The Pathos of Middle Age

Yesterday, I went out dancing tango with a Chinese friend of mine.

She is an exceptionally thoughtful person.

When she learned that I was studying Chinese, she began speaking to me in Chinese whenever possible.

We both speak English, so using English would naturally be easier and less stressful for her. Even so, she makes the effort to speak Chinese for the sake of my studies.

That is the kind of friendship we have, and we occasionally go dancing together.

She lives in Meguro, so when we are traveling in the same direction, I often drive her home.

Yesterday, we met at the venue and went dancing together.

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The venue was particularly crowded that evening.

I am not someone who dances with one person after another. I often spend a long time sitting and watching the other dancers.

I had planned to dance at least the final tanda with her.

Just before it began, however, an Argentine man approached her.

For a moment, I thought I should warn her about him.

But it was already too late.

She began dancing with him.

I remained seated and chatted about this and that with a male friend nearby.

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As soon as the evening ended and she got into my car, she said:

“I thought every tanda tonight had been perfect. Then the very last one ruined everything.”

She then began rapidly listing everything she had disliked about the man.

“He held me far too tightly. He knew I couldn’t do those movements, but he kept leading one difficult thing after another. I really hated it.”

She must have felt extremely uncomfortable.

She is usually calm, but once we were in the car, the complaints would not stop.

I regretted not warning her before they danced.

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The man has been part of Tokyo’s tango community for a long time.

I have always tried to keep my distance from him, so I do not know him well personally.

Still, I have seen him approach women in the same manner many times. I have also heard some unfavorable stories about his conduct.

At the very least, he was not someone who gave my friend an enjoyable experience that night.

I should have told her that much beforehand.

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On the drive home, we switched from Chinese to English.

She always patiently supports my efforts to learn Chinese.

But my current level of Chinese is not sufficient to explain complicated circumstances or subtle personal relationships.

So, in English, I explained a little more about Tokyo’s tango community and how she might judge whom to dance with.

She seemed to have a great deal to think about.

She then said that she would never dance with him again.

The drive home was too short for me to explain everything properly, so I may need to speak with her again.

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Judging by his appearance, the man is probably close to fifty.

He is roughly from the same generation as I am.

Twenty years ago, the same approach might have been enough to charm women.

He was younger, being Argentine may have made him seem unusual, and even an overly forceful lead might have been interpreted as “passionate.”

But twenty years is a long time.

During that period, people in Japan and around the world have gained more experience in tango and raised the overall standard of dancing.

Women have also danced with many different partners and learned what kind of dance feels comfortable to them.

A method that worked in the past will not necessarily work today.

His dancing certainly did not charm my friend. It merely ruined her final tanda.

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Even as he approaches fifty, he continues approaching women in the same way and repeating the same methods.

The people around him have changed. Women have become more discerning, and the standard of tango has risen.

Yet he alone seems to remain in the same place he occupied twenty years ago.

I found the sight simply pathetic.

I have no desire to understand his circumstances or become involved with him. I will simply continue to keep my distance.

“The very last one ruined everything.”

Even after I arrived home, her words remained with me.