The Toy Bazaar

In the 60s, Roberto Rufino was invited to a prestigious radio station, where a famous speaker had invited him to make him an one-hour interview about his career. I had the honour of accompanying him  and sitting at the interview table.  The interviewer began to ask him about the beginning of his career, when he was a child prodigy gifted with an incredible voice, often said to be one of the instruments of Di Sarli’s orchestra. Up to that moment, the journalist was talking about Rufino’s virtues. The singer was answering questions about his career with Di Sarli, and later on with Francini-Pontier, Caló, Troilo… Suddenly, the journalist asked him a strange question: “Rufino, you only have one lung, don’t you?” And, as if he would have answered affirmatively, he continued talking: “Because when you sang with Di Sarli, it was said that you threw out blood during a performance, and Di Sarli told you to go under surgery. After that you began to sing with a little handkerchief in you hand, and you used to take it to your mouth all the time”. Rufino was confused because of the verbosity that assured, so firmly and with details such as the one about the handkerchief, a fact totally unrelated with the questions of the interview, which had already been agreed on. It was a very hard situation. Roberto looked at me, and I understood that he wanted me to save him, so I respectfully asked the speaker if he would let me answer, which he accepted. I explained to him that maybe he was right, because I didn’t know anything about it, but if that was the case, it was very strange that such a serious matter had never been mentioned before. I told him that the version of a singer having only one lung, was not very believable, because he could have never sang the way Roberto did. I added that a singing teacher had told me that in the tango “Cascabelito” (“Little rattle”), Roberto sang a natural B, which was a very difficult note to reach for tango singers. I suggested that if he had only one lung, he could have never recorded “Nada” (“Nothing”) and “Ninguna” (“None”) with Pichuco Troilo, with that freshness he had in his voice and those silences he made. I think the journalist wasn’t very convinced, because he kept saying that someone had told him… Evidently, the interview was over. We escaped from the interview as elegantly as we could, and I promise to find out if the story was true and to let him know.  When we left the building, I said to Roberto (as a joke) “You had never told me you had only one lung”. He went crazy, because he thought I had believed the story about his lung, and he told me “I’ll take you to my old doctor right now, so he can tell you that what I am saying is true”. Since it had been a long time ago, I remember wondering if the doctor would still be alive.  Roberto kept talking to me: “I have never gone under surgery. How could I have only one lung? Unless I had spit it without realising”, he said ironically. I could tell he was upset. He told me we would go immediately to see his old doctor. Rufino was sure we would find him, so I assume he would be an old man, because many years had passed. I accepted, and we went to the Barracas neighbourhood where the doctor lived, although Roberto didn’t remember the exact address. After being wandering around for a while, we finally arrived. I remember it was a majestic and very old house. Rufino rang the bell and a few minutes later, an old, tall, thin man, opened the door. He looked very pleased with the visit, and he invited us to go in, he led us into what had been his consultant room. Because of his age, I assumed Dr. Pribluda (that was his name) was not in exercise of his profession anymore.  However, we found a person of an extraordinary lucidity who immediately recognised Roberto, and it seemed to me that he was very touched with the unexpected visit. Roberto told the doctor what was happening: he said that I thought he had only one lung, and that was the reason why we were there, so he could tell me that wasn’t true. The doctor stared at me and then invited me to look at Roberto’s clinical history, which he had taken out from an old furniture. He showed me some radiographs of Roberto: he had his two lungs, no one was missing, and he had never had an operation. I was very intrigued, so I asked him if he knew how that rumour had started, and he said yes. The responsibility was of the sensationalistic newspapers of the time, which deformed an insignificant episode because Rufino was under-aged and was not allowed to perform. What had happened was that Di Sarli performed with his orchestra at El Mundo radio station one Saturday afternoon. “El Chiquilín” Rufino used to begin his presentations singing “Alma de bohemio” (“Bohemian soul”), and the vocal effort that song demanded him made him throw out blood, which worried Di Sarli. The director consulted dr. Pribluda who, after making him a lot of tests, advised the singer to go to Alta Gracia, in Córdoba province, and have some rest. His defences were low, and that had caused the incident during the performance. Di Sarli, who was like a father to Roberto, made all the arrangements and sent the singer to Alta Gracia, as the doctor had suggested. But, of course, one week later Rufino was back. Dr. Pribluda advised him to have always a handkerchief during his performances in case, it happened to him again. So the handkerchief detail the interviewer had mentioned was true, and the tango lovers that had the privilege of seeing him with Di Sarli were able to see it. So far, this story had nothing to do with its title. What happened next was very exciting. Dr. Pribluda led us into a living room with an old piano, and asked Roberto: “Have you told your friend what song you composed in this piano with Alberto Podestá?” Roberto, as if what he was saying was not important, said “El Bazar de los Juguetes (The toy bazaar)”. I was astonished. What had began as a medical visit about Rufino’s lungs, led me to the place where one of the most touching tangos, which lyrics belongs to Reinaldo Yiso, was written. This doctor, who loved tango, had contributed with his house and his piano, to the writing of a tango that Alberto Podestá sings like an angel, “The toy bazaar”.

With affection 

Oscar Mármol