The spearmint is fresh from the garden, and the limes are ripe. I make the mojitos in a clear glass pitcher, and all of us take a break from practicing and sit on the deck in the hot sun. I turn up the stereo, so we can hear the skipping sounds of Tita Merello's El choclo, and the lyrics make us laugh in the celebration of that underworld that gave birth to this dance we love. El Suave holds up his glass, and we all give him our eyes.
'Tango is a work of art,' he says, 'that the man creates with the woman's body.'
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