From the first strum of the guitar, the first flash of the dancers' multi-layered, multi-coloured skirts I was hooked. I sat staring up at the screen and all reality faded away. No matter that the film was being shown on the white washed rear wall of Senor Sanchez's house. No matter that the sound was poor, or that we were seated on makeshift benches. That warm summer evening in my mountain village my life was for ever changed.
From then on I lived for flamenco. It was my one over riding passion. I watched all the films I could, not easy when your family is poor. I copied the steps alone in my room. Until slowly, slowly, I dared to dream. Perhaps I too could make my body talk as beautifully as the dancers did. Sadly I knew that I would have to leave my home in the Canary Islands and head for the mainland; to the land of dance, passion and fire.
How funny life can be. When I was on my island, flamenco made me think of southern Spain. Now that I'm here on the mainland it makes me think of home. When the music starts I am instantly home again. In my mind I return to the village of my birth. I can see the stone cottages with their tiled roofs. I can see my grandmother sitting out in the morning sun. I can hear the goat bells tinkling as they forage for food. And I remember the feel of Pedro's strong arms around me. How he begged me not to leave.
Pedro was my first love and the memory of his sweet kisses lingers even now. Briefly, a passion as strong as flamenco had entered my life. I lived for the evenings, when his work was done, and we could be together. We would stroll through the orange trees he had helped his father plant. And when he took me in his arms I almost forgot about dance. Working the land had given tone to his stocky frame. The sun had tanned his handsome face. He was a beautiful man, both in body and spirit. When he asked me to marry him I was tempted to say yes. But I knew I would never be happy without flamenco in my life. Pedro stood to inherit his father's farm; he had no intention of ever leaving the island.
Leaving Pedro was the hardest thing I had ever done in my young life. Making a name for myself in the world of flamenco was the second hardest. No one was interested in an eighteen year old who had never had a formal lesson in her life. I pounded the streets until I could find a school that would accept me. It was housed in a dilapidated building and run by an alcoholic old crone. In her youth she had been one of the greats, but time and hardships had taken their toll. Surprisingly she was a good tutor and I absorbed what she had to teach as quickly as I could. With this foundation I was able to move on to a better school.
I began entering competitions, giving performances and generally making a name for myself. I worked all day and danced all night. Sometimes, as I eased myself into a hot bath late at night, I wondered if all the effort was worth it. It seemed I was getting nowhere fast. There was a time I was ready to pack my bags and head home to Pedro. Perhaps it was time to settle down, I told myself. But then fate smiled on me. I was recruited to join the most elite dance school in the city. It was run by the legendary Antonio, and he himself had sought me out. He had seen me dancing and told me that he could make me a star.
I jumped at the chance. Who wouldn't? Soon I had given up my day job. Money and contracts were pouring in. Antonio told me that with a little more polish I could make it into the big league. He said that film work and country wide tours awaited me if I could make the grade. I wanted success so badly I could almost taste it. I knew that success demanded sacrifices. I had expected artistic temperament from Antonio but I was shocked at just how black his moods could be. His good cheer of the first few days vanished as he pushed me to the limits. Day after day I suffered his arrogance and insults, just so I could be a better dancer.
Antonio was so different, in looks and temperament, to Pedro. Whereas Pedro was stocky and tanned, Antonio was pale and lean. In contrast to Pedro's friendly face Antonio had finely chiselled features that made him look cold and hard. At odds with this though, he had surprisingly full, cherry red lips. He had the grace of a panther. He seemed to glide, rather than walk. He had the neat waist of an eighteen year old lad even though he was in his late thirties. Dancing had give him a tight and shapely bum which was shown off to perfection by the tight, black slacks he always wore.
He had been one of the best male dancers in the whole of Spain. Rumour had it that he had given up dancing when a love affair went bad. He had fallen in love with a young girl he had met through flamenco dancing. She was from a village deep in the countryside. She was a natural beauty, with skin as smooth as the skin of a ripe olive. He taught her all he knew. Not just how to be a great performer, but how to thrive in the city. He turned an ingenue into a dazzling star. But when she reached the top she no longer had use for him. When her career started to wane Antonio thought he would get a second chance. But she dashed his hopes by emigrating to Argentina. Later, when he found he couldn't live without flamenco, he took up teaching it.
