THE BOCA

Evening Post, Volume CVIII, Issue 13, 29 November 1924, Page 16

THE BOCA

WHERE A GLANCE MAY MEAN

AN INSULT.

The Boca, Buenos Aire3, is one of the most strangely fascinating places in the world, writes Arthur Mills in the "Daily Mail." Seafaring men in Sydney, Marseilles, and along the wharves of the London docks will talk of it; but tho casual visitor to Buenos Aires, speaking no Spanish and wearing a presentable suit, cannot go there, for in, the Boca, they say, a many may lose his life for half a crown or the coat upon his back. This may well be, for life is cheap in Argentina, whether it be on the great rolling cattle plains of the rugged North or in the fashionable restaurants of Buenos Aires. It was in the Boca that I first saw something of the soul of Argentina, as much perhaps as in the marble halls of the Jockey Club ox* among the picturesque horsemen of Entre Rios'manoeuvring their vast herds.

One Saturday, some while after midnight, I came to a cafe hard by the Pedro' de Mendoza. There were assembled in that cafe all manner of men —sailors from a vessel bringing salt from Spain, Americans from a lumber boat, Norwegians, Greeks still coal-be-grimed, some British seamen arrived with railway material, estimable Chinese cooks, little wrinkled grinning Japanese, Italians, Syrians, Russians. Bolshevik and aristocrat alike concealed beneath tattered coats and a week's growth of stubbly beard—some looking lor work, some avoiding it—tho pariah dogs of a hundred ports. Across the rubbish-littered road, the ships that had brought these men lay at anchor in au endless stretching belt, themselves evidence of the mighty needs of the great South American capital. On a raised platform four musicians in shirt-sleeves played. But no one danced. The proprietor explained to me that, in a neighbourhood where a man would draw his knife for the flicker of a woman's eyes, to encourage dancing was unwise. The proprietor was something of a character himself, able to speak seven languages, including Kaffir. He was a burly fellow and bis barman looked pretty useful too, if trouble should arise. But rows were avoided, the proprietor explained, pointing to two men in plain clothes in cither corner of: the room, ready to signal to him the first sign of an angry glance. As wo talked a girl passed. She had dark, Juminmis eyes, swung her shapely Jimb.s with the smoothest* of motions, and carried herself with an air of easy grace, the special inheritance' of her people. A burly Scandinavian sailor, a, blue doul knotted beneath a. red beard, caught her arm. She tried to free herself; then words were exchanged, and i-he turned and faced him like a wild cat. Next moment the proprietor jumped between the pair and pinioned the girl's hand to the knife hilt in her stocking. The barman leapt over the counter; two other men appeared. In less than a minute the sailor was outside the cafe and the girl seated calmly in his place. The proprietor remonstrated with her mildly. "I am -Argentine," she said, snapping the syllable—a reply that app_eaTed wholly satisfactory to all concerned; for they are a proud people, the Argentines, who give a swift answer for an insult, whether it bo in the glittering cafe restaurant Abdullah or in Iho Boca, on Saturday night.

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