Freddy, the woman who cried boleros
I didn’t have to ask around much, they knew right away who she was. It’s really a shame, but very few like her remain. That is why I came to this bar. The writers were right. Places that operate at night should never be seen in daylight. All the dust, all the sorrows recounted by those great boleros seem to come out of the songs and drift in the air like haggard daytime ghosts. There she is! As soon as she hears me arrive, she lights up, and it’s as if all of the vitality of yesteryear had returned to her body; it’s no longer necessary to ask her. Yes, Mr. Journalist, I am the "record-player" they told you about. I’m not going to tell you my age; you don’t ask women that question, But I can tell you about her because I was there, you know. So, you want to write about Freddy? Well, yes, I knew her. She was a servant, and she would come at night to the place where I worked. Moreover, I heard her sing, right there, sitting next to me, at the bar of the Bar Celeste. Sometimes she was accompanied by one of...