
The ladies of the high society, along with the Red State, slowly implemented real consequences for the women that disobeyed the social etiquette rules. The Conduct Manifesto became a moral absolutist excuse for the envious to accuse others of wrongdoing, or breaking the moral codes and crimes against the state.
Desire, seduction, and longing were criminalized under the Social Etiquette and Conduct Manifesto. Every café, cinema, dance hall, especially along the port district of La Boca, displayed this Manifesto framed in mahogany and glass with gold letters.
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, hairdos, 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.
The framed glass Manifestos were everywhere, the Red State and the Ladies of the High Society devised a plan to plaster these in every nook and corner of the city, even some suggesting that it should also be included in the docks so when new immigrants arrived , they were aware that sinful activities would not be tolerated, and that Buenos Aires was not a cesspool of deviants.
Despite these restrictions, milongas around Calles Corrientes were still a thing, with women and men more now than ever getting lost in the music. Nothing lingered without consequences, yet the danger of being caught made it tempting, ever more exhilarating.
The delicious fear of consequences was not an illusion; women were aware that they could be erased from society, scorned as moral corruptors, or accused of crimes against morality. It frightened many into blind obedience. But others were skeptical, dubious even that the state would really take such measures.
Social death was not a threat but a promise that the ladies of the high society used as a weapon against their enemies. Women that were too pretty, too rich, too smart for their own good. They wanted to create an army of mindless snakes.
Their empty threats of social erasure, many took them as a joke, as they did not see the milk extractors as inferior; some even felt jealous that these women could explore their sexuality on their own terms without minimizing their femininity.
And so it happened during one fateful night at the most famous club on Calles Corrientes, the Chantecler. Juan d’Arienzo’s orchestra was opening with their usual fast-tempo milonga.
As the crescendos invited the patrons to search for a dance partner, waiting on the gentle cabeceos, a deep gaze and a tilt to the right, along with a coy smile was a definite yes, while a tilt to the left with the chin slightly lowered and the eyes looking down was a clear rejection informing the man not to approach as the woman did not want to dance with him.
A woman emerged in a red gown with her hair down, walking towards the man she wanted to dance with, instead of following the milonga etiquette that she must wait for him to approach her. The scandalous move made all the crème de la crème women turn their heads in disapproving disbelief.
She cannot do that! What is she doing!—
We are not allowed to do that, doesn’t she know that she is supposed to wait??—
Oh my, I feel like I am going to faint, this is the devil’s doing—
You are right, that woman wearing red must be Satan’s spawn—
Or daughter—
As the woman continued to approach the gentleman, who was in awe at the situation, but too dumbfounded by her beauty, he quickly stood up from his table, knocking his drink on his buddy.
I am not used to beauty coming to me—may I buy you a drink?—
That is okay, I saw you, I like you, it’s simple, let’s dance—
The man was unable to speak as the woman saw his nervousness, placing her hand on his chest she said, don’t worry I don’t bite unless you want me to, and with that she took him to the dance floor under the disapproving gaze of the snake pit.
As they were dancing, the man noticed all eyes on them, which made him uncomfortable.
That is an awful lot of people staring at us—
So? Let them rot in envy—
As the music changed to a faster, more violent tempo, with each turn as he pivoted her body, the closeness of her body to his and her expressions made the man grow in his pants. His hands began to roam uncontrollably down from her right ear to the caves of wonder that her low cut exposed.
Lost between shame and ecstasy, as if the room was theirs, they continued their dance until the third set. He sat her down. When she tried to get his attention again, his eyes refused to meet hers. He turned not abruptly but slowly as if to hide under the red curtains.
While the other women began to whisper, the gossip mill spinning with juicy details. The man did not suffer any consequences for his lewd actions, but she was about to find out what the consequences were for breaking the Conduct Manifesto.
Part 3
La Envidia observa desde la esquina
Paraná y Calles Corrientes, Cabaret Chantecler, January 1936
“La envidia es como una sirena, su canción te envuelve en seda verde, y te lleva a la perdición.”
Tucked in a corner where she could not be seen, but she could observe it all, Angelica scribbled every interaction she saw in her trusty journal.
Entry #1 Jan 1936, Notes from the Chantecler
The snake pit seems rattled by the presence of this exquisite creature in the red dress. She intrigues me because she doesn’t seem to care about their stupid rules of decorum or about behaving adequately in accordance with what a woman is. As the gossip mill begins to spin and the spillage of juicy details leaves corpses, the man suffers no consequences!
