What is dance?

Venezuela. The day Florcita understood what dance was, she was waiting for a Communist Party meeting to start. Two comrades arrived in their car. They were in their eighties, and had been active for decades, including when the party was underground and repressed. The woman had had a stroke a year ago, and with help from Cuban doctors, was gradually walking again. To cross the six metres from their car to the office, she faced her partner and placed one hand on his shoulder, and one on his waist. He did the same to her, and walking backwards, slowly and patiently, they made their way. She lifted one foot carefully, dragged it, put it down, and then the other. He supported her, moved with her. In the office he arranged a pillow behind her back, and the meeting began.

Excerpt from The Butterfly Prison