And so Antonio had tutored and moulded me. He had taken my raw talent and enthusiasm and given it finesse. He was preparing me now for my greatest challenge. A big budget flamenco movie was being cast and I was one of the hopefuls for the lead. Winning the role would bring me the money and fame I craved. But I was up against the very best dancers in the whole of Spain. Starring in the film would be the cherry on the cake for every female flamenco dancer in the country. Antonio assured me that the role was within my grasp if I would just follow all his directions. At last, we were just one day away from the audition.
It had been a blisteringly hot day. The air was close and still. It was humid and stuffy in the dance studio, made worse by the tin roof and no ceiling. I was feeling ratty. Despite myself I was falling for Antonio. And last night I had seen him out with a beautiful blonde woman. Everyone had warned me not to get too close to him.
'He's so intense,' they said 'that you feel he lives and breathes just for you. But he is a hopeless womaniser.'
It certainly was true. However, I had no reason to be angry with him. He was a free agent. He had never once suggested that there might be a relationship between us. Yet when he fixed those dark eyes on you, how could you feel anything but desire.
I could hear the distant rumble of thunder as I rehearsed . 'Esmerellda! You're not paying attention.' Antonio shouted.
'Look, like this.'
He raised his arms above his head and thrust out his hips. I was always amazed that a man could teach a woman to dance provocatively. There was nothing feminine about Antonio but with his slender waist and trim body you could easily see how to translate his moves. I tried again.
'No, no, no Esme!' he bellowed. 'Where is your mind today?'
'It's so humid Antonio. I can't concentrate.' I replied.
'You can't blame the weather for a poor performance if you want to reach the top.' he said. 'You do want to reach the top, don't you.'
'Yes.' I replied.
'Then try again..., look, arms up like this, head down, eyes up.' he instructed. 'You need to look mysterious, sultry..., not as if you're worried about your bank balance.'
I just could not do it. I kept seeing that pretty blonde. Her dazzling smile was trained on him. Ever the predator, his dark eyes scanned the room, before settling back on her. I saw him place his hand on hers. His smile softened his cold features. A numbness came to my throat as I turned to leave the room. Fortunately he had not seen me. My humiliation would have been complete if he had.
The sudden flash of anger in Antonio's eyes frightened me. He had always treated me slightly better than the other girls, but today it seemed I had lost my status as his star.
'Esme, tomorrow you give the most important performance of your life.' he shouted. 'I ask you for brilliance, for perfection, and what do you give me....shit!'
Tears came to my eyes as anger and frustration welled up inside me. Why was I paying this man to humiliate me so? I was shaking as I threw myself into the step. Surely this time he would be satisfied.
But no. 'What do you call that?' he demanded.
'Fuck you Antonio!' I screamed. I could take it no more.
Suddenly he was upon me, pulling my hair.
'You dare to speak to Antonio like that?' he spat.
My heart was pounding in fear. I had never seen him like this before. The viscous snarl on his face and the mad glint in his eye terrified me. I cowered. He pulled my hair tighter still, so that my whole scalp burned with pain.
'Antonio! stop this madness.' I cried out.
'I'll give you mad.' he fumed as he tightened his grip.
Suddenly I could take no more. Drawing strength from I know not where I slapped him full in the face. He reeled as an angry red welt appeared against his fair skin. I knew I was treading a fine line now. If I did not gain the upper hand this maniac might do me terrible harm. I grabbed a ceremonial dagger that was hanging on the wall and held it against his throat.
'Esme, that's much better.' he said. A smile came to his lips.
'What are you talking about?' I demanded.
I could not understand what he was going on about. I was holding a sharp steel blade against his throat and instead of begging for mercy he was talking nonsense.
