Donde la espalda pierde su nombre
Sunday, September 23, 2018
In English below the Spanish
Me acuerdo de niño de estar en el subte con mis padres en un día de carnaval. Podíamos oler los pomos de agua perfumada. Me imagino que volvíamos de una tarde de ver películas en la calle Lavalle y el subte nos llevaba a la estación Retiro.
En el otra
vagón vi la espalda de una mujer con muy poca ropa. Pero había algo que no me
funcionaba. La espalda tenía músculos ajenos al de la mujer. Era demasiado
joven yo para darme cuenta que de seguro era un hombre vestido de mujer para el
carnaval. Desde ese día me han interesado mucho las espaldas de las mujeres y en
especial, como decía mi abuela, “donde la espalda pierde su nombre.”
En
septiembre durante nuestra estadía en el Hotel Claridge (Tucumán entre Florida
y San Martín) estábamos a una cuadra de la famosa esquina de tango callejero
sobre Florida y Lavalle. Allí tomé muchas fotos de los bailarines pero había
una rubia muy especial en un vestido azul oscuro con un enorme escote en la
espalda. Era de noche y las fotos que tomé no son espectaculares. Espectacular
es la imagen que tengo de la hermosa mujer.
As a boy while riding the Buenos Aires subte (the underground) with my parents during the pre Lenten carnaval season (the air had that special smell of ferfumed water which was squirted on bystanders during the carnival season) I remember seeing a woman’s back on the door of the other car. It was disturbing because it was muscled and it could not possibly have been the back of a woman. I was around 8 so I could not have understood that the back belonged to a man dressed as a woman. But it was then that I believe that my fascination for a woman’s bare back began and especially where that back becomes something else or as my grandmother used to say, “donde la espalda pierde su nombre,” or where a back loses its name.
During our september stay at the Hotel Claridge (Tucumán between Florida and San Martín) we were a block from the famous corner where there is a marvelous display of tango, on Florida and Lavalle. I took many photographs of the dancers but there was a spectacular blonde dancer wearing a dark blue dress. She was wearing a very low-cut dress in the back and I was glued to watching her. It was nightime so my photographs are poor in contrast. But the image of her in my memory is as spectacular as she was.
