Matador — At a Japanese Bar

Solo Drinkers — 1

“Would you like a tequila as usual, or something else?” I asked the lady who had just come into the shop.

“Well, I am not going to have tequila tonight. Instead, can I have a Matador please?”

I’ve never asked her age, but she must be in her seventies or eighties, not very young. Still, she was always sitting upright on a stool with her perfect posture. I liked her.

“Sure.”

I turned around and took a short tumbler cooled in the fridge, then put it on the counter in front of her.

Matador is a tequila-based cocktail which is mixed with pineapple juice and lime juice. It’s refreshing and smooth, but it is easy to get smashed with the tequila included. As the name indicates, although it looks handsome and elegant, a sharp sword is hidden behind its back.

After mixing the liquid, I poured the cold cocktail into the tumbler and gently pushed it towards her.

“Thank you.” Her eyes were smiling between the deep wrinkles caused by long term smoking. Her dry fingers touched the cold glass and her ring clicked against it.

“— It’s nice.” She said in a sighing way after she put the glass down onto the table. “Today is the anniversary of my most important person.” “I see…, was he a matador?” I think I had a good guess. She smiled without a word, just like a young lady who was in love.

She is a dancer who comes for a drink two or three times a month. Apparently, she had lived in Spain for years. No wonder that she had lots of stories with matadors.

“On Saturday, I will be on the stage as a guest dancer for a friend of mine. If you like, please come to see my dance.” She left a ticket on the counter. I didn’t know her name, but I knew that she was well-known among dance lovers. Still, it was the first time for me to see her dance.

It was held in a small community hall. I sat quite far from the stage. Her performance was the last of the program.

It was dark. The handclapping began. Then, a crisp voice singing accompanied it. As soon as she appeared on stage wearing a black dress a spotlight caught her. In the narrow light where the dust in the air was sparkling, she looked much taller than the lady sipping tequila and smiling behind my bar counter.

In spite of a lack of vivaciousness or brisk steps like young dancers, her minimised motions included intense emotion and passion, which changed the colour of the air in the hall.

“What kind of drama could she have had with her matador?” I couldn’t stop imagining this whilst watching her love for dancing on the stage. I lost my sense of time and forgot about her age.

It took a few seconds until I realised that her dance had ended. The stage was in complete darkness and the music had stopped. I was not the only one who had forgotten about time. The whole audience suddenly woke up to reality and started giving her a huge round of applause. Everyone was standing, calling for an encore.

After the lights were put on, people started noticing that she was lying on the stage and not getting up.

I sneaked out of the hall and managed to leave before the ambulance came.

“I’m not young, still I’m an active dancer because I was born to be. If I could die on stage, nothing would be better for me,” she once told me. This thought returned to my head as I quickly walked to my shop. And from now on, I would think about her each time I make a cocktail, Matador.

This is translated and revised by HANA, from original post: