Chapter 20 the last night

I didn't expect it to be the last night.I'm one of many Thursdays, from October to next June, one or two or three Thursday nights a month with a Flamenco show.I bought a package ticket, and I went to see performances on Thursdays, sometimes singing, sometimes dancing, and sometimes guitar; I would walk to a small cultural center in a bank to watch the performance after my class.Because there is no time to eat, I usually bring a pack of dry biscuits and eat a few biscuits at the door before entering. This Thursday was no different from the past few Thursday nights watching shows.Do the same dance in the classroom.Each attempt is a finer dance than the last.

Dancer I used to take his lessons and see his choreography in the theater.I can't forget his dancing posture, but I can't explain why.Just thought: what a good night.I can see him dancing on stage. He danced to Mozart.The young dancers from his troupe danced throughout the night; dancing martin rady, west guinea, tyrando, and more.I've been waiting for him to play. I was taken aback when he showed up.He has gained a lot of weight.When I went to his class three years ago, he had already started to put on weight.But now he's as fat as a politician, or a retired police officer.The bags under the eyes are so deep and big, and the hair is well cut, probably just cut for this performance.

he jumps.I recognized him when he danced.Then understand, never forget his dance. Dancing a section of Mozart, and there was another cellist solo to accompany the dance.The dance uses a lot of classical ballet steps, so light. It turned out to be fine and sad.I have seen too much Flamengo, and sometimes I am a little disgusted, disgusted with its loudness and vulgarity. The problem is only with me.Flamengo was nothing more than a dance of the working class and the ronin.It was loud and vulgar.It's just that I imagined it very enthusiastically. But the dancers danced with great delicacy.So, not the Flamengo that the people of Westville like.What they like is power and speed, the excitement of sex; so the applause is like watching a porn show.I felt a little awkward among these applauding crowds, very out of place.

But I can be close to him.Because he danced so quietly.Because of requiem. He got polite applause.Audiences may not like his silence.Maybe it's because he's old. Forty years old.When the performance was over, someone came out at the curtain call and said that this was the dancer's last public performance.We are grateful for his contribution to Flamenco dancing.Gave him a souvenir.The audience stood up and applauded him.It was a small venue with only two or three hundred spectators. He held back tears.I read in the paper the next day, and he said, I've been dancing for thirty-five years.enough.I will continue to choreograph.

But not the same.Young dancers danced to his choreography, but they couldn't escape his delicacy and sadness. —How can you separate the dance from the dancer?The choreography is beguiling, giving away a sense of presence. This is the first time I've seen him perform on stage.It turned out to be the last time.So he jumps. I saw that woman in the back row when the show was over.I thought the woman was his lover.He took the woman with him during class.When get out of class is over, I can't help kissing her and hugging her.Woman and a girlfriend in the audience.Didn't go backstage.Three years later, the woman is still a young woman, but it is different from three years ago.Can't tell the difference.

If she or he knew me, she or he would also think that this woman is different from three years ago.Her face was full of traces of torture, and she had gray hair, and her eyes were very dim.And lost, her most precious, the ability to cry.Since then, she has suffered in silence and dryness. I used to imagine Requiem.But that's just imagination.After the performance, I walked home with a big bag like every Thursday when I watched the performance.Since it was late and I was only craving for instant noodles, I bought chili sauce at the Chinese market.Passing by an exquisite shoe store, as I do every time I pass by a shoe store, I stop to look at the beautiful shoes.After burning the witch square, I went home.The plaza was like every Thursday, with the cheery crowd standing in the cold drinking beer.

One day of life is exactly like the other.The dancer said: I have already decided.As if to say: I know my imminent death. Back at the house, I turned on the electric stove to cook instant noodles, read the newspaper, ate noodles, watched TV, and slept. I thus mourn the soul of a dancer. I didn't sleep that night.