最後的康帕德里托（The Last Compadrito, Part 2）
那晚在俱樂部裡替我放音樂的人，是 Miguel Balbi；
走上舞池給我探戈建議的那位，則是 Ricardo Vidort——
而當然，那位女人，就是 Alejandra。
Miguel Balbi 是一位出色的舞者、探戈歌手，也是一個忠誠的朋友。
探戈名家 Miguel Zotto 曾稱他為「探戈界最後的恐龍之一」，
因為他就像老布宜諾斯艾利斯 arrabal（邊區）裡那群老派人物——
從籌辦活動、上台表演，到與夥伴們 los muchachos milongueros 徹夜共舞，
每一個面向都深深投入。
對我而言，Miguel Balbi 無疑是個純粹的 milonguero puro，
生活的重心圍繞探戈，
但他同時也是個生活豐富、見識廣博、有自己事業與興趣的人。
Ricardo Vidort，卻是另一個極端。
我幾乎可以確定，他是最後一位真正老派的 milonguero ——
一位活生生的 compadrito。
他的一生只屬於探戈，除此之外一無所有。
他以 compadrito 的方式生活，
以他們的眼光看世界；
他對工作、女人、探戈與人生的態度，
全都延續了那個時代的風骨。
Ricardo 才是真正的「恐龍」——
事實上，他是最後一隻恐龍，
而這份稀有，也是他背負的十字架。
Ricardo 總愛講舊時探戈的故事，
但久而久之，我開始對這些故事半信半疑。
他說的話，永遠難以分辨真假。
你永遠無法確定，
他那些關於街角探戈練習或早期舞會中刀光閃爍的傳說，
到底添了多少料。
後來他病得很重，卻仍常笑著說他戒了菸——
一邊說，一邊在桌下藏著一支燃燒的香菸。
他對過去的描述也越來越飄忽。
我知道他年輕時曾惹過麻煩。
有一次他告訴我，當時他已七十多歲了，
但每當他晚上出門（幾乎每天都出門），
與他同住的九十七歲姑媽仍會叮囑他：
「Ricky，小心點！別再惹事！」
他的故事常讓 Alej 抓狂，
但我不介意——
因為那些話裡沒有惡意，
他只是喜歡讓聽的人開心。
他在去年過世。
我其實從一開始就知道他身體不好。
有一次 Alej 對我說：
「Ricardo 說他需要做檢查，可是沒錢。
他又不想開口跟你要。你覺得我們該幫他嗎？」
我說當然要幫，但得找個理由。
那時我知道他窮到連公車票的七十分錢都要省，
於是我們想出一個辦法。
我對他說我想買些畫，
那些畫據說是他早年經營古董店時剩下的。
他說暫時存放在某處，
等我買房後再取。
於是我「付錢」給他，讓他能做檢查。
幾週後 Alej 氣呼呼地說：
「那個 Ricardo！
我發現他昨晚竟然去某某舞會，
還請那些 milongueros 喝香檳！
他就是這樣用那筆錢的！」
我其實一點也不生氣，反而覺得很棒。
我知道他生病，也知道檢查要花多少，
甚至知道檢查結果。
我猜他付完費後應該還剩一點錢，
也許還討了個折扣。
那又怎樣？
想想看——
一個上了年紀、身無分文、身體不好、前途未卜的老人，
在手上有點錢時，他選擇了什麼？
他去跳舞，還請兄弟們喝香檳！
我為他感到驕傲。¡Qué Compadrito!