Such a double standard! My aunt Agustina would be livid. These men see women as objects, but it’s the women who enforce this punishment!
What a joke! A cruel, sardonic remark from fate. HA!
At the last stroke of her pen, Angelica lifted her head, a loose curl fell down and covered her left eye. She was determined to test the snake pit, record their reaction to her little experiment, and weaponize their own system against them.
If this is the last thing I do, I’d better have some fun with it—
As the orchestra changed the tempo to its most popular song, “Desde el Alma,” Juan D’Arienzo lifted his lip in a semi-smile. Men immediately started scanning the room for new dance partners, as this piece in particular was the song to pick a wife.
Angelica rejected one cabeceo after another, until her eyes were set on him, Alberto, whom she had not caught the last name of the first time they met. This was fate, as their eyes met, the room’s temperature changed from its light blue hue to a crimson that suffocated.
Alberto Caruso, the son of a poor Italian immigrant family that lived by La Boca, around the ports of Buenos Aires. A man of word, faith, and hard work. The epitome of tall and handsome, with a strong chest and light eyes. Alberto was proud of his Genoese roots that made him who he was. That confidence, mixed with his olive and lemon musk, created an intoxicating scent that even the snake pit could not resist.
Milk extractors and working-class women threw themselves at him, with some going as far as to gift him panties drenched in their perfume with naughty love letters, which Alberto did not keep. There was something about Angelica that made Alberto want to behave.
As “Desde el Alma” continued to play, their eyes met once again. Angelica, this time, accepted the cabeceo to become his dance partner. As he walked towards her, moving like a lion about to pounce on its prey, Angelica’s eyes caught a glimpse of the gold crucifix he was wearing.
The room suddenly went quiet, every set of eyes was on them, and the gossip mill began to spin again.
What is she doing!!—
Our kind does not mix with that—
There are class distinctions for a reason!
Meanwhile, on the other side of the ballroom floor, the men were shocked that a wealthy lady had chosen a compadrito. A filthy working-class man that will never be able to buy her the moon and the stars if he wanted. A real man would be able to give her the world, if she wished so.
Pero que le ve a ese mugroso!—
Que lástima, tanta belleza para que se desperdicie en un mendigo—
A la señorita se le olvida que existen las clases sociales, y nosotros cuidamos nuestros genes—
Che! Pero que insolencia en mezclarse con un plebeyo!—
Part 4
El Espejo y el Hambre Verde
Buenos Aires, January 1936, Midnight at the Chantecler
“La noche está buena pa’ bailar, mientras la envidia se alimenta y la codicia se expande.”
The melodious arrangements of Juan D’Arienzo’s orchestra created a cloud of smoke and green fog that permeated the Calles Corrientes and adjacent streets. The dense air carried doubt, passion, and greed across the ports, passing through the Palacio Hume.
Ethel, tonight the air is telling us something—
Ethel Bourbon jumped from Aimee’s lap to the window to investigate the cloud of green fog and smoke, his pointy ears moved left and right as if trying to hear the cries of the night, the laughter of the greedy.
I know Ethel, I can hear them too, and I can smell them. The foul scent of the greedy, the yellow hue of their rotten core—Many are being exploited tonight—
Ethel meowed as if he was singing “Corrientes y Esmeraldas,” waiting for Aimee to tell him where they were going.
Let the music guide us on our way, and the green fog be our map—and with this, Aimee and Ethel prepared for a feast. The souls of the rotten were for sale tonight. Buyer and seller were both guilty of exploitation.
The cloud of smoke and green fog did not merely guide them, it grew thicker as if the condensation was alive, pulsating as it shifted hues from light green to dark the closer they approached to las Calles Corrientes.
Aimee paused for a second, noticing the shift in hues, while the crescendos changed in tempo. The faster the tempo, the hungrier Aimee became. While Ethel’s ears flattened slightly, then rose again, the music grew louder.
Both of their eyes narrowed for a moment, not to rest but to analyze the silhouettes dancing in the fog.
The green fog itself told a story of the exploited milk extractors, as many were forced to sell their bodies for survival, while greedy men purchased them for a night of salacious liaisons. Aimee’s body levitated as her eyes changed from their usual black to dark glowing green.
She was ready to feed on these foul creatures that exploited the voiceless. A tear streamed down her cheek as these defenseless women reminded her of her sisters in Storyville.
