It's 4:30 on a Sunday afternoon. About forty of us are gathered in the parish hall, waiting for a woman we've invited to teach us to dance. Our ages span from seven to eighty, with most of us somewhere around forty.
Some stand straight and steady. Some carry the aches of age. Some have trouble walking. Some are restless or a bit unsteady on their feet. Some are shy and self-conscious.
The woman arrives and glances around the room—she looks a little overwhelmed, though she doesn't let it show. Instead, she sets her tape recorder on a table and calls twelve of us to the center of the hall to start. The bravest come forward: young people in their twenties, loose and unselfconscious in jeans and bright sweaters. Viviana is among them. I hadn't noticed her at first.
Viviana is over forty, small in stature, always elegantly dressed, with a lively face. Sometimes cheerful, more often a bit withdrawn.
She keeps to herself. She lost both parents and now lives with a friend. She has a significant hip problem, but she hides it perfectly—never mentions it, acts as if it doesn't exist. The same way she doesn't dwell on having one extra chromosome.
The twelve arrange themselves in a square, three on each side: at the center of each group is a "gentleman" with two "ladies" beside him.
The instructor explains the steps, the figures, the rhythm, the exchanges between partners, the bows, the hand positions.
The click of the tape recorder starts the music and the dance.
The dancers' faces show deep concentration mixed with smiles. They follow the steps, turn, pass by each other, laugh. Someone makes a small mistake, corrects it, moves on.
I watch Viviana. She's there among them, her face calm, relaxed, joyful. She doesn't miss a step. She executes every movement, every exchange, keeping perfect time with a grace and ease that astonish me. I would never have expected it.
I look around. Everyone's eyes are fixed on the dancers.
The music ends and the twelve freeze in their closing position. Spontaneous applause rises from us sitting along the walls, and one by one they return to their seats. Viviana, her face flushed with joy, walks back composed and serene.
Another twelve come forward to try. We begin again.
No one hesitates. No one holds back.
Viviana has opened the door.
Thank you, Viviana.
- Mariangela Bertolini, 1990
===FINE===