如果要我選，我也寧願錢花在香檳與探戈上，
而不是醫療檢查。
幾年後我們真的買了房，
我和 Alej 常開玩笑說：
「這面牆好空喔，應該掛上那幾幅從 Ricardo 那裡買來的『名畫』。」
那時我把 Ricardo 介紹給 Malena——
一位年輕、瘋狂、無政府主義的女孩，
她的父親是位著名精神科醫師。
在阿根廷社會的光譜上，
她與 Ricardo 幾乎處於兩個極端。
但這並沒有阻止 Ricardo——
他立刻開始對她展開攻勢！
我非常佩服。
他身體狀況不好，年紀大到可以當她祖父，
卻在認識五分鐘內就試圖勾引她！
那傢伙的生命力真是驚人。
Ricardo 無法在攝影機前露出笑容（Celia’s，2001）
沒有 Ricardo 之後，milonga 再也不一樣了。
當他穿著筆挺的西裝、帶著那種輕快步伐走進舞會時，
整個空間都會微微改變。
無論別人對他怎麼看，
所有人都會振作起來。
那一刻，你就知道——
你來對地方了。
這才是真正的 milonga。
他總是面帶笑容，
總是快樂、充滿無窮的探戈熱情。
他需要 milonga，
而 milonga 也需要他。
最重要的是，他需要人群，也渴望被喜歡。
有時候他太想討人喜歡，會顯得有點過頭。
我開始拍攝探戈影片時，
他若看到我拍別的舞者就會生氣，
像個小孩般希望我只拍他。
有時甚至會跳到鏡頭前，讓自己入鏡。
而當我終於轉向拍他時，
他又開始對著鏡頭微笑，邊跳邊偷看鏡頭——
那畫面確實有點奇怪。
我後來挑了幾段他微笑跳舞的片段準備放上網站，
但 Alej 拒絕了。
她說：「我覺得不該放那些笑得太開的畫面，看起來有點奇怪。」
但若你認識 Ricardo，就會明白那一點也不奇怪。
像大多數 milongueros 一樣，他在舞蹈中有著孩童般的喜悅。
他熱愛探戈，也以此為傲。像孩子得到新玩具一樣，他覺得這是世界上最棒的事，
想要展示給所有人看。
這種真誠的喜愛與自豪，是 milongueros 最迷人的地方。
那與阿根廷以外探戈圈常見的傲慢，
完全相反。
他對我很嚴厲，但我知道他是愛我的。
若我們一段時間沒見，
他總會跑過來，迫不及待地告訴我一切近況，
邊說邊擁抱我、捏我的臉頰——
那動作就像一百年前布宜諾斯艾利斯街區的長輩逗小孩那樣。
但在探戈上，他從不留情。
除了第一次見面那句讚美外，
他從沒再說過一句好話。
我印象最深的是在 Celia’s 的一晚。
我和 Alej 剛從美國飛回來，
又累又跳得一團糟，
我自己都知道狀況不好。
但 Ricardo 走過來的第一句話就是：
「你怎麼了？在美國待三個月，就把 compás 給丟了嗎？」
他批評我、鞭策我，但就像所有真正的 milongueros 一樣，
他總是對的。
他有一雙完美的眼睛。
我記得他對我舞蹈的每一條建議，至今仍在實踐。
事實上，我記得每一位 milonguero 對我說過的每一句技術意見。
超過十多人曾幫助過我，
我會在下一章談他們。
但此刻我可以肯定地說——
我從來沒從他們那裡得到過錯的建議。
他們的話總是簡單、直接、實用、準確。
有時要幾週、幾月後才體會其中深意，
但最終都一針見血。
也正因如此，
我能牢牢記住他們說過的一切。
Ricardo 隨著音樂起舞（Celia’s，2002）
Natucci 稱他為——
「探戈的偉大建築師（The Grand Architect of Tango）」。
原文:
Ricardo Vidort
.(Part 2 )
The man who put on the music for me in the club that night was Miguel Balbi, and the man who walked onto the floor to give me tango advice was Ricardo Vidort... and of course, the woman was Alejandra. Miguel Balbi is a brilliant dancer, a tango singer, and a loyal friend. Miguel Zotto calls Balbi one of tango's last dinosaurs, because he's like the old-time people from the arrabal who were involved in all aspects of tango—from organizing events, to performing, to staying up all night with his mejores compañeros, los muchachos milongueros. For me, Miguel Balbi is certainly a milonguero puro whose life revolves around tango, but he's also a well-rounded man with experiences, interests, and work outside of the milongas. Ricardo Vidort, however, was something else. I think he was almost certainly the last of the old-time milongueros—a compadrito really, whose entire life was dedicated to tango and nothing else. He lived like one of the old compadritos, and he saw the world through their eyes. His attitudes about work, women, tango, and life were their attitudes. It was really Ricardo who was the dinosaur. In fact, he was the last dinosaur... and it was a cross he had to bear.
Ricardo was always full of stories about old-time tango, but after awhile I began to take them with a grain of salt. The problem was, you could never really be sure about what he said. It was hard to tell how much embellishment had been added to his tales of street corner tango practices and knife fights in the early milongas. Later, when he got really sick, he would always tell me he had quit smoking—often while holding a lit cigarette below the table where he thought I couldn't see it. And the stories about his past kept changing. I do know that he got into trouble when he was younger, and although he was more than seventy at the time he told me the story, he said that whenever he went out (which was every night), the 97 year old aunt he lived with would still always say "Ricky, be careful! Try to stay out of trouble!"
