Here at the End of the World We Learn to Dance Read Online Free PDF Page A

dozen turn up for this class.’
    I didn’t feel lucky. Where were they all? I wanted a crowd.
    We waited a few more minutes. Mr Hecht played around with his tape deck. He experimented with a number of tapes. Voice/instrumental/back to voice. Then he too looked around the hall as if the others might be hiding underneath the chairs. On one of these inspections he discovered my feet. I thought I saw him flinch.
    I was in the same sneakers I wore every day, to my lectures, to wash dishes at the restaurant. Mr Hecht ran a finger across his lip, then darted out to his car, the Lada parked on the tennis court. He came back with a pair of hand-made Brazilian boots for me.They were black leather, soft and pursy, with zips up the sides, and squeaked when I walked.
    I squeaked out to the middle of the floor where we began with some stretches. We both kept stealing glances at the door—I caught him once and he smiled at me and said, ‘Very unusual.’ Another time a car drove in off the street and turned around on the tennis court. A face looked speculatively towards the open door and we looked speculatively back and the car drove off again. ‘Well, I suppose we might as well begin.’ I thought he sounded a touch regretful.
    Some of what he had to say was already familiar. Rosa had stressed the need for flex in the knees. Now I followed Mr Hecht on the ‘tightrope’ walk, ankles and knees brushing, the toe of the extended foot probing for the floor ahead. We walked up and down the hall like that for several minutes, sliding, open-hipped, thrusting forward. I couldn’t stop smiling at my silky self. ‘This time with your eyes closed,’ said Mr Hecht and immediately I felt my balance go. I righted the ship and started off again, frontwards and backwards, until a word of caution from Mr Hecht found me a step away from crashing into the chairs along the side of the hall. Now he introduced a step to the side. So the movement was one step back, one step across. He moved to his left and I followed.The dance instructor and his stumbling shadow.
    I left the hall with the pleasant hazy feeling of achievement. Of course, for the entire lesson all I’d done was place my feet in the spaces left by the dance instructor. It wasn’t like I’d had to lead anyone.
    The true test came the following Sunday night. In a narrow hall, home to an Immigration Advisory Service during the week, I found myself partnering a girl my own age. She had lovely olive skin. She could have been from Tunisia or Malta. She wore blue tights. A brief cotton top bubbled with her breasts and left her midriff bare. A body piercing flashed goldenly near her navel. The first time she smiled up at me I saw a wad of white gum in her teeth. The bit of chewing gum turned out to be an integral part of her communicative effort. It was quite sweet really. Once, when by some fluke the music and a nicely judged turn neatly cohered, her eyes lit up; she drew her lips to dangle the white thread of gum, and I felt rewarded.
    At the restaurant another routine established itself. After the last waitress had left—it was usually Kay—and after I’d finished up in the kitchen, Rosa would invite me to show her what I’d learnt and then make the necessary adjustments to the steps I’d imperfectly picked up.
    A moment’s hesitation on my part would sometimes cause us to stall. Rosa’s response depended on the length of delay, or the extent to which I’d become stuck. If I quickly got us moving again there would be a grunt of approval. But when the solution didn’t come swiftly enough she would lean back with her face brimming with circular inquiry, and if I was still at a loss she would treat me to that doleful look of someone waiting for their correct change from a complete idiot on the other side of the counter.
    She tolerated these surrenders at the start, patiently explaining that there was no correct