“Personality is the make up of the soul.”
This story is about a man.
He is an ordinary man, who wakes up to an ordinary day.
He goes to work, handles the ordinary stuff of the ordinary day.
At night, he dresses up to go out, as usual. But as he walks down the street, and passes under the light of a street lamp, he finds—to his surprise– that his shadow has disappeared.
Day in and day out, he searches for his shadow. He looks in his pockets, under blankets, in drawers, behind trees.
He goes to east and he goes to west.
He goes to nearby towns and faraway islands, looking for his shadow.
Destitude of his own shadow, he begins to forget, little by little, who he even was; he cannot even remember his own name.
Time flies and he gets older, but he retains a vague memory of the young man he was, with a shadow and a name.
One night as he was strolling down the streets of Buenos Aires, an harmonica playing a simple yet inviting tune, pulls his legs in the direction of the music.
In a dark corner, on a dark street, in the middle of this dark night, is a rusted door, barely open. The man walks towards the doorstep, and he sees steep stairs unfolding before his eyes into the darkness. He hesitates for a moment, but in the end, curiosity pulls him in. He begins to slowly descend the staircase, which becomes narrower and narrower the further down it goes. He finally reaches a tiny rusted door at the base. It too is barely open.’
He pushes the door open. What he sees is a room in a colonial style setting, as though left over from an age far past. There is a high ceiling, and purple velvet curtains. A few round tables are scattered here and there. In the corner there is a musician, sitting with legs crossed, playing the tune he had heard earlier. A few couples are rocking back and forth to the music on the dance floor.
The man sees a pale woman with thin shoulders and a small chin sitting across the room. He instantly feels the urge to invite her to join him on the dance floor.
Their eyes meet, and she accepts his invitation. Together they move onto the dance floor. He embraces her. All of a sudden his shadow, which had been only a vague memory until now, reappears. He says in wonder:
“So it was you!.. My shadow that I lost so long ago…”
“ Let me remember who I was…”
The woman replies smiling;
“Now I remember… I was a river long ago…
Let me remember how to flow.”
They danced, and danced, and danced happily thereafter, in that collonial building with a few small round tables and purple velvet curtains.
Some say this is how it all began… this thing we call ‘tango’…
sooo you may ask: how do I know the story?
An old man in Buenos Aires once told me…