His stories used to drive Alej crazy, but I didn't mind them. There was no meanness to them—he just liked to tell people what they wanted to hear. Although he died last year, I had known he was sick almost from the beginning. One time Alej came to me and said, "Ricardo says he needs some tests, but he doesn't have any money. And he doesn't want to ask you. Do you think we should help him?" I said of course we need to help—but the problem was finding an excuse to give money to him. At that time I knew he was so broke that he was walking all over BsAs just to save the 70 centavos it cost to take a bus, so we worked out a plan. I told him I wanted some paintings, and I would buy some that were left over from an antique business he said he used to have. They were supposed to be stored somewhere, and I would pick them up in the future when I got a house. The story worked, and I "paid" him for the paintings so he could get his tests. A couple of weeks later, Alej came over and said, "That Ricardo! I found out he was out last night at ------, and he was buying champagne for those milongueros from ------ ! That's what he did with the money!"
Well... I wasn't too upset. Actually, I thought it was great. I knew he was sick, I knew what his medical tests had cost, and I also knew the test results. The fact that he'd been clever enough to squirrel away a little extra didn't bother me at all. I knew he was getting a little more than he needed when I gave him the money, and he may have been able to negotiate the bill from the clinic down a little also... either way, he had some left over! Here he was, an older man with no money, health problems, and an uncertain future, and what did he do when he came across a few pesos? He went out dancing and bought champagne for his muchachos milongueros! I was proud of him. ¡Que Compadrito! I'd rather have my money go to champagne and tango than medical tests any day. Several years later when we did buy a house, it became a standing joke between Alej and I: "That wall looks bare. We need to hang those valuable paintings we bought from Ricardo."
(It was around this time that I introduced Ricardo to Malena. She was a young, crazy, anarchist, whose father had been a prominent psychiatrist. Malena was at the absolute opposite end of the spectrum of Argentine society from Ricardo... but that didn’t stop him from immediately putting moves on her! I was impressed. He was in poor health, and old enough to be her grandfather—but he tried to seduce her within five minutes of meeting her! There was no quit in that guy.)
Ricardo couldn't keep from smiling when he saw he was being filmed. (Celia's, 2001)
The problem is that the milongas aren't the same without him. When he walked into the room with his jaunty stride and sharp suit, there was a subtle change. Everybody, no matter what they thought of him, perked up. You instantly knew you were in the right place. You knew you were in a real milonga. He always had a smile, and he was always happy and full of endless tango enthusiasm. He needed the milongas, and the milongas needed him. And I think above all else, he needed people and he wanted to be liked. There were times when Ricardo may have tried a little too hard—trying to make you like him a little more, or to impress you a little more. When I began filming in the clubs, he'd get upset if I filmed other dancers. He was like a little kid who wanted me to film him, and only him. Sometimes if he saw me filming someone else, he'd actually dance over to get into the shot. And then, when I’d finally give up and turn the camera on him, he'd start to smile, and look at the camera while he danced—which looked a little unusual. Back when I was looking for video captures to put on the site, I picked out a couple with Ricardo smiling, but Alej rejected them. She said, "I don’t think we want to show people dancing around with big smiles on their faces. It looks strange." But if you knew Ricardo, it wasn't really strange. Like most of the milongueros, he took a child-like joy in his dancing. He loved it, and he was proud of it. Like a kid with a new toy, he thought it was the best, and he wanted to show it off. This genuine love of tango and of their own dancing is very common among the milongueros. They love what they do, and they're proud of it. I find it very attractive. It's a completely different thing than the kind of arrogance we sometimes see in tango outside of Argentina. The opposite, really.
Although he was often hard on me, I'm sure he loved me. If we hadn't seen each other for awhile, he'd always run over and begin to tell me everything that was going on, and he was so happy to see me he'd keep hugging me and pinching my cheeks as he talked—a gesture that seemed like something people used to do to children in the barrios a hundred years ago. But he was very hard about tango. Other than his remark the first night I met him, he never said anything complimentary to me. I specifically remember one night in Celia's. Alej and I had just flown back from the U.S. I was tired, I was dancing like crap, and I knew it. I didn't need to have it pointed out—but Ricardo walked up, and the first thing he said was, "What happened to you? You spend 3 months in the U.S. and you lose the compás?"
He was critical and tough with me, but like all the milongueros, he was always right. His eye was perfect, and I remember every piece of advice he ever gave me about my dancing. I remember it all, and I use it every day. In fact, I literally remember everything every milonguero has said to me about tango technique. There are more than a dozen who have helped me a lot, and I’ll write about them in the next chapter. For now, I'll just say that I have never ever gotten a bad piece of advice from any of them. It's always simple, direct, practical, and correct. Sometimes it takes a few weeks or months to realize it, but it's always right on. That's why it's so easy to remember everything they've said.
Ricardo dancing his music. (Celia's, 2002)
Natucci called him the "Grand Architect" of tango.
留言
張貼留言