Susy

 

I believe that I am an old fashioned romantic. In my 81 years, besides my wife Rosemary, I had two girlfriends. They were in Argentina. The one I am going to write about died of cancer in the late 80s. The other one is alive and well and lives in London.

If either of those two were to show up at my door I would be madly in love with them. I never experienced the concept of falling out of love.

Susy Bornstein was an Argentine woman of Austrian Jewish extraction. When I met her in 1966 and she did not show any repulsion at meeting with the nerd I surely was.  I was astounded.

As the relationship progressed I told her that there was a chap called Astor Piazzolla that was going to play in downtown Buenos Aires at the Teatro Florida on a coming Saturday. I added that I was fascinated by his term that he played Nuevo Tango.

She told me that we were invited to a party on that Saturday and that we could leave in time to go to the concert.

During the party I reminded Susy that we had to leave. She said, “Alex I am having fun. You go.” As I was waiting for my train on that late afternoon I was depressed. I rode the train feeling a melancholy that increased as I approached the cavernous Retiro train station. 

I arrived at the Teatro Florida and sat down on my numbered seat. The one to my right was empty. This was the first time I heard  Pizzolla live, so I was momentarily distracted. He then, with his group, began to play the loveliest composition called Milonga del angel. Suddenly I felt something on my right thigh. And then in my ear there was a whisper, “I had to come.”

If I was in love before, at that moment I was madly in love.

What happened after Susy said was purely my imagination. After the concert we left holding hands and Florida which has always been an exclusively pedestrian street meant that we were going to have a nice walk. Across the street there was a kitchen appliance store. Susy pointed at an avocado coloured fridge and said, “That would look nice in our kitchen.” You can imagine my shock at of being offered marriage by the lovely apparition that Susy was.

A few months later she called me and said, “Alex I never want to see you again. You are uncultured and you will never amount to anything. I am leaving you for a violinist at the Teatro Colón Philharmonic. Goodbye.”

Somehow around 1987 I found her address in Buenos Aires. I visited my native city. I rang the bell. She opened it and said,  “Alex aren’t you going to kiss me?”     

She died a few months later. 

 Milonga del ángel - Ástor Piazzolla