No one will ever be exploited or treated as meat under my watch, never again—as she clenched her fist in anger.
Ethel stopped by the doors of the Chantecler club, meowing to let Aimee know that they had arrived where the smoke cloud originated from.
Good boy, Ethel—
Entering the club, her eyes scanned the room looking for the silhouettes that glowed green or yellow. Noticing a large red curtain guarded by two large men with guns, she set her gaze on what was behind the curtain.
On the table were stacks of cash next to a signed contract and a group of men finalizing the transaction of purchasing several young girls between the ages of 14–18 and young women between the ages of 19–30.
Aimee’s face turned red with rage, as her eyes glowed again, but this time in a jade green. Lifting her left hand, she strangled one of the guards, but before that she made him have a vision of all the times he exploited others for his own gain. The man died with a terrified expression on his face.
Bingo—this is where the buyer and seller do their nasty work—. Ethel, tonight we feast on all of them. Do not leave a single one—
Across the milonga floor, Angelica noticed the cloud of smoke and green fog, nodding to Aimee in acknowledgment, she raised her glass.
As Aimee and Ethel were feeding on the Zwi Migdal human traffickers, Angelica was having fun of her own. While she and Alberto were lost in a trance, and the snake pit was rattled by invisible boundaries that were violated.
Men were getting rejected and misreading gazes, while women refused dances they should have accepted. Angelica tilted her head, watching the ripple effect with a satisfied grin.
They were correcting each other, while the snake pit continued to criticize her choice in dance partner.
Angelica set her eyes on the snake pit, touching her spider pendant as she closed her eyes, the spider became alive.
Green Silk Spider, do your job and show these women how their envy will destroy them—
The green emerald spider pendant left Angelica’s neck as it flew to the snake pit, leaving a trail of silk and green glitter, it filled them with visions of why they were envious of each other, each vision adjusted to the woman the spider bit.
Part 5
El Rumor de La Bruja Negra y El Balance Cosmico
Buenos Aires, February 1936
“Cuando la justicia llega, no se detiene a tocar tu puerta, entra como torbellino y derrumba todo lo que se interponga en su camino.”
After the disappearance of many of the Zwi Migdal goons, rumors of a black witch that roamed the streets of Buenos Aires erupted. As the rumor mill spun its juicy gossip, whispers of la Bruja Negra traveled from La Boca to the poorest villas. The threat of the Zwi Migdal was not eradicated, but their supply chain suffered a loss of great magnitude, the chokehold limited the availability of goods to be trafficked, Jewish immigrant women that escaped the concentration camps in Germany, Poland, Portugal, and neighboring countries under the guise of safety were protected for now.
Aimee had a goal in mind, and that was to kill them all. She had vowed to protect the exploited by the greedy, it did not matter if they did not share her same DNA or skin color. For Aimee, this was now personal. And with pride, Aimee embraced the name of La Bruja Negra.
Meanwhile in the fancy Villa Ocampo, Victoria observed how her refuge of intellectuals scattered in fear, as if its power was transcendent, she deduced that many of these men were buyers of the forbidden goods that the Zwi Migdal offered at high prices.
She didn’t attend the milongas to dance anymore, as she had done her job introducing Angelica to the real Argentine life.
My darling, you must be careful of what you do and who you are seen with, remember a woman’s reputation is all she has—Victoria quickly reminded Angelica.
Yes, I am aware that everything we do is monitored as if we are criminals, but you know Vicky, what I have noticed is that most of these ludicrous rules come from those envious ugly women from the High Society Commission—
Darling, please don’t forget that your father is a very powerful man—and he would literally kill me if I am the reason why your reputation is at stake—that boy is not an adequate suitor for you—
Because he is poor?—asked Angelica, a bit upset before hanging up the call abruptly.
The sudden cold tone of Angelica made Victoria uneasy. She knew cosmic balance was at play since many of the evil Zwi Migdal were brutally murdered by some kind of entity, this entity must have sharp claws because each of their faces was disfigured and the eyes were clawed out. The world was changing, and she was coming to restore it back to normal.
The mother was observing, waiting for the right moment to come and fix it all.
🕯️ A Note from the Noir Journal
What you have read was never meant to be complete.
Some stories are not denied an ending—
they are withheld until the weight of their truth can be carried.
The final chapters were sealed,
not in silence,
but in consequence.
The Mirror does not reveal itself all at once.
What remains… lives beyond these pages,
within the official manuscript.
🕯️